#so i had to crowdsource the idea for this one

[wreckingtickles]

Kirishima & Mx Tech (NSFW)

In which Kirishima gets... what he wants?

He's so lovely and I cherish him and I want to break him so hard.

Thank you, @sallage, for the ideas you gave me! I've also snuck in two not-so-hidden references to this piece by @ticklishfanart as well as this coffee shot by intheticklecloset (not tagging them because this story is NSFW and they're a SFW blog).

The Auction Masterlist

Words: 7,064

Bzzt.

The moment Kirishima became aware of his body again was the same moment the visor in front of his eyes lit up, so all he could see was a flat, infinite expanse of computerized dark green, with a thin, white line running horizontally through the middle.

He reflexively went to remove the goggles, but his arms just wouldn’t uncross. Uncross? Yes. His arms were crossed against his chest, his hands enveloped in sleeves secured to the back of the straightjacket that confined his upper body, between his scapulae. Conversely, he could tell that his lower body wasn’t afforded that same kind of protection. He still had underwear on, but his legs, stretched in front of him and slightly apart, were bare. He could feel padding around his ankles, soft and unyielding, which told him everything he needed to know about the bidder’s intentions.

Despite the position he was restrained in, he wasn’t sitting: something attacked to the back of the straightjacket, right between the top parts of his scapulae, held him up, keeping his butt level with his feet.

Kirishima shook his head this way and that, but the visor wouldn’t come off or budge a single inch.

“Hello, Red,” buzzed a distorted voice in his headphones, and the white line on his screen waved in tune with it. “I know you like a challenge. And I know you like tickling. You’ll get both.”

This isn’t…!” started Kirishima before trailing off. Gosh, why was he so tongue-tied? It was embarrassing! Stupid moron, he was screwing it up-- “Who are you?”

“You may call me Mx Tech. I have crowdsourced what will happen to you next. Our time together has been outlined by internet user Sallage.”

Kirishima gulped down hard. Internet people were absolute freaks.

“I detect a surge of discomfort. You may rest assured knowing that what you will experience shortly is similar in nature to your participation in the Auction so far.”

That was strangely comforting knowledge. Blind and vulnerable as Kirishima was in that position, knowing that he wasn’t going to be tortured in far less pleasant ways sparked a spec of relief in him. But he tried to pretend he’d been unfazed all along as he bared his fangs and questioned, “Where are the others?”

“There is no here or there, nor were there ever. Consequently, there are and there never were no others.”

Puzzling though the answer was, Kirishima was able to suss out that he was alone with that freak.

“Are they safe?”

There was a moment of disappointed static in his headphones. “They were always safe. I will attempt to express this notion with a more appropriate turn of phrase: none of this is real, ergo neither were your friends. Or you, for that matter. You will be made to feel… things, but no harm will come to you.”

“But…”

“Enough,” hissed the static. “The game will begin shortly.”

Number 1 rule when captured by villains: keep them talking. “Game?”

The voice’s crackling never changed in pitch or tone, only the pauses between sentences gave Kirishima an inkling of what Mx Tech was feeling.

“You will be asked nine multiple-answer questions, comprising four options each. Only one of said options is correct. After you read each question, a certain amount of time will pass before you are allowed to answer, during which time stimulation will be applied. You will be rewarded for each correct answer. Each answer that is incorrect or not given will result in a penalty. If you win the game, you will receive a prize, which will be unveiled after the eighth question. If you lose the game, you will be punished.”

Kirishima was struggling to keep up. Damn his stupid, useless brain. “Wait! What happens after each—“

“Question 1. Which auctionee has the least ticklish thighs?”

The question that silenced him also appeared on his UI, and the four possible answers popped up in as many colorful boxes:

Gray

Orange

Red

White

“Who are those?” he asked just before he remembered the way the auctioneer addressed them. “I don’t remember…” He was Red and Orange was definitely Bakugo, that much was certain. Gray and White… Ojiro and Inasa, but which was which? And that question… “How am I supposed to know…?”

The four boxes disappeared. “Wait! I didn’t know that you would do thAHAT!!!”

The jolt that shook Kirishima and caused his voice to shoot up an octave for a second was caused by a series of thin metal digits crawling under his extended knees, caressing the top of his calves, and moving back up.

It was…surprisingly bearable. Kirishima was under no illusion about how sensitive he was, but since a 1-minute countdown had appeared on his UI, he was quite confident he’d be able to handle it without laughing. Definitely not with a straight face, but without laughing. Kaminari would have died, but he could do it. And since that was the only form of control he was allowed to exert, he did precisely that.

Unfortunately, whatever was holding him up also prevented him from moving any closer to his restrained ankles or lifting himself up, so he couldn’t bend his knees, which would have lessened the sensation, if not prevented it completely.

But no, he could endure. Yes, the fact that his legs, and only his legs were bare had a strange effect on him, making them feel more vulnerable, but he could do it. He could do it.

And he did it. When the countdown reached 0, the metal claws retracted, and the question reappeared on the screen; but the options didn’t.

“Wait! Who were the options?!” he asked, but received no answer.

“You were shown your options when the question was asked. Henceforth, any word you utter will be interpreted as your answer to prevent stalling.”

He and Bakugo were included, that much he remembered, but not the other two… and between himself and Bakugo, the redhead seemed to remember having a stronger reaction to his thighs being squeezed. “B—Orange! The answer is Orange!”

A red “X” flashed on his screen. Nine dots also appeared at the top, the rightmost one being crossed out.

“Incorrect. The correct answer is Gray (71).”

The knee tickling had lulled him into a false sense of security. Kirishima didn’t clearly realize it, but he felt nothing short of shock when the straightjacket came alive.

“AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! NOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAH HAHAAHAHAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!!”

An endless array of soft bristles had taken his ribs by storm, which the crossed out arms left ripe for the taking. They were everywhere, moving in all directions at once yet feeling like a compact front, like bubbling soup lazily turning in a pot. He did not expect such a sensitive spot to be targeted so soon and so ruthlessly.

“AHHAHAHAHHAHAAH HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!! HAHAHA HAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

The entirety of his ribcage was alight with the overwhelming sensation, the bristles exploring every groove and bump, the entirety of the skin stretched over tightly knitted muscle covering the bones of his spacious chest, reaching all the way back to his back and scapulae, which, wouldn’t you know, also turned out to be ticklish.

Kirishima reflexively looked for a timer, but none was displayed. He was at Mx Tech’s mercy as long as the bidder wished, his red mane whipping this way and that as he writhed under the unbearable stimulation.

It was a tickler he could neither see nor hear, which, despite the sensation being unceasing and all-encompassing, somehow plagued him with anticipation, his nerves stretching into the space around him to interpret his surroundings through touch, and him paying dearly for it. And as if the bristles weren’t bad enough, the whole thing was vibrating, though he didn’t realize right away.

Even Kirishima realized that it couldn’t have been that long before the tickling stopped, yet even so, he was winded by the end of it. But he had little time to recuperate, because the next question was already up.

“Question 2. Who, among the following, is the most feather-ticklish auctionee?”

Black

Green

Orange

Pink

He had to get it right this time. Kirishima did not mind being tickled – in fact, one could even say he liked it, and he often had. Tickling others, being tickled, it was fun. And in certain contexts, he’d come to accept that it was more than that. Pushing someone to his limit, being pushed to his limit, the challenge, the most playful form of domination and submission…

But this was something else. Kirishima felt like he was someone else’s plaything, and he did not like that. It wasn’t fair. And if he had eight questions left, he didn’t know how he could make it through so many rounds of ruthless rib tickling. Black, green, orange, pink. Black green orange pink. Blackgreenorangepink, he repeated like a mantra. He could match those color to the person later, he already remembered two of them.

When the question vanished, the redhead braced for the metal claws. But instead of his knees, the claws pounced on his left foot.

Kirishima yelped with surprise, feeling his foot arch back and becoming completely immobile, and the claws were all over it right away: his heel, the arch, the ball, the toes, and under, and in-between, finding every small patch of soft skin left on his sole.

“Ohhohoho wohohohow!!! Ihihhit tihihihihihcklehehehes heheheheheheehehe!!”

Kirishima was ticklish all over, and his feet were no exception. Though they weren’t as sensitive as other areas, they were big and broad, meaning a whole lot of claws could fit on them. They were unbiased in their targeting, but Kirishima had the impression that they were honing on the few patches of soft skin, namely at the bottom of his arches and under and between his toes.

No matter, he just had to hold on for… wait, two minutes?! Ok, ok, no matter, black, green, orange, pink, black, green, orange…?

The question flashed again on the screen, and the claws withdrew.

Ok. The most feather ticklish. Orange was Bakugo, and he was definitely ticklish, but feather ticklish? His skin did look so soft and delicate… He could picture him jumping away with a hiss as the redhead dragged a feather down his chest.

Ah, but there was also Midoriya, and he was a sensitive one for sure, he looked and acted like anything would tickle.

As for Pink, that was… Todoroki, right! Oh man, he was so ticklish too! Kirishima hadn’t tickled him a lot himself, and he’d always used his fingers…

And finally, Black. Who the heck was he? The announcer’s words gave him the answer. The earthquake guy, right! Honestly, he didn’t look that ticklish.

So it was between Bakugo, Midoriya, and Todoroki. He was leaning toward the latter two…

DON!

A gong resounded in his headphones.

“Time’s up. The answer was Green (83.5).”

Outrage surged within Kirishima, barely outpacing panic. “That’s not fair!!!”

“You were warned against stalling,” replied the cold static.

“I didn’t know there was a time limit!!! You ca-OGH!”

He was abruptly cut off by something being shoved into his mouth, silencing him.

“NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!! GGGGGGGGGGNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

The redhead would have done anything to avoid a second round of rib tickling, but that wasn’t all he was zapped with: no, as punishment for his teetering, the spinning brushes and fuzzy rollers were put into action.

Fuzzy rollers spun under his knees, following the same itinerary as the claws had – Kirishima almost missed them. Two more fuzzy rollers (or was it just one?) brushed his soles up and down. And everywhere else was just crawling with spinning brushes of various sizes, all whirring frantically, covering Kirishima’s legs like the most agonizing trousers. They flocked to cover every space that the fuzzy rollers left empty, also buzzing between his toes and the tops of his feet, which Kirishima would not have expected to be so sensitive.

But the absolute worst ones were the dozens molesting his thick thighs, gliding over the powerful muscles with unbridled glee, unafraid to buzz against the utmost limit of his boxers.

Kirishima wouldn’t have screamed or writhed any harder or more furiously if his entire lower body was crawling with venomous spiders. Maybe he would have thought If I wasn’t so dumb, this wouldn’t be happening. But what the straightjacket was doing for him stripped him of the ability to beat himself up.

“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPH!!!! NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNPHHHHHHMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMHHHH!!!! HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHHHHHH!!!”

The redhead had never felt tickling so intense, not even during the screening. It was just so much of it. His friends had ganged up on him before, sure, and not just the once; he’d been on the receiving end of Kaminari’s tickle-shocks on more than a few occasions, and Sero had even bound him up a couple of times (he still felt tingles when he looked at his pull-up bar). But it had never been so mechanically ruthless, not even when Bakugo was involved, and he’d never been so literally deprived of wiggle room. And to top it all off, he was unable to see, couldn’t hear any sounds that weren’t his own muffled moans, and being unable to channel even a tiny fragment of his torment through laughter seemed to make it even worse!!

His senses either block or overstimulated, Kirishima finally understood the expression “tickle hell”. And he languished there at Mx Tech’s leisure, no spider web to pull him out, biting into a gag that not even his fangs could pierce.

The devices stopped all at once, obedient servants of a single will, and it hit the redhead like a breeze in the desert. The gag left his mouth and the desperate intake of air awarded him the barest of reliefs and refreshments. He was boiling in that straightjacket, he could feel rivulets of sweat run down his face and back, and his legs felt both warm and… cool?

His senses weren’t deceiving him: a layer of liquid coated his entire lower body, which explained how the brushes were able to glide along his skin so effortlessly. He’d worry about that later.

“I trust that you won’t attempt to stall again.”

Reflexively, Kirishima nodded, and instantly regretted it. He should put up more of a fight. What would Bakugo say if he could see him? But Bakugo wasn’t there. Still, that situation was so impersonal, and the bidder so hostile. So if it wasn’t real, whose fantasy was it? ‘Cause it for sure wasn’t Kirishima’s.

“Question 3. Who is the most ticklish auctionee out of the four below?”

Kirishima nearly smiled with relief when he saw the four options:

Black

Gray

Red

White

He knew who those four people were. And he had to be the most ticklish of the four, right?

But before he could answer, the question was replaced by a 3-minute timer, and the claws returned: this time, they gently scratched at his right thigh.

“Ack! Cohome ohohn mahaahan! IhI know theh a-AH!nswer! It’s R-EHEHD!! Beheheh coohol!! bargained Kirishima through the stream of yelping exhalations, too loud to be mere giggles. He received no answer other than the timer and claws carrying on unfazed.

The tickling between question and answer wasn’t just getting longer, it also got progressively worse. His thighs were a bit more sensitive than his already plenty sensitive feet, but it wasn’t just that, the slippery liquid coating his legs was also making it worse. A holdover from his punishment?

The longer it went on, the more the claws skittering up and down his inner thigh tickled, his laughter growing more decisive and his attempts to close his legs – being tickled one side at a time felt so strange, not like he was going to complain – also increased, though, much like trying to activate his Quirk, to no avail.

By the end, he was actually counting down aloud himself. So the wait after the last question was going to be nine minutes? Kirishima shivered as he questioned how Mx Tech would keep upping the ante each round.

When the question reappeared, he didn’t even read it before blurting out, “RED!!”

“Correct. The correct answer is Red (78).”

A reward! Kirishima was so happy that the straightjacket wouldn’t turn on again that he’d forgotten he’d actually won something. A break, maybe?

“OH?!” was all that he could say when something he hadn’t known was there turned on in his underwear. An unspecified number of tendrils began to writhe against and around his balls. “Wha-ohot is thihIS?!”

“I was under the impression that humans appreciated genital stimulation. Furthermore, you welcome tickling. Therefore I do not understand your vexation.”

And though he wouldn’t, Kirishima had to recognize that past the alarmed revulsion of the first few moments, it wasn’t the worst sensation he’d been subjected to that night(?). It tickled, of course, everything seemed like it had to. But not in the worst way. In fact…

The thin suckers were either fuzzy or vibrating, maybe both, Kirishima couldn’t tell, but he could feel himself react to them. Would… they move somewhere else?

He was startled by the sound of muffled laughter filling his ears, and when, one millisecond later, he registered the video input, he realized it was his own. A dozen or so windows had filled the screen, all showing the same subject from different points of view: Kirishima, writhing under the joint efforts of the brushes, rollers, and straightjacket. He could see the white straightjacket, the mechanical hands bearing the bright pink implements, the oil glistening on his skin, his disheveled hair, flushed face, drool dripping down his chin.

There was a camera (though he couldn’t see them in any shot) trained on each of his feet, one framing both, another framing both from the back; a shot of his tormented legs from above, and one, closer to his crotch, from below; three framed his upperbody and head from the front and the sides, and one was just a close-up of his face, a portrait of pent-up suffering. The final two were full-body shots from the front and from slightly above.

Strangely, it didn’t feel mocking or violating. Seeing himself react to that unbearable round of tickling, with the safety afforded by looking back, was… a teensy bit hot. Though his perspective was probably colored by the machines fondling his testicles.

He expected to feel a familiar sense of constriction, but the fabric offered no resistance as he stirred, allowing the generous girth to reshape it as required. Perhaps it truly wasn’t real. Perhaps he could enjoy that fantasy.

He was actually filled with disappointment when the tendrils stilled and disappeared from the map of his perception, leaving him eager for more. That had felt too short. When the straightjacket turned on, had it also lasted that little? It felt impossible.

“Question 4. Which of the following auctionees is the least likely to experience arousal from tickling?”

Gray

Orange

White

Yellow.

Ok, it had to be Bakugo, right? Yellow was Kaminari, and to be fair, he also freaked out when Jiro tickled him, he really seemed to hate it. What about… Ojiro? Kirishima had no idea, he didn’t have remotely close to that relationship with the martial artist. Although there was that tail of his… And Inasa? Kirishima hadn’t really had to think of him as a sexual being before that moment. Actually, was it weird that he was being asked about what turned on his friends, and that he wasn’t really bothered by it?

He blushed a little, but pushed on. Bakugo. He just couldn’t picture otherwise. It had to be him.

The question vanished, and the claws struck, assailing his knees as well as his right foot.

“Ohohokahahahahy ohohkaaaaahahahahahahahahyy!!! Hehehehhahahahahahahahah hahaahaha hahahahahahahahahaha!!!! Ihihihihit’s wohohohohohorse!!”

The oil was making a difference, especially on his calves and arches. While he’d been tickled with tools and Quirks before that day(?), Kirishima had never had his sensitivity enhanced with an oil or the like. Well, that wasn’t exact. There was that one time he’d noticed his soles getting more sensitive after applying lotion, and he’d actually pestered someone into tickling him to make sure. Right, it was Bakugo. Of course. And he hadn’t stopped until Kirishima was a wheezing, hiccupping mess. Retribution for annoying him, Bakugo had said, though the redhead was convinced he was also taking his anger out on him for a certain Pikachu’s remark about “ticklish tootsies”. The redhead was used to being his lightning rod due to also having very sensitive ribs (though, he maintained even through torture, Bakugo’s were even more ticklish). It was probably for the best that Bakugo was so one-track mind that he hadn’t realized that the tops were the most sensitive part of Kirishima’s feet.

When the four minutes came to an end, Kirishima realized that he was beginning to get tired. He hadn’t really tried to conserve his energy, and that might be a problem later on.

The timer! Right. “The answer… is Orange,” he stated between breaths. He twitched with anticipation as he awaited his reward…

“Incorrect. The correct answer is Yellow (82).”

What?! That twist made the loss a little less unpleasant… for all of 1 second, before the straightjacket did its thing.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHAAHAAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! HAHAHAHAHAGAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHA OHMYGOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHHAAHAAAAAAAAA!!!

---

It had been agony. Bakugo’s upperbody was as soaked as his legs by the end of it. He was certain it had lasted longer than before. And he’d noticed another thing. Namely, that while the bristles were confined to his ribs, the vibrations did things to his chest. Meaning that even as his head hung loose after the tickling, his second head did not.

He was about to pass the half point, and only one of the four dots had a green tick in it. Come on. “Next question!” he demanded.

“Question 5. Which auctionee has the most ticklish feet?”

Black

Green

Pink

White

That one was easy, but he had to endure five minutes of tickling on and under his knees and on his left thigh before he was allowed to answer.

“P… Pink,” he panted.

“Correct. The correct answer is Pink (72.75, averaged).”

Kirishima was relieved he wouldn’t get tickled again rather than eager for his reward. Too bad he turned out to be only partially correct, because when whatever lived in his underwear activated, it wasn’t just his balls being targeted by gentle caresses: the fabric covering his glutes produced bristles not unlike those of the straightjacket, lighting up the statuesque mounds with tickles.

“EHEHEHEHhihihihihi!!!! Dohohohon’t dohohohoho thahahahahahahhaaaaaaaaahahahahaahhaaht!!! Hahahahaha hahahahahahaha!!!”

Why did even his butt have to be ticklish?! It distracted him from the not exactly unwelcome action of the slithering tendrils on his A-side, though the expectation of pleasure tantalizing his nerves seemed to make him even more sensitive.

But he struggled to hear his own protests and pleas, because his ears were filled with the sound of Todoroki’s explosive laughter, sounding shocked and exhausted at all times. The twelve screens reappeared, but they showed various scenes of Todoroki’s torment at the hands of his imposing bidder. Most of the shots were of the bidder using various implements on Todoroki’s soles to devastating effect, though they’d also targeted his side and armpit – spots which Kirishima knew to be very sensitive thanks to Midoriya blurting it out, unprompted, in the past, and for some not-so-unknown reason, the redhead had remembered. There was no denying that Todoroki was attractive, and his slenderer frame awoke something protective inside Kirishima, which however didn’t seem to hamper the delight he felt at both of their bodies being put through their respective ordeals. And it was… interesting how such a powerful hero was absolutely unable to cope with that type of sensation or to pretend he could. Having accepted that his friends weren’t really being tortured, Kirishima was starting to let go the inhibitions of his conscience. Meaning that by the end of it, his King Crimson was glistening with interest.

“Question 6. One of the following auctionees isn’t ticklish on his sides. Which one is it?”

Gray

Orange

White

Yellow

Bakugo wasn’t that ticklish on his sides, but he did still go rigid when someone tried, so probably not him. Kaminari also seemed unlikely.

But the claws prevented Kirishima from finishing his reasoning. The oil or whatever was on his skin still hadn’t dried, making the 6 minutes feel even longer, the redhead beginning to realize his stamina was rapidly being depleted.

“Wh…White,” he hazarded once he was allowed to.

“Correct,” said the static flatly, and Kirishima felt like celebrating. “The correct answer is White (74).”

Obnoxious cackling and shots of the buff hero filled Kirishima’s ears and vision. Inasa was hanging from a complex webbing of red wires, and long claws as well as feather boa-like implements harassed his chest, pits, ribs, soles, his oversized manhood… but the two shots that burned themselves into Kirishima’s brain showed Ojiro’s tail and even his tongue adding to the torment… What was going on with those two? Had they not been separated?

Still, Kirishima didn’t have to ponder the morality of enjoying the scene, because most of his focus was directed to his own body by the newest addition to his underwear, as Mx Tech seemed to think that it would be a lark to add tendrils to tease his taint and the edges of his crack.

“SHIIIIIIIIIHIHIT!!!” part-moaned, part-laughed, part-whined the redhead, unsure how to feel about more erotic tickling while the impellent throbbing went unaddressed, the underwear having stretched to accommodate his considerable erection and teasing the glistening tip with just the slightest pressure.

“COHOHOHOME OHOHN! DOHOHOHO IIHIHIT!!” he pleaded disjunctly, the tickling proving itself to be a form of edging he couldn’t deal with. But the machine afforded him neither form of mercy.

“Ah… ah…” panted the redhead once the underwear turned off an eternity later. He was being pushed to the limit in two directions at once, and the breaking point was fast approaching.

“Question 7.”

“Ple…ase mahan… Give me… a sec…”

“Which of the following auctionees has the single most ticklish spot out of the four?”

Black

Gray

Yellow

White

The question was structured in too complex a way for Kirishima’s brain, starved by exertion and clouded by arousal, to make sense of. And the 7 minutes of tickling on his left foot and right thigh first, then his right foot and left thigh, did not help with memorization. The sweat-drenched redhead spent all of the 7 minutes scrimping the breath to beg for a break, a reflexive escape mechanism rather than a conscious choice, because his head knew he wouldn’t get any reprieve, but his body rejected that indisputable fact.

When the question reappeared, Kirishima didn’t know the answer, he didn’t even remember the options. He only knew that he needed the pressure between his legs released, he needed to not be tickled for a moment.

Perilously close to the timer, he blurted out in a hoarse whisper, “Green.”

“Incorrect. The correct answer is Black (74.5). Green was not one of the given options. Please take the game seriously.”

Somehow, Kirishima knew what was about to happen, but he refused to accept it even after the gag was once again shoved into his mouth, though the ferocious tickling that swarmed his legs (he’d been so happy about the tops of his feet being left alone for most of the game, though the excruciating torment every nook and cranny of his thighs received served to overshadow it) and the more localized but hardly more bearable assault on his ribs were incontrovertible. Pleasure-starved as he was, he somehow managed to also be painfully aware of the stimulation the straightjacket was doling out to his chest.

Kirishima began to doubt the unbearable tickling would ever end, that any form of release would come. Unquenched desire and exhaustion stretched those excruciating minutes even further. And he knew that, in some way he couldn’t possibly conceive, it would get worse.

He didn’t connect the relief he felt at one point to the tickling pausing, or the break to the fact that the eighth question was being asked and that he should probably pay attention. He only registered being able to laugh again, and the sensation focusing only on his thighs, for exactly 8 minutes that felt like 80.

He was drained, except for one part that stood vigorously and loudly demanded attention, as if it had parasitized all of the redhead’s energy. But he knew he had to read the question – the tickling had ceased, he had to read – he panicked seeing the lack of options, meaning he had to answer, and quickly! Read, read, gather up your fucking useless brains and read!!!

“Which auctionee has a Quirk that makes them progressively more ticklish?”

Kirishima’s tears of joy mingled with the much more abundant discharge of ticklish lacrimation.

“Orange!!” he yelled, rediscovering his rambunctiousness. There was no doubt in his mind.

“Correct. The correct answer is Orange (68.5 to 84).”

Kirishima felt like he’d been saved, by Bakugo(’s ticklishness) no less. He welcomed the devices lurking in his underwear like an angelic chorus, especially the tendrils that began to slither around the base of his dick, slowly moving up the shaft.

What he didn’t expect was Bakugo’s desperate laughter to boom in his headphones, and when he noticed what the split-screens were showing, a jolt ran through him.

Bakugo, naked or towel-clad, depending on the screen, lost in ticklish agony as Kaminari’s electrified fingers ravaged his armpits, or Shindo vibrated his ribs, or Shoji assaulted his feet or (and Kirishima overheated) his entire body with fingers and tongues and more… but the most amazing sight was seeing himself standing next to the raging, disheveled Bakugo, and scratching at his ribcage and, in one screen, also stroking him—

It took three seconds for the vibrating tips of the three tendrils to reach Kirishima’s own tip. That’s how long it took for Kirishima to let out a groaning moan, loud and shameless as only he could be in his best moments, and spill scalding pleasure into the devilish underwear, his senses dominated by Bakugo’s body and laughter.

When the mind-rocking pleasure subsided, the tendrils had only begun, but even as he writhed under two forms of overstimulation, his focus, so lacking in his studies, did not allow the footage to slip into the back of his mind for a single moment. Solid even after the orgasm, no longer sure that it couldn’t be his own fantasy he was living out, he let the rigged underwear edge him until, regretfully, his visor went still again.

Kirishima was running on fumes, sustained by his own arousal, yet he couldn’t help a moan of disappointment.

“Your desires are so transparent,” crackled the static. “Excellent. We’ve come to question 8. Your wins and losses are even. I will now proceed to illustrate your prize should you win the game.”

Kirishima was only half listening, devoting his hearing to preserving the sound of that laughter. He’d looked so helpless, yet, somehow, so free. His frantic heartbeat picked up once again when still from the video filled his vision. All of them depicted someone who looked exactly like Kirishima putting Bakugo through tickle hell as well as… pleasuring him.

“Should you respond correctly to the last question, you will experience what you have seen first-hand. Your mind will be temporarily transferred into the version of you that Mx Mob impersonated. A perfect simulation. This has been determined to be the perfect reward for you.”

Kirishima felt like he should object. But what use was denying it? He’d just cum from seeing and hearing – that sound – his best friend be tickled to tears and beyond. He wanted to blame the underwear, the previous tickling he himself had sustained, but what was the point? If none of that was real, not even the Bakugo that seemed to be suffering, wasn’t he foolish, unmanly to deny his desires?

He didn’t even contemplate what would happen if he lost – besides, it was obvious it would include more unbearable tickling.

“Furthermore,” resumed the static, with a slight variation in its tone the distracted redhead didn’t pick up on, “you have been extended a permanent invitation to the Auction. Should you wish to return, you will be able to give yourself over to a tickler of your choice. You may return as often as you desire.”

Kirishima somehow felt even more called out by that special privilege than by his orgasm material. “But… I…” he stammered weakly, not just due to his aching throat, but there was nothing he could say.

The static bulldozed right over the awkwardness. “Question 9. Whose armpits are the most ticklish?”

Black

Green

Red

White

Kirishima’s eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. That… had to be a done deal, right? Actually, wasn’t it weird his underarms hadn’t been targeted yet?

He had no time to ponder as the 9-minute countdown started, and the claws attacked both his feet and his thighs. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!! OOOOOHOHOHOHO!!! GHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAH!!! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Even more sensitive after his climax, the redhead laughed and reflexively thrashed with energy he should not have, but his attempts to escape the tickling were purely physiological: something had clicked inside of him, and the agony unleashed so close to his still drenched yet so expectant rod was as unbearable as it was sweet. He could feel himself pulsating, throbbing, yearning, each motion bringing him closer to a second climax. But generous Mx Tech was not, and the alluring manhood bobbed rigidly without receiving the slightest attention.

It was so much. Kirishima’s body couldn’t take yet craved more, and he was lost as to which he should facilitate. So it was a tangled mass of aching that prompted him to shout “Mine!!! It’s mihine!!!” as soon as the question reappeared.

“Incorrect. The correct answer was Red.”

“But that’s what I said!” protested Kirishima. Seriously, where was he finding that strength?

“You did not say ‘Red.’ Therefore, you lose the game. On to the next.”

In the fraction of a second it takes for a switch to be flipped, the entire set-up changed. The straightjacket, underwear, and headset were gone, leaving Kirishima starkly, gloriously naked. He would have instinctively reached for his groin if a transparent cube that encased his upper body and part of his legs didn’t make that motion impossible. The case started at his knees and ended right below his chin, containing part of his jaw as his head was tilted up slightly. His arms were forced up to either side of his head, so he could bend his elbows and had free rein of his hands, but he couldn’t lower his arms.

That position would have been uncomfortable if not for the fact that Kirishima was floating in a space without gravity, no up or down nor defining features except for what looked like an immense parade of spotlights trained on him from all directions, soft enough not to hurt his eyes even as their radiance and sheer numbers obscured everything else, if there even was an “else”.

Though the case was firm and unyielding, the holes that housed the redhead’s limbs and head didn’t feel uncomfortable. He would be able to struggle and thrash and laugh his head off without hurting himself.

Mx Tech’s voice was no longer a static, but am echoing, omnipresent boom, and the spotlights brightened and dimmed as the explained the last phase of his torment. “This last game is your punishment. An online poll was conducted. Thirty respondents volunteered their time and hands. You will be asked a series of questions while the respondents stimulate your body. Failing to provide the correct answer will result in the addition of tools and other tickling implements and facilitators.”

Thirty people?! That was like… sixty hands! They couldn’t mean at the same time, right? Kirishima knew he should object, he should make it clear that he wasn’t ok with that, that he couldn’t take it anymore… yet he could feel his skin taste the air like a snake’s tongue. How bad would it be? What was he going to feel? How far past his limit would he be pushed? Thirty people… all giving him what he wanted, if too much of it. He’d never thought he was much to look at. That he’d deserve to be desired. That someone else would be willing to give him what he’d give them – devotion was his way to compensate for his deficiencies. But in the context of this absurd fantasy, whoever it belonged to, whatever it was, he was desired. And by many people who were going to lavish their attention on the body he’d worked so hard to attain.

So he stared into the void, mouth agape, not knowing what to say. A rising wet sensation saved him from that awkward conundrum as the transparent case filled from the bottom up with a clear, warm liquid. When the surface reached the top of the case, instead of overflowing or stopping, the liquid began to disappear, leaving only a generous coating on his now glistening skin.

“We’re ready to begin.”

Kirishima was on edge. He didn’t know what to brace for. How bad--

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! GHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHAHHAAHHAHAHAAHA!!!”

Absolute. Ticklishness. Kirishima wouldn’t have been able to say whether the hands were sixty or thirty, how many had manicured nails, or . All that he knew was that every part of his body encased in the parallelepiped was engulfed with the purest of ticklish sensations, a numbers game that enthusiastically ravaged every inch of him that was within reach.

He could hardly be said to be laughing. He was howling.

“GGGGGHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

What should have stood out to him the most was probably his stomach, as the washboard expanse housed the greatest concentration of hands. Some were lazily trailing along the nooks and crannies sculpted by hard training, drinking in the beauty, but most were clawing at his abs or torturously tracing their nails up and down, both actions that the oil rendered absolutely painless and utterly unbearable. There was a finger circling and dipping into his bellybutton, but the worst offenders were the hands softly scratching at his lower belly, just above the waist line, like daggers slipping past his abdominal shield.

“OHMYGOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHA!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!”

It wasn’t even the abundance of fingers wiggling along his waist, digging into his V-line, or squeezing his hips that instantly sent his nerves into overdrive, no, despite the proximity to his attentive privates.

In fact, it wasn’t even the hands competing for his rod, the two stroking and teasing the shaft or the winner rubbing the tip with a thumb, or the losers that had to relocate further down, teasing his balls, taint, and thighs, or even his marble-deserving butt, spots all that were proving to be quite sensitive.

No, their eagerness to give him pleasure wasn’t remarkable in the slightest, because in the sea of sensation that he was forced to swim in, there was no difference between coaxed arousal and agonizing ticklishness. A nectar so delightful it seared the tongue.

“NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH…. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!”

It wasn’t the hands squeezing his sides, the fingers fluttering up and down his neck, gleefully exploring the mounds of his back, or even the multiple digits scratching at and vibrating in his ribs or playing them like a piano, despite all the grief that spot had caused him before. No.

His armpits. The spot that despite how much he loved tickling, he couldn’t help protecting whenever someone playfully wiggled their fingers at him. The spot that would have him on the ground and in tears in less than a minute. The sheer agony of the pull-up bar incident. And now there were more hands, many more. Digging right under them, just above his ribcage, stimulating the muscular edges, more sensitive closer to his back and especially right next to his chest.

And the very center, and right above and below. Raking and wiggling and gliding. Undiluted hysteria.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH……………………………………………………………………. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH…………………………………………… GGGGHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Outside of the grasp of Kirishima’s vanquished consciousness, a game was being played.

“First question. Which is more sensitive: Orange’s feet or Gray’s chest?”

“GGGGGHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

“No answer was given. Electric toothbrushes have been provided for use on the following areas: left nipple, navel, glans, and perineum.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“Next question. Which is more sensitive: Gray’s big toes or Yellow’s thighs?”

“OHMYGOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHA!!!”

“No answer was given. Feathers have been provided for use on the following areas: neck

Neck and intergluteal cleft. You should at least make an effort.”

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!”

“Next question. Which is more sensitive: Yellow’s stomach or Red’s underarms?”

“NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

“No answer was given. Vibrating wands have been provided for use on the following areas: left armpit, right nipple, glans, and scrotum.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH…. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!”

“Next question, although it is starting to feel purely perfunctory. Which is more sensitive: Red’s thighs or Green’s hips?”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…………………………………………………………………….”

“No answer was given, and I would thank you not to climax while I’m asking you a question. Metal claws have been provided for use on the following areas: right armpit, back, stomach, glutes, and thighs.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH…………………………………………… GGGGHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“See? Haven’t you just made it even harder on yourself? Good grief. Next question. Which is more sensitive…”

Kirishima couldn’t register a single question, he had no capacity for speech left. Some part of him did notice that the sensation would get progressively more intense, though casual attribution was a dream of a bygone era. He had no energy left to keep thrashing, laughing, howling, coughing, wheezing, withstanding any of it, tame the pleasure that suddenly exploded within, none of it.

Every part of him was yelling at him to make it stop somehow, yet part of it was the frustration of sating and unquenchable thirst, white hot bliss that can’t be handled or turned away from. Exquisite, unendurable attention that made him feel appreciated, deserving. So what if his higher faculties were the price to pay?

The questions and hands carried on long after Kirishima had lost the ability to make sounds, move, or spill his ecstasy. They’d get their fill even if he’d already gotten his. The redhead was utterly broken, and unable to feel conflict about it, when the Auctioneer finally delivered him from Mx Tech’s mindscape.

“You were very mean to that delightful young man,” observed the Auctioneer, his tone expressing amusement more than judgment.

Mx Tech twinkled nonchalantly. “Mean enough that he’ll come back.”

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 21 - GRAVE

Tesleen's death was difficult for everyone at the Inn at Journey's Head, and it was especially difficult for Alisaie. Despite feeling shaken herself, Rhiki takes it upon herself to do something for both of her friends.

(I can't take any credit for this one! It was a suggestion by several people in the FFXIV OC Swap Discord channel! I really appreciate all of the help!)

Rating: Teen Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort Characters: Alisaie Leveilleur, Warrior of Light (Z'rhiki Irhi) Word Count: 2,124 Content Warnings: Mentions of character death, mentions of body horror

Z’rhiki’s face was damp. It was damp with sweat, from the perpetual heat of the day as Mord Souq’s unforgiving, ever-present sun loomed overhead; with condensation, rising out of the cauldron as steam and clinging to her face as she hovered over it; and with tears, still slipping down her cheeks. Frustrated, she groped blindly beside her for the dishrag. Finally catching it in her fingers after a few probing attempts, she used it for what felt like the twentieth time to violently scrub the moisture from her face until her skin burned from the friction. Sniffling, she discarded the scrap of cloth once more and leaned back over the pot to check its contents. Good color, good aroma, good consistency. After another similarly disorganized scrabble for her ladle, she dipped it into the stew and brought it back up to taste. She hoped the saltiness came from the added ingredients and wasn't just the residual taste of her own tears, but if it did, it was perfect. She carefully removed it from the cookfire and began the process of cleaning up her culinarian accoutrements. She focused on breathing deeply and allowed the methodical motions of wiping and re-packing her items, then of portioning out the stew, to calm her so that she could keep her composure upon returning to the Inn.

With her supplies stored, the waste discarded, and the stew in thermoses lining her satchel, there was nothing to do but begin the short trek back.

It took her a few minutes to locate Alisaie after reaching the camp and setting aside her gear. She found her off to the side, in the shade of one of the massive stone crags that sheltered the camp. She was sitting with her knees hugged loosely to her chest, staring plaintively at the sandy ground in front of her but somehow giving the impression that she was looking at something much further away. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and Rhiki could see the salty trails of drying tears. She was sure her own face looked not much better, skin stinging and irritated from both the blazing sun and her incessant rubbing. Alisaie was no longer crying (and might deny that she ever had been, despite the obvious evidence), but the distant stare wasn’t much of an improvement.

Rhiki crouched down beside her. She reached out and gently touched the girl’s shoulder, causing Alisaie to at last tear her eyes away from the sand and look up at her.

“How are you holding up?” Rhiki asked softly.

Alisaie must have suddenly remembered the tearstains on her face because she reached up to wipe them away with one of her sleeves. “I’m… I’m alright." She inhaled shakily. "I checked on the patients, I helped gather and wash linens, I changed sheets and bandages, I sorted the larder, I carried supplies, I chased off some scissorjaws – I’ve done everything there is to do!” Cracks were forming in her voice as she spoke, “And it’s still not enough! Not even close! How can it ever be, when…”

Rhiki nodded, understanding. The grief was always easier when there was something to do. It was always there, lurking in the periphery, but at least if you were busy you could keep it at a distance. When there was nothing left to do, though, it would catch right back up to you. Alisaie had been in a frenzy, doing chores and running errands, ever since they had arrived back at the Inn at Journey’s Head to deliver the news of what had ultimately become of Tesleen – that her soul had been set free, and that the eater that consumed her would no longer tarnish her memory. It was partly to keep busy, Rhiki knew; focusing on the ways she could help so that she didn’t have to think about all the ways she couldn’t. But she suspected it was also Alisaie’s way of making up for Tesleen’s absence. Tesleen had always been hard at work around the Inn, performing whatever tasks were asked of her with a smile. Neither of them could replicate the glow her presence brought to the camp, but perhaps they could lighten the workload, at least for a time.

They couldn’t stay forever, though, and Rhiki had known that, at her frenetic pace, Alisaie would sooner or later run out of duties to perform. In anticipation of that, she had assigned herself a duty. It was small, but she hoped that it might ease Alisaie’s heart a bit. Her friend cared so much, and hurt all the more for it. But she never let the hurt stop her from caring. She deserved to have someone care for her every once in a while.

“C’mon,” She said, giving Alisaie’s shoulder a pat. “I’ve got something to show you.”

“Can it wait? I’m not really in the mood.” Rhiki could understand that. She was exhausted; they both were. She was weary and heartsick and fraying at the edges. Which was why it couldn’t wait.

That, and the stew would get cold.

Rhiki shook her head. “No, it can’t. But it won’t take long, I promise.”

Alisaie regarded her warily, but seemed to recognize the earnestness in Rhiki’s voice and in her eyes, and sighed. “Alright, then. What is it you have to show me?”

Rhiki stood and extended a hand to Alisaie, helping her to her feet. She led her by that hand out of the encampment and around the Inn’s outer edge. The sun still raged overhead, the heat making the air around them shimmer and warp. Even with the loosely-packed sand slowing their progress, though, it was not a long walk.

Soon, they reached a peaceful stretch of sand from which one could clearly see the standing stones that formed the walls of the Inn. Rhiki slowed, then stopped, and Alisaie stopped with her. She released Alisaie’s hand, and looked at the girl as the girl looked at her meager creation.

“Rhiki, what have you…” Alisaie trailed off. Rhiki was immediately self-conscious about the jagged, flat-faced stone she had salvaged from one of the nearby Nabaath ruins. Oh gods. This had been a foolish idea, she thought. She had totally overstepped, and hadn't even done a very good job. Why had she ever thought she should show this to anyone, let alone Alisaie?

It was just a piece of crumbling wall, but it was the nicest piece she could find, with one of its surfaces still smooth enough to carve on. She had spent hours trying to chisel a message into it, which had left her pouring sweat, with cracked palms and a sharp ache in her back. She had made her very best effort but, not having the proper tools for engraving stone on hand, her inscription had ended up rather crude, with its letters inconsistently sized and spaced. Though it was hardly a masterpiece, she was happy it was at least legible. Alisaie confirmed this when she said:

“This is for Tesleen, isn’t it?”

Her eyes followed the path of the chisel across the stone’s face.

TESLEEN

WE ALL DESERVE HAPPINESS, WHEREVER WE CAN FIND IT

Rhiki nodded reluctantly. It was for Tesleen, the kind and caring soul who had made them stew on Rhiki’s first night in Ahm Arang. Who had brought comfort to so many in the last days, even the last moments of their lives. Who opened her heart to the patients of the Inn with the full knowledge that at the end of their stay she would have to help them embark on the next leg of their journey. Who would see them off with a smile and the taste of their favorite food.

It was for Tesleen, but it was also for Alisaie. Her dear friend. The girl who strove with all of her might to make a difference, even a small one. The girl who tried, and tried, and tried, and kept trying when others lost hope – because even if it was hopeless, it was still better to try. The girl who cared so much it hurt. The girl who had grabbed her hands in front of the Aftcastle in Limsa Lominsa and begged Rhiki not to leave her alone.

They both deserved so much better than a chipped hunk of stone with a sloppily carved message in the middle of the godsforsaken desert. They deserved better than anything she would ever be able to give them. But at least she could give them this, what little it was.

“I-I know it’s not very good! I tried really hard, but you know my handwriting is terrible, even on parchment! I know that she should have something nicer – and maybe one day, when we fix all of this, we can make something better!” She could feel her words start to catch in her throat. “I know it’s not a proper grave, but one of the other carers - Willfort, I think – said that she cared about this sort of thing – about giving people the chance to say their goodbyes. So I just thought….”

She could feel the hot tears starting to form under her eyes. Alisaie had her face turned away, towards the stone, but suddenly Rhiki saw her shoulders begin to shake. She grabbed Rhiki’s hand again and squeezed. Her long braid jerked back and forth as she shook her head fervently. “No, no it’s not- I just- I…” Alisaie took a deep breath and tried again, this time looking into Rhiki’s eyes, tears already sliding from the corners of her own, “I think she would like it.”

Rhiki grabbed Alisaie and pulled her into a firm hug, feeling her shudder as she tried and failed to contain a sob. She held her there, and after a moment Alisaie returned the hug. She buried her face against Rhiki to hide tears that now fell freely, and Rhiki reached up with one hand to stroke her hair soothingly, though she had to sniff to force back her own weeping. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, only that she didn’t let go until Alisaie finally stilled, and eventually pulled away on her own. She looked like she was about to say something, but Rhiki spoke first.

“Here, I- It’s not just the stone. There’s something else.” She dropped her hands from where they had come to rest on Alisaie’s shoulders to open the flap of her satchel and pull out one of the metal thermoses she had stored there. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she carefully unscrewed the lid and placed the open container at the base of Tesleen’s memorial.

Alisaie was sniffling so much Rhiki doubted she could really smell anything, but she had obviously gotten a glimpse of the contents, because she almost laughed.

“Is that… stew?!”

Rhiki nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Rhiki do you have any idea how hot it is out here in the sun?” Alisaie’s voice teetered between laughter and more crying.

“I know!” Rhiki said, “But… I don’t know what Tesleen’s favorite food was. And this was what the three of us ate together when I first arrived… though it is a lot cooler in the shade…” She shook her head. “It’s a bit late now but… that’s what they do here, right? Send people on their way with the taste of happier days?”

This time it was Alisaie’s turn to nod, and her eyes welled up again as though she was about to lapse back into sobs.

“I brought some for us, too,” Rhiki continued hastily, fishing the additional thermoses out of the bag. “So, you know, we could share it. But you’re right, it’s scorching out here, so maybe we should just take it back to-“

Alisaie seized the soup and wrested it from her grip before she could finish. “No! I- I mean, you made it for us to share, didn’t you? So, l-let’s have a little of it here, shall we?”

“Okay.” Rhiki relented and took up her own container. “I, uh, forgot to bring forks or spoons, so you’ll just kinda have to….” She mimed tipping the thermos up as if to drink from it, and Alisaie laughed, though still had to pause to sniff the mucus from her sinuses. She did as Rhiki had indicated and tipped some of the stew into her mouth.

“Is it good?” Rhiki asked before she had even had enough time to chew, and had to wait for a reply.

After swallowing, Alisaie glanced back at her. “It’s great,” she said, taking a deep, quivering breath. “It’s perfect. All of it. Thank you Rhiki. Really, Thank you.”

Rhiki smiled fondly at her “It’s the least I could do. For either of you.”

[mummer]

what was mance’s actual plan in a scenario where he can take castle black and let all the free folk through the wall (i.e. if jon died before warning them). let them disperse into the gift and just. fend for themselves i guess? would his kingship have ended there? was there ever a plan more complex than “dont get turned into ice zombies” or was he just riffing the whole time. was he imagining some kind of treaty? maybe his plans relied on there still being a reasonable stark in winterfell lol. but it’s not like he can negotiate with the boltons or stannis… and the wildlings are so fractured they would IMMEDIATELY split off. like what would he have DONE if he won? was he doomed from the start??? someone please spitball with me

[autogeneity]

I think it'd be funny to feign ignorance, but maybe if you would like to engage with him - you can talk to him. After all, he is just a rondom. Also... I think you have enough probable cause to speak to him. And to think he would like it too.

seems that talking to him is the consensus among everyone who's responded, and since apparently I am choosing to defer my life decisions to strangers on the internet...I plan to do this if I can figure out a suitable opportunity and approach

[hylianengineer]

I have a new weird interest in Netflix medical documentaries. Not sure what to do with that but okay, sure, why the hell not?

[freeuselandonorris]

💚 magic kiss either Oscar/Carlos or Oscar/Lando

omg ANON i had so little clue of where to start with this i had to panic crowdsource ideas from the gc (thanks guys!). then i decided to really challenge myself and write it as oscar/carlos even though i am not generally a carcar fan... unfortunately i must admit i had an absolute fucking whale of a time writing this lmao tysm for pushing me out of my comfort zone!

Carlos is waiting for him outside the FIA office after the post-race debrief with a face like a slapped arse. Rich, considering Oscar was the one who finished out of the points thanks to Carlos taking his front wing off on lap 32.

“I figured it out,” he says. 

Oscar looks at him askance, scrunching his nose. Behind him, Lando shoves his way past, catching Carlos on the shoulder with a squeeze as he does it. It makes a muscle on Oscar’s jaw twitch for no real reason.

“Remembered how to drive? Congrats.”

Carlos rolls his eyes and falls into step alongside Oscar as he tries to walk away. “No,” he says, insistent. He taps Oscar’s hand for emphasis, and Oscar stares at his forearm. There’s such a thing as having too much body hair. “It is a curse. A magnetism curse.”

“What?” Oscar scoffs. “Come off it. Reckon the FIA will cancel your penalty points if it’s a curse?”

“I am telling you,” Carlos says, but Oscar shakes him free. Magnetism curse. Honest to God, the excuses some people come up with.

-

Two weeks later, when Oscar locks up coming out of the pits on cold tyres and skids across the track straight into a bright red sidepod, he’s forced to admit Carlos may have been right.

He brings it up in the debrief, hesitant. Andrea tells him in no uncertain terms that, if his theory is correct, he needs to sort it out, and soon. Their position in the Constructors’ is under threat with only one car reliably scoring points.

“You know what the cure is, right?” Lando asks afterwards, smacking his gum. He looks unspeakably entertained.

“I’m not doing it,” Oscar says flatly. “I’ll just have to – drive better.”

“Uh huh,” Lando says, smirking. “He’s a goood kisser, you know. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

Oscar waits until he’s left the room before he kicks the wall.

-

They’re separated by five cars in Austria, and Oscar relaxes all the way until Turn 3, when Alonso brakes hard in front of him and in the resulting concertina, Carlos’ front left tyre connects with his right rear.

Puncture, pit stop, strategy fucked. 

For fuck’s sake.

-

Carlos is in his room when he gets back, sitting on the edge of the futon and flicking through a copy of Autosport Oscar had been reading between the practice sessions. 

“Jesus,” Oscar says, stopping in the doorway. “Did Lando let you in?”

Carlos shrugs, which Oscar takes as a yes. He stands up without preamble, squaring his shoulders like he’s ready for a fight. 

Oscar shuts the door and sighs. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

There’s a bit of awkward jostling as they both try to line themselves up, heads tilting in the same direction and the toe of Carlos’ trainer butting up against his own. Oscar makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, and then Carlos’ hand is on his jaw, carefully angling his head.

His lips are annoyingly soft, as plush as they look. When his lips part and his tongue dips into Oscar’s mouth, he tastes of black coffee, bitter and unfamiliar. His hand – big, though not that big, on the scale of things – slides around to the back of Oscar’s neck, warm and secure. He bites down on Oscar’s bottom lip before he pulls away, tugging the flesh gently. Lando wasn’t wrong, he thinks, dazed.

“Well,” he says, stepping back. Up close, his eyes are so dark Oscar can see tiny reflections of himself in them. “Hopefully that has made the trick.”

“Reckon so,” Oscar says, and tells himself the tingling in his fingers and the throbbing in his chest is the curse leaving his body.

[revasserium]

on the subject of birthdays - pt 1

ft. sakusa, daichi, suga, and tsukki

sakusa.

he thinks he should buy you flowers, even though he tells himself that he doesn’t know if you’ll be allergic to a specific kind of flower, so he spends too much time looking up the worlds most hypoallergenic flowers, before komori mentions that he could just buy you fake flowers, which will last longer anyway, and he entertains the idea for an entire afternoon before deciding against it because a) fake flowers will collect dust, and dust can trigger reactions too and b) what if you read too much into it and come to the conclusion that just because he bought you fake flowers, he didn’t deem you worthy of real, living flowers? no, no, no. a misunderstanding of such potentially catastrophic nature simply wouldn’t do. a stuffed animal then? no, those would collect dust too, and heaven knows you’ve already got enough. so a plant, still. but what kind? he lingers outside the local horticulture shop for so long the round-faced girl behind the counter wonders if she should call the cops before he finally goes in to inquire, “what kind of plant do you have that — that doesn’t have flowers and won’t die so easily?” to which she’d blinked and pointed, nonplussed at a group of succulents sitting on the windowsill. and this, he explains, in one long, hurried, mumbling under-breath is how he comes to be standing here, at your front door, on the morning of your birthday, sporting two pots of neatly trimmed succulents, looking vaguely abashed. “they — they’re easy to take care of, most people aren’t allergic and — and they won’t collect that much dust so…” he looks away, clearing his throat as heat crawls up his cheeks, “uhm… happy birthday. i guess.”

daichi.

he wakes up early — he cooks you breakfast; he doesn’t tell you about the hundred or so texts he’d sent the rest of his team trying to crowdsource what exactly to make you that day. there are flowers on the bedside table and a glass of your favorite juice on the breakfast tray and the apartment smells like cinnamon and waffles and the slightly burnt edge of toast. he wakes you up with a kiss, a smile, a whispered happy birthday; he doesn’t tell you about the three minutes he’d spent at the bedside, counting your even breaths like counting stars — one, two, three — twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two — he doesn’t tell you about the way he’d ghosted his finger along the bend of your cheek, bit his own lips as he bends down to kiss you, hesitating just a second to swallow back his heart, thudding at the back of his tongue, threatening to leap from his mouth to yours. your smile is radiant and sweet enough to evoke the jealousy of honey-bees as you open your eyes and see him, and he thinks that he might like to wake you up like this every day, birthday or not — because he’d never tire of kissing you awake, of beginning his day with the length of your smile.

sugawara.

he spends the whole day pretending that it’s a day just like any other, grinning over his morning coffee (thank god your birthday is on a weekend this year), nodding towards your cup, ready-made and steaming, one cream and two sugars, just like every other weekend morning you’d spent together. he hums as he flicks through his phone, asking what you’d like to do, interrupting you with a mild exclamation that “ah! we need to go grocery shopping! we’re out of onions and there’s only one sweet potato left!”, leaning down to give you a swift kiss before sweeping off to get changed, leaving you pouting at the dining table, wondering if your darling boyfriend had truly forgotten about your birthday. and so you go grocery shopping, and you’re preoccupied enough not to notice that he’s surreptitiously picking all your favorites, leading you through the ice cream aisle and making note of all the flavors you pause over. the early afternoon is spent dragging you around the farmer’s market, where you linger over the freshly picked flowers before he tugs you away without once asking if you’d like some. and by the time you both get back to your shared apartment, you’d made up your mind to at least remind him about it — it is your birthday after all. but the moment the front door opens, you’re greeted with an avalanche of glitter and confetti, a loud shout of “surprise!!!” making you nearly leap out of your skin. in the three seconds it takes you to realize what your boyfriend had done, he’d leaned down to press a sweet kiss to your cheek, tugging you into your own surprise party, decorated with all the flowers you’d lingered over, the fridge piled with all the ice cream flavors you’d just been looking at this morning. “c’mon, did you really think i’d forget your birthday? i just needed a bit of time to prepare is all! now, let’s get this party started!”

tsukishima.

he is caught between equal parts dread and excitement, because to be honest, he’d never quite understood the appeal of birthday parties. but then he’d seen how your cheeks glad glowed when the team had put up a party for hinata in the middle of summer, a handful of balloons and streamers in the locker rooms, and a good few pounds of well-cooked bbq meat — he’d seen the glitter in your eyes, the unabashed joy as your lips pulled up into a smile — and he’d never admit it out loud but he decided then that he’d do whatever it takes to make you smile like that for him. so when the day comes, he spends too long fretting, paces across the living room of his apartment (much to the barely disguised glee of his brother, who had thankfully offered to help drive around and gather all the things), scowling as yamaguchi shows up with the cake and the flowers, and kiyoko-senpai shows up with the balloons and the streamers and it irks him to no end to have so many people all at his house, but it was the only place he could’ve asked you to come without you questioning him about it but… the way you’d smiled when you stepped into the room to find them all there, to find the same balloons and the same streamers, to find the matcha layer cake next to a slice of strawberry short cake, to find him, standing there, twisting his fingers, his cheeks positively sizzling with heat… well. he thinks that it was worth it. but it isn’t till later, when all the guests have gone and all the cake’s been eaten, when it’s finally just you and him, curled up on his bed, you in his lap, his chin resting against the top of your head that he leans down to tug you to him, press a soft kiss to your lips, “there… been thinking about doing that all day.” but the way you blush when he pulls back has him smirking and dragging you down for another, and then another, his voice going dark as he smirks against the skin of your neck as he whispers, “so now that everyone’s gone… how about we get to your real present, hm?”

pt 2 ft. kageyama, hinata, & miya twins coming soon

hq! reqs are open :)

[delta-pavonis]

So I had an idea for a Dreamling fic and I need to crowdsource help with some important pieces of the story as I draft some notes on it.

I need you to tell me your favorite yearning/heartbreak songs from the 1980s, 1990s, and early 2000s.

Reply or reblog with your song(s), both name and artist. I am going to need a good number of them to make the fic work.

The premise:

Dream meets Hob at the New Inn a la the show in 2021. Cue start of friendship where they meet more regularly.

As Dream walks in the Waking and as he meanders through dreams he picks up bits of songs, the vast majority of which were created while he was in the fishbowl. OK, cool, yay music. Music is great. There were so many stories written in poetry and song and prose while he was in captivity and while Dream technically knows all of it because he has his power returned to him, he also hasn't sifted through every single thing specifically.

But every once and awhile Dream hears a song and it just... it guts him. He hears the lyrics and the emotions in the song cut to the core of him, leaving him feeling open and raw and bleeding.

And it happens more than once.

It is after this has happened a dozen or so times that Dream realizes... all the songs that affect him so, they are all love songs. Songs about yearning for someone, about losing someone, about a terrible fight, about missing someone in their absence, about wishing they would come back. And every single one Dream feels on a visceral level, experiences with physical pain, fueled by the vast understanding of the power of love that only the Prince of Stories and King of Dreams could have.

Many months after their first meeting at the New Inn, perhaps even more than a year later, one of these songs comes on while Dream and Hob are hanging out. Could be in the New Inn, could be in Hob's flat, could be somewhere else.

Hob, oblivious to the internal struggle Dream is facing trying to contain his reaction to the song, smiles and laughs wistfully. He never did think the way the singer changed the second verse on the fly in the studio worked well...

But what does Hob know, he was just the lyricist.

[mxmajor]

Alright SydCarmy Mafia AU Premise

There are still chefs, same family restaurant and other businesses, psuedo family, but the businesses are used as a money laundering front.

Richie is still involved with drugs but is a higher ranking lieutenant, Natalie still has that finance degree and background, works at the bank as a cover but is involved.

Just like in canon, cousin Michelle is a restauranteur, something the family doesn't see as viable like real estate had been as a cover, but as things bloom for her, they see the opportunity to move into a larger bracket because a lot of money moves through fine dining establishments each week.

And with that, they invest in the beef a bit more, and when they see the nascent talent of a prodigy, they push for Carmy to be out in the world to become the canon chef we know.

Mikey hopes that being away from the family will keep Carmy on the straight and narrow, clean and unsullied by their bullshit. Mikey failed to make it beyond the Berzattos, but Carmen would be different, if he keeps him at arms distance. Little did he know, the Family was reaching further than he could push his baby brother away.

Syd is tapped after catering for a private party to stage for a CDC position at one of the BZ Group restaurants, an opportunity that could take her 20 year plan to have her own restaurant as a culinary iconoclast and cut it in half. They had inventive and successful establishments in New York, California, and here in Chicago, and if she could lead a program in one of their kitchen's to snag a F&W award, or retain and increase one of their Michelin Star kitchens...This could accelerate her career way more than micro-planing citrus.

The Restaurant group has a reputation in the city, but in the food world, that reputation is a life time opportunity. And one of the reasons for that reputation is successful, famous, nay, legendary hometown hero Carmen Berzatto that might even be her EC if she nails this. It's not like she'll work their forever, right?

Possible routes:

Shy anxious Carmy is a cover to get her to join in and she falls deep into the life before realizing what this is all a front for. he's been in on all of it and groomed to take over, he just needs a partner to expedite by his side.

OR

Carmy is trying to keep her out by being an asshole because he doesn't want her to get sucked into their underworld as he tries to figure out if the story he was told about his brother's death was true.

OR

Sydney witnesses something she Should Not See™, so they have her marry Carmy so she can't testify against him (fake marriage au) but they fall for each other over time as they bond over food in the menu of chaos around them.

BONUS: Mr. Berzatto was taking care of and/or his family was offered up as collateral because he owed folks money. but he is still out there and might come back 👀👀

Or he's the big bad boss behind it all but none of his kids know him or see him "for their safety"

Okay, I am handing off this baton lol.

(when I say pass the baton, i mean i'm tryna crowdsource a mafia au, please add an idea or take an idea and run with it lol.)

[pluviowriting]

What’s In a Name?

18+ || MDNI || Content Warnings: tooth rotting fluff hope you brushed ur teeth, maybe abrupt ending I’m so so sorry

Word Count: 1270 exact again

Poppy Sweeting x f!MC

A/N: Happy Pride Month!!! To ensure I get to keep my gay card or else @ellivenollivander would confiscate it until next June, I had to get this out. I've also had this idea for MONTHS now. The hardest part was feeling obligated to name all the beasts. I took a lil screenshot of the spreadsheet I made for it at the bottom of the fic because I am not listing all the names in the fic, that would get real old real fast. Some of these I stole from one of my games, and the rest I crowdsourced. Love you bunches @kaviary-blog

“MC, where are we going?”

“Don’t you trust me, Poppy? When have I ever led you into something dangerous? That’s always been you,” she teased her girlfriend as she pulled her up the stairs. “I told you, it’s a surprise. You should be patient.”

The shorter girl simply groaned in response, but she allowed herself to be dragged along nonetheless.

“The tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy? What’s so special about this?”

MC chuckled, checking the hall for any other students before shaking her head.

“Not the tapestry, but what’s across from it.”

With the coast all clear, MC pictured the room of requirement how she had built it for her own use. She thought of how she needed to show her girlfriend what was inside. The witch knew it had worked when she heard the sound of stone and metal moving and a soft gasp from Poppy.

“What is this?”

“It’s called the Room of Requirement. Professor Weasley showed it to me last year so I could have somewhere to work on my studies. Come on.”

With that she pulled Poppy in, giving her the grand tour of the main areas and introducing her to Deek.

“The real reason I brought you here is the vivariums. I’ve got quite the collection of beasts and I thought you may want to see them.”

“Of course I’d want to see them! What are you waiting for?”

With that open invitation, MC laughed and gestured at the greenhouse looking building on the main level to allow Poppy to lead the way. Nothing truly could’ve prepared the Hufflepuff for what was waiting for her inside.

They stood in the first vivarium and Poppy couldn’t seem to get enough as the beasts swarmed them, recognizing their main source of attention and affection.

“Oh. My. GODS! Look at them! Hello. Oh hello loves.”

The other witch chuckled as her girlfriend’s voice shifted from her normal tone to the one she always used when talking to beasts in class or at Brood and Peck. She watched as Poppy started to groom all of them one by one, taking the time to give each one affection as the brush did what it was charmed to do.

“Oh, you haven’t introduced me to any of them. What are their names?”

“I uh. Haven’t really named them. Unless they had a name when I found them. Like that one over there,” she pointed to the teal niffler running amok since he had already received his brushing. “That’s The Irondale Pilferer. Stole a family heirloom from a shopkeep in Irondale. Caught him when I went looking for it and decided to keep him because he’s cute.”

“What? How do you greet them then?”

She shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. “I just uh say hello? They don’t seem to mind too much.”

“Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

Poppy started looking around and her eyes landed on a puffskein rolling around. She watched him roll into a rock and she immediately pointed at him. “Sebastian.”

MC couldn’t stop the burst of laughter that bubbled up from her chest. Having spent all of last year running around with the Slytherin, and Poppy had the last five years with him, she could agree naming the creature after their mutual friend was a good choice.

They stayed in the forest vivarium for what felt like hours as Poppy tried to observe each of the beasts and tried to name them based on the personality they showed her. It took a while since Poppy did insist on naming each niffler, puffskein, and mooncalf that resided in this habitat. MC found it adorable when her girlfriend decided to expand the nifflers to just be a family of thieves and what they loved stealing. The Irondale Pilferer had a mate named Plunder, a son named Bandit, and a daughter named Goldie.

“Alright, my love. Have they all gotten their names?” She questioned before pressing a sweet kiss to Poppy’s cheek. “I have three more vivariums to show you.”

The joy she felt seeing the Hufflepuff’s face light up in excitement at the prospect of getting to name even more beasts made her feel better than any Pepperup Potion ever could. She took her hand and led her back out into the Room of Requirement.

The next vivarium she pulled Poppy into was the swamp. The pair were quickly swarmed by kneazles, giant purple toads, and diricrawls. After letting Poppy fawn over Gwyneira and telling her the story of how that specific bird ended up in her possession, the brunette once again got to work naming all the creatures that still needed names. She was most proud of the kneazles she named, giving the adults the names Simba and Nala, and their children Kovu and Kavi.

~~~~~

“Alright, my love. I saved the best for last. This one is a sea coast.”

“Are there another twelve in here?”

“There are, but only eight of them need names. There are four that came with names. I think we’ll be here the longest regardless.”

MC couldn’t fight the smirk at her girlfriend’s confused face as she led her into the coastal vivarium.

“I’ve got my graphorns, thestrals, and hippogriffs in here.”

Poppy’s eyes widened and she looked over at MC before she took off down the sand towards the beasts. The smirk that MC was wearing as they walked in morphed to a face splitting grin as a specific hippogriff saw the witch charging the beach.

“Highwing! Oh I knew she saved you from Harlow but she never told me where,” she crooned, stroking her old friend’s face as the creature chirped happily.

The reunion was interrupted by a bump to Poppy’s waist and she looked over to see a baby hippogriff. She looked between the baby and Highwing as her mouth dropped.

“And you’ve had a baby!”

Another squawk drew Poppy’s attention as she was greeted by the twin of the small creature beside her.

“You had two babies! Oh congratulations! And I bet she didn’t name either of them for you, did she?”

“She’s your hippogriff, darling. Why should I be the one to name your grandchildren?” MC wasn’t even fazed as her girlfriend talked shit about her right in front of her face.

It took Poppy roughly half an hour to name the beasts in this vivarium, deciding that the entire brood of graphorns should be named similarly to the patriarch. The Lord of the Shore’s mate received the name of Lady, and their children were promptly named Duke and Duchess.

MC was only certain night had fallen when the two witches started yawning. They hadn’t left the coastal vivarium since they had entered, and they were both wide awake then. It had to have been very late if both of them were getting tired.

“Come on, my love. I’ll conjure a bed and we can spend the night in here. You can help me care for the beasts in the morning before we head down for breakfast.”

Reluctantly, Poppy allowed herself to be pulled away. The Room graciously provided a wardrobe so the pair didn’t have to sleep in their uniforms and the pair got changed before settling into the bed that had been conjured for them haphazardly in the middle of the room.

The taller witch let out a content sigh as she pulled Poppy closer to her, pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead.

“Goodnight, my love. I’m glad you enjoyed your surprise.”

“Best date ever.”

Poppy wiggled closer, settling her head on her girlfriend’s chest before the pair dozed off.

~~~~~

Beast Name Sheet

Name Themes:

Mooncalves - Greek Mythology mostly Nico is from Percy Jackson

Jobberknolls - Heroes of Olympus characters and the diricrawl babies

Hippogriffs - Ancient Greek wind gods/spirits

Thestrals - The Addams Family

Unicorns - Types of wood

Kneazles - The Lion King except I swapped Kiara for Kavi bc I could and I love my Kavi

Giant Purple Toads - Famous Frogs I completely forgot about Trevor until I asked The Gauntlets

Graphorns - Regency titles to match my baby Lord of the Shore.

Puffskeins - HP Characters and yes I also named the phoenix after Draco bc I love him, your honor, fuck off

[cuffmeinblack]

Alright I'm sick of the vagueposting because apparently some of you can't talk about how they really feel to people. You know, like adults.

First point. If you actually think I purposely plagiarised a fic idea, honestly just block me and fuck off so I never have to see you again. I've put far too much mental and emotional energy into this fandom to be disrespected like that, especially to then have my character attacked in such a ironically sly way on a public forum. Coming from people who have previously admonished others for vagueposting, that's pretty fucking hypocritical. I don't care enough to try to fix any sort of relationship I had with the person, since they made it pretty clear what they thought of me.

I'm a generally good person and I'm not going to let some random on the internet tell me otherwise.

In the interest of clearing up the plagiarism allegation whatever the fuck that's about, I'll say that I've never actually read the so-called plagiarised fic, and barely interacted with any public posts about it's conception. I actually do not want to, especially since I have many, many ideas and headcanons for Azkaban and HP/HL in general having been a Wizarding World fan for literally most of my life and that's what I'm interested in writing about. I don't tend to crowdsource my ideas and rarely post about what I'm writing about. As far as I can tell the only crossover is Azkaban and a degree of angst, and if that's actually it then you need to re-evaluate why the hell you're even in a fandom.

Amazingly since we're drawing on common source material there will no doubt be overlap. I'm also not going to wait months for the other fic to be finished because...why? It's not a fucking competition. If you must know, mine was loosely based on an idea I had for Garrinis which also involved Azkaban and a dark MC, which I had last Summer.

There's been so much drama in this fandom lately it's quite honestly ridiculous, and nobody seems to be able to talk to anyone else without public bashing. If you don't like what someone else is doing or saying, shutup and move on or talk to them. An incredible concept, I know. I had a disagreement a couple of weeks ago, I talked to the person, and we're totally fine and she's one of my favourite people in this fandom.

I'm aware this post might just crash and burn my reputation as much as the bullshit allegations but you know what I do not care anymore. Yes I'm aware that I'm not exactly helping with this post but my god I'm just angry and some things just need saying. I don't make a habit of doing stuff like this and am generally quite nonconfrontational.

Sometimes I do wonder why I'm still here and have concluded that it's probably a sunk cost fallacy, yet I'm here because I'm stubborn and despite all this shit I still love the characters enough to want to tell stories about them. Writing brings (brought) me a lot of joy, and I've finally decided to try doing it 'properly' but my god this toxicity needs to stop because this is exactly what stifles creativity, drives people away and kills fandoms.

[petit-papillion]

Hey there! Hope you’re excited for the weekend! I had a question I wanted to ask since you seem so knowledgeable on Charles/or crowdsource if you don’t know. On his Monaco helmet there’s a design on the back for someone named Hugo with angel wings. Do you happen to know who this is? I know Charles has a childhood friend named Hugo but I can’t think of why he’d be on the helmet. Thanks so much!!

Hey! Yes, I am so excited for this race weekend. Also incredibly nervous, because Charles just keeps giving us hope during the run-up and then something doesn't go right during quali or the race to mess it all up again. And we've already had a mess-up (running over debris leading to flloor damage) and yet he still managed to pull miracle laps out of the bag. So now I start to get hopeful again and...

Well, let's not talk about that. On to your question about Charles's helmet. Thank you btw for your kind words and I hope we can get you an answer. First off, great spotting! I zoomed in as much as I could on the one decent quality photo I could find of the back of the helmet:

It actually looks to me like it says "Hug" rather than "Hugo", with a wing on either side, and a halo over the "u". I can only guess this is meant for his father and Jules.

It was definitely a later addition, along with all the sponsors and manufacturer, so it could potentially be related to whoever did the art work, but my guess is that Charles designed (or at the very least helped design) this helmet as it draws on the same diamond design from the kit he designed for Monaco last year.

Anyone else have any idea what the meaning is, or maybe heard Charles talk about it?

[linisiane]

What Kim Kitsuragi Tells Us About Fandom Ghost

I don't know if this has been said before, but I feel like another reason why Kim Kitsuragi is so wildly popular and beloved is how seamlessly he maps onto the trope of the Fanon Ghost.

Fanon Ghost is a concept that originated on Tumblr, by user wildehack, to describe the phenomenon of fandom elevating certain white male side characters from canon into main characters in fic, using a very specific set of characterization.

(Examples: wildehack focused on Star Wars' Hux's popularity in fic in comparison to characters like Finn/Poe, but others include Q from Craig!Bond verse, Arthur from Inception, Draco Malfoy, etc.)

From wildehack's defining essay:

"... prudish til you get him in bed, whereupon he is The Most Kinky, the charmingly repressed rage, the Love of Research and Order, the way lust/interest/affection is coded into irritation at The Neat and Tidy World being All Roughed Up by the hot mess of the other half of the ship?" "This crowdsourced tight-lipped furious perfectionist with his neat clothes and his scowling defensiveness and his biting sarcasm and his embarrassed desire to have a dude who is both sweaty and emotional take him apart."

Sound familiar?

Well, the terms may be a little different.

Where wildehack uses 'prudish,' 'biting sarcasm,' etc. to describe their fandom's fanon ghost, Disco fans might use 'professional,' 'dry wit,' etc. to describe Kim Kitsuragi.

But, the idea is the same, down to his embarrassing / sweaty / emotional partner. Kim Kitsuragi is Fanon Ghost if fanon ghost weren't a white male side character.

quick detour that'll become relevant later: i feel SO smug about the fact that Kim's characterization is canon to Disco Elysium. You had to make up your own perfect blorbo, but ours came like that! And he's not a white character being used to ignore POC main characters!

wildehack's essay started a conversation on why fandoms gravitate towards "This One Crowdsourced Dude," even when he doesn't exist in canon. And when there are other, often more established, minority main characters to work with.

There are a bunch of responses to this question—the FandomLore article I'm referencing this discussion from has a bunch of the full metas—ranging from exploring why he's often white and what exactly about him appeals to fandom. I think Kim's popularity can be really helpful in sorting my thoughts to these responses.

For instance, there are two general responses as to why the Fandom Ghost is usually a white side character:

Whiteness is considered a a blank slate default, making it easier to write about without fear of misrepresentation/mischaracterization

VS

White men are considered more desirable/more relatable by fandom.

It's probably a mix of the two, but I think a fascinating THIRD take is that these white side characters in canon aren't just blank slates, but also share minor traits that all point to One Trope that causes people to obsess.

certifiedspacetrash postulated that the fandom ghost is actually a reskinning of a much older beloved archetype—the byronic hero: a character notable for being hard to like and hard to know, but usually possessing a rich inner life and a softer side accessible only to a special few. (Sound familiar?)

He theorized that part of the reason we don't see many POC Fandom Ghosts is because mainstream medias don't cast byronic traits onto POC characters.

"I think if Hollywood cast more young, striking actors who happen to be PoC, women etc as villains / byronic heores we would see lots of fanfic of them. But Hollywood is still in some weirdass reaction to being accused of racial stereotyping (which they 100% still do), and almost refuse to cast poc or women as bad guys. If they are, they’re either cast very old; or they’re the mary sue badguys - 100% beautiful, geniuses, incredibly powerful, no flaws whatsoever - and that tends not to inspire a lot of writers."

I find this take fascinating with Disco Elysium in mind because of the way Kim Kitsuragi is the exception that proves the rule.

Kim Kitsuragi is a rare, well-written mixed Asian character with byronic traits. And would you look at that?—Kim Kitsuragi has captured the hearts and minds of basically every Disco Elysium enjoyer ever.

Kim Kitsuragi is notably NOT overshadowed by Jean Vicquemare, who is a white side character with byronic traits that, in an alternate universe, could've been possessed by the Fandom Ghost to overshadow Kim. Jean, in our universe, already has a pretty big fandom in proportion to his screentime.

But, by the grace of moments where Harry can get Kim to "give a smile only you can see," Kim Kitsuragi is the breakout star of Disco Elysium. I find that hopeful, in a time where Asian male characters (outside of Asia, ofc) are often overlooked or boxed in or emasculated.

[thegeminisage]

okay WHEW it's star trek update time. last night* we watched tng's "interface" and ds9's "the siege." *i'm typing this at fuck o clock and scheduling it to go up tomorrow when i'm not here <3

interface (tng):

i don't want to talk about it

actually wait no yes i do but mostly i just want to complain. i wish there was perhaps some sort of skip/watch list with the dead parent episodes labeled. for star trek. i mean i know i'm making one but not that one i can't use that until it's too late. i can't crowdsource EVERY dead parent episode of star trek through my tumblr followers. though i will say whoever warned me about 4.02 of ds9 (i forgot which person it was, i'm so sorry 🙏) has my deepest gratitude. ok. complaint lodged.

what else...um, geordi and data. emptiness. Yeah

yeah. that's all. sorry. my spidey senses started tingling about halfway through the episode and i googled whether or not his mom really was dead and upon receiving my answer we stopped the episode to go directly to ds9.

the siege (ds9)

LOVED this one. where do i even begin

well i will begin at the obvious: women! kira and dax in the shuttle. mwah

what i loved most about kira and dax in the shuttle wasn't even the homoeroticism, though i did - of course - deeply enjoy the homoeroticism. what i loved MOST was that they seemed to have invented a personality for dax at last! i have no idea what was going on in this episode or who this dax was or where she was during s1 but i REALLY liked her. it's shocking bc i almost gave her LAST PLACE in the character rankings, but she was so fun here?? and also kind of like...airheaded and weird. "i might keep the nose." seems like they really DIDN'T know what to do with her in s1, but better late than never. i will continue to try and forgive her really terrible hair even though it makes her head look soooo weird and offputting

big spider bad. actually it was too stupid looking to be scary but i still didn't like it

quark and odo's gay little goodbye <3

julian FUCKING bashir pretending he was hot shit when he held those guys up. KING.

actually all of the action sequences in this episode were great. all three of season 2's episodes have been really funny even as they're also very serious at the same time, i fucking love it

love also the little nod to o'brien's service record on the cardassian front in the way of wartime rations. not only is it funny but it is, again, a great reminder of his cardassian trauma, and why he might feel obligated to stay behind

SPEAKING OF. everyone in ops, down to the last person, agreeing to stay at ds9, even though some of them have families like o'brien does. i'm SO glad they didn't forget his family, that they actually showed him and keiko arguing about it, but he STILL felt morally that he had to stay - that it was more important than his own life, and the risk of his family having to continue on without him.

PLUS the fact that not a single person wanted to leave, even after sisko assured them that they SHOULD think of their families...girl he is literally the best captain or commander or whatever. that's stone cold loyalty. they all trust him or love him or both.

i was a little ambivalent on li nalas as a concept but he actually was used finally...i think "off the hook" was a great way to take care of that arc neatly, because making him live the lie would have felt cruel, but him just ghosting would have made him look like an asshole, no matter how justified. i hope there's a bajoran afterlife he can chill out in

did we get set up for season-long villains with winn and jaro? that would be fun. the concept of "storylines" feels so foreign in a star trek show but there it is........

TONIGHT: tng's "gambit part i" and ds9's "invasive procedures," which with any luck will hopefully be about subjects besides dead parents 🤞

[addictedtostorytelling]

Hi! Would you be able to talk a bit about how you see Sara's relationship with Abby Fisher?

hi, anon!

so i will warn you up front: i am a great hater of the later seasons of csi and don't really have anything nice to say about them. that so, this answer is pretty critical of the writing of episode 15x12 "dead woods" and its depiction of sara and abby's relationship.

to give a "desalinized" short version of what i say below here: i actually like the impulse behind the whole "sara has a relationship with a foster kid" storyline; i just don't think the writers executed the idea well. logistically, the whole thing has more than a few holes. also, the vibes are off. ultimately, i have a difficult time emotionally investing because the implied depth just isn't there.

for a much saltier (and longer) explanation, click the "keep reading."

__

so here's the thing: one of the many skills which the writers of the later seasons of the show lacked was the ability to imply depth in their narratives.

while most of the time, this deficiency manifested in the form of them failing to provide any kind of contextual details about the characters' lives outside of work—would it have killed them to have sara occasionally mention visiting grissom or to every once in a while show her on the phone with him past s11?—it also sometimes did so in the form of them attempting to shoehorn in biographical information for the established characters that either contradicted or at least didn't mesh well with previously related canonical facts (e.g., when they accidentally changed sara's birthday, only to later change it back again).

and, to me, the whole abby fisher storyline falls into that latter category.

don't get me wrong: on paper, i think having sara connect with a foster child and mentor her is a really wonderful idea. executed properly, it could have been a source for some truly interesting character development for her—which, god knows, in the later seasons, she was severely lacking!—and may have even been something healing for her.

it's just—

to my mind, the way the storyline was written is so unbelievable and ultimately incongruent from sara's previously established character history that i can't really buy into it, either intellectually or emotionally.

problem #1 is the supposed timeline of it all.

within the episode, we learn that sara works the fisher case and first meets abby on 08.20.04, as is shown by the dates on the evidence photos taken at the original scene. however, that date falls right during the same interval when sara is supposedly on vacation between s4 and s5 (see episodes 04x23 "bloodlines" and 05x01 "viva las vegas").

and i know, i know! really, that discrepancy is such a small thing that only a truly nitpicky fan like myself might even notice!

i should probably just let it go.

but the thing is, it's not just an issue of sara not technically being in vegas or around to work the case at that time but also one of her not being in the right mental/emotional state to be able open up to a traumatized child then, either.

more on that point below.

furthermore, it's also not the only "fudge" of its kind.

in fact, it's actually indicative of a more general inattention to detail on the parts of the writers.

anthony zuiker took the lead writing credit for this episode, and, honestly, he's somewhat notorious for not knowing his own show's canon. he prides himself on being a big picture "ideas" guy, not a minutiae/details guy, and sometimes, the fact that he isn't the latter thing is really, really obvious. i mean, this is the same man who had to crowdsource major story arc recaps from fans on twitter to remind him of what had been going on on his own show before he wrote the series finale, for chrissake! and even then, he still got a bunch of the "fine print" stuff, like grissom not knowing who russell is, wrong.

this error being just one among many makes me less willing to ignore and/or gloss over it.

beyond the issue of sara's initial meeting with abby not fitting the timeline of the earlier seasons, equally as improbable is the notion that sara maintains regular contact with abby after they first meet.

for one thing, in the early seasons of the show when sara supposedly first meets abby, sara is a notorious workaholic who maxes out on overtime every month. if she's working 70+ hours a week on a graveyard schedule, when is she making time to have visits with this kid—and especially considering that said visits likely have to be scheduled long in advanced and supervised (because there are very strict rules in place regarding how noncustodial adults interact with kids in the foster care system), meaning she can't just swing by for a quick hello after a double shift?

considering that catherine can barely find the time to see her own biological daughter, of whom she has sole custody after early s3, when is sara fitting in hours and hours with abby, to whom she has incredibly restricted access, as per the rules and logistics of the foster care system?

also, for another thing, how does this relationship fit in with all of the canonical events of s5-15?

for example, when sara is recovering from her injuries following her abduction by the miniature killer in s8, what does she tell eight-year-old abby? does she see her during that time or do they go several months without any contact, until sara is healed up enough not to have to explain anything to her? if they don't see each other, what kind of excuses does sara make? if they do see each other, how does sara explain the situation? does she admit she nearly died at the hands of a murderer, knowing how triggering that information might be for abby to hear? or does she lie? or tell some sanitized version of the truth ("i had a bad accident, but i'm okay now")?

and what about the grissom of it all? do he and abby ever meet? if so, when? do they ever spend quality time together and/or develop any kind of relationship, especially after grissom and sara get married? if so, how does sara break the news to a fourteen-year-old abby of the divorce? does abby get any kind of closure for grissom not being a part of her life anymore?

for yet another thing, how does this idea (of sara being a regular presence in abby's life for ten years) fit with sara's nomadic lifestyle in the later seasons of the show, plus abby's general status as a foster child?

not only does sara spend significant amounts of time away from vegas between 2004 and 2014 (especially during s8, s9, s10, and s11), which would make it difficult for her to keep in touch with abby just on her side of things, but based on some of abby and her foster mother's dialogue in episode 15x12 "dead woods," it also seems that abby has only come into her placement with the higgins family fairly recently, perhaps within just the past few years or so, which means that prior to living with them, she likely moves around a lot.

the idea that sara could even keep track of this girl over the years—especially given the privacy laws surrounding foster kids—isn't particularly realistic.

one of the main things former foster kids (and especially those who are in "traditional foster care" as opposed to "kinship care") complain about is the inconsistency of the lifestyle and the fact that people are there one day and gone the next.

while the child protective services agency (cps) does their best to prevent foster kids from having to move placements, over a third of foster kids experience changes to their living arrangements at least three times per year (and some experience even more).

and, again, while cps generally tries to keep kids from having to move schools/districts when their placements change, if they can avoid it, they often don't have a choice; if the kid has been living in and attending school in henderson and the only available placement for them is in reno, then there's not much to be done but to uproot their whole life and ship them 450 miles across the state to their new home.

furthermore, to protect the privacy and safety of foster children, neither cps nor foster families are allowed to give out personal information about foster children—including their placement addresses—to anyone who doesn't have direct "need-to-know" involvement in their case (which would mostly just be custodial caretakers, school officials, and medical professionals).

all of the above so, it would likely be very, very difficult for sara to maintain a relationship with abby, especially over the course of a decade.

that girl has likely been in multiple placements in multiple locations (some of them not in clark county) since sara has known her, and since sara doesn't—even as law enforcement—fall into any of those "need to know" categories of persons who legally receive updates about abby's whereabouts when she gets reassigned, she probably wouldn't be able to follow her movements.

however, even if sara were somehow to (improbably) maintain contact with abby between 2004 and 2007, once sara skipped town and went "off the grid" circa episode 08x07 "goodbye & good luck" and/or later episode 09x02 "the happy place," the second abby moved placements, she likely wouldn't be able to find her again (and especially considering that, at the time, abby would be just eight or nine years-old and wouldn't have a cell phone or email account she could use to reach out to sara on her end of things).

the whole scenario lacks veracity, even with what sara herself has previously said about her own experiences in foster care.

for example, in episode 07x16 "monster in the box," sara remarks to grissom on how hard it is to keep up with foster kids due to spotty record-keeping.

—and that's the main problem, really.

beyond the whole "how would this relationship even work?" of the thing, there is also the issue of characterization—a question of "would sara even behave in this manner?", the answer to which i think, ultimately, is no.

i could forgive all of the logistical errors and the farfetchedness of the situation if the story itself didn't feel so antithetical to sara's character history and jar with everything we know about her development.

see, episode 15x12 "dead woods" suggests that sara sees abby very regularly and plays a prominent mentoring role in her life, enough to know who her boyfriend is—and have beef with him!—and to understand her complicated feelings about her foster family. they supposedly go to concerts together and hang out with some frequency. theirs is an emotionally open and socially intimate connection.

the implication is that sara is almost like a mother to abby—someone abby is even closer to and more highly esteems than her current foster (and soon to be adoptive) mom, joanna higgins; the first person she thinks to call for when she's in trouble.

but that implication doesn't fit with sara's character arc.

see, it's not that i doubt that the sara of 2014 could be open enough to bond with a traumatized foster kid over their shared life experiences and serve as a touchstone for her.

it's that i doubt the sara of 2004 would.

the sara of 2004—and especially the summer of 2004, six months prior to the events of episode 05x13 "nesting dolls"—wouldn't respond to seeing a little girl whose trauma so closely mirrors her own by reaching out to her, forming a deep connection based in mutual disclosure, and involving herself as a surrogate mother-figure in her life.

i'm not saying sara doesn't have the capacity to be nurturing—i mean, i am the person writing a huge geek!baby au series, the latest installment of which is all about sara discovering just how strong her maternal instincts actually are—or that she wouldn't feel for the kid or want to help her.

rather, i'm saying she just wouldn't be able to bring herself to get that close.

think of the analog situation: brenda collins in episode 01x07 "blood drops."

sara has such a difficult time even being around that kid and looking her in the eyes to start off with, all because she knows, on a deeply personal level, what it feels like to be her.

it's not that she's not empathetic toward brenda and her situation.

to the contrary: she can feel her pain all too keenly! she cares all too much!

that's why it's so painful for her to even acknowledge brenda's existence.

her feelings are still too raw for her to really force herself to interface.

though in that case, she does eventually end up dropping her guard and stepping up to advocate for brenda as needed, she only ultimately does so because grissom compels her to act as brenda's chaperone.

had he not given her that assignment and she instead been left to her own devices, she wouldn't ever have gotten close to the girl.

not of her own volition.

she only starts to show that external level of care because she's made to.

and what's noteworthy is that even when she does show it, she still conceals the reason why she is doing so—from grissom, from the rest of the team, and even from brenda herself.

though she behaves very compassionately toward brenda, she never makes their interactions personal. she never lets on that she understands what brenda is going through. she never transgresses the boundaries of what would be considered the expected behavior for any safe and caring adult looking after a traumatized child under the circumstances.

while we as fans can retroactively read her backstory into her actions throughout that episode, she as a character still plays her cards so close to her chest that no one else within the universe of the show can even think about reading them.

indeed, no one but grissom even really notices she's holding them.

and that's because she isn't ready to go "all in" in that way yet.

she isn't to a place where she is ready to face her own trauma, much less confess to it, much less process it—which is what would be required of her were she to allow herself to get any closer to brenda than she actually does.

—which brings us back to abby.

the sara of 2004 hasn't yet reached a place where she is ready to reckon with her childhood trauma yet.

though she wants to—desperately—and will eventually get to the point where she is willing to at least talk about it with grissom (see episode 05x13 "nesting dolls"), honestly, it will still be years before she is finally able to lay her "ghosts" fully to rest (see her letter in episode 08x07 "goodbye & good luck").

and that being the case—

well, i just can't imagine her being as emotionally available to abby as episode 15x12 "dead woods" suggests is the case.

not early on.

not when she would have initially been forming that bond.

that flashback scene from the hospital room where she ends up hugging five-year-old abby?

i can believe that moment could happen.

all but taken by surprise as she is, sara could and would be unguarded enough to open her arms to that little girl and offer her some comfort; she wouldn't reject someone that vulnerable, no matter how scared she was herself. she would recognize all she needed to be right then was a steady shoulder to weep on and a soft voice to reassure. she could hold abby for that moment and validate her cries for her mother.

but beyond that initial instance of connection?

i just can't see 2004 sara continuing to have contact with abby after the case had concluded.

watching that girl be absorbed into the foster care system while grieving the loss of her parents and grappling with the nature of her father's (alleged) crimes would just hit too close to home for sara—and especially at a time when she is herself really struggling with her own trauma.

lest we forget, during the summer between s4 and s5, sara is attending mandatory peap sessions, spending significant time away from the lab on much-needed vacation, and struggling to get her life/career back on track in the wake of her s4 depression and problematic alcoholic usage.

she's not exactly doing hot™ herself.

she doesn't really have much water in her emotional well to draw from in order to share with somebody else.

moreover, she still, to date, has never told anyone about her childhood. she doesn't even yet have the words to talk about it (see her speech to the mirror in episode 05x01 "viva las vegas").

so for as much as her heart undoubtedly goes out to abby, i just can't see her incorporating abby into her life to the degree that episode 15x12 "dead woods" suggests that she does.

it's a "please secure your mask before assisting others" kind of situation with her, you know?

she's still dealing with her own issues and isn't in a state to help someone else at that point—and especially not an incredibly vulnerable child.

and, honestly, i think she'd recognize as much.

she'd know she couldn't be what abby probably would need her to be at that time—and that being so, i can't really see her purposefully inserting herself into abby's world.

she'd figure abby would be better left to "the professionals."

i think the story we're told in episode 15x12 "dead woods" forgets just how jagged the sara of 2004's edges are; it acts as if she has the same emotional capacity back then as she does in 2014, and the fact is, she just doesn't.

had sara met abby in s10 or s11 when she a) was mentally healthy and emotionally stable; b) had gotten some closure on her childhood trauma; and c) had lots of free time on her hands given her whole "long-distance marriage" situation with grissom, then i could see her being able to open up to abby and thrive in a mentorship role with her in the way canon implies she does.

but that's not the story episode 15x12 "dead woods" tells.

it insists that a much younger, much more mixed-up, much less self-actualized sara somehow manages to step into the role of surrogate mother for a physically and psychologically-wounded child whose trauma closely mirrors her own and is able to say and do all the right things, to the point where that child comes to trust her implicitly.

and to me? that's a hard story to believe.

it requires an almost insurmountable suspension of my critical thinking and understanding of sara's character arc.

—especially considering how many needs abby likely has at the time when sara is first getting to know her.

traumatized children require a special brand of tlc.

one of the most important parts of having a relationship with them (as an adult) is to offer them as much stability as possible—meaning if you say you're going to see them, you have to show up; you can't miss the appointment, even if you end up getting pulled onto a double or triple shift; even if you're maybe having a shit mental health day yourself. failure to follow through can result in an erosion of their trust in you and cause setbacks for them in their recovery.

you also have to be very patient and help them regulate what are sometimes some very big emotions. traumatized kids will frequently throw tantrums or act out. they'll oftentimes be whiny or clingy. they'll enact age-inappropriate behaviors. and as the adult in the relationship, you have to meet them where they are, soothe them, and redirect those behaviors once they're calm enough. to do so, you must yourself manage your own emotions. you have to have awareness of the situation and be able to offer them what they need, whether it be cuddles or verbal reassurance or cognitive tools to help them process what they're feeling.

while of course if you as a caretaker or otherwise invested adult can apologize if you make mistakes and do your best to make amends, the point is that you need to be consistent and selfless and place the needs of the child first. and if you're struggling a lot yourself, then you need to make a judgment call about whether your presence will ultimately hurt the child; if so, you need to remove yourself from the situation and get your shit together before you resume interacting with them.

it takes a lot of energy and insight to navigate those kinds of relationships.

again, i'm not saying sara isn't empathetic or that she is incapable of being there for someone who's been traumatized—her ability to step up for members of her team (like nick and greg) after they go through various hardships proves she is more than equal to the task of offering support as needed—but i am saying that i'm not sure the sara of 2004 would choose to voluntarily place herself into that role; not when she has herself been that kid and knows what the stakes are.

realizing how she tends to react in situations where she's triggered, and realizing that just being around abby triggers her, i think she'd opt to stay away (probably more on a subconscious level than a conscious one).

she wouldn't want to screw up.

she wouldn't want to hurt abby because she was "too in her own feelings."

—which i suppose brings me to my last major objection to the whole sara and abby dynamic, which is just how the dynamic itself is written.

like i said: i'm not at all opposed to the idea of sara acting quasi-maternal; i think she probably does have that capacity in her, however deeply sublimated it may be.

i just feel like—once again—the execution in this case is flawed.

the sara of episode 15x12 "dead woods" seems almost strident in her "mama bear" role with abby. apparently, she has lectured abby about her ne'er-do-well boyfriend on more than one occasion. she even serves as a kind of liaison between abby and joanna, confident she has a better read on abby's feelings than joanna does. which, albeit, is a view with which joanna herself seems to concur. she doesn't hesitate to chase abby's shithead boyfriend down the hall at pd and all but assault him or to take abby out on a saturday night, seemingly without asking anyone's permission. though of course concerned about abby's feelings, she's noticeably forward in all of their interactions. she doesn't hesitate to offer advice or even to try to lay down ground rules.

—which, on a superficial level, could be a valid interpretation of how sara tends to love.

i mean, sara has always been a "heart on her sleeve," "in with both feet" kind of gal, just in general. she does tend to love fiercely and be protective of "her people."

right?

right?

i mean, kind of.

in a "broad strokes" sort of way.

but when you take a slightly more nuanced view of her and how she expresses love, her behavior toward abby actually feels somewhat off. it's too aggressive, in a lot of ways. too "in your face."

just like so much of her characterization of the later seasons, it comes across as inexact, like a flattened-out version of her actual personality, with all of the details and complexities of her sanded off.

yes, sara loves deeply and is very emotional by nature. yes, she has a strong sense of what's right and doesn't back down from doing what she thinks is needed. but she also gives the people she loves space and doesn't typically impose on them.

see, for example, the scene in episode 07x06 "burn out," where she both protects greg and redirects grissom's misplaced anger off of him and is very subtle in how she does so, showing great tenderness toward both parties.

she also tends to "know her role."

see, for example, in episode 10x01 "family affair": when she points out that catherine is lacking a "right-hand man," she doesn't attempt to install herself in that position, realizing it's not hers to fill not only for logistical reasons (i.e., because she is only in town temporarily) but also because she and catherine don't have that kind of dynamic with each other; instead, she just gently encourages catherine to seek out someone she trusts and is ultimately very glad to see her eventually select nick.

i have no doubt that sara loves abby and cares very much for her well-being, but i've also got to believe that even for as much as she loves and cares about her, she would always remain highly aware that she was not actually her mother, either foster or adoptive.

and to me, that awareness would cause her to act differently than what we see in canon—less vehement and imposing; less "in the driver's seat" and more "in the passenger's."

there'd be if not some reticence on her part—though maybe that, too—at least some deference.

sara would realize: the people who should be setting rules for abby and finalizing major life decisions with her are her foster (soon to be adoptive) parents, who play a role in her daily life that sara herself doesn't.

and, yes, sara has known abby for ten years while they've only known her for a few years at most, but that's why it would be all the more imperative for sara to make that demarcation very clear for everyone involved, particularly as the higgins family intends to adopt abby and will be her full-time guardians for the next several years.

based on her own experiences in foster care, i think sara would likely understand the importance of setting boundaries and making it clear to abby that though she is her friend and is happy to offer both a listening ear and advice, she is not her parent.

this delineation would have been especially crucial for sara to draw when abby was younger, so as not to inadvertently get her hopes up that sara was going to foster or adopt her.

again, while she could still be (and likely would still be) very nurturing to abby, i just don't see her having that much of an authority role in abby's life.

it just feels like too much of an overstep with a kid she probably only sees a couple of times a month at most* and who, given that she is a foster child, probably needs clearly-drawn relationship boundaries with the adults in her life in order to feel secure.

* even ignoring all of the real life logistics that would make it impossible for them to remain in such close contact.

the last thing sara would ever want to do would be to confuse abby or give her unrealistic expectations or to impose on/complicate/undermine her relationship with her foster family.

so, to me, if it were actually written with sara's core characterization in mind, then sara's relationship with abby would be one with a lot more gentle questioning in it as opposed to brash pronouncements. it'd be less "i told you you have to dump that guy!" and more "what exactly do you see in him? i'm genuinely interested to know." there'd be a pinch more "well, why don't you ask joanna?" and maybe some self-conscious awkwardness at the realization that, yes, in some situations she does know abby better because she's known her longer (but that still doesn't make her "mom").

above everything, sara would be very conscientious about not screwing up™.

she'd remember just how vulnerable being in foster care makes a kid. she'd understand abby was traumatized and likely has attachment issues galore. "sometimes i look for validation in inappropriate places," anyone? she would have doubts about her own capabilities to be as selfless and emotionally available as she would need to be for abby's sake, and, even though she would ultimately find both the strength and the wisdom to step up, she would always remain just a little bit cautious of herself.

she'd consider there are reasons why, even for all the love she has for abby and all she wants to be a part of her life, she never does foster or adopt her herself; that there are certain things she can't give or be, whether it's the time or just the "totality" of that kind of parent-child relationship.

even after ten years, she'd be careful not to cross the wires between "friend/mentor" and "parent."

so.

all of the above said, for as much as i want to like sara's relationship with abby in episode 15x12 "dead woods," to me, it just ultimately doesn't hit.

it feels like something poorly contrived and even more poorly executed.

like so much of the characterization of the later seasons, it falls about two inches to the left of who and what sara actually is and how she would really behave.

in a better world where the later seasons' writers actually knew what they were doing, i would have loved to have seen this storyline done differently.

instead of trying to retroactively insert a relationship with a foster kid into the already established show canon, why not show it develop in real time, starting in s15?

rather than saying, "sara has had this kid in her life all along. you just never knew about it before now!", let the audience watch her meet the kid and slowly get to know her.

let us observe that initial awkwardness. let us see sara's struggle with how much she ought to say regarding her own situation and how much she should keep submerged. let us be present for the moments when sara summons her courage to step up and be vulnerable in ways she didn't realize she was capable of. earn the emotional connection between them. allow the love to grow up organically.

and, yeah, i know, doing things that way would make it impossible to play out the "ten years later, abby's dad gets posthumously exonerated!" storyline of episode 15x12 "dead woods."

but, honestly? that plot was not very well done anyhow, so i don't think it'd be a great loss to sacrifice it in favor of giving sara some actual long-lasting character development.

make sara's interaction with the foster kid into a full-on arc. it could be really good—much more so than what we actually get in canon, which, frankly, just falls flat on multiple levels.

the writers tried to imply depth that just wasn't there and didn't succeed.

anyway.

enough salt out of me; we've got a whole mine here by now.

thanks for the question! please feel welcome to send another any time.

[multifairyus]

Spicy Brelwyn Playlist Update

Tl;dr—What should the Playlist name be?

Disclaimers:

1. Idk how to make a post Mature/Explicit so uuhhh if you’re too young for this then like…don’t engage. If you’re a minor, I’d appreciate if you took a back seat in this discussion please and thank you!

2. I personally headcannon the whole “Early College” thing in Legendborn as just normal college. Sexy situations aside I think aging up the characters it solves plot contrivances and makes things simpler where the more complicated option isn’t terribly interesting. As such, the relationship discussed between Briana and Selwyn is between two adults. Moreover, while Sel’s demonia makes an ~appearance~ and influence, this playlist is meant to be conceptualized without the looming threat of him descending into demonia and subsequent blurring of the lines between “safe, sane, and consensual”, as is in Demonia’s Descent. So like…in my headcannon/playlist AU, the power of love makes Sel better at edging his demon? Yeah. Yeah? Sure.

…look, I’m not here to make this shit actually make sense with the plot. That’s for the lovely theorists, fix-it/alt POV fic writers and resource gathering fandom members’ forte. I’m here to provide the official soundtrack of Legendborn smut for those of us on the front lines when there was under 100 fics total on AO3 and for the new fans that will come when Book 3 is released. I do have an aspiration to take undue credit for one of playlist songs ending up in the Legendborn TV show—oh y’all couldn’t tell me NOTHINGGG. If nothing else, I just want people to enjoy and create fan works to the playlists, cuz this is my own kind of fan work 😊

Image from OpenMeDesigns

Aight now let’s get INTO ITTTTT

So, Of Our Own Volition had Brelwyn making love for the first time. The earliest one could theorize it happening (with a non heteronormative definition of sex) could be Into Orbit…tho personally? It’s when The Line was clearly crossed in Virgo’s Scorpio’s Groove. Immediately followed by Sel having a damn religious ascension with Submerge: Until We Become the Sun. We get some afterglow and end on a flirty, playful, even experimental note with We Might Even Be Falling In Love (feat. Bryson Tiller for my Spotify peeps). It’s all very saccharine and tender and sweet and I love it…

This is not that playlist. They are grown and fucking fucking now. We are getting explicit. We are getting kinky. I allowed myself like one and a halfish toxic song in this playlist, since there’s more than enough excellent but SUPER TOXIC relationship songs for the TLC trio, regardless if you’re OT3 endgame or Brelwyn endgame. …A Toxic OT3 playlist will come in due time, with my softboi hours (Brickel? Nickee? Brick?) Brick Playlist along side it as a palette cleanser.

But now? I want input for what a grown and sexy playlist would be for these two!I like wording and terminology from the book—“Everything in Between” isn’t bad but feels too wordy? I’m open to phrases from fics too, especially from who have published excellent Brelwyn smut already—you know who you are (because I tagged you cuz y’all’s work deserves more hype @sweetestblacktea @justbrainrot @thoughtfulbearpanda @ficnoire2 )

I will crowdsource opinions on kinks our lovely couple is into, giving or receiving, in the comments. For scientific reasons, of course. I’m a chemist irl, and I know chemistry when I see it! 👩🏾‍🔬🥵👌🏾😩

Onto my specific thoughts I think may be helpful to answer my query!

~*~*~*~*~*~

I think I wanna have transition songs like the instrumental tracks in O3V and DD. But my searches for “sexy violin” are not giving what I need it to.

An idea I have is to instead have shifts be denoted by a lil “Demonia Dip” as I call it. Not full on Act V of DD bad but like, compared to the rest of the playlist you’d be like “oh yeah it’s that bastard again” we’re talking For Your Entertainment by Adam Lambert and a reappearance of Tonight You are Mine by the Technicolors.

This is an R&B slowjams playlist for our protagonist and King Bree first and foremost… but Sel IS a white boy with THAT kinda playlist for his deepest, darkest desires…it’s only fair the cambion brain gets a few tracks, if only to signal “oh we are NASTY nasty now huh—“ Plus I let the white boy freak flag fly by starting off O3V with Sweater Weather. He can have a dip or two. As a treat.

Track Teasers (in no particular order)

F.U.C.K., Victoria Monet

Earned It, The Wknd (Often and Lost in the Fire are going to the top of Toxic playlist because I couldn’t add them in good faith with content or language I disapprove of in it 🥴 but the Wknd couldn’t NOT be in here)

Speechless, Buddy

Skin, Rihanna

A Muse, dvsn

Rope Burn, Janet Jackson

Teehee this is gonna be fun y’all 💖

Kthxbai

-Fairy