#had documents of name (call and registered) ideas

[beauceronn]

Ugh

[pin-k-ink]

spring loaded // kita shinsuke

tw ⇢ kita is a student council member, sexual tension, grinding, making out, cunnilingus, hate sex, rough sex, biting, marking, name calling, manhandling, unprotected sex, overstimulation, semi public sex

wc ⇢ 6.2k

a/n: i’ve no idea how a student council works because we don’t have that here. so i just write whatever i felt like was correct

The weighted silence in the student council room felt charged enough to combust as Kita Shinsuke's piercing gaze bored into you from across the table, daring you to meet his stare.

You refused to be the one to blink first, keeping your features carefully composed despite the electric tingle thrumming beneath your skin whenever he settled that hooded, assessing look upon you. From the stark furrow of Kita's brow to the austere line of his mouth, his whole countenance radiated an intensity verging on confrontational.

Which was utterly baffling, considering the inanity of your current debate. You'd been going back and forth for what felt like hours over something as mundane as finalizing the budgetary allocation for the school's various clubs and sports teams. A topic that should have remained impersonal and clinical in discussion.

Yet with Kita as your opposition, even the most trivial administrative matters seemed to transform into a battle of wits and wills heavily laden with unspoken undercurrents. As if he took perverse delight in needling you over irrelevant minutiae just to study the sparks of agitation he could ignite behind your eyes.

"That figures simply cannot be accurate," Kita's crisp baritone sliced through the weighty quiet with surgical precision. "Clearly there's been an errant calculation made in funding distribution that skews the proportions unfairly."

You had to resist the urge to grit your teeth at his oh-so-casual insinuation of oversight on your part. Forcing yourself to meet that turbulent stare brimming with challenge, you enunciated clearly.

"I can assure you the numbers are triple-verified, Kita-san. Down to the last decimal point, as is protocol." You refused to rise to his barefaced provocation this time. "Unless you have a specific line item you'd like me to revisit?"

The muscle feathered along Kita's jawline told you he registered the thinly veiled rebuke in your composed tome. One corner of his perpetually downturned mouth seemed to twitch infinitesimally before he replied.

"Very well. If you insist the figures are beyond reproach, I'll simply defer to your...expertise on financial matters."

The way his gaze streaked overtly down the length of your body accompanied that final word before slowly ascending back to lock with yours. There was no mistaking the heated emphasis underlying the otherwise innocuous statement, or the undercurrent abruptly simmering in the space between you.

You forgot to breathe for a suspended heartbeat, mesmerized in a way you couldn't quite define by the heated intensity simmering behind Kita's pewter stare. Then the moment passed as he shifted imperceptibly, leaving you off-kilter and strangely...flushed with wayward energy.

"That said," Kita continued in a tone that could have stripped varnish, "based on my own analysis of the numbers, our volleyball program still seems to have been shortchanged on projected equipment and travel expenses for the upcoming semester."

Before you could even formulate a rebuttal, his palm slapped a sheaf of documents down atop the budget report with decisive force.

"I took the liberty of revising a few line items, reallocating whatever frivolous overages I could identify." Those gunmetal irises sliced into you with blistering emphasis. "You're welcome to review them and advocate for restoration of any expenditures you feel are indispensable, of course."

You opened your mouth to berate him for his typical high-handedness, but Kita simply leveled you with that hawkish, vivisecting look that somehow rendered you temporarily inert. Like a small prey creature having its innards laid open with scientific detachment for study.

"However..." He went on without awaiting dismissal. "I trust these revised projections will meet with the esteemed student council's approval, as they represent the most logical path forward for apportioning our resources effectively."

With a pointed dip of his chin, Kita slid the stack of modified documents across the table's glossy surface until they landed perfectly parallel before your frantically spiraling thoughts. For one hazy, dizzying instant, you caught another glimpse of that banked mercurial spark searing behind his pale stare.

And despite yourself, despite the countless similar petty needlings that prefaced this latest encounter...you felt a delirious slither of unfurling heat low in your abdomen at whatever unspoken challenge burned behind Kita's inscrutable countenance this time.

No matter how often you and Kita clashed over trivial administrative matters, the tension between you two always simmered with thrilling undercurrents you couldn't quite define. What should have been dry, impersonal discussions somehow transmuted into thick, electrically-charged atmospheres anytime he settled that piercing stare upon you.

Like the day you were compiling materials for the upcoming assembly in one of the empty classrooms after hours. So absorbed in cross-checking your notes that you didn't realize you weren't alone until Kita's crisp baritone sliced through the weighted quiet.

"Burning the midnight oil again, I see."

You startled slightly at his unexpected presence before forcing nonchalance. "Kita-san. I could say the same about you lurking around at this hour."

Rather than rising to your barbed tone, Kita simply shrugged one lean shoulder as he prowled further into the room. "Merely ensuring preparations are continuing on schedule, as is my duty."

There was something about the way he said that last part - husking it out in his low register while holding your stare hostage. As if the words themselves were laden with undercurrents his placid expression didn't betray. You had to tear your eyes away before your mind wandered in unprofessional directions.

"Yes, well..." You cleared your throat in a bid for steadiness. "I can assure you I have everything perfectly under control on this end."

"Do you?" Kita didn't miss a beat, tone taking on a weighted edge that raised delicious little chill-trails across your nape. Then he was suddenly looming over you, solid chest bisecting your space as one lean arm extended to tap the sheaf of agenda notes before you. "Then you'll want to revisit the agenda sequence here..."

You forgot to breathe for a suspended beat at the overwhelming closeness of Kita's body, the clean, earthy tang of his cologne fogging your senses in delirious waves. Heat prickled outwards as his proximity allowed you to take in all the subtleties of his physicality - lean musculature carved in elegant planes, hair perfectly coiffed, slender throat exposed by his open collar.

Swallowing hard, you dragged your traitorous focus to where his index finger rested, tamping down an errant shiver as you registered the feather-soft rasp of his knuckles grazing your forearm.

"No issues, Kita-san," you grated, silently willing your vocal cords not to betray the maelstrom of sensation spooling through you in waves. "That sequence of events is set exactly how I intended based on scheduled timing between segments."

A pause, thick and elecrically weighted. Then Kita leaned fractionally closer, face angling in your periphery until you could feel the humid torrent of his even breaths ghosting across your nape in tandem with the graze of his large palm settling over your knuckles.

"Perhaps..." He murmured at last, graveled timbre pitched to detonate in molten entreaty against your nerve-endings. "Perhaps you should take a breath and reexamine with fresh eyes, hmm? It's not good to rush and mess up all the hard work you've done so far..."

With exquisite slowness and purpose, Kita's fingertips began mapping delicious paths across the bare inward curve of your wrist where your sleeves ended. Following the thrumming path of your racing pulse with merciless precision as your entire body detonated into high-alert at his proximity.

"Something...to consider, President." He punctuated the softly murmured suggestion with the barest graze of teeth scoring along the fragile cup of your inner wrist, just below your leaping heartbeat.

You inhaled a sharp breath despite willing your lungs to remain steady, abruptly enveloped in the intoxicating maelstrom of Kita Shinsuke's body surrounding yours. His solid torso pressed against your back as he leaned over you was suddenly the only coherent point of gravity remaining in your short-circuiting consciousness.

Just as abruptly as the torturous intimacy commenced, Kita extracted himself from your personal space with that same maddeningly unhurried grace. Leaving you sagging dizzily over the table strewn with notes, head spinning from the disorienting whiplash as ambient reality slammed back into focus.

"Well then, I'll leave you to your...preparations," Kita remarked as he slid out of striking range once more. That calm, unruffled mien firmly back in place, not a single ripple marring the austere lines of his impassive features beyond the gleam of challenge burning in his pale stare.

Head buzzing with white-noise static, you somehow found the wherewithal to nod in numb acknowledgment as he made his exit. Though not before Kita tossed one last quietly insinuative murmur over the taut line of his shoulder:

"Do let me know if you require my...intimate counsel on any other agenda items before the assembly, President."

No matter how innocuous the setting or agenda item up for discussion, Kita always seemed to find a way to needle you until the atmosphere thickened with unresolved tension. You lost count of how many meetings devolved from productive dialogue into protracted staring contests - his pale, piercing gaze clashing against your own in silent challenge.

Until the slightest tonal emphasis or loaded innuendo from Kita's deceptively mild countenance had your senses catalyzing into high-alert without any overt physical provocation required. Your circadian rhythms seemed to attune themselves around whatever frequency he gave off until resentment and longing blurred into an inextricable dissonance.

It all came combustibly to a head during one marathon student council session debating adjustments for the upcoming cultural festival. What should have been a straightforward agenda swiftly derailed into yet another nitpicking exercise under Kita's scrutiny.

"This proposed stage layout is wildly impractical," he intoned without preamble, slicing through the tranquil murmurs around the table. "The sightlines from these audience positions will be unacceptably compromised."

You bristled at the derision loaded into his statement despite the bland delivery, hackles raising. "The sightlines have been carefully calculated and approved by school administration, Kita-san. I assure you, the layout is optimized for attendee visibility."

Kita's jaw tightened infinitesimally, the only betraying tic before he spoke again around the weighted pause. "Then I must object to the administration's mathematical competencies, President. Any observer would be hard-pressed to enjoy performances from these points."

Heat began sparking treacherously low in your belly despite willing every hormone into submission. The way his gaze needled yours made you feel like a science project splayed on the examination table for detached scrutiny.

"As I said, visibility has been confirmed as adequate," you attempted to dismiss his objection with an air of unruffled composure. "Perhaps if you reviewed the fully annotated schematics instead of cherry-picking sparse details, you wouldn't be so hasty with misguided critiques."

Around the oblong table, assorted club representatives and administrators shifted uncomfortably at the open animosity thickening the atmosphere. But Kita either didn't register or refused to yield the pointed intensity ratcheting up between you.

"Trust me, I've reviewed every last ludicrous detail in your 'meticulous' planning packet," he rejoined without missing a beat. Then those pale, turbulent irises streaked down your frame before ascending in a carnal sweep that ignited your senses into a molten feedback loop.

"If you'll recall, I made numerous notations regarding suggested corrections within those materials, none of which seemed to have been implemented based on this..." His fingertips trailed along the sheaf of documents arrayed before him with pointed nonchalance before tapping the stage layout critique. "...latest set of notes."

You sucked in a sharp inhale at the lingering heat imparted by his deliberately provocative regard. Determined not to shrivel beneath the scorching weight of it, you willed your features into an expression of cool disregard rather than flustered capitulation.

Rapping your knuckles once against the tabletop in a measured rebuke, you refused to so much as blink as your rebuttal emerged in clipped precision: "While I appreciate your...passion for optimization, Kita-san, I won't have you hijacking productive council discussions just to indulge your own pet nitpicks over work that's already been comprehensively reviewed and approved."

The resulting silence bordered on obscene, both of your expressions chiseled into neutral masks even as the electricity between your unyielding stares threatened to buckle the foundations. Kita broke first - but only to dip his chin in a subtle nod, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards into what could almost be interpreted as smirk.

"Of course..." He practically purred the acquiescence, sending depravity licking along your nerve endings despite his tone remaining decidedly mild. Then that pale, vivisecting gaze darkened with banked promise as Kita maintained weighty emphasis.

"Though whether or not you ultimately implement my impassioned adjustments, it seems prudent I continue voicing any...intimate observations pertaining to your procedural proposals. For the sake of meticulous oversight, naturally."

Your nails dug into the soft leather of your chair's armrests beneath the table, thighs clenching against a delirious spiral of dark yearning at the naked intimacy he somehow managed to bleed into an otherwise innocuous statement.

"Naturally," you echoed in a strained rasp, silently willing your feet to remain anchored despite every instinct suddenly screaming to flee the magnetic pull of Kita's influence before it dragged you into uncharted depths below.

His slow, weighted blink of faux-innocence told you he'd registered your restraint fraying audibly in that one tremulous utterance. As the council reconvened around you, Kita remained locked in blatantly pointed contemplation as if determining where best to slip the razor's edge of his next precision strike.

The pointed sparring between you and Kita rapidly escalated beyond mere loaded words and heated stares into something far more overtly provocative. As if some vital tether had snapped, rendering you both powerless against the raging undercurrents of tension steadily cresting between you.

Take the afternoon you'd stopped by the gymnasium to confirm details for an upcoming pep rally, only to find the cavernous space already occupied. Kita and his teammates were in the midst of grueling reception drills, sweat-slicked bodies moving in rhythmic unison across the hardwood.

You faltered in the entrance, instantly transfixed despite your best attempts at nonchalance. There was something almost hypnotic about watching the flexing, rippling muscles shifting beneath strapped compression gear as the athletes launched themselves around the court. But it was Kita's lithe, almost feral form that catalyzed a delirious storm of heated prickles streaking through you in waves.

The captain barked out a crisp order, sending his underlings scattering into new formations as he prowled the sidelines with that patented intensity. You couldn't tear your rapt attention away from the mesmerizing, almost predatory grace of his movements as those lean muscles bunched and released beneath his sleeveless jersey.

Kita halted mid-prowl as another powerful spike collided squarely with his reception. Absorbing the force with seemingly effortless poise, he pivoted towards you at the last second - eyes immediately snagging your dumbstruck gaze from across the vaulted space in a heated collision.

The world seemed to condense down to that single point of smoldering contact as Kita remained frozen for a suspended beat, chest heaving with exertion. You could almost taste the heady tang of his sweat saturating the charged atmosphere, jumpstarting your senses into riotous overdrive despite the distance between you.

Then Kita's tongue swept out in one unhurried sweep to moisten his lower lip and you were utterly, viscerally transfixed. Every molecule abruptly attuned to the elegant stretch of corded tendons, the hypnotic sheen of perspiration gilding his form, the predatory arch of those slanted eyes boring into you until the entire tableau felt like a brand searing itself into your unreliable psyche.

You couldn't even force your gaze elsewhere, overwhelmed by the phantom imprint of Kita's hooded stare streaking over your body in one scorching, proprietary sweep. Until the low, measured cadences of his gruff voice sawed through the maelstrom spiraling your senses into overload.

"Something I can...assist you with, President?"

Ambient noise came crashing back in technicolor cataclysm as Kita's question seemed to reverberate through the very marrow of your bones. His teammates had frozen mid-drill, staring between the two of you with comically transparent bewilderment as the tensions went unacknowledged but dauntingly tangible.

Your tongue felt leaden, mouth as dry and viscous as cotton wadding despite your efforts to recover some fragment of composure beneath the weight of that blazing scrutiny. Kita prowled closer, unhurried and predatory - until you swore you could feel the scorching heat radiating off the bunched musculature left glistening and exposed by his jersey's open collar.

"My, my..." He practically purred in that resonant timbre edged with dark sin. "So captivated already, and I'm only just getting warmed up for you..."

This time when that hooded, canine stare tracked down the length of your body, Kita didn't even attempt to mask his unhurried debauch. You stood rooted to the varnished floorboards, a live-wire of sensation burrowing treacherously outward as moist lips curved in the faintest suggestion of a leer.

"Well then, President..." That molten timbre caressed the honorific like one would relish a profanity falling sinfully free. "Allow me to put on a proper display showcasing my...skills and talents. Just for your viewing pleasure, hmm?"

With that husked promise dangling between you like a garrotte tightening around your every scattered impulse to flee, Kita spun away to rejoin the practice. But not before searing you one last weighted look - one that brazenly insinuated the deliberate narrative awaiting further exploration between your dually-bared forms.

Just like that, you were instantly, irretrievably captivated. Despite the spectacle unfolding before you, behind your raptured stare the only thought taking screaming root now was:

What else could this elemental feral creature so blithely take from you if given the chance...and would you let him?

It became increasingly difficult to maintain any veneer of professionalism whenever you and Kita occupied the same space. What should have been productive meetings or cordial planning sessions rapidly devolved into charged battlefields of heated looks and weighted innuendo.

As if some tenuous tether had finally snapped, rendering you both powerless against the rising tide of heated tensions crackling in the air whenever your eyes met. No matter how benign the topic up for discussion, that delirious, molten attraction always threatened to overwhelm and swallow you whole without preamble.

That day you'd called an emergency student council session to address concerns over the cultural festival's opening ceremonies running too long. What began as a pragmatic conversation about trimming excessive performances rapidly derailed the instant Kita strode through the door with that peerless intensity radiating off him in waves.

"--which is why I recommend we cut at least three acts from the lineup to stay on schedule," you addressed the assembly without preamble, determined to project an air of unruffled authority.

Unfortunately, Kita chose that precise moment to settle into the seat directly across from you, slouching indolently as pale eyes slammed into yours with the visceral impact of a bullet train's collision. You faltered infinitesimally despite yourself, briefly rendered inert beneath the naked weight of his stare before rallying onward.

"Unless...there are any other suggestions to streamline things?" You arched one brow in the vaguest of challenges.

A protracted beat passed, electrically charged and vibrating. Then Kita allowed his tongue to sweep out and trace the plump contours of his lower lip before replying in that endlessly unraveling rasp.

"As a matter of fact...I do have a few impassioned 'suggestions' for maximizing efficiency and impact, President."

The husked emphasis he placed on your honorific this time went straight to your core, igniting fissures of heat that threatened to unravel your composure completely. Deliberately tamping down the delirious spiral of yearning, you responded in as bland a tone as you could muster.

"I'm listening, Kita-san. Though perhaps we could table the distracting commentary for now and stay on task?"

Rather than looking chastised, Kita's lips seemed to twitch upwards in the barest hint of smirk even as a muscle ticked along his carved jawline. Then he leaned casually back, slouching further in pointed rebuke as he allowed that penetrating stare to streak down your form with unhurried debauch.

"Why so eager to rush through the opening acts, I wonder?" He all but purred, midnight regard devouring your deepening flush with clear relish. "Shouldn't we savor such a deliciously long...build-up before reaching the climactic main events?"

All around the conference table, the other council members shifted uncomfortably at the naked innuendo dripping through Kita's mild timbre. You opened your mouth, fully intending to deliver some withering rejoinder about his inappropriate lack of professionalism.

But that's when Kita allowed one defined forearm to snake up and brace his broad palm at the nape of his neck in a deceptively casual stretch. The motion drew every eye helplessly down towards the ruddy hollows of his collarbones now visible beneath his askew shirt placket, the tendons shifting beneath gilded flesh like sentient sculpture.

Despite yourself, your pupils blew wide in a hapless gutterball of physiological arousal, drinking in every tantalizing glimpse of lean muscle and glistening skin on offer. Completely missing the knowing curve quirking Kita's mouth as your attention grew transfixed in that breathless vacuum of gravity.

When the husky vibrations of his next drawling inquiry sliced through the weighted quiet at last, you actually startled as if electrified. "...isn't that right, President?"

You blinked dazedly, realizing belatedly that you'd been so thoroughly enraptured by the sensual display of Kita's sprawl that the entire conversational thread was now lost to temporaryvapors. Heat crept up the column of your throat as you fumbled for some semblance of steadiness beneath the weight of all those judging stares.

"I—um, that is..." You rallied at last, squaring your shoulders in a valiant show of composure despite the molten fires still blazing outwards through your veins. "As I was saying, some events will simply need omitting from the lineup in the name of time constraints. That's the most efficient strategy here, if we want the full cultural experience scheduled."

Forcing your attention away from the mesmerizing sprawl of Kita's form, you stared down several of the more vocal dissenters until their murmurings hushed obediently to the proclaimed assessment. Only once the matter appeared settled did you risk flicking your eyes back to where your tormentor lounged in studied insouciance.

Kita's full lips were curved in a quietly indolent smile now, one that somehow both scorched and soothed the hyperaware nerve-endings screaming for attention all over your body. His unblinking stare remained locked in rapturous communion through each weighted inhale, weighty enough to resurrect lingering prickles.

The atmosphere was already crackling with unresolved tensions by the time you and Kita arrived at your latest battle of wits and wills. What started as a mundane review of upcoming school pride initiatives rapidly spun out into familiar territory - with Kita nitpicking your every proposal like a dog worrying a bone.

"This budget allocation is transparently overblown," he snapped without preamble, pale eyes flashing. "I refuse to allow such blatant financial waste just to satiate the committee's delusions of grandeur."

You recoiled slightly at the bluntness, teeth gritting together. "Those funds were already approved by administration based on last year's successful promotional spend--"

"Last year's figures mean nothing if they were hemorrhaging money to begin with!" Kita's deep timbre emerged scorched and gravelly. "We cannot justify that level of surplus, end of discussion."

The menacingly calm way he shut down your objection sparked fresh tendrils of heated frustration snaking outwards through your veins. Your pulse kicked up several furious notches as Kita's piercing stare remained locked and loaded, awaiting either silent capitulation or your next attempted counterstrike like a wolf scenting weakness.

Shoving away from the table with enough force to rattle its contents, you shot to your feet with fists clenched in wordless defiance. For a suspended beat, Kita simply watched you through narrowed lids, coiled tension rolling off his larger frame in waves.

Then he moved.

With a feline's predatory grace, Kita pushed out of his chair and stalked around the table's circumference towards where you stood rooted between mounting wrath and some darker, more visceral yearning. In your heightened state, the liquid prowl of each measured step seemed to fill the tiny room, sudden claustrophobia setting your heart thundering.

Kita halted less than a foot away, near enough for you to feel the heated displacement of air around his solid frame like invisible wings. To scent the cedar-and-bergamot bouquet of his subtle cologne seeping into your scattered awareness until every shallow inhale felt drugged and rapturous. His eyes never left yours - twin laser sights of smoldering challenge.

"You'd do well to remember who holds jurisdiction over fiscal matters relating to our operations," he intoned at last, the words dropping like lead weights into the bristling quiet between you. "Arrogance like yours never fails to meet...humbling correction eventually."

Some unraveled tether finally snapped deep inside at Kita's ominous inflection. You surged upwards onto the balls of your feet until you were almost nose-to-nose, hands bunching in the placket of his shirt to yank his face closer in irresistible conflagration.

Kita went utterly statue-still for a suspended heartbeat, surprise rippling across those austere features before darkening into something more viscerally intent. You opened your mouth to deliver some scathing invective you couldn't even properly envision at the moment--

But the abrupt forward cant of Kita's hips robbed you of air and thought alike. Broad palms settled on your biceps with scorching possession, fingers digging in as he backed you up against the wall's solid plane without warning. Only inches separated you, carnal heat and musky cedar-spice atmospheres merging into delirium that catalyzed your lungs into overdrive.

Between one breath and the next, your bodies aligned in an inescapable vise of muscle and silk and banked wildfire. One of Kita's thighs settled between yours in brazen, unhurried possession, forcing your knees wider in shameless entreaty as his torso effectively pinned you from breastbone to navel. The slightest rock of his hips allowed the undeniable brand of his cock to nestle against your innermost apex in a slow, suggestive grind that whited out your higher reasoning entirely.

"Nnhh..."

The broken, needy noise slipped out before you could stop it. You flushed scalding, shame and yearning burgeoning in equal measure until you could no longer meet the smoldering tumult of Kita's regard from such excruciatingly intimate proximity. His exhalations feathered across your cheek in humid, dizzying waves.

Then suddenly Kita surged forward, mouth a scorching brand searing against your own in a devouring, open-mouthed crush of sin and scorching conquest. His iron grip around your biceps eliminated any notion of retreat or capitulation as he systematically began mapping the velvet cosms of your mouth with broad, indolent sweeps of his tongue.

Your hitching whimper was swallowed whole as you arched into the ruthlessness of his possession, hips grinding in helpless entreaty against his thigh's insistent cradle. Heat radiated off Kita's frame in searing thermals, cradling you deeper into his suffocating orbit until everything outside ceased coherent existence.

Just when the roaring in your ears threatened to peak into full-bodied oblivion, something tore with a decisive snap, accompanied by the clatter of ricocheting buttons. Suddenly cool air rushed in where heated flesh had fused mere moments before, allowing your eyes to slam wide in panicked realization--

Kita had practically torn the blouse from your torso, pinning you with arms wrenched overhead and chest heaving in undisguised debauch.

The sudden tearing sound seemed to detonate the last vestige of higher reasoning between you in that endless suspended moment. One second you were pinned beneath the scorching brand of Kita's mouth claiming yours in molten possession, the next cool air rushed in as buttons scattered across the room's tiles with percussive finality.

You shuddered violently as Kita wrenched himself back just far enough to fully drink in the sight of you disheveled and flushed, chest heaving above the lacy bra you wore. His stare streaked down the newly bared expanses of skin in one unhurried, carnal sweep - pupils blown wide enough to drown entire constellations.

Rather than feeling shamed or flustered beneath that devouring scrutiny, you arched shamelessly into his appraisal. Every nerve ending screamed for more of the searing friction from Kita's rigid frame as he pinned you against the wall with his unyielding weight, solid ridge nestled indelicately against your core.

The rasping groan he released then seemed to reverberate straight through your bones, a vibration echoing from some ancient, elemental depth. Kita's palms mapped up the trembling terrain of your flanks in searing brands, fingertips trailing delirious contrails until he cradled the soft weight of you entirely in his calloused grasp.

"So unbelievably eager..." His growl emerged gravel-rough and undone in a way that sent molten shudders ricocheting through you. "Utterly shameless in your hunger, aren't you?"

You managed the barest slivers of a nod, mouth falling open in soundless entreaty as Kita's thumbs ghosted beneath the exposed swells caught in his possessive cups. His tongue dragged out in one slow sweep to moisten those pillowed lips, gaze locked on your own in a silent clash of wills.

Then his hips rolled in one heated, languorous grind that had your eyes nearly rolling back in pure rapture. The sinuous flex of Kita's torso pinned you utterly immobile as he sealed your mouths together again in delirious communion - all searing velvet and scorching possession and liquid sin etching itself into each of your marrow.

Coherent thought fled entirely as his uniquely masculine musk surrounded you in heady, drugging waves. Every shallow inhalation drew Kita's smoldering essence deeper into your psyche until not even memories beyond this cathedral of satiated need remained recognizable.

You keened softly into the merciless sweep of his tongue mapping every velvet alcove in reverent exploration. Savored the delicious sting of teeth grazing oversensitized skin as he plundered down the elegant column of your throat with possessive fervor. Writhed and arched into each arrhythmic roll of his hips grinding yours back into the solidity of the wall over and over again--

Until the world itself seemed to bleed away into ashen vapor, leaving only the exquisite crucible of your tangled forms bound in an endless rapturous spiral of searing caresses and shattering gasps and carnal desperation spiraling ever inwards towards that infinite event horizon of oblivion.

Kita's husky drawl seemed to echo somewhere in the vicinity of the crown of your skull, distant and dreamlike and yet so impossibly present. A languid stroke along the underside of one breast, the teasing graze of canines across a straining tendon, a sinfully hot mouth trailing liquid fire between your trembling thighs.

"Such a mess you've made already, President..." His dark murmur reverberated through your entire being in a wave of liquid heat. "Such a needy little slut, aren't you? I can taste how desperate you are for me..."

Then the molten, velvet contours of his tongue plunged between the soaked folds of your pussy, stroking along the sensitive nerve-clusters in a single, unhurried sweep that had you convulsing against his restraining grasp. Your vision whited out at the seams as the heady, decadent taste of him flooded your senses.

A broken sob tore free as he licked into you again, then again, laving every last inch of your dripping slit with unhurried reverence. That sinful tongue delved impossibly deeper each time, spearing into your aching core until every muscle in your body quivered and clenched.

Kita hummed his satisfaction against the tender flesh, a vibrato that ricocheted through your synapses and ignited the frayed ends of your control in an instant. Then the suction started, lips and teeth and tongue devouring you in relentless, wet suction until the world was spinning and imploding and melting into nothing but pure sensation.

You keened wordlessly, thighs trembling and hips bucking wildly against his iron grip as Kita's dexterous fingers began pistoning inside you in tandem. The added stretch and friction of three calloused digits stroking along your most intimate walls had the pleasure spiking higher, higher, impossibly higher still.

"Fuck, so perfect..." He breathed reverently, the words feathering against your throbbing clit as Kita nosed against it with the most exquisite pressure. "Cum for me, right fucking now."

The orgasm ripped through you without warning.

Searing, shattering ecstasy erupted along your spine and outwards in a blinding wave that drowned every last coherent thought in its path. You cried out hoarsely, thrashing against Kita's grip in a frenzy as he worked you through each convulsive spasm.

Then his lips were sealing over your clit once more, tongue swirling and suckling and coaxing every last ounce of your climax into overflowing, molten bliss until the edges of reality frayed and unraveled entirely.

When the world gradually resolved back into some semblance of clarity, it was to the sensation of Kita's hard length grinding insistently between the slick seam of your thighs. The blunt, velvet-wrapped tip nudged against your swollen entrance in teasing promise, sending fresh ripples of sensation careening through your already overstimulated form.

You moaned wantonly, grinding against him in delirious entreaty - desperate for Kita to bury his cock inside you and fuck you until the universe itself shattered apart into glittering stardust. He hissed at the contact, hands gripping your hips with bruising force as the crown teased just barely inside, spreading your lips obscenely.

Then he slammed home, sheathing himself completely inside your clenching, aching walls with a single brutal thrust that had you both groaning aloud. Kita's mouth captured yours in a bruising kiss, the combined flavors of your climax and his intoxicating musk flooding your tongue and drowning you in pure rapture.

Every powerful stroke into your quivering pussy seemed to strike straight against the molten center of you, each thrust bottoming out and stretching you impossibly wide. It was the most exquisite, carnal torture - having your writhing form pinned and helpless while Kita's relentless assault pounded you into the wall.

You moaned, the sounds muffled against his hungry mouth, every nerve-ending igniting as his cock pistoned deeper and harder and faster. It was too much, not enough, more than you could possibly contain and yet you wanted it all - wanted him to split you apart on the thick, pulsating length spearing you open.

"Fuck, if I’d known what a cockslut you'd be for me..." Kita growled against your throat, the words muffled as his lips trailed up and down the exposed flesh in heated caress. "How sweetly you'd spread those gorgeous thighs and take everything I give you..."

One of his broad palms splayed across the front of your lower stomach, pushing against the swollen, stretched bulge of his cock pounding deep within you. You cried out at the added pressure, thrashing uncontrollably as another orgasm crested closer, closer, just beyond the reach of his iron grasp.

"Such a perfect, tight little cunt...squeezing my cock like you can't get enough..." His ragged timbre resonated through you in a sonic vibration, teeth sinking into the juncture of your throat and shoulder. "You fucking love this, don't you? Getting fucked hard and rough, like the slut you are..."

Your nails dug into his shoulders, scrabbling for purchase against the sweat-slicked, shifting planes of his musculature as you fought to meet each powerful stroke. Each brutal snap of Kita's hips threatened to unravel the foundations of the very universe, obliterating everything beyond the scorching friction between your bodies and the delirious, molten heat mounting in your core.

He panted raggedly against the delicate shell of your ear, the hot exhalations fanning across your temple and cheeks. Then his rhythm faltered, hips jerking wildly, a guttural curse spilling from Kita's parted lips as he drove impossibly deeper.

The world erupted in pure, molten euphoria.

A raw, feral cry wrenched free from somewhere deep inside you. Your back arched, the heels of your shoes digging into the firm curve of his ass as your entire form strained into his final, ruthless strokes.

"That's it, fuck..." He growled, hips stuttering as he ground impossibly deeper, a hot torrent of cum spilling into the clenching clutch of your cunt. "I can feel you milking me so fucking tight...taking every last drop like the good little slut you are..."

His words echoed distantly in your ears, the syllables blurring and blending together until they were nothing but a melodious refrain of filthy praise. Kita's cock continued to pulse deep inside, filling you impossibly full and igniting a whole new series of electrically charged sparks skittering across your raw nerve endings.

By the time the roaring in your ears abated, it was to the sensation of his mouth trailing along the delicate curve of your jawline in featherlight caress. Kita's broad palms smoothed down the length of your thighs, easing the strained muscles until they quivered anew.

All of a sudden, he was slamming you down onto the table's surface, the edge colliding with the back of your thighs and forcing you to brace your palms flat against the varnished wood. Kita loomed above, a predatory gleam flashing in his darkening irises as he leaned in to capture your lips in another searing, open-mouthed kiss.

"We're far from finished here, President..." That resonant purr echoed down to your very bones, sending fresh prickles erupting across your sensitized flesh. "Now that I've got you properly broken in , it's time we explore the rest of those delicious, depraved fantasies dancing behind those pretty eyes."

Then he was spreading your thighs wider, angling his hips to surge deep into the drenched, aching folds of your cunt once more.

[ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm]

Draco does adulting

A phone number is slowly punched in. (beat) Paper being crumpled. The sound of a call button.

Dial tone. (beat) The call disconnects.

----------

Dial tone.

"Hel-"

"You've reached the Office of Records at the Ministry of Magic, this is Harry Potter speaking. Ho-"

The call disconnects.

----------

Dial tone.

"You've reached the Office of Records at the Ministry of Magic, this is Harry Potter speaking. How can we help you today?"

"Hello, this is- (slightly louder) I'm calling because-

A doorbell sounds.

"Shit."

The call disconnects.

--------

Dial tone.

"You've reached the Office of Records at the Ministry of Magic, this is Lavender Brown speaking. How can we help you today?"

"Oh. Um."

"Hello? Can you hear me?" (beat)

"Hi, I need to- so, I have a problem with my birth records? (hesitates) I recently discovered that I wasn't born-

"Undead and ghost registration goes through the Office of Otherworldly Occurrences, extension 567-"

"No, I, I'm a person, (quieter) at least I think I am, that's not the problem. Just, my mother never told me that-"

"The Ministry's Office for Misinformed and Misguided Youth is extension 22, sir-

"No, no, it's - I think I legally don't exist? Like I-"

"Oh dear, you think you don't exist? The St. Mungos Ministry clinic is exten-"

"No, please stop interrupting me, you're not-"

"Sir, I'm just doing my job here, you're the one that's-"

The call disconnects.

--------

Dial tone.

"You've reached the Office of Records at the Ministry of Magic, this is Harry Potter speaking. How can we help you today?" (beat)

Breathing. The sound of paper rustling.

"Hello?"

"Hi, my name is Draco Malfoy and I'm calling about late registration? I recently discovered that I was born in the kitc- that my mother had a home birth and that I wasn't ever registered at the Ministry? And now I need to sign a lease and they won't let me sign it without a passport and so I tried to get a passport and (speech quickens and gets clumsier) but they told me I needed to bring my birth certificate but the Mano-the home where all my things were was repossessed (tightening) and so I tried to get a new one but the clerk at the Ministry told me there was no one registered under my name in this century, but then I have all these court documents from my trial and I don't understand how I have all these documents but not a birth certificate and now I'm worried that I'm not even a citizen and my parents aren't- (audible swallow) they never told me about any of this stuff and there's nothing online and all my friends have normal documents and it's very much a fighting windmills kind of thing and I'm-

"Hey, hey, Mal- Draco. Draco. Slow down. Breathe."

"Uh-"

"Can you sit down for me?"

"I-(a small, aborted gasp) Sure, okay, I'll..."

Furniture moving across a wooden floor. The sound of fabric on fabric.

"Phone calls are really scary, huh?"

"I...Yeah, it's...it's easier with Muggle stuff, everything's...written down, sort of..."

"Right? And they have those little automated...chat, thingies! I love those, have no idea how they work but I feel like we shouldn't question it, y'know?"

"Hah...they're...right, it's...algorithms and machine learning...it's... they kind of work like owls..."

"Owls? Like the bird?"

"Yeah, magical owls, they have special memory banks that mimic the way that computers...um..." (beat)

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"I promise we can fix your paperwork thing. You're not the first wixen person to not have that happen, if you can believe it, it's not even the most elaborate problem you could have!"

"Really?"

"Really! If I had a Sickle for every time someone came in because a toad swallowed their birth certificate, I'd- well, I'd have two Sickles, but it's weird that it's happened twice, right?"

Soft laughter.

"Hey, Draco?" (beat)

"Yeah?"

"You should come by the Ministry today, around lunch? There's never anyone at the office around then, I can help you sort this out."

"Are you- That would be- Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course. No nobler pursuit than protecting fair maidens from the jowls of bureaucracy!"

"Fair-I'm- Potter." "Harry."

"Po- ugh."

"Draco?"

"Harry?"

"Draco."

"Harry."

"Draco!"

"Harold."

"What- that's not my- (laughing) ugh, shut up! I'll see you at 12."

(beat)

(beat)

The call disconnects.

[jewishvitya]

A lot of things I hear and have a resistance to, I find hard to untangle and figure out. Is this Israeli propaganda I haven't unpacked yet, or is it that these people are applying a lens that doesn't fit the situation?

For example, the idea that Israeli music is appropriated when it sounds Middle Eastern, is it correct or is it because 60% of Israeli Jews are Mizrahi, coming from Arab countries, have a long history of making music like this? What did we appropriate and what did we bring with us? I don't know how to look into that, I don't understand music enough. Same with food, what's appropriated and what did people just bring with them? A lot of us never left the Middle East. So I don't know. I have no idea how to check which is which. I can point to the erasure of Palestinian culture as lending itself to appropriation, because it's real and it's insidious, but the rest I personally don't know how to pick apart.

But there's also something I hear more and more about how Israelis changed our names into Hebrew names to sound more indigenous. On one side of my family, the original name was Levi because of the tribe of Levi. It was changed to hide that we're Jewish and avoid violence in diaspora. Are people changing names because they finally feel free to have visibly Jewish names, or is it some attempt to obscure a history in diaspora? This isn't music, this is something I can look at a bit more easily.

I'm sure for many of us the freedom to go back to our roots is valuable. It's true that a lot of us had Hebrew names we used among ourselves, and "localized" names (not sure what else to call it) we used in official documentation etc. I'm named after my great great grandmother's Hebrew name that she had while living in France, and she never moved to Israel. I'm sure she would have loved the safety of using her name officially. So, of course, many people jumped on this opportunity. You give them the ability to register with a new name, and they use the name they had in the safety of their own community.

A Jewish person changing their name to Hebrew is often shedding a false identity they were forced to adopt.

But at the same time.

When Jewish refugees were brought here in early immigration waves, their names were changed often not by their choice. Leadership had a whole thing about imposing Hebrew names on people. I remember a story from history class, I don't remember which aliyah it was about, but we were told about people standing there and someone being like "All of you - your name is this. And this bunch - your name is that." There was a joke stereotype about Ethiopian Israelis having names that start with the letter alef because that's the first letter of the alphabet and their names were picked from an alphabetized list.

When my family members came to Israel, they kept their non-Hebrew surname, but they were given a list of Hebrew names to choose from. I think this was recently enough the they would have been able to say no to it, though. So they took their Hebrew names willingly.

I don't know if it's accurate to say the intention was to sound more indigenous. Because, at the time that this was mostly happening, the zionist movement was proudly colonialist. They separated between us and the Palestinians, placing the Palestinians as the indigenous population, as a way of placing us above them.

I think it was an attempt to homogenize Israeli society. To make it into something cohesive. Part of the melting pot. Another thing that was happening at the same time was all kinds of abuses to try to strip Jewish immigrants and refugees from their cultural and religious practices. Zionism had a very complicated and toxic relationship with Judaism, especially in those days. It had a goal of founding a state with Western enlightenment values, but for Jewish people. It relied on Judaism as an ethnicity for the definition of an in-group, and hated Judaism as a religion.

But about the names. I don't think it's to fake indigeniety. I think in some cases it's a genuine return to our own language now that we're comfortable, and in other cases, forced assimilation.

[scythesms]

When Paul took on the role of Edmund's assistant, he assumed a significant position as second-in-command of Owens Banking operations. He shouldered the responsibilities of overseeing administrative tasks, bookkeeping, data entry, cash handling, and various accompanying matters for four years. Additionally, the Ambroise Community Railroad was intricately linked to Owens Banking, relying on its loans and financial support for expansions and equipment purchases. Paul's involvement with the railroad was once limited to these financial aspects before he gradually found himself contributing ideas and insights to better Ambroise Community Railroad.

As they surrounded the work table in the parlor, hours later than usual with papers scattered across the table and the sound of childish laughter, Paul informed Edmund of the constant uproar of ticket sales at the stations. The hum of pleasure in his voice while discussing the railway’s reputation was palpable. Over all else, Paul adored his hometown. Playing a role in driving Windenburg’s population and economic growth through connecting communities and promoting trade had a positive effect on him.

The least Edmund could do was listen.

Edmund was lost in his thoughts, as usual, when he finally registered Paul's voice calling his name for the third time, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Edmund.” 

He turned to Paul, who skeptically stared down at him. “Where’s your head at? We need to wrap this up. ‘ventually, you’ll have to compensate me for all this time we’re wasting.” Edmund closed his eyes briefly and let out a sigh of frustration. Paul's gaze remained fixed on the quiet man. “This have anything to do with that woman from the other day?”

“What woman, Paul?” Edmund asked, exasperated and exhausted. His hand moved to massage his temple.

“You know damn well who I’m-”

“I’m okay,” Edmund interjected, his tone a blend of plea and defense, as if begging Paul to let the matter go. “I got sidetracked by one of my many concerns – none of which have anything to do with her."

Paul's eyes rolled before he redirected his attention back to the documents on the table. Meanwhile, Edmund's focus shifted to the giggling children occupying the same room as them. He watched them until they ran out to continue their antics elsewhere in the manor, prompting him to refocus on the ever-persistent Paul and the mountain of paperwork demanding his notice.

Moments passed without Edmund's distraction or the sounds of the children disrupting the scene. It was then that Paul decided to inject a touch of his own humor into the atmosphere.

“It’s interesting,” he mused aloud. “She wasn't wearing a ring.”

Edmund chose to ignore him.

Paul pressed on. “I’m just sayin’. Every couple within sight seems to be purchasing rings these days – a craze. I’m sure it’ll pass. Still, a bit unusual, isn't it? Not the rings, but- well, you understand. In any case, I suppose that works in your favor - you fighting to keep her out your head and all.”

Edmund eyed the man with a look that conveyed not just irritation, but a glare that spoke volumes.

Paul released a dismissive huff. “Said I’m too quiet. Now I talk too much. Can’t have it all...”

previous ➺ next

[cozyenigma]

Twist of Fate

Word Count- 1319

Request?- Nope!

Summary- An alternate retelling around a certain party, minus one guest

Tag List- @cookielover0001010, @swag-droid , @watchoutforfrostbite

Warnings- None

At the end of the day what saved Damien's life wasn't some miracle or heroic intervention.

It was a child sneezing in his face at a party. The counselman, damned if Damien could remember his name now, just laughed and said something about kids being kids. Ever professional Damien waved it off, managing to joke right back while going for a handkerchief.

And then he woke up with a sore throat two days later.

Of course it didn't stay at just that. Voice rough as sandpaper, Damien had to phone his secretary that he wouldn't be in. If how he felt right now was anything to go by he'd be out for a few days at least. It wasn't in his nature to sit still. Not since he was a child. Especially not since he injured his leg. The time immediately after the accident was one of the worst periods in his life not only for the pain and the limitations he suddenly found on himself but for the immobility. Waiting for his body to repair itself was as painful as the torn muscles and ligaments.

Damien signed, pinching the bridge of his nose. While his colleagues convinced him to stay out of the office he could at least make some headway with these forms. Or try anyways. The constant pounding behind his eyes seemed to have other ideas.

There was a light knock on the door. "Come in," he called, voice catching against his irritated throat and sending him into a coughing fit. It was only when he recovered that he saw who it actually was.

"My friend what're you doing here?" He asked, more of a croak than anything.

The district attorney huffed. It was a fond, exasperated noise as they crossed the room. "I was told you had one foot in the grave, Dames. With that cough I don't think they were exaggerating."

Damien waved a hand, setting aside the paper he was trying and failing to parse. "You know better than to listen to their dramatics. I'm fine, just a head cold. These things-"

Damien's voice abruptly choked off in his throat as he turned, seeing the attorney's hand reach out. The back of their hand against his forehead was blissfully cool. The motion hadn't even registered until they were touching him.

"...happen," he finished lamely.

They clicked their tongue, obviously not satisfied with that answer. "You're warm. Probably been feverish all morning and ignoring your body in favor of..." Their eyes drift over the documents in front of him, "meeting minutes."

Over the years he knew well enough he was on the wrong side of this debate.

Still, he cleared his rough throat and tried to defend himself. "It's just so I can be kept up to date."

"It's because you don't know how to sit still."

They ignore Damien's squawk of protest as they snatch his papers away. "You get these back when you don't look like you'll get toppled by a stiff breeze," they wave the bundle as if to extenuate. Damien scowled. "You really don't need the patronizing."

They rolled up the meeting minutes and bopped him on the head like one would a disobedient dog. He batted their hand away as they settled down in a chair opposite his desk. The amusement in their eyes dulled some of his annoyance. Slightly.

"Really, Dames, you gotta take better care of yourself. You look absolutely miserable. If I left right now you'd be asleep at your desk within the hour."

He huffs, fiddling with other bits and bobs on his desk, putting them into place so he'd have something to do with his hands. Normally he had enough discipline to mask the habit but he chalked that up to the illness. "I'm not going to drop dead from a cold, you know. I'm a grown man. I can handle myself."

Something in their gaze softened. "I never said you couldn't. Just that there are people who would prefer to keep you around a little longer? It's alright to take a break and heal every now and then, Dames."

"I- I know that," he fidgets in his seat. Later he'd blame the fever for how much their words flustered him. They shake their head, knowing this was a well worn pattern for him at this point. Instead, they change the subject. "I'm assuming you'll be tapping out on Mark's big party then?"

"That was this weekend wasn't it," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Though that was still a couple days away, he certainly didn't feel up to that kind of get together right now. "I haven't called yet. I had hoped I'd be over this by now."

"He'll mourn your absence with his usual drama. Not to mention sharing your portion of the alcohol." They leaned back in the chair. "I'm sure he'll just use it as an excuse to throw another one later."

"He hasn't had us all in the same room for years," Damien sighed. "Honestly? I was surprised he even planned this- considering. I had wanted to check in on everyone at least."

Hell, he hadn't heard from his sister in some time either. Though that wasn't entirely out of character for her, Damien couldn't help the concern. The tabloids had, unfortunately, left little to the imagination. Whenever Damien reached out he was met with silence.

"I just hope Will doesn't bring any guns," they frowned at the thought. "It'll be awkward enough before mixing in booze and firearms."

"They're not going to shoot each other. Give them some more credit."

The district attorney held up their hands. "I'm just saying they're both hotheads at times. I'll be sure to give you an update on the property damage afterwards."

Seeing his disappointment, they moved their chair closer. Reaching out to clasp his hand, they gave him a reassuring smile. "It won't be the last time we're all together, Dames. I promise. I bet I could get Mark to monologue you a toast too."

A laugh bubbled up out of him and it was all he could do to avoid coughing in their face. His eyes darted to their joined hands and then away again. "I'm sure. Just- be careful? We're not in our college days anymore, old friend."

A gentle squeeze and then the contact was gone. Settled back in their chair like nothing happened.

"I'm always careful," the rueful smile said otherwise. "I'll be back with stories and a hangover and hopefully you'll be able to keep your lungs on the inside by then."

With a roll of his eyes the conversation turned to work related matters. Cases on their desk and how Damien was handling the planning for re-election. In hindsight he'd wished desperately that they had talked about something of more substance. Something more meaningful than debates and fundraising.

But they didn't.

Since they didn't, he bade them a gravely farewell and only coughed once through it. They smiled, said they would bring him soup when they came by next time. The district attorney didn't say anything as they stood to leave. He didn't say anything as he watched them go.

He wishes he did when he didn't hear from them later. He wishes he did when he's pulled into an interview with police officers after the fact. He wishes he did when he first saw the newspapers and tabloids about the scandal, the party, the murders. Damien desperately wishes he could go back and tell them not to go as he views the mansion from the road. Seemingly abandoned if not for the police tape and cordon surrounding the property. Too many uniforms coming and going. Too many questions unanswered.

Everyone was gone. If not for a child sneezing on him he would have been gone along with them. He was the last one left. Damien didn't know which was fate was worse.

[recentadultburnout]

Info for writer in Thai series fandom : How Thai names work

This is the same as in Ao3. After AO3 was down for awhile, I think it's a good idea to put things on more than one platform. I would still suggest you check the AO3 version first, tho. I edit things a lot, so you get the newest version.

This is going to be the very basis of how Thai names work. And I must say that this is what I know from what I experience in my day-to-day life and not some linguistics lesson.

First, all your favorite characters were likely called by their nick names, not their legal names.

Secondly, their nick names were likely to have had nothing in common with their legal names.

So if you want accuracy, don't use that nickname on a legal document like a citizenship ID or something that they would have to formally register their name at, like a school, workplace, or hospital. 

I'm aware that throughout the show you might not ever hear anyone say their legal names, so you don't have anything to use. In that case, I would like to suggest you guys make the situation a bit more natural to use nicknames. If you want the teacher to call them, then make the teacher know them already and not read their names on roll call or make the doctor ask how they want to be called instead of reading it from the record.

But if you want to use their nickname like it's a legal name, it's not a big deal either! After all, writing fanfic is a hobby, and nobody should stress over a hobby.

Next, let me tell you how we Thai say each other's name.

Most Thais have a first name, a last name, and a nickname, and as we know, the nickname is what is used the most in the show, and yes, that is what happens in real life too. So you guys have tons of examples of how to use nicknames already. Let's skip that.

In Thai, we say first name and then last name when referring to someone's full name. We usually say our full name just once (if situation require) when introducing ourselves and usually with a nickname to accompany it if we want to be friendly and ok to let those we talk with use our nickname, but if it was a formal setting, then it would be "khun+first name" pattern people use to call each other. I think khun might be equal to mr. or miss, so you could just use "mr. first name"

What about when you want to use their full name in a teasing way? Or a mom yells their kid full name angrily?

Then it would be first name and last name without a nickname. I notice that sometimes people tend to write it like a nickname, first name, and last name when characters say a full name, which is fine, but it's not actually how it is normally said in a conversation, you know?

To make it easier to remember, just don't mix nicknames and full names, and if you use a nickname to call one character when describing a scene, then it's probably a good idea to use a nickname for all of the others too.

At least in day-to-day conversation. People wouldn't say their friend's name as nickname + last name and only say nickname + first name combination if the nicknames of the people they were referring to were the same as someone else they knew. But if they talked about celebrities, then nickname + first name would get used a lot, similar to using a singer's stage name or nickname + their band's name or company's name to refer to them.

In kindergarten, things are usually marked with a nickname, and when we grow up, they will be marked with a legal name and surname and/or class number, student ID.

index

[aro-throughyourchest]

inspired by this art by @skretri

PAPERWORK // A tntduo swap fic

WORDS: 1530 / No Warnings

TNTduo but less heavy on the, "I wanna kill you"

A small pounding on the door grabbed Wilbur's attention. He registered the kind of knocking, the pattern, and all kinds of dread began to fill him. 'Please no. I ask of one thing, not let it be him, please please please'

Just like God to not answer his prayers, an undead duck burst into Wilbur's office to make his life hell. "Wilbur, you slimy fuck, why didn't you show up yesterday? I had such a fun get together for us planned!"

Wilbur scowled, removing his eyes from his desk work. "Well, Mr. Quackity, you seem to misunderstand the concept of responsibility, something I can't just write off." He gestured to the mountain of paperwork on his desk. "Also, I never agreed."

Quackity leveled him as he was in fact, talking bullshit, and he would not deny that. Not about the paperwork, which was very much real, but the idea that he did not flake on him last night. Because he did. Tommy even pointed it out when he found him sitting in his office. But he wouldn't just admit that. God no. So to prove himself, or at least, the very real work, Wilbur began rifling through the papers and reading aloud.

"Alright, let's see.. The fountain in the east wing of L'Manberg is due for unveiling with my name required in pen-"

Before he could finish, Quackity snatched the felt-tip from Wilbur's desk, along with the document and scribbled down Wilbur Soot in perfect cursive. Wilbur's eyes widened.

"What-"

“That it?”

He snatched it back, straightening his glasses to read, and he flushed a confounded red.

"When'd you learn to copy my signature?!"

"Doesn't matter." Quackity pointed down at the line. "You should really invest in a stamp or something if this is all you do all day."

Wilbur frowned, still concerned of all the crimes in his name and other what have you, but that was an actual fantastic idea. (It was times like this he couldn't stand Quackity.) He grumbled and leaned towards the intercom to his secretary. "Willow, could you please put down 'stamps' in my-"

The duck's eyes lit up, and he exploded into laughter, and if they had it, Wilbur would be one step away from calling security. "See? See? I have good ideas!"

"Fuck off, Quackity."

He leaned against the desk, Wilbur instinctively pushing away, and smiled. "Ah, can't get rid of me that easily, Soot."

Wilbur rolled his eyes. "God," he spat, "I wish I could sometimes."

He laughed, duck teeth on full display. "Oh yeah?"

Wilbur bit back any more foul words, instead electing to grab a paper off the pile and ignore the duck shooting him a self-righteous gaze hidden behind perfectly-framed magenta glasses.

He picked up his pen, trying to read the small print (that was definitely small and nothing else in the room that was making it difficult to read.) Both of these were snatched out of his hands as Quackity started scribbling down answers and all Wilbur could do was watch.

"Quackity, that's not just my signature-"

"Oh, I know."

Within record time, the paper was handed back to Wilbur, and he quickly scanned over it. He realized in both dawning horror and fascination that Quackity had not only his name but his entire form of handwriting down. He looked up, the man's smug smile on full display.

"That was for the new apartment complex right?" Quackity asked.

"Uh- Yes," Wilbur swallowed, reading over the paper just one more time. Everything was perfectly in order, exactly how he would've done it.

"Yes actually..."

His mouth went dry. Quackity was in fact, very good at this. All the shafting he had done of Las Nevadas while it still stood seemed to be extremely unjustified. Before he could reach a conclusion that would've given Quackity the second ego trip of a lifetime, Tommy, his second in command, rolled in a cart's worth of assorted binders and folders. And for once in his life, Wilbur was both grateful and anguished at the idea of more paperwork. For all the wrong reasons.

"Alright," he said, huffing and puffing as though they didn't have an elevator that cut down half the travel, "The blue folders are specifically supposed to be filed and accounted for by end of the month while the red-"

He stopped, seemingly registering Quackity in the room, and a Wilbur in despair.

" 'Ello, Big Q."

Quackity smiled. "Afternoon, Tommy."

Tommy looked between them, as if trying to get a grasp on the situation. What were little brothers for?

In an instant, his face went from mild curiousity to horror as he ran out the room, and Wilbur remembered, 'Oh right, literally everything but help.'

"Tommy, get back here!!"

Quackity made eye contact with Wilbur, a clear question in his head, and Wilbur mouthed for him to ignore it.

A very suspicious Tommy poked back in, looking between the two, and Wilbur answered for him, bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. "Quackity was just helping me with paperwork."

And god, he wished he wasn't.

"Oh." He scanned the two of them. "Really? That's all?"

Wilbur and Quackity both nodded.

"Oh, oh good!" Tommy motioned to the cart again. "Because these are a two person job."

Wilbur frowned. "I thought you were my second person?"

"Yeah, but with Q here, I don't have to be!"

Goddamnit.

With no reason to stay, a very happy Tommy dropped off the last of the files, remarking, “The red folders are due by next week but you should really get them done tonight and if you need anything call Juno- the binders should all be proofread,” before wheeling out the cart and waving goodbye to the both of them.

Wilbur's counterpart grabbed a pen, his again, only pen, and smiled. “Let’s get to work!”

Wilbur groaned and picked up the first copy.

And so, because there was no reasonable way to say, “Actually, I want to do all this paperwork by myself tonight, mhm, you can leave now,” the two were sat next to each other, Quackity rambling on and on about the work he used to do in Las Nevadas and Wilbur very subtly trying to scoot to the edge of the desk.

“You can stop avoiding me like I have the goddamn plague,” the duck said without looking up, and Wilbur finally noticed just the amount of unconscious space he put between them. “Seriously, just because I'm dead doesn't mean I'm diseased.”

He colored. “My apologies.”

Quackity shrugged, and Wilbur attempted to very carefully find a spot that wasn’t too close nor too far from him. Quackity took one look at him, said, “Fuck that,” and dragged him into spot himself. He shot Wilbur a look.

"Right, right, haha, could you hand me—"

He glanced at his now work partner and laughed, nervous giddy all but bubbling in his stomach. “I’ll just get it myself..”

He reached across the table and tried to grab a red folder labelled, “Manchester Square,” but crashed out of his seat.

“Jesus, Soot, even baby ducks aren’t this helpless.”

Wilbur glared.

Quackity held out his hand and as he took it, he realized how coarse revival could make a person.

Now realizing that, he blinked. “This isn’t going to pop off if I pull too hard right?”

“If it does, it’ll be news to the both of us.”

Quackity lugged Wilbur up, the momentum nearly knocking both of them over.

“Christ,” he said, “You are so fucking tall.”

“Fuck you,” Wilbur spat. Quackity shoved him back into his chair before placing the red folder in his hands. Falling back into silence and the monotony of work, Wilbur’s mind began to wander.

“So..” He began flipping through the papers and clicking his pen. “How’s being ‘revived’ going for you?”

“What?”

Wilbur blinked, suddenly aware of what he asked and how it looked. “I’m— I apologize if that was too blunt—“

“No, no, you’re fine..”

Quackity leaned back in his chair while fiddling with the pen in his hand. “It’s..”

He let out a long, drawn sigh and brushed hair between his fingers.

"It's better than being dead."

“That doesn’t sound very positive, Big Q.”

Quackity chortled.

“No, I guess it doesn’t.”

Despite his relaxed posture and expression, there hid a flurry of emotions hiding behind his eyes Wilbur couldn't place; a storm brewing made of maelstrom winds and thunder as loud as lions on top of what used been a calm ocean. What was being dead like?

They made eye contact, and Wilbur quickly dove himself back into his work. Quackity laughed. "That paper on employee tax more interesting than me?"

Caught off guard, Wilbur cleared his throat and fidgeted with the papers nervously in his hand.

"No, it's- Wait, fuck- Y- No-"

As Wilbur dug his way into a hole, he smiled.

"Shut up."

"You're really something you know that, Wil?"

He stopped, nearly dropping the pen. "I'm what?"

Quackity however, didn't leave time to linger as he got back to work. When Wilbur found Tommy, he thought that boy was gonna be the death of him. But this? This was a whole new ordeal.

[five-rivers]

Life's Great Lie 7

It was early in the morning when she got the call.  Sixish.  The other numbers on the clock didn’t register to her.   

“Hey,” said Tucker, “guess what government agency I just hacked.”

Sam sat up, all traces of sleep gone.  Her hand curled around the wing of the nearest stuffed bat.  “You found him?”

“Sort of.  Ever hear of SHIELD?”

“No,” said Sam.  “Is it part of the GIW?”  Ever since the Fentons came back without Danny and locked themselves in Fentonworks, that had been her biggest fear.

“I found them through the GIW, but they seem to be partitioned pretty well, along with something called HYDRA…”

“What, like World War Two HYDRA?”

“You know them?”

“They were one of Hitler’s science divisions,” said Sam.  “They…  My great-grandparents were rescued from one of their camps by Captain America.”

Tucker paused.  “Funny you should mention Captain America,” he said, the words almost tumbling over each other.  “Because apparently, he works for SHIELD.  Or with SHIELD?  It’s a little unclear, actually.  I’m not sure he’s getting paid.”

“Focus, Tucker,” said Sam.  “How is Danny involved?”

“He’s been mind controlled by an evil clown.”

“What?  Freakshow?”

“No, this one’s green and Norse god themed.  Loki.  Has a scepter, too, though, which is a weird coincidence.  And he’s from space.”

“An evil green clown from outer space is mind controlling Danny?”  That was… an eclectic bundle of traits, even for them.  Like someone had thrown darts at a board of character concepts.  Or took Freakshow, swapped his palette and made him an alien. 

At least it wasn’t the GIW.

“And making him fight Iron Man and Captain America in…  Germany.  Stuttgart, Germany.  Oh, this is live.”

“You have eyes on him?”  She swung her feet over the side of her bed and reached for her laptop.

“Electronic ones, but yeah.  Gotta love the body cam trend.  I’m sending you the footage on a secure link, but I’ll have to delete it, after.  I don’t want to show up if they investiga—”

Sam, having just clicked on the link, swore.  “He’s human, Tucker.”

“Yep, I know.”

“He’s fighting them as a human.  That means they know who he is.”

“Yeah.”

Clearly, the problem with that wasn’t clicking for him.  “That means they know who we are.”

“Crap,” said Tucker.  “Plan?”

“Not much we can do to help Danny, but…  He didn’t hurt anyone in that fight.  Not seriously.”

“I think Captain America cleared thirty feet on that throw, so…”

“Captain America’s abilities are well documented.  He’ll live.  I think Danny is fighting this, or at least working around it.  We can’t trust SHIELD if they’re associated with the GIW and HYDRA, even a little bit, so…  We need to find out where they keep prisoners, in case they catch Danny, and figure out how to stay away from them.  They’re going to come looking for us eventually.”

There was a tapping sound from the other side of the line.  “Ghost weapons will only get us so far.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sam.  “Secret government agency versus two teens armed with weapons that only hurt dead people.  Three, if Jazz gets back soon.  Not much math there.” 

“Objection.  The Fenton Anti-Creep Stick can hurt a wide variety of people.”

“It’s just a baseball bat with the name Fenton painted on it in phase-proof paint.  Not much good against bullets.”  She knelt on the floor and reached under her bed.  After a moment of groping, she pulled out a thermos.  “I have an idea, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“Is it some variation of sneak over to Germany and hit Danny with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick until he snaps out of it?”

“We don’t even know if that will work,” said Sam.  “It didn’t with Freakshow.”

“We couldn’t even hit him when he was with Freakshow.”

“You think that’s changed?  No.  Even if he can’t go ghost for some reason, he actually knows how to dodge now.  I was thinking about a trip to the museum.”

“You’re right, I don’t like it.”

“It’s the best weapon we have access to, and I trust you.”

“I don’t trust me.  Besides, do you really think that a second mind control scepter is the thing we need right now?”

“We need something.”

Tucker sighed.  “How are we even going to get it?  It’s in a museum.”

“I haven’t been able to empty the thermos since Danny’s parents came back.  It’s almost full.”

“Oh, no,” said Tucker. 

.

Releasing the Box Ghost (among other sundry minor animal and blob ghosts) into the museum caused a predictable amount of chaos, especially when the staff sprinted into back rooms and downstairs to protect the archives.  They still used boxes and crates for that, here.  Rookie move. 

“Come on,” said Sam, making sure her hoodie was on and her blaster was primed.  Tucker, with his PDA and ‘ghost noise’ generator, followed behind.  With all their precautions, they’d hopefully wouldn’t be identifiable on the security cameras. 

Duulaman’s Scarab Scepter sat in the display case in front of them.  She raised her blaster and fired.  The glass broke. 

“Are you sure about this?” asked Tucker, hand hovering in front of him. 

“Yeah, but we can try something else if you’re really worried about it.  You stopped yourself last time.  You controlled it.”

“Yeah,” said Tucker.  He swallowed.  “Okay.  I’ve got this.” 

He picked up the staff, and the museum dissolved in a whirl of sand.  They were standing on top of a dune, pyramids in the distance.  Tucker’s fingers looked bloodless from the stress of his grip. 

“Tucker,” said Sam, cautiously. 

“It’s okay,” said Tucker.  “I can do this.  Just.  Give me a second.”

The sand swirled again, and they were in Tucker’s bedroom.  He dropped the staff with a gasp.  A fine layer of sand drifted to the floor. 

“That was,” he said, “something.  I could.”  He covered his mouth with one hand.  “I could take us to Germany,” he said, voice harsher than usual. 

“We don’t know if Danny is still there,” said Sam. 

“R- Right,” said Tucker.  “I need to—I need to sit down.”

Mrs. Foley’s voice rose from downstairs.  “What agency did you say you worked with again, Mr. Coulson?”

[sparklecryptid]

*pfft* Reveal!AU because Ace actually *does* have to register 'Ardyn' as a middle name.

Ace stares at the scrounged up documents he managed to drag out of his burned down home. Apparently his mother and aunt - along with Libertus, Nyx and Selena's mothers - decided that it would be a good idea to put all of their Important Documents - birth certificates, passports - into one fire proof box.

That isn't the issue here. The issue is that Nyx is wheezing in laughter while Selena has dissolved into helpless giggles and Libertus is staring at Ace like he regrets being friends with him.

Ace Ardyn Apollonian.

That's not the name on his birth certificate, but it is the name on his fucking passport.

"I am going to drown him," Ace says.

Selena giggles. "He'd come back!"

"Not if I tie him to an anchor," Ace says bitterly.

That makes even Libertus crack and he howls with laughter.

-

It doesn't become a problem that his middle name is technically Ardyn until he applies for Insomnian residency.

The desk worker raises a brow at his middle name and Ace gives her the most exhausted look he can manage.

"You're going to ask about that aren't you?" Ace says tiredly.

"I have to," she replies raising a brow at him.

"Would you believe me if I said my mother had a sense of humor?"

The workers brow raises higher.

Ace sighs.

"This is above your pay-grade," he says bluntly.

"Try me," she says.

Ace stares at her and wordless he extends his palms and an orb of light springs to light in it.

"That explains nothing," the worker says.

"I'll call the Crownsguard," the worker also says when it dawns on her that it really is beyond her pay-grade.

[chaoticgeminate]

Kinktober 2022 - Day Twelve

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit (If that was not entirely clear)

Series Summary: You’re a fanfiction writer turned novelist, which was great since it was the path you wanted your writing to take you down in life. What you never thought would happen was meeting the Javier Gutierrez, who you actively write smutty fanfiction about from his film with Nic Cage, and you especially didn’t expect him to have a crush on you.

Fast forward several months of dating, with a good chunk of your relationship being distance due to his constant traveling and having to go home to Mallorca, when he surprises you with a prompt list and a vacation planned around exploring it.

You haven’t even worked up the nerve to tell him about what you write and post to Tumblr about him as a character yet.

Notes: Going to be using prompts from @ the-purity-pen for my meta as hell indulgence! There are feelings in this (I have no idea how they got there) and I may end up removing some possible chapters here and there depending on how I’m feeling, I apologize in advance if that happens because my brain is super mean sometimes.

Possible Warnings: More fanfic-ception and another Moreno cameo, and Javi being soft

Exhibitionism/Voyeurism (1.2k)

You were the one trapped in meetings today, your publishing house had called three times in a row so both of you opted to accept that it was likely an emergency, and he huffed softly as he got up to pace the length of the room. His eyes darted to where your laptop was sitting, you had given him permission to use the device while he waited since you had the Studio Ghibli films saved to the hard drive but he was worried that you would need to come back for it while on the phone with Maxie.

After a moment of debate he popped the lid open after bringing it back to the love seat, a wall of text from an open document the first thing he saw, and he felt his throat tighten a little as some of the words began to register.

‘Joaquin didn’t share, you didn’t mind since he was more than enough, but there were times you wondered what it might be like to have someone else in the room. You wouldn’t be averse to watching Joaquin with another man or woman, as long as it was consensual, but you were too nervous to even bother suggesting it.

You didn’t want him to think that you weren’t all in for him in any way, he had male partners in the past but you hadn’t asked exactly how long ago either, this thing between you felt far too new to press for information like that. The idea had been floating around in your mind after finishing the romance novel you’d brought for the trip, the fantasy historical setting created in a way that meant the lead female had to allow for someone to be in the room on her wedding night to ensure the wedding was consummated.

The idea of being watched, or watching, had stuck with you ever since.

“I apologize that I took so long, meetings are a nightmare.” His cheerful voice made you turn to look over as he stepped down into the hot tub, the expensive hotel you were in had a spa and hot tub that was strictly for big name and big money guests and he’d told you to take advantage. Seeing his broad chest exposed by the cut of his swim briefs made you almost wonder why you hadn’t been in the hotel room, wet and waiting for him instead, but he deserved a good long soak too.

“No need to apologize.” You made your way over and sank down in his lap, wet hands diving into his curls to hold his head where you wanted him as you stole into his mouth, his breathy croon into your moan echoed in the large and empty room. His hand had just slipped into your suit, fingers sliding up into your wet heat, when the door to the room opened; your head darted up to see a familiar face walking your way.

Everyone knew the superhero Marcus Moreno, your boyfriend had even met him several times, and you felt your boyfriend’s cock jump when the other man looked into the hot tub and saw just what he’d interrupted. You were ready to run, face hot with mild embarrassment, but Joaquin’s fingers curled and you couldn’t help the way you whimpered.

Your lashes fluttered shut at the sensation and your boyfriend let out a low hiss in your ear.

“Going to tattle on us, Moreno?”

“No.”

The other man’s voice was rasped and thick with tension, with desire, and you clenched around Joaquin’s fingers knowing that he was watching Marcus’ expression as the other man watched the two of you. It was honestly not what you’d expected, the coincidental situation, but complaining was the last thing on your mind as Joaquin scissored his fingers and circled your clit with his thumb.

“Called him down for you, saw what you were reading and decided to give you what you wanted, you want to put on a show? Make it a good one, cariño.”

“Joaquin-“

“Fuck you two are gorgeous.” Marcus’ interruption made you whimper, unable to comprehend that your boyfriend arranged this for you because he’d noticed your novel, and fuck if that wasn’t the biggest turn on.’

Javi couldn’t help but look up, expecting you to arrive any minute and catch him, and he knew he should minimize the document and go look for the movies but you were writing fanfiction.

About him.

All your reservations began to make sense, all the times you hesitated to tell him anything and how you’d been after his remark when he was costumed as Oberyn, and he felt that instant rush of guilt for stumbling on that knowledge like this. He minimized the document, fully intended to apologize, and was met with a far too familiar website opened and his icon in the bottom right.

Javi didn’t know what would be worse, the idea of asking for permission or forgiveness, and he decided that he’d violated your trust enough even if it was an accident. Closing the laptop lid and preparing to put it back, that way he could apologize before you found out any later than right away, and he chewed on his nail as he thought about the only DMs that he sent on the entire website.

He’d reached out to other authors, sure, but only one had responded to him recently and if he was right then it was entirely likely you’d both walked right into an idiots to lovers situation.

He might have laughed if he wasn’t the happiest fucking man on the planet right now buried under the layers of guilt and worry. But he couldn’t tell you, everything was making sense now why you avoided the topic about fanfiction with him, he knew that if he told you what he knew and how he learned it that you’d either get angry because you were upset he hadn’t closed the document out right away or you’d get angry because you were afraid of his reaction.

Javi felt like a bit of an asshole for this but he was going to have to leave a breadcrumb trail for you to figure out who he was first, that way the ball was in your court. He was more than aware of the financial imbalance between the two of you, even if he acted like it wasn’t there, it was why he had a tendency to tip-toe around things like taking you out or buying you gifts.

Fanfiction was still looked down on in most traditional media circles, hell there’d been an English television network that tried to convince writers to send in stories to have comedians reenact the fan writing with puppets,  and there was a massive domination of new books being made that were fanfiction converted to original works. The reception of Fifty Shades of Grey certainly hadn't done fan writing any kind of favors, given its origins, so he was more than understanding about why you’d be terrified given that he was the subject of a lot of your writing.

It was a messy, convoluted, web and it would be wiser to confront you now but Javi just couldn’t do that.

People in his life left or they disappeared and he didn’t want a life without you in it.

He was scared.

So he'd let you figure him out first.

You never commented on how much more affectionate he was when he returned, content to let him read his screenplay to you while the pair of you lounged in bed, with the hope that his willingness to share his project with you would maybe lead you to do the same with him.

All Fics Taglist: @hardc0rehaylz @wordsnwhiskey @pagannightwitch @radiowallet @musings-of-a-rose @amneris21 @trickstersp8 @practicalghost @rominaszh @alwaysdjarin @alexxavicry

Just Pedro Taglist: @maievdenoir @beecastle @littlemisspascal @writeforfandoms @AynsleyWalker @lovesbiggerthanpride @mswarriorbabe80

Alt Taglist: @imtryingmybeskar @fan-of-encouragement @grogusmum @sizzlingcloudmentality @deadhumourist @prostitute-robot-from-the-future

Kinktober Only: @nicolethered @katareyoudrilling

[hexjulia]

opening tumblr dashboard/twitter feed right after each other the reblog chain visibility vs only seeing single tweets if you just glance at your feed is uh...essentially:

tumblr user: did you know that [astonishing but reasonable sounding politics related thing].

second tumblr user: wow i had no idea! reblog

third tumblr user: actually you're both wrong because [extremely long response]

Next user in the reblogs: you are all clowns and i hate you. none of this is right here are some actual sources. i will in-text cite them because i am a sadist

tumblr user the 5th: net zero information! celebratory muppet gif

6th user: here's a 10 page callout document proving tumblr user 5 faked his degree for kinshipping drama points in 5th grade

Opening twitter:

Accredited journalist whom i have followed for years: hello everyone i am in a warzone again. Almost got killed haha #ilovecoffee

random OSint person: everyone calls themselves an OSint person these days. >:(

priv account of a retired secret services person: did yuo guys know if you register for [sports event] your real name and age become public. Might be a bad idea for some of you haha...

the 20 bots in everyone's replies: i think hauve crypto investment opportunites for you

dropshipping ad: only 20 euros....only 20 euros for this aliexpress product 😏

climate scientist: 1/3 of shark species are threatened with extinction

my mutual from tumblr: in a danish ballad about the nibelungs,

[grasshopperdoingdogpaddle]

I head Cannon that if Dashi raised dojo from a egg that's the reason why he wouldn't/couldn't seal away or destroy dojo after dojo became a two-headed nightmare destroying Atlantis dashi just kept seeing the hatchling he raised. And since it only happened once every 1500 dashi was able to convinced others ( cough cough cough) namely chase and Guan that dojo wasn't dangerous.

Oh yeah, I don't think Dashi would have even entertained the idea of killing Dojo.

More than anyone, Dojo and Dashi are practically brothers. Dashi would actively argue against trying to nuke evil Dojo or anything extreme like try to kill him while he was rampaging, maybe even try to blow away some of the attempts to try that some cities definitely tried. At least before Dashi knows Dojo is so invulnerable in that state that he can't be taken down by any means except getting him back in his little box.

The fallout that comes from destroying so many things and erasing Atlantis probably did have people calling for Dojo to be put down while he was in his normal form before that incident repeats itself, and it probably hurt the temple reputation for a bit (especially since it's implied this isn't a normal dragon thing). But Dashi insists that aside from that one day every 1500 years, Dojo's chill, and they'd have to go through him to get to Dojo anyway.

It helps that Dojo's usually so skittish and cowardly that he doesn't usually register as a threat. It took a lot of puppy faces, but Dashi convinced the elders to just make sure it's well documented and put their trust in future generations to not accidentally let Dojo out, like Chase had.

(*cough cough* Omi *cough*)

Guan and Chase didn't see Dojo the same after that day, but they were eventually swayed, if only because it'd break Dashi's heart to have to follow the order to "mercy kill Dojo while he's weakened."

[ghostscrown]

Still can't believe I experienced administrative transphobia-

(TW vent about administrative transphobia / dentist mention)

I had to make a new vital card (something we have in France, that's linked to your insurance and you have to use it when you go to almost any type of doctor so your insurance pay either all or a part of the price instead of you, almost everyone has one) with my new name on it since I legally changed my name, so I did send them all of the documents requiered. It's a very annoying process and it takes a lot of time before they send you your new card.

And then, a few months later, I recieved the card and. They put my deadname on it-

I called to say there was an error, and the person answering had genuinely no idea HOW someone could accidentally make this error, since I'm clearly registered in their files with my new legal name, the documents I sent were all at my new name and I even sent the paper saying that me changing my name has been approved. Even the letters I received with my card were written with my real name – only the card had my deadname on it.

So it's most likely not an error but intentional transphobia. It makes me so mad because now I have to get all of the documents back and start it all from the start to make a new demand. It's going to take ages. The worst part is I really need to go to the dentist but without a vital card I can't afford it. And I need to have my teeth healed before I can move from my parent's house because this is the only dentist my phobia allows me to see. So now I'll be stuck at my parent's home with a hurting tooth for MONTHS just because some guy decided to annoy me by putting my deadname on my vital card :(

[sylphidine]

[Fic] Call Signs, Chapter 35

Fandom: Deltarune

‘Verse: Human AU

Pairings: Swatch/Spamton [Swatchton]; Spamton/T.M. [SpamManager or Tasqueton, not quite sure of the ship name]

Characters: Terese Marlena Tinker [previously T.M. Tanner], Catechu Dyer, Indigo Dyer, Spamton Addison, Swatch Paletta, Julius Dyer, Desiree Dyer, Kirov Rouvin

Rating: Mature

Chapter title: Bootstrapped Leitmotif

Chapter summary: Spring is newly sprung. Our cast of characters has some adjustments to make, some minor, some major.

Author notes: Wow, two chapters in a single week?

Happy International Fanworks Day.

No trigger warnings, but content warnings for present alcohol use and past dubious consent.

_________

T.M. had wasted no time in changing desire into action. After getting her mother to hand over all the official originals of the documents T.M. would need, she sent a notarized letter to Mrs. Tanner stating her request for a cessation of all unsolicited contact.

[T.M. had wanted to send the letter to the attention of "the future Mrs. Horseface Fucker", but Swatch and Spamton between them had talked her out of it.]

Letter sent, T.M. started the process of getting her name legally changed to Terese Marlena Tinker.

Washing dishes side by side with Catechu in Spamton's and Swatch's kitchen a few days later, she ticked off verbal bullet points to explain her thinking. “This is New York, the home of red tape. It’s gonna take months, no matter what the site says about six to eight weeks.  It’s probably better for me to get this nailed down before my job starts in July. Easier for HR, easier for any place where I end up signing a lease."

Indigo looked up from where he was finishing icing the brownies he'd made. "You're still going to be able to use TMT for your initials. That's smart. Keep your brand, kind of." 

"That's the idea."

Catto finished drying a plate and slotted it into the dish drain. Paying no attention to T.M.'s wet hands or the running water, he picked her up and twirled her around. "You're still my big sis, no matter what your name is. You can smack my head if I slip up and call you Tabsy."

"Same here. And chances are I'll mess up more than that galoot," added Indo, pointing at his twin. "He's had practice, at least."

"Oh? Do tell." Back on her feet now, T.M. abandoned the sink and moved to sit at the table, eyeing the brownies hungrily.

"Yeah, well, it's like this." Catechu rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish. "Kendra's got a brother who used to be her sister, and now he's Emmett instead of Emily, and I don't always remember, so it's just easier for me to say 'Em' when I talk about her. Him, I mean."

This seemed to unlock some kind of heartfelt logjam, because Catto then burst out with, "I never had trouble when Swatch started wanting to be 'they'. So why is it so hard for me to hear you changing your name?"

Indigo looked at T.M., and she looked back at him. She got up and patted Catechu’s arm.

The big man was shaking. "Everything's changing, and I hate it."

The only thing T.M. could think of saying, "You both can still call me Tabsy."

Catto turned away and picked up another dish to dry that didn’t need to be dried. He said gruffly, “What the hell is taking Swatch and Spamton so long? There can’t be that many different kinds of cough drops at Pathmark.”

T.M. wisely did not point out that Swatch and Spamton had been gone less than ten minutes.

______

The two of them passed the registered letter back and forth.

ADDISON CYBERNETICS

1997 CIRCUIT DRIVE, SUITE 356

WHITE PLAINS, NY 10610

March 17, 2022

Dear Mx. Paletta:

Congratulations! I’m thrilled to extend an offer for our mask design internship in our Integrated Circuit Layout department at Addison Cybernetics.  

Your start date will be Monday, June 6, 2022. On your first day, you will report directly to Sam Chua. Your internship will take place between the hours of 9am and 4:30pm, with a cap at 48 hours per week should additional projects require it. 

We’re pleased to offer you a salary of $82.300 for the year’s internship, to be broken into weekly payments of $1582.69.  

At Addison Cybernetics, we pride ourselves on creating informative and rewarding experiences for our interns. That’s why you can look forward to receiving 1:1 mentorship, learning and development opportunities, and access to company privileges  

To accept this offer, please sign and return this letter by March 31, 2022. In the meantime, feel free to reach out with any questions. We look forward to welcoming you to the team.

Sincerely, 

Anne Demetriou

Human Resources, Addison Cybernetics

AD/glb

“I can’t believe how fast they made up their minds.  I only interviewed a week ago.”

“It’s to the c-c-company’s benefit not to - not to waste time.”

“I don’t know whether to kiss this letter or to frame it.”

“The f-f-first thing you need to do with that letter is sign all three copies and date - date them, s-s-send two of’em back, and THEN you c-can kiss the last one and put it under - our pillow.”

“Good thinking.”

“B-b-but you do know they’re lowballing you, right?”

“How so?”

“They’re g-g-going to make you do a full engineer’s work for the absolute minimum they can - they can g-get away with.”

“I don’t care. It’s a foot in the door. Besides, most of the engineering internships I looked at last year before Fairlight got sick paid less than half that.” “Shit. I t-take it back. You’re gonna be a k-king, king.”

“Thank you.”

Spamton pulled Swatch down on top of him with surprising strength and kissed them fiercely. “So, so proud of you,” he murmured into Swatch’s hair. 

_________

"Hello, fellow dreamers, this is DJ Dreamweaver. Before we all cross tonight's highways of fantasy together, so I can help you forget today's pain, I've got two announcements to make.

“First, and on the trivial side, due to seasonal shift changes here at WRCI, I’m pleased to announce that the DJ Dreamweaver show will be moving next week, starting on the 29th, to the Tuesday evening 8pm to 10pm slot. DJ Zonker will be burning the midnight oil with you on Wednesdays in my place to help you survive the midweek blues.

"Second, and much more importantly, don't forget that WRCI, the Nifty 850, the station that rocks a whole square block, will have a booth at the Seeds of Peace Festival in Garlic Park next month on Saturday, April 8th, rain or shine. The Seeds of Peace Festival is a fundraiser for relief efforts in Ukraine. Eight DJs from WRCI, including yours truly, will be spinning tunes from 8am until midnight for a sixteen-hour dance marathon to raise money for Ukraine. Sign up sheets and pledge forms are available to download from our website, or else pick up your hard copy from DJ Kaard in his office at the Student Union during station hours.

“Now it’s time to open the show with the late and much-missed Tom Petty, backed by his Heartbreakers and Jeff Lynne, performing ‘Learning To Fly’.”

_________

The vibrant, art-filled walls of SpaHa Soul never failed to send a shiver of happiness down Swatch’s spine. The Friday night after they got their offer letter, they followed Uncle Julius to a corner glass-topped table, while Indigo pulled out a chair for Aunt Desiree. Catechu chatted with the guitarist setting up for the evening’s set and waved at Artist T., just emerging from the kitchen with plates for the group of diners in the opposite corner.

Uncle Julius had found this place about eight years ago and it had become THE go-to place for Dyer-Paletta family celebrations.   

And tonight they were here to celebrate Indo and Catto’s getting summer internships at the Wythe in Williamsburg, as well as Swatch’s internship.

“Chef’s choice tonight, sir,” Uncle Julius said to Artist T., after getting a hearty backslap from the proprietor. “All three of these fine young people, going out into the world and making their mark!”

“It’s a better world for you all being in it,” agreed Artist T., making a note on his pad and heading back through the swinging doors.

“I like the new glasses, honey,” Aunt Desiree commented to Swatch. “You look good in aviators, and brown is a nice color for you.”

Swatch nodded.”The tint’s helpful for cutting out blue light, and since I expect I’m going to be spending a lot more time in front of screens with the new job, I figured they were worth a splurge.”

On the other side of the table, Indo was listing off all the different areas in the boutique hotel where he and his twin would be working during their ten weeks. “I don’t know how I’m going to keep a straight face when I’m answering phones and directing calls to ‘Le Crocodile’. It’ll probably get easier after a while. At least ‘Bar Blondeau’ sounds more normal. Only thing I’m worried about is getting there on time every day.”

“Better than the commute would have been if we’d gotten the gig at The Ludlow. That commute would have been a real bitch.” Catto caught his mother’s glare and muttered, “Sorry, mom.  It would have been a real bear .”

Uncle Julius laughed and then turned to Swatch. “You’re going to be cutting it awfully fine, between graduation and starting this new job. You’d better start looking at apartments now if you don’t think your landlady will extend your lease past June.”

“I know. Even with a decent salary, I’m either going to have to spend all my time commuting or all my money on a shoebox to live in.” They realized that it sounded like they were complaining, and quickly added with a laugh in their voice, “Or I could ask my favorite aunt to use her real estate agent superpowers and her mad networking skills.”

“That’s the spirit,” Aunt Desiree answered. “We’re not going to leave you out in the cold, even if you have to stay with us for a month or so while you’re getting your feet under you. You’ve got family, don’t forget.

Swatch smiled back at her. “I will never forget that.”

“And don’t forget we’re proud of you. All three of you,” Uncle Julius interjected, waving his hand to include his sons. “Not a bad apple in the bunch.”

“Thanks, Pop,” Indo replied for himself and for his brother. “Especially thanks for being such a good sport about us not working at Ambit Automation.” “Oh, you boys might still end up there if the economy tanks. Luxury disappears, but people always need manufacturing. Look at the Brooklyn Navy Yards. That’s as big a comeback as the Jazz beating the Nuggets.”

“But the boys are using their degrees,” Aunt Desiree pointed out. “Degrees that you and I both approved of, husband mine.”

“Yes, dear.”

At that moment Artist T. and Amber swooped in with platters of fried chicken, stuffed pork chops, coconut rice, spicy yams, and collard greens, enough to feed an army.

Catechu raised his glass. “To family.”

Four glasses clinked against his.

________

“Tell me more about these buff birdmen in corsets,” T.M. teased.

Spamton chuckled in embarrassed remembrance. “They weren’t  actually b-b-birds. They wore bird masks. Like - like beaks. Sexier than plague d-d-doctors.”

“So you turned your living room into an adults-only butler cafe for your twentieth birthday party.”

“I’m not - not pr-proud of who I was then. I didn’t - didn’t br-break the ‘no touch’ rule, but I did - I did ogle a lot.”

“You weren’t a complete sleaze, I guess.”

“Thank you, Trez.”

The first time Spamton had fumbled his words while trying out T.M. 's new name, “Terese” had come out of his mouth as “Trez”. To his relief and delight, she had happily adopted it as a nickname.

She was curled up in the basket chair in the upstairs room that Swatch had named “Spamton’s eyrie”. He was sitting on the floor and had his head in her lap while she played with his hair. Spamton had taken the advice of his current therapist and was now giving T.M. some of the edited “highlights” of his checkered past.

HEAVILY edited. 

“I c-could do the flexing thing, if you wanted. But I don’t think it would b-be quite as impressive as those g-guys.” He got to his knees and raised his face to meet her kiss.

They hadn’t moved beyond kissing yet, and T.M. seemed perfectly happy with that. She told him how much she enjoyed how carefully he kissed her. “Some guys think they have to be rough because I’ve got piercings, like it’s a challenge.”

Spamton was fairly sure that she knew he was careful only because he didn’t have a lot of experience kissing people with piercings, but she was too courteous to say so.  The snakebite bothered him less and less the more often they kissed, since her daily jewelry consisted of the tiniest of studs. 

The sound of the front door downstairs opening and shutting made them both smile. “Up here!” Spamton called out, sitting back down on the rug.

Swatch called back, “Are you decent?” as they climbed the stairs.

“Yes, and we’re even dressed!” T.M. trilled. This exchange had become the three’s shared joke.

“How was - how was d-d-dinner?”

“Fabulous. Real, honest-to-God soul food, in more ways than one.” Swatch took Spamton’s desk chair and turned to sit backwards on it. “My aunt and uncle send their love.”

“I gotta go down to Queens soon and just have a girly day with Desiree. It’s long overdue.” “Mmmm-hmmm. And maybe you can pick her brain about apartment-hunting. As Uncle Julius reminded me, graduation’s just around the corner.”

“Yeah.”

Spamton changed the subject to stave off the panic he felt at the idea of these two leaving him just when he'd found them. “N-now that all three - all three of us are here, c-can I ask both for a - a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah, of course. Ask away, Short Stuff.”

“C-can you both sit in with me in the stu-stu-studio for the first leg of my radio show next week? I’m going to try something d-d-d-different and I kind of - kind of need both of you there.”

T.M. looked across at Swatch and nodded. Swatch got up and pulled Spamton to his feet and into a hug. With a suspicious raspiness in their voice, they said, “We’ll be there.”

_________

“I printed two copies, just in case you didn’t get a chance to.”

“Thank you, schwitthott.” T.M. took one of the sheets from Swatch and started reading. 

The two of them stood in the hallway of the student union, just outside the doors of WRCI’s main studio, waiting for Spamton. The dinnertime DJ was playing J-pop.

“He said this was your idea?” Swatch asked.

“Kind of. I mentioned I have a set of ‘go to hell’ playlists that I rotate through to cope with stuff. This timeline stuff though, that’s all 100% our lad’s doing.” T.M. smiled fondly.

“Our lad.  I like that. Not ‘lad’ like he’s our kid. but like we’re all lads together.”

“Uh huh.”

Swatch leaned against the wall and sighed. “So you know that he was homeless for a while, after… well, after everything.”

She nodded. “It explains a lot about his food issues. As horrible as it might sound, I’m really, really happy that it wasn’t what I first thought.”

“Oh?”

“I thought Spamton had the same thing going on that I did with my dad. At least the whole power-trippy withholding food thing so I had to hoard stuff. Trust me, I would have put at least one of his siblings through a wall if that’s what had happened.”

“Remind me never to wander down a dark alley with you when you’re pissed off with me, Moggy.” 

Swatch straightened up when they saw Spamton walking down the hallway towards the other two. 

T.M. murmured, “It’s showtime.” 

When he reached them, Spamton stretched up and gave each a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s - let’s do this thing.”

______

“Welcome to the premiere of the Tuesday night version of the DJ Dreamweaver show. Normally I give a little bit of background on what I’ve chosen for the night’s selections. This time around, I’m going to let the music do the talking. Thanks for listening.”

T.M. sat beside Spamton on one side of the booth, headphones on, ready to help him with the potentiometers for segues and fade-ins. Swatch sat on the opposite side, just there to listen and to give moral support. Spamton had mentioned that the playlist was less than an hour long, so Swatch would have plenty of time to leave before the extra Tuesday night shift they’d picked up at Plato’s.

They picked up the printed sheet of paper and started to read along with the lyrics Spamton had typed out, as well as Spamton’s notes as to why he’d put particular songs in his “timeline”. 

THE LOGICAL SONG - SUPERTRAMP

[ Self-explanatory, the little kid I was, and my boarding school days ]

When I was young

It seemed that life was so wonderful

A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical

And all the birds in the trees

Well they'd be singing so happily

Oh joyfully, oh playfully watching me

But then they sent me away

To teach me how to be sensible

Logical, oh responsible, practical

And then they showed me a world

Where I could be so dependable

Oh clinical, oh intellectual, cynical

There are times

When all the world's asleep

The questions run too deep

For such a simple man

Won't you please

Please tell me what we've learned

I know it sounds absurd

Please tell me who I am

NUMB - MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS

[That’s when it started to hit me that I had a lot to live up to, being a part of the Addison family. Perfect set-up for Mike to step in]

One track mind like a goldfish

Stuck inside my Petri dish

I can't breathe and I can't smile

This better be worth my while

I feel numb most of the time

The lower I get the higher I'll climb

And I will wonder why

I got dark only to shine

Looking for the golden light

Oh, it's a reasonable sacrifice

Burn, burn, burn bright

Forego families, forego friends

It's how it started, how it ends

I can't open up and cry

'Cause I've been silent all my life

JUST LIKE YOU - THREE DAYS GRACE

[ all the accusations I threw back at my brothers and sister before breaking with them ]

I could be mean

I could be angry

You know I could be just like you

I could be fake

I could be stupid

You know I could be just like you

You thought you were standing beside me

You were only in my way

You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

You thought you were there to guide me

You were only in my way

You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

I could be cold

I could be ruthless

You know I could be just like you

I could be weak

I could be senseless

You know I could be just like you

On my own, cause I can't take living with you

I'm alone, so I won't turn out like you

Want me to

You thought you were standing beside me

You were only in my way

You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

You thought you were there to guide me

You were only in my way

You're wrong if you think that I'll be just like you

THE SANITY ASSASSIN - BAUHAUS

[Mike and all his lies. Hindsight’s 20/20, huh?]

Sinister echoes clutching at straws

Letter boxes screaming

You try to pin him to the wall

You end up on the ceiling

Locked in a dome

The shadows flicker by

He's the madcap pusher

Delirium the drug he's dealing

You empty yourself once again

But he's always one step ahead

He whispers in your ear

was it nothing that you said

He's walking in your sleep now

He keeps your fat paranoia well-fed

The sanity assassin

Stays up all night stalking

The sanity assassin

Picks off victims like flies

The sanity assassin

Let his fingers do the walking

He drops a capsule in your drink

And spikes your dreams with madness

I GOT YOU - SPLIT ENZ

[Deluding myself that Mike actually gave a damn about me]

I got you - and that's all I want

I won't forget - that's a whole lot

I don't go out - not now that you're in

Sometimes we shout - but that's no problem

Look at you - you're a pageant

You're everything - that I've imagined

Something's wrong - I feel uneasy

Reassure me - tell me you're not teasing

There's no doubt - not when I'm with you

When I'm without - I stay in my room

Where do you go - I get no answer

You're always out - it gets on my nerves

I don't know why sometimes I get frightened

You can see my eyes, you can tell that I'm not lying

But I don't know why sometimes I get frightened

You can see my eyes, can you tell me you're not lyin'

WHAT DO ALL THE PEOPLE KNOW? - THE MONROES

[The year of the trade show circuit]

You know I told you once tonight

That you could always speak your mind

You work so hard to say what's right

I watch you do it all the time

And when I called you on the phone

You said that I could be the one

But here I'm standing all alone

And you're out lying in the sun

Tell me, am I getting in too deep?

Every night I'm talking in my sleep

Lately I’ve been so confused

I really don't know what to do

Could you be the one I'm thinking of?

Could you be the one I really love?

All the people tell me so

But what do all the people know?

Maybe we're just holding on

To something that'll soon be gone

Do you think I'm blind to what you do?

Do you think I really care for you?

Do you think that we both should let it show?

Do you think that we both should let it go?

Or is it just another game that you and I pretend to play?

All the people tell me so

But what do all the people know?

UNKNOWN SOLDIER - BREAKING BENJAMIN

[Being lost in my own mind at the Pandora Palace for however long that was after the trade show circuit ended. I’m never going to get that time back.]

Border line,

Dead inside.

I don't mind,

Falling to pieces.

Count me in, violent

Let's begin, feeding the sickness.

How do I simplify,

Dislocate - the enemy's on the way.

Full of fear,

Ever clear.

I'll be here,

Fighting forever.

Curious,

Venomous,

You'll find me

Climbing to heaven.

Never mind,

Turn back time.

You'll be fine - I will get left behind.

It only hurts just once.

They're only broken bones.

Hide the hate inside.

Show me what it's like

To dream in black and white,

So I can leave this world tonight.

RUSTED FROM THE RAIN - BILLY TALENT

[life on the streets after he threw me away]

You hung me like a picture/Now I'm just a frame

I used to be your lapdog/Now I'm just a stray

Shackled in the graveyard/Left here to decay

DEATH ON TWO LEGS - QUEEN

[Finally starting to blame Mike rather than myself, during that second homeless winter just before Ballew found me]

You suck my blood like a leech

You break the law and you breach

Screw my brain 'til it hurts

You've taken all my money

And you want more

Misguided old mule with your pigheaded rules

With your narrow minded cronies

Who are fools of the first division

Talk like a big business tycoon

You're just a hot air balloon

So no one gives you a damn

You're just an overgrown schoolboy

Let me tan your hide

A dog with disease

You're the king of the sleaze

Put your money where your mouth is, Mister Know-All

Was the fin on your back

Part of the deal? (Shark)

Death on two legs

Tearing me apart

Death on two legs

You never had a heart (you never did)

Of your own (right from the start)

Insane, should be put inside

You're a sewer rat decaying in a cesspool of pride

Should be made unemployed

Then make yourself null and void

Make me feel good (I feel good)

[The first therapist I saw on Dr. George’s advice told me to start writing letters to my old Big Shot self as though they were a separate person, so that’s the last three songs. Maybe I’ll get closure, some day.]

PAID IN FULL - SONATA ARCTICA

It's hard for me to love myself right now,

I've waited, hated, blamed it all on you...

It's hard for me to love your face right now

I'm waiting, hating, needing being

Me...

I need you...less and less...

Every day leads us farther away...

From that moment

It’s hard for me to hate myself right now

Finally I'm understanding me

SUNSHINE - BARENAKED LADIES

Most of us, have learned to trust

What we see with our own eyes

But with blinders on you hardly realize

That out of view, it's still true

Even when no one's around

We can stumble and fall down

It's just as well, It's hard to tell

Cause my hindsight's crystal clear

But the view from then's not like the view from here

If you are passed through a looking glass

The important parts appear

But the details start to smear

I ran fast, but I came last

'Cause although I set the pace

It was rigged from the start that I'd lose this race

Sunshine burns your skin

Sometimes the things we love so much just eat us up from the outside in

Oceans blue will drown

I could find a way to live with your ghost but I won't be happy till I leave this town.

GOODBYE TO YOU - SCANDAL

Those times I waited for you seem so long ago

I wanted you far too much to ever let you go

You know you never got by your fear to choose

And I guess I never could stand to lose

It's such a pity to say

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to you

How could I have loved someone like the one I see in you

I remember the good times baby now, and the bad times too

These last few weeks of holding on

The days are dull, the nights are long

Guess it's better to say

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to you

Goodbye to you

'Cause baby it's over now

No need to talk about it

It's not the same

My love for you's just not the same

And my heart, and my heart

And my heart can't stand the strain

And my love, and my love

And my love won't stand the pain

Goodbye baby

So long darling

Goodbye to you

Spamton nodded at T.M. about halfway through Patti Smith’s final chorus, letting her know that he was getting ready for his talkback. She nodded back and cued up “Solsbury Hill” and “Scarecrow’s Dream” for him, as well as digging up an advertisement for Janovic Express to play at the quarter of the hour.

Swatch dug out the painted signboard they’d made and held it up wordlessly so that Spamton could see it.

You Are Loved. And You Are Stronger Than You Know. Never Forget That.

Spamton blew Swatch a silent kiss in return. 

Swatch left a few minutes later to go do their shift. T.M. stayed another half-hour and then slipped Spamton a note telling him to meet her down at Plato’s Cave.

There were plenty of spots open at the bar, but the one in the dead center of the ten or so stools was taken up by a reddish-haired stranger who looked like Sid the Sloth from ICE AGE. And he was following Swatch’s every move with his bugged-out eyes.

T.M. thought of Spamton’s bird-masked buff butlers in corsets and giggled to herself, picturing Swatch in that kind of outfit. This had to be that freshman who Swatch said was a fixture on Wednesday nights. How the kid had figured out that her bestie was on duty tonight, she didn’t have a clue, but she got the devilish urge to mess with the guy’s mind a little.

She sat herself down at the farthest end of the bar and put her purse on the seat beside her to reserve it. When Swatch came over to take her order, she whispered, “When Spamton gets here, give him the old ‘your usual, sir?’ routine. And then follow my lead.”

Swatch caught on swiftly and gave her a wink while asking in their clearly audible customer service voice, “May I suggest a Blue Moon for the young lady?”

“Oooooh, that sounds yummy,” T.M. squealed in her best imitation of some of the airheads she had loathed in high school.

“Very good. I’m certain you won’t be disappointed.”  Swatch moved away to get her a bottle and a glass.

Blue Moon was a fruitier beer than she usually drank, but it had the benefit of being known for putting lightweights under the table.

T.M. was no lightweight, but she was a fantastic actress.

The things we do for love , she thought to herself.

________

Spamton hit the switch for the cold open after his final talkback, unhooked the vocoder, hung up his headphones, and queued up the next few selections for segue for the DJ who would be following him. 

It seemed to him that time was moving both at a snail's pace and in the blink of an eye. The past few weeks had established a new status quo in his life and had brought about changes that were cementing the groundwork of his partners' lives.

Partners, plural.

He still had to grin and hug himself at the thought of having partners. Equal partners. No bloody power imbalance. No secrets. No head games. No possessiveness. No jealousy.

The new love didn't outshine the old. He didn't love Swatch any less now that he had Trez to love as well.

His heart sank, though, as he crossed the floor of Plato’s Cave and saw Kirov Rouvin seated at the bar. He was obviously trying to engage Swatch in flirtatious banter while Swatch was trying to juggle drinks and food orders for several other customers.

Including bringing another bottle of beer to one very familiar girl with golden contact lenses and blue tips at the ends of her hair. They put it down in front of her and said in an unnecessarily loud voice, “I’m afraid I will need to cut you off after this one, miss.”

Was T.M. drunk?  He hurried over to the seat beside her and looked anxiously into her face.

She tittered at Swatch’s comment, and then turned to face Spamton, her eyes stone cold sober while she grinned inanely.

Ah.

Not sure what’s going on here, but I’ll play my part.

He pulled himself up onto the barstool, pretending to ignore T.M. and waiting for Swatch to approach him, in the meantime keeping an eye on Kirov.  The young Chechen had yet to see Spamton, since Kirov’s eyes were fixed on Swatch.

Swatch finally finished with their flurry of transactions and came over to Spamton.  “The usual, my good man?” they asked him, the mellifluousness in their voice turned up to eleven.

Feeling like a celluloid hero, he replied, “Yes, indeed!”

And Swatch leaned over the bar and kissed Spamton on the forehead.

Applause broke out from the tables behind him and seemed to rouse T.M. from her state of faux -inebriation. “Hey, I wan’ some of that,” she slurred, standing up.

Kirov’s face was red and his eyes were narrowed into angry slits. Spamton sighed to himself and thought, might as well go for broke.

“It’s constitutionally impossible for me to refuse a lady.” He extended a hand to T.M. in the time-honored fashion of asking someone to dance, and she placed her hand.in his, not forgetting to loop her purse over her wrist. Clasping her around the waist, he began to circle her around the floor while crooning the song that came to mind when he saw the empty bottle on the bar.

Blue moon

You saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

Blue moon

You knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I really could care for

The impromptu waltz had them near enough to the doors to make a dramatic exit. Spamton called over T.M.’s shoulder to Swatch, “I’m going make sure this dolly gets home in one piece. See you there, sweetie?”

“Sure thing, darling," Swatch replied.

The wolf whistles and catcalls were cut off as the heavy oaken doors closed behind them.

Once outside, T.M. immediately shed her drunken lolling posture. “God, that was fun. And hopefully that stops any more workplace harassment for Swatch.”

“You are br-brilliant as well as b-b-b-beautiful.”

Now that he no longer had to channel both Cary Grant and Fred Astaire at the same time, Spamton was feeling the adrenaline that had sustained him all night starting to drain away.  It was good to see with his own eyes that Swatch hadn’t been exaggerating Kirov’s increasing creepiness, and T.M.’s little maneuver was better than anything he could have come up with.

T.M. noticed the change in his mood and asked, “Are you going to be able to relax after all this?”

He took a minute to think about it so  that he could answer her honestly. “N-not right away, no.”

“Do you trust me?”

He didn’t even have to think for a second. “Yes.”

“Come with me, then. I’ll text Swatchy so that they don’t wait up and worry.”

TO: BIRDMAN

FROM: MOGGY

taking spamton to the invisible castle

FROM: BIRDMAN

TO: MOGGY

See you both in the morning. Be safe.

[giraffebazooka]

I mentioned off hand that Eddie had a parasite in his bio, here's said parasite.

EDDIES CONSCIENCE

Isaac is a bio-mechanical parasite created by Sun.co currently sharing a body with Eddie Ó Braonáin. He was created pre-Ragnarok in an experiment code named "Project Counterfeit". Headed by Doctor Sita Vale, the aim of Project Counterfeit was to bring influential people "back from the dead".

The real Isaac Gargoyle was a fashion designer from the smog covered industrial land of Albion who died during the great vampire plague, a full 2 centuries before Project Counterfeit began testing. He and other long dead figures where selected, seemingly at random, to be prototypes.

The amorphous black ooze calling itself Isaac was created by reconstructing the origional Isaac Gargoyles personality using various recordings, documents and historical accounts. All this information was then imprinted into Sun.co's experimental "Smart Ooze" a bio-mechanical mass capable of registering and assimilating new data.

The idea was to implant this smart ooze into a host body and then let it take control of said host, effectivly allowing the once dead rich and powerful to come back to life. While the experiment was a resounding success and a good few parasites where created, the premature Ragnarok happened before Sun.co could properly sell this service to the ultra wealthy.

Isaac was abandoned in the lab along with the other prototypes, without a host, he remained dormant for centuries before eventually being found by scavengers. Isaac traded hands more than a few times over the next few decades, never being freed from his dormant state, eventually finding himself in the gigantic prison of Jotunn.

It is in Jotunn where he met Eddie, a dim-witted Chimpanzee Beastfolk who thought the jar full of black ooze was edible. Isaacs dormancy was finally broken, finding himself in a strange new world with a perfectly servicable host body, he then quickly relinquished control back to his new host when he scanned his mind and realized he was trapped in a nightmareish helhole with a very small chance of escape, better having a bag of meat doing the hard work for you than taking over said bag of meats body and doing the work yourself.

Now Eddie and Isaac have a mutual agreement; Eddie does all the back breaking manual labor and Isaac continues to live inside his body, healing his wounds. Now, having freshly escaped Jotunn with Eddie, he's forced to tag along on the dumb apes quest to find the city of Sanctum, he doesn't know much about the place other than what Eddie told him and what he could gleam off old advertisments, the place sounds too good to be true and doesn't share Eddies optemism in their journey.