#some of you barely know how your own government functions and it fucking shows

[sybbi]

"If enough of us vote third party for president, we could actually GET somewhere with our policy goals!"

Baby girl you can't even get a majority of third party/independents in a single state legislature. In the past 30 years there have been seven independent/third party state governors, and of those, only three were genuinely independent. The rest either got elected as a R/D and switched mid-term when they alienated themselves from their state party, got elected as I and then switched to R/D during their terms (with some of them having served the R/D parties before), or served as proxy candidates with heavy backing and support from one of the major two parties. Even VERMONT, a relative stronghold for independent/third party candidates -- the place that brought you Bernie Sanders -- doesn't have a majority of third party candidates. And when I call them a stronghold, I mean they are the only state (I know of) that consistently elects (less than a handful of) Independent candidates to the state legislature; the place is still dominated by Ds and Rs.

"The highest power in the land can't actually be voted on so there's no reason to vote for the democrats"

Hey princess here are some high school civics question for you: How are Supreme Court judges nominated? :) By what process are they appointed? Who starts that process? :) Why is the Supreme Court considered reflective of who has won the presidency? :)

[lovelyirony]

morgan doesn’t have to be a hero. she just has to know the family that was. 

(or me ignoring everything about infinity war and endgame) 

Thinking about how Tony doesn’t tell Morgan everything about Iron Man. There are books, of course. A couple of children’s authors and illustrators thought it would be nice if the kids could see heroes on something else other than a news source that also talks about casualties and how much they actually lost. 

It’s nice for Tony, too. 

No one saw the wormhole. No one illustrates him falling out of the sky, body plummeting and seeing what the future would be. 

It’s Morgan’s favorite book, seeing the team defeat the “mean aliens.” Her eyes follow each hero. She likes Hulk the best. She likes tracing along the pages, asking “whozat” every two minutes or so. 

She finds the old armor in the garage when she’s in her “investigation” phase, and correlates it to the book. 

She doesn’t think that Iron Man is that cool. She wants the armor to be pink and green, so dad loses out on “cool points.” 

She finds the armor that he’s building for Pepper, because he’s still paranoid and worried and he wants her to be safe. 

He survived one house of his falling, and he’s not sure he’ll survive another one. 

Morgan asks about the picture at the kitchen, the one where Tony and Peter are posing for Peter’s official internship. 

“That’s...that’s your family,” Tony says, because he can just picture how excited Peter would be at having a little Morgan around, crawling everywhere. “His name is Peter.” 

He never refers to Peter in the past tense. He doesn’t know if it’s for Morgan’s benefit or his own. 

He tells her all about Spider-Man. “Spidey” becomes easier to pronounce, so they go with that. 

Sometimes mom finishes those stories while dad goes to get juice pops. 

(And look at the photo for a bit too long.) 

Morgan asks him where Spidey is, once. More than once. But the first time it was...it was painful. 

“Where is he?” Morgan asks. 

“He’s...” 

Tony doesn’t know what to say. He’s not gone. No, fuck that. Peter isn’t gone. But he’s not here, and Tony doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know where anyone is. 

“He lives far away, so he would have to take a long time to get here,” Pepper says, smiling. “But now, we are going to travel for the kitchen for lunch! The menu today is carrots and celery with hummus, and some fresh fruit and a sandwich. What do we think?” 

“Is the fruit seasonal?” Tony asks, voice thready. “Points off if it’s out.” 

“You’re a nerd,” Pepper says. “Yes, it’s in season. Would you mind turning the washer on? I forgot to.” 

Tony nods, and Pepper grabs his hand, squeezing. 

He was so lucky to have her in his life. 

- 

And then the Avengers are reforming. Scott Lang, aka Ant-Man, aka the weirdest superhero name he’s ever heard, has a theory. 

About time travel. 

He said he didn’t Back to the Future think about it, but he totally Back to the Future thought about it. 

The problem is that it works. 

That’s not the real problem. No, it’s not a real problem at all. He thinks about everyone returning and it’s happy and good again, and- 

He’ll have to leave. 

He hasn’t forgotten Strange’s statement. 

Only one situation where this doesn’t fail. Where we don’t fail. 

And it has to be him. 

You don’t come back from something like that. 

Usually, anyway. 

Tony’s determined that he’s coming back. That everyone is coming back. 

The whole plot of Back to the Future goes as such: Marty’s life sucks, his parents’ lives are boring, and they’re not supposed to change the future. 

They do anyways. 

And it works. That’s the thing. Out of every single “time travel is dangerous” trope, Back to the Future still shows that sometimes some changes don’t affect the future badly, it just changes it. 

Tony knows that that can be done. It has to be done, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to leave Morgan. He already pinky-promised her that they’d make a picnic for her fifth birthday, and pinky-promises are the most binding contract he’s ever been a part of so far. 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it can’t be done. 

- 

He has to go with Steve to get a stone. He doesn’t necessarily like that because neither of them are subtle and they’re going to see his dad. 

Which is just gonna be a ball of a time. And Tony looks like Howard, just a few slight changes, but it’s undeniable. 

As long as no one connects the dots, he’ll be fine. 

They’re both like bulls in china shops. Neither has ever been out of the spotlight, and neither have been trained very well in the art of subterfuge. 

“What, SHIELD just decide to set you loose?” Tony hisses as they’re making an escape. 

“Oh and you didn’t have any time to learn?” Steve snaps back. “Let’s go.” 

- 

Natasha almost doesn’t return. Almost. Tony’s terrified to think of what would have been happened had she still been there. 

“Dumbass,” Clint mutters. “Thinking you could jump and we wouldn’t have done shit about it. You’re stupid.” 

Natasha just has a graceful smile on. 

“You’re not allowed to be the stupid Avenger all the time, Clint.” 

“Okay I accidentally blew up a microwave one time and suddenly-” 

Tony laughs. 

Genuinely laughs. 

It’s been a while since they’ve functioned like a team. Been a longer time since they’ve been one. 

- 

They get the stones. 

Hulk gets everyone back. Bruce gets everyone back. 

He’s confusing. 

But there he is, Peter. 

Tony hugs him, and he tears up, and god he’s so glad that Peter’s back. That everyone is back. 

It feels nice. 

But they still have a fight to finish and a glove to play hot potato with. 

- 

Thanos is still formidable. He’s still skilled, still has an entire army. 

Well...they’re not outmatched for long. 

Dr. Strange opens portals, leading a whole new mass of people to help. And Tony sees Danvers, which he has yet to talk to Rhodey about. God, Rhodey had been right about her being alive. 

But that’s not important. 

- 

He’s fighting one-on-one. 

Thanos is confident that he’s going to win. 

See, that’s the thing about Tony: he may not have been trained in subterfuge, but he knows all about flouting expectations. He knows that everyone had expected so many things of him that when he did anything out of the ordinary, no one paid attention. 

This is just like that. 

Thanos snaps, only it’s not enough this time. 

It’s not going to be like last time, with Peter panicking and people screaming and tragedy lining the news for years. 

No this time? It won’t work. 

Because this is the time where the hero wins against all odds and there’s a happy ending. He’s going to make it so, no matter how much of a toll this takes. He’s getting back to Morgan and Pepper no matter what it fucking takes. 

- 

Thanos is gone. His army dissolved. 

And he is satisfied. He’s tired, but happy. And he’s fairly sure that the glove has taken its toll on his body, but he hopes to god that he’ll be okay. 

Pepper is running her hands through his hair, telling him it’ll be okay, and asking anyone for help with transportation. 

There’s one person important that didn’t get blipped, and luckily, she’s a personal friend: Helen Cho. 

Sure, it’s time-intensive. 

Yes, Morgan is mad that daddy can’t read her a bedtime story. 

But...she gets to meet Peter, torture him with forty questions a minute, and Tony gets the use of his arm back. 

So it equals itself out. 

- 

The world, for now, doesn’t need a lot of superheroes. Everyone’s still settling down, no one wants anything but normal. 

This means a lot of superheroes have no idea what to do. 

But Morgan does. 

When dad gets back and is up for playing again (which took forever), Morgan asks to see the team. 

If dad is Iron Man, then it only makes sense that he knows all the other ones. And she has a lot of questions. 

The Avengers are a...a team. God, that’s about the only thing they can call themselves now. They used to be a family but everything’s changed and stilted and awkward. 

Morgan knows none of this. 

So ergo, she decides the most amazing thing ever for her fifth birthday party is to have a picnic with the whole team. Writes them invitations and everything, makes her mom trace out the words she wants to write so that it looks “extra fancy.” 

Tony’s never been one to deny Morgan something she really wants. 

“You sure you wanna handle this? You and Steve aren’t exactly on the best of terms, and I don’t think the team has actually talked.” 

“Well, no time like a five year old’s birthday party to get to catching up.” 

- 

It’s...something. 

Morgan is blissfully unaware and everyone makes so that she stays unaware. 

This involves some...awkward conversations. 

But mostly just making peace with the fact that life happened. 

And Natasha finally has another niece, even if she’s not named after her. 

“You still should’ve,” she jokes. 

“We were thinking about it, honest,” Pepper remarks dryly. “But hey, thanks for coming. Morgan’s very excited to learn how to ‘be a spy’ in her words.” 

Natasha grins. 

“I’ll have her taking out government officials in no time.” 

“Or just teaching her how to disarm dangerous people, thank you very much,” Tony says hurriedly. 

“Didn’t peg you to be the helicopter parent, Stark,” Clint says. 

“Oh trust me, he barely left the house when she was born,” Pepper says with a laugh. “And he would check everything. I had to convince him that Morgan did actually need to sleep in her crib.” 

“She would’ve been fine by us!” Tony defends weakly. “And besides, you said you did want an office space!” 

“Working in the sunroom is fine enough,” Pepper says. “And you forget that you offered to build me one, which is an offer you still haven’t done.” 

“I saved the world, you know.” 

“Oh, did you?” 

Tony grins, popping a grape into his mouth as he sees the scene unfold. 

Morgan’s having great fun showing everyone her little hideout, and where she goes on walks. 

She’s made friends with Peter and introducing him to her stuffed animals. 

Yeah. 

Life is good. 

[legoshi-plz]

Late Night Visitor Part 2

Summary: Late Night Visitor Part 2. Things continue to escalate with Riz and you feel as if there’s no way out. Help comes in the form of an unexpected ally.

Part One

Warnings: Smut (NSFW 18+), Rape/Non-Con, Threat of Violence, Language, etc...

///////////////

“Deeper, don’t make me have to say it again,” Riz growled, his grip on the fur on the back of your head tightening. You opened your jaws wider to allow more of him down your throat while fighting your own gag reflex.

“Mhm, that’s it. Looks like old dogs can learn new tricks,” he chuckled at his own demeaning words. You closed your eyes to try and remove yourself as much as you could from the situation but it was hard with him stuffing nearly every orfice you had.

He currently had three thick digits stuffed inside your dripping entrance while he fucked your throat raw with his monstrous cock. He was completely filling you and the worst part was that you could feel your orgasm coming at any moment. That would be the final blow of shame for this evening, him berating you for ‘enjoying’ it when you literally had no choice. You had long ago lost control over the pleasure functions of your body. No matter how much you hated him with every fiber of your being, there were certain stimulation your body couldn’t ignore.

“You’re fucking soaking my fingers, Y/N. It’s getting late but fuck it, I gotta have you,” He groaned, slapping your face with his free hand to get you to let him go. You didn’t see what difference it would make what time it was, the two of you were already late to Drama club. Most evenings when he made you give your body to him, you were usually too fucked out to even show up at all.

You started to get up off your knees but apparently you were moving too slow for Riz, so he picked you up by your waist and slammed you into the abandoned classroom wall forcefully. Without a word of warning, he pushed the entirety of his length into you. You winced at the burn this stretch always caused but were relieved it wasn’t as overall unbearable as it usually is. You hated that you were grateful for him forcing his fingers into you earlier.

“C’mon baby, you know the drill,” his voice was husky and you knew if you played along this could be over quickly.

“Oh my god, Riz, your dick feels amazing,” you moaned. You could feel him quickening his pace already at your words.

“Tell me how much you love it, FUCK!” He growled, his thrusts pounding your cervix to punctuate each word. You knew he was desperate now and that you could end this in a few mere words.

“I love it when you use me like this. I love being your whore. And I really love it when you cum inside me.” His face was buried into your neck and he had his entire weight pinning you to the wall, nearly crushing you.

“Say you need it, say you fucking need it, slut!” His voice was high pitched and beginning to crack. It was all over now.

“I need your cum, Riz. I need you to cum inside me,” you moaned and your body suddenly jolted at your own orgasm washed over you unexpectedly. Riz was right behind you, shooting thick white ropes into you until it reached capacity and began spilling down the sides. You turned your head in disgust while he watched the sight as if he’d just discovered gold.

“It’s like you get tighter and tighter every time. Keep this up and I’ll have to carve you open just to fuck you,” he chuckled, pulling out of you. You didn’t laugh.

Once he set you down, you adjusted your uniform as best you could, trying to hightail it out of there as quickly as your wobbly legs would carry you. You made it to the hallway before he gripped your arm and jerked you back towards him, nearly ripping your arm out the socket.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He said almost pleasantly as if he didn’t just force himself on you yet again.

You silently reached up on your tippy toes offering your lips to him. He had to bend down to complete the kiss, his lips burning against your own. The kiss was hungry and all-consuming, much like everything else about Riz.

“There you two are!” A chipper voice rang down the hall and you felt your insides turn to ice. You could tell by the way Riz’s grip on your arm tightened that he had been caught off guard too.

Juno bounced down the hallway, her usual bubbly self. She had a knowing smirk on her face indicating she’d caught you two kissing. You prayed that was the only thing she noticed.

“Louis sent me to come find you, Y/N. He was gonna announce the parts for the Winter showcase but held off since everyone wasn’t there. He’s pretty angry,” Juno said as Riz loosened his grip on your arm and slid it down so it looked like he was holding your hand, not previously yanking you about in a death grip.

“We were just about to head there now,” Riz smiled as the two of you followed behind Juno. You wanted to make an excuse so you could head back to your dorm and scrub every trace of Riz off of you but his hand in yours told you that wasn’t an option.

“So how long have you two lovebirds been dating?” Juno chirped, smiling back at the two of you.

“We’re just really good friends,” Riz said pleasantly before you even had a chance to process her question.

“I see, keeping it under wraps for now. Oh how romantic! I wish a certain someone would notice me like that but he barely even notices I’m alive,” She sighed in her own world.

“Well that can always change, sometimes even overnight,” Riz said throwing you a shit-eating grin. You blanched at the memory of that first night.

The rest of the walk there was uneventful and Riz let your hand go the second the two of you neared the auditorium. The moment you two stepped inside it was as if he didn’t know you at all, barely even looked at you. You felt a minuscule amount of weight lift from your shoulders.

“Y/N! My office!” Louis barked the second he laid eyes on you. And just like that the stress was back on again.

You followed him in, barely making it inside before he slammed the door crudely.

“You want to explain yourself?” He said in a condescending tone as he plopped down at his desk.

“E-explain myself?”

“I was under the impression you actually wanted the solo slot for the Winter showcase yet your actions have done nothing but prove otherwise.” Louis admonished and you hug your head in shame. Ever since Riz took it upon himself to make you his own personal fucktoy at his every beck and call, the Winter Showcase was the last thing on your mind.

“I’m sorry, Louis,” You uttered lamely. You didn’t even have an excuse you could admit to him.

“That much is obvious. And the most disappointing aspect of this whole situation is that the part was already yours but you couldn’t even be bothered to show up....” Louis voice trailed off and he suddenly stood from his desk, approaching you rapidly. You tried to inch away but your back quickly made contact with the wall.

“There are bruises all over your neck... and your arms...” Louis examined you and seemed to finally take in your disheveled appearance.

“Did someone.... do this to you?”

“N-No!” You answered too quickly. That was all the clarification he needed.

“There’s been another member from the art department that happens to usually be missing the same times as you. It’s awfully convenient...,” Louis carefully lifted up your skirt, the view of Riz’s cum seeping out of you on full display.

“How long?”

“Louis...”

“How long has this been going on, YN?”

“A... a few weeks now,” you could have died right there from the shame you felt. It was one thing to be regularly abused by Riz but for someone to find out? It was a new level of mortification.

“Y/N, I need you to listen to me very carefully. You need to leave and scrape the very trace of him off of you okay. Does anyone else know about this?” Louis’s eyes were filled with concern and you felt the tears start to well in your eyes.

“J-Juno saw him kiss me but that’s it.”

“Okay, good. She’s very forgetful, especially about.... sensitive subjects. You’re dismissed, go straight to your dorm and stay there for the rest of the night. Do not be alone with him again. Do you understand?” Louis said sternly and you nodded.

“Alright well you better get going then. I’m going to take care of this for you, Y/N.” The tears started to spill at Louis’ promise and you couldn’t help yourself from wrapping your arms around him in a hug of gratitude. He hesitated then slowly returned the gesture.

“Okay, that’s enough. You reek of mating pheromones,” Louis smiled gently, pulling you off of him.

You followed his orders and went straight to your dorm and scrubbed every trace of Riz off of you. You went to bed that night with your mind racing with different scenarios of how Louis intended to ‘handle’ this. What if he just made things worse for you? What if he tried to talk to Riz about it and Riz killed him?

What if Riz killed you?

You didn’t get hardly any sleep that night.

///////////

The next day you drug yourself to class as usual to find it abuzz with gossip.

“Didn’t you hear-”

“They drug him out in handcuffs-”

“It took like three of them to even muzzle him-”

“Wasn’t taking his government issued suppressants-”

You tuned into the chatter only to discover that apparently early this morning, the police came and carted Riz off for the murder of Tem. You were shocked and horrified that you’d been getting raped by a literal murderer for weeks now but you also felt an enormous amount of relief and strangely enough, a tad bit of guilt as well.

What if you had been putting other students in danger by allowing him to do that to you for as long as he did and not speaking up about it?

That’s when Louis suddenly flashed to your mind. Had he been the one to orchestrate this? Had he been the reason Riz was being hauled off to juvenile detention. Did Louis really have this type of power?

You rushed straight to his office as soon as Drama club began to find out some answers.

“Louis, did you hear? About what happened to Riz?” You asked. Louis glanced up at you, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yes, it is regrettable we had to lose such a dedicated member of our club in such a manner. Close the door behind you, will you?” He nodded, and you came fully into his office and closed the door.

“Lock it.” He ordered and you complied.

“Come here Y/N,” he said calmly and you walked to the front of his desk.

“Here,” he said curling a finger in his direction. You approached the side of his desk next to where he was sitting and he pulled you down into his lap suddenly.

“L-Louis! What are-”

“Did I tell you to speak?” He said sharply and you quickly shut up.

“Now, Riz is no longer an issue. I took care of that for you, just like I said I would. Isn’t that right?” He uttered, allowing his hand to creep up your thigh and under your skirt.

“Answer me!” He snapped and you nodded quickly.

“Y-Yes sir,” you could feel how hard he was beneath you even through the fabric of his uniform.

“Good girl. Now we just need to figure out how you’re going to pay me back for that. That’s one hell of a favor, so naturally it comes at a steep price.” Louis groaned as he moved your panties to the side and slide a long finger into your entrance.

“Do you know how you’re going to pay me back?” Louis slid another finger into you and began to pump slowly.

“N-no,” you said, squirming in his lap, the friction only serving to get him harder.

“I didn’t think so. Hop on the desk so I can taste you. That’ll be a start,” Louis’ eyes was full of lust as he watched you sit on the desk in front of him, spreading your legs for him. He quickly pulled your panties down and pocketed them.

He pulled you closer to the edge by your thighs and inhaled the scent of your core, his eyes fluttering slightly in satisfaction. He dove in, pressing his hot tongue against your slit and lapping at your arousal.

“Your scent has haunted me ever since yesterday. It’s so intoxicating, I had to restrain myself from taking you right then and there,” he moaned inbetween eating you out, “I knew your scent was divine but god you taste even better.”

Your hips bucked lightly at his words, giving away just how much he was turning you on.

“I see someone’s eager,” Louis placed the two fingers from earlier back into your aching cavern. “Be patient, my dear, we have all the time in the world.”

Despite how aroused and shocked you were at Louis’ actions, you couldn’t help the little voice in the back of your mind that rang in alarm.

You were getting the feeling you had only traded in one monster for another.

[lesbianrobin]

What are your thoughts on stancy in S2? More specifically the Halloween party scene?

Alright, so. St*ncy overall is... a very rough part of S2. To this day, I can’t understand why the fuck they chose to handle it the way they did. The whole thing makes Nancy look bad, it makes Jonathan look kind of bad too, and it absolutely beats Steve to an emotional pulp. This post is going to be so long I’m so sorry dklnckn...

It’s canon that Nancy wanted Jonathan the entire time that she was dating Steve. Almost a full year! Steve is planning his future around Nancy, talking about how he wouldn’t mind not going to college if it meant he could be around for her senior year. It’s clear that Steve thinks he and Nancy are in it for the long haul, which is reasonable considering that they’ve 1. Been together for a year and 2. Fought a monster together. Steve loves her, and he thinks that she loves him too. 

He goes to dinner with Barb’s parents for her every week, even though he doesn’t know them and barely knew Barb, even though he’s incredibly uncomfortable, but he does it to support her. When she has a rough moment in the library because of her grief, he pulls her into a private space, reminds her that talking about it in public could literally get them killed, holds her and comforts her, and then basically tells her that he knows it’s stupid to go to a Halloween party and act like normal teenagers when they know what they know, but it’s all they really can do, and he thinks they might as well try to be normal. He’s not belittling her feelings. He’s not ignoring her trauma. He’s just focused on making sure they don’t attract government attention and on trying to enjoy their lives as best as they can. 

Now, the party comes in. Nancy is being kinda shitty to Steve before she gets drunk. Billy and some other guys come up to Steve and start insulting him about the whole “King Steve” thing and how he’s a loser now, and Nancy just... walks away. She doesn’t even try to pull Steve away, tell them to knock it off, anything. Steve’s getting bullied, and she just leaves. Fine, whatever. Steve’s a big boy, she doesn’t have to try and fight his battles. Then he follows her over to the punch bowl, realizes that she’s chugging that shit like it’s going out of style, and he’s like “Hey, slow down.” Nancy, still sober, says something along the lines of (can’t remember exact words) “You wanted to get drunk like stupid teenagers!” before chugging down her cup of punch. 

This is why I brought up the dinners with Barb’s parents. Steve’s been doing this thing for Nancy every single week for a year. He’s kind to Barb’s parents, he does his best to make conversation and be polite, even when Nancy isn’t around. Then, he asks her to go to one party with him (that she wanted to go to as well, indicated by the fact that she enthusiastically pleaded with Jonathan to come and the fact that she and Steve had been working on their costumes for a long time). She responds by throwing his words back in his face, intentionally getting drunk at least partially to spite him. What the fuck?

Nancy’s grieving. She’s a teenager. She feels guilty about Barb’s death and blames Steve for it as well as herself, and she tries to suppress these feelings until she just can’t anymore. I understand that. All of this stuff honestly makes for an interesting plot! However, it falls apart the second she goes off with Jonathan, and it stops being the story of a girl struggling with complex survivor’s guilt and starts being the story of a girl who dated a boy she never loved for a full year while harboring feelings for someone else.

Steve and Nancy have an argument outside of the gym. He’s bitchy, tells her to go ask her other boyfriend what happened last night, and asks her to prove that she didn’t mean their love was “bullshit” by telling him she loves him. She can’t say it, and he tells her that she thinks she’s bullshit. Did they break up? I personally think it’s a bad argument and not a breakup, seeing as nobody actually said “we’re over” or anything, but you could argue that Nancy interpreted it as a breakup if you’d like to be charitable. However, I’m pretty sure that later on at Murray’s, Nancy and Jonathan refer to Steve as her boyfriend, so... Nancy cheats on Steve. Perhaps the cheating would be understandable as a result of her suppressed trauma and emotions surrounding Barb and Steve and everything, a moment of weakness, EXCEPT for the fact that she confirmed to Jonathan the night before that she waited for him and has essentially liked him the entire time. That, in my opinion, pushes it from “mistake made as a result of heightened emotions after a bad fight” to “opportunity taken that she’s wanted for a long time.” It’s a fucked-up writing decision that makes Nancy and Jonathan both look bad, as not only do they both know Nancy has a boyfriend, they also both literally owe said boyfriend their lives, and they still choose to sleep together.

The whole “thing” with J*ncy is shared trauma, right? They have the matching scars. Shared trauma, that’s “the real shit” according to Murray. But... what trauma do they share, exactly, that isn’t also shared by Steve? Steve was just as much “as fault” for Barb’s death as Nancy (of course neither of them were remotely responsible, but they were both there and they both had sex while Barb was dying out back in the pool, so). Steve fought the Demogorgon with them. Steve actually stood in front of both of them and held the Demogorgon off, protecting them! Is the “shared trauma” meant to be losing someone to the Upside Down? Will survived, but even if you do count him as a “loss,” then Joyce, Mike, Lucas, and Dustin all share that trauma, too. 

None of that really even matters, because the concept of shared trauma as the basis of a relationship is a mess that the show literally dismantles themselves in the form of, you guessed it, St*ncy!

Steve and Nancy both know about the Upside Down. Steve and Nancy both ignorantly had sex as Barb died, and now have to live with that knowledge. Nancy lost her best friend, and Steve has to wake up and go to sleep right next to the place Barb died every single day. They both fought the Demogorgon. They were both told by the government that they absolutely cannot tell anyone about what happened, and they will most likely be killed if they do. This shared trauma is what makes Nancy lash out at Steve, it’s what makes her get wasted, it’s what makes her blame him for Barb’s death, and it’s presumably what prevents her from loving him even though she clearly wants to (why else stay with him for a year?). So why should we, the viewers, accept that J*ncy’s shared trauma will provide the basis for a healthy relationship when the very same thing caused St*ncy to crumble?

So Nancy and Jonathan sleep together. They come back, Steve can tell what happened, and he says that it’s fine. I think that we’re supposed to take this as character development, or something? When he first thinks that Nancy has cheated on him with Jonathan, he responds by publicly shaming them and insulting Jonathan, but now, when Nancy ACTUALLY cheats on him, he takes it lying down, says that it’s fine when it clearly isn’t, and... this is a good thing?

We already know Steve is a better person now. We knew it back in S1, when he cleaned off the movie theater sign, went to Jonathan’s house to apologize, and then literally risked his own life to save Nancy and Jonathan! We knew it when he went to dinner at the Hollands’ with Nancy. We knew it when he ignored Billy’s jabs during basketball and at the party and let the insults roll off his back instead of allowing himself to be goaded into a fight. We knew it when he went to Nancy’s house with flowers to apologize, when he helped Dustin look for Dart, when he fought off the Demodogs, etc, etc.

I’m getting off topic, but my point is that St*ncy is a mess in S2 for a lot of reasons, but the way it ends is the worst part. Steve, for whom infidelity is a big fucking deal due to his parents’ strained relationship as a result of his own father’s cheating, gets cheated on by Nancy. Nancy never properly apologizes to him. They never really talk about it. Steve says it’s fine, his heart is broken, and Nancy and Jonathan are happily in love and never have to own up to the fact that their relationship began as infidelity.

The whole S2 St*ncy narrative essentially functions to grind Steve’s heart into the dirt while making Nancy and Jonathan, protagonists who we are presumably intended to like and root for, seem like terrible people. I have so many more thoughts about St*ncy, but most of those are already up in some other posts, so this is it, I guess! Thanks for asking!

[cyndecreativity]

Day 5 - Believe in Yourself

Throne – Watching the sunrise – “I’m not saying I told you so…”

Unable to sleep, Alden wanders the halls of the Imperial Palace lost in thought. He finds himself in the Grand Hall, confronted with the reality of his imminent position as Emperor. It all feels too much for him, but a surprise visit with his brother cheers him up a bit.

~2500 words

---

The quiet, comfortable solitude of night always invigorated him. No teachers, parents, siblings, or peoples to interact with as they all slumbered lifted a burden from his shoulders he never recognized until the weightless feeling after it left. With the world sleeping, he finally had freedom. Freedom to just be rather than be something.

In an effort to avoid waking his wife – wife! – he roamed the halls of the palace, lost in thought. The moon shone brightly through the various openings in the palace’s walls, the windows open for the cool night air to circulate. Idania had insisted on it to reduce stuffy and stagnant air. Servants would be up with the sun to close them all again, the stained glass painting the inner walls in the sunlight. He had no preference either way, something that frustrated her to no end. But with the mental and physical exhaustion of his new role as heir to the Scorpio Crown, he rarely had the energy left for such menial decisions.

A few overnight servants, the ones that swept the floors and straightened carpets and dusted and all the other things that Idania organized for the beautification of the palace. They all started upon seeing him, but he apologized for bothering them and continued wandering. Most attempted to ask if they could help, but he thanked them and proceeded through the grounds. In truth, he had no real destination in mind, just let his feet take him where they would, his mind lost in the weeds of anxiety.

The older members of the council had little faith in him, having hoped to overthrow his mother with news of his status as a bastard and the actions of his brother. They had no care for the circumstances or truth behind either, only desired to seize power. But they also had not put in the time or effort to turn the people to their side, resulting only in ineffectual posturing as the people chanted for the Kil’Jades. Karlina spent time as the grieving mother, spent time rallying the people, spent time garnering sympathy for her children. When Alden returned to them after years missing, thought dead, they people rejoiced. The announcement of Sylvain’s survival met the same raucous applause. The people loved the Empress and her family. The other council members had no chance, so caught up in their petty squabbles, that all they ever managed to do made things worse for the peasantry.

He would have to fight them, fix the problems they crafted to make him look bad, to squelch their powergrabs before they came to light. He remembered the many times he had stumbled into bettering life for the people in Lotuserna with Sylvain’s help. The ripple effect of his small appetite that turned into food banks all over the Lotus Capital had been a startling lesson in economics and goodwill for him. Could he replicate that on his own?

He could always consult with Sophie. She trained in governance from a young age and had the blood of the Queen Mother in her veins. She managed to repair the damages brought by Preminger and his poor advice to her brother Andre in a few months as Queen Regent. Even the rumor of her relationship with a Libra had not sullied her reputation and popularity with her subjects. The Djinn had no head for governing among them, not a single one, though Tristan knew a small village Mayor-in-Training that might be able to give him a good word with the Taurus leadership. He had made an impression on the Grand High Judge in the Libra while Idania made friends with the Clipped down below.

Footsteps echoed around him, jerking him unceremoniously from his thoughts. The Grand Hall stretched out around him, a stage-like dais stretched across the back of the room. The carpet, a rich tapestry of reds, greys, and browns for each of the tribes, fringed with white tassels for the Hibernation Guard. Along the edges sat the tables and stacks of chairs for Council meetings, large dinners, and small parties. A servant clutched his cleaning supplies to his chest, having not expected the Emperor-in-training to have shown up in the middle of the night.

Before he could jump into attempting to serve and impress his master, Alden waved a hand to calm him. “It’s all right. I just couldn’t sleep. Please proceed.”

The man’s eyes practically bulged from his head, his tail quivering behind his head. The next Emperor apologized to him! “I-I was actually just finishing up in here, Your Highness.” He balked, his stinger twitching.

Alden offered the poor man a smile. “Well, don’t let me keep you.”

The man spread his arms in the typical Scorpio show of respect and hurried away, grabbing his bucket on the way.

Once the servant disappeared down the hall, Alden wandered through the hall, his bare feet thumping quietly over the scratchy rug, slapping softly on the polished stone, his tail clicking absently behind. He traced fingers over the long tables, not a speck of dust in sight. How many men and women sat at these tables to fight over how best to frustrate and lead their people? How many would he cycle through over the course of his reign? How many would he have to prove himself to, would he have to remind of his position, would he actually respect?

He reached the steps to the dais. He hesitated and looked up to the thrones that waited there. The large, ostentatious throne in the center, the same design but slightly shorter for the spouse of the Imperial Majesty, then the other smaller three for the clan heads. His right arm ached slightly, a flash of purple in the magical veins, and he curled his hand into a fist.

Soon that throne would belong to him and the one beside it to Idania. His pulled in, his expression dark. He hated the idea that many would slight her for her origins, mock her for starting in an orphanage, and yet faun over her for being the Djinn of Water. He hated the idea that he would have to fight for her, protect her from their lies and politics, that no matter what she did, she would never be right for them. For him, it was normal, but he hated to see the love of his life mistreated in that way.

But with the power of the crown, of the throne behind him, they might learn to keep their mouths shut. He stepped gently over the stone and moved to the largest chair. It loomed over him, not quiet as large as when his father were alive, or the Emperor, or even a few years ago when his mother occupied the chair. He had grown, he surmised, over the years, over his journey. He looked up to the Scorpio crest at the top center of the chair, the three symbols of the clans encircled in the snowflake for the Hibernation Guard. A reminder of unity and over whom all the Emperor ruled and was ruled by.

A lot of power and a lot of responsibility rested in that simple piece of furniture. His fingers graced over the arm, also impeccably dust-free. The servants took their work very seriously. If he ever found it in disarray, if he ever found it to be dusty or streaked from cleaning, would he ever get enraged? Would he take that rage out on the staff?

“Daunting, isn’t it?”

Alden yelped, his tail raised to defend himself. At the back of the dais lie two doors that led to private hallways for the imperial family. Sylvain, his hair an ashen blonde, body hunched and leaned onto an elegant and functional cane, stood in the doorframe to the right. Alden heaved a breath to calm him heart. Sylvain chuckled and limped awkwardly and with great effort toward the chairs. Alden hurried around the chairs and offered to assist his brother. Despite his assumptions, Sylvain gratefully took Alden’s hand and led them to the chair. He gestured and Alden helped lower him into the spousal throne. With a gesture, Sylvain encouraged him to sit in the largest.

“It’s just a chair, you know.” His newly green eyes shimmered playfully in the torchlight.

Alden sighed and shook his head. “But it’s not, is it? I mean, functionally, yes, of course it’s just a chair. But…” He pointed to the Scorpio crest. “It represents so much more.”

Sylvain nodded and placed his hands on the top of his cane. “Do you remember what we were taught about the crest?”

A small chuckle shook the Red Prince. “I do.”

When he did not elaborate further, Sylvain smirked. “You do not.”

Alden rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe I don’t.”

A raspy chuckle drifted from the older Scorpio. “Then why worry so much? It’s just a piece of art on an overly elaborate piece of furniture.”

The younger brother huffed slightly. “There are those that worship this crest. Those that place trust in what it represents. That fight and die for it. That… will end up being my responsibility. All those people, Scorpio and the Hibernation Guard, will be relying on me to keep the peace in this room, to work toward their dreams and steer the empire true.” Red eyes met green. “I don’t know if I can do it, brother. It’s… it’s a lot. Perhaps too much. I’m sure to fuck it up, somehow.”

Sylvain nodded solemnly with recognition. He knew! He fell to one knee before his brother. “How did you do it? How did you live with the knowledge that it would all fall to you someday? That you would be responsible?”

Ashen eyebrows lifted over tired green eyes. “You think I lived with it?” He sighed slowly and shook his head. “I barely survived. But I had to put on a brave front for those around me. They expected a lot from me and I did what I had to.”

Alden’s shoulders sagged. Memories of their time in the Academy, of all the days Sylvain toiled in the library, or with some private tutor or another, flashed by in an instant. He never gave it much thought then, enjoying his time spent with Valash and Alexander, the days he spent roaming the city with Idania, the days he got caught stealing. No one expected anything of him. He took advantage of that then. Perhaps he should’ve paid more attention, focused more on studies, tried to be a better Prince.

“Doesn’t matter now, anyway.” Sylvain tapped his cane against the polished stone. “Mother has named you the next Emperor. And by the looks of things, you’ll do very well.”

Platitudes and apologies died on his tongue, sputtered out as nonsense. “You think I’ll do well?”

Sylvain gestured to the chair again. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous kneeling like that.” Alden moved without much though and sat in the main throne, focused solely on his brother. Sylvain smiled. “Typically, those that crave power are not very responsible with it. And since you don’t want the power and responsibility, you are more likely to wield it with temperance and kindness.”

The younger brother scoffed. “Please. Spare me. There are plenty that don’t want the throne that would be beyond terrible at it.”

The older man shrugged and slumped back into the chair. “Well, mother won’t stop singing your praises, that’s for sure.” Another scoff. “She seems to think you’re a hero. Won’t stop regaling me with the highly fictionalized versions of your journey after-“ He hesitated briefly. “Phiphi destroyed Lotuserna.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s not very fun for you.”

Sylvain bobbed his head back and forth. “Well, it’s fun to hear all the different versions, at least. How evil some stories make me sound, how heroic others make you sound. It’s also interesting to hear her opinions of Idania change from day to day.”

Alden shook his head and slumped back in the chair. “I wonder if they’ll ever get along.”

Sylvain looked to his brother and grinned with half his face. “There. That’s it.” Alden lifted his brow. “Seeking a diplomatic solution to every situation is paramount.”

“Just because I wish for my wife and my mother to like each other doesn’t mean I have the makings of Emperor.”

“It’s the little things. Little things inform larger things.” Sylvain reached a hand to slap his brother’s arm. “Remember when you couldn’t finish your dinner and the Ambassador ended up opening up food banks all over Lotuserna?”

Warmth spread from the small contact. “I was actually thinking about that earlier! But that was all you and Idania. All I did was have a tiny stomach. But it did make me think. Could I rely on you to be an advisor?  And Idania did manage to help all those refugees. And I have connections in other Constellations as well-“

Sylvain smirked. “Look at you being all Imperial.”

Alden shook his head. “You would know, I suppose.”

“I’m not saying I told you so…”

Laughter burbled between the two men, raspy and affectionate, and descended into coughs. After they calmed, Alden reached over to place a hand on his brother’s. “I appreciate it, Sylv. I know I shouldn’t ask this of you, but I can count on you for advice, can’t I?”

The first light of morning peaked through over the horizon and flooded the Grand Hall. Both men started at the sudden brightness, Sylvain closing his eyes. Ophiuchus’s darkness lingered and made his brother sensitive. “Here, we should get you back to your room.”

Sylvain waved a hand. “Shying away from it won’t make me any better. I haven’t seen a proper sunrise in Spirits know how long. I’ve missed it.” Those tired green eyes lifted to Alden’s. “And of course you can rely on my counsel. You’ll need at least one person to tell you when you’re being incredibly stupid.”

-

“Kelara?” The left door behind the dais creaked. Alden lifted his eyes to his wife, her hair a mess, eyes narrowed. “What are you doing in here?”

Warmth filled him again, a different one this kind, as his arm glowed a faint purple. “Kelara! I’m here with Sylvain, actually. Apparently neither of us could sleep.”

She padded across the floor and leaned over to smile at Sylvain. Sylvain attempted a full smile in response, but only half his face seemed to work. “Good morning, Master Sylvain. How are the other healers-”

He held up a hand. “Don’t get me started. For now, I’d just like to enjoy the sunrise.”

She straightened up a bit and looked to the windows. She nodded, understanding, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her other hand stretched for Alden. He furrowed his brow, but he watched her hand glow on Sylvain’s shoulder. He felt more sure of his love every moment.

He shifted his weight and Sylvain winced, ready for the pain of the brightness again. When the pain did not come, he blinked and relaxed. Alden moved to his wife’s side and slipped his arms over her shoulders. She turned to beg a kiss, to which he obliged. Sylvain lifted a hand to hers on his shoulder. Both brothers muttered a quiet “thank you”.

[shingekicornwrites]

Agricultural Werewolves, pt 1

Fandom/Tags: Hero Academia, alternate universe/werewolves, mentions of past bullying, Counseling, Bakugou Katsuki Faces Consequences, modern fantasy, unreliable narrator, Katsuki is kind of an asshole please don’t take his commentary as my opinion or truth

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki/Anger Management Counseling, future Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou, future Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto

A/N: This is just a fun au full of wholesome farming, but also boys dealing with issues and a whole lot of unhealthy coping mechanisms and attempts to heal. Please enjoy

Not all farmers are werewolves, but many werewolves are farmers. For some reason this fact makes no sense to people who don’t know werewolves. For everyone else it makes perfect sense.

Werewolves have to eat a lot.

As in: the number one drain of money in werewolf houses is filling the cabinets enough to keep all members of the family healthy. Creatures who change shape with regularity, who shift their bodies and have immense strength that burns calories faster than they can blink, have to maintain an intake that allows them to function without their bodies resorting to eating itself. Even werewolves who don’t change all that often, either out of preference or a lack of opportunity, have to eat more than their human peers or suffer symptoms of starvation.  

Hence: werewolves are farmers.

It is infinitely easier to exist outside of poverty when werewolves, congregated into their own communities, make the food themselves instead of buying it all at the nearest grocer. They raise and cut the meats themselves. They grow the appropriate fruits and vegetables that balance their diets. They sell the portions according to their needs as opposed to human needs. It only makes sense that they do things this way.

They control the food market. They have space to run to their hearts content without worrying about bothering human neighbors. They make the rules for their communities with the standards they need, instead of standards written by people who don’t understand how they function. Government approved wolf reserves more often become farmland than anything else.

Werewolves are farmers, and statistically they’re more likely to be happy that way.  

This statistic does not account for Bakugou Katsuki.

At the moment, he is the furthest thing from happy.

“This place smells like shit.”

Normally he’d be cuffed upside the head for that. Instead his mom just looks at him, with that fucking pity in her eyes that hasn’t left in days, and frowns. Katsuki pointedly doesn’t look back and continues staring out the window at the trees and dust being kicked up by the tires.

“That’s the chicken houses. It is pretty rancid,” she says. Acting like she’s not on her way to get rid of her mess and wash her hands of it. “Ah, there’s the gates. Kind of nostalgic.”

The gate marking the Kiyashi Wolf Reserve is flanked by stone wolves howling at the sky in unison. Their car passes them by with no fanfare and Katsuki growls at the town beyond.

It’s as unimpressive as he thought it’d be. A town in the middle of Fuckoff Nowhere, with nothing to its name and a bunch of people who will die there the same nobodies they were born as. All it has to show are a bunch of old ass buildings for tourists and a stupid shrine.  Their car slows down once they pass the gates and Katsuki gets a good, long look at the shitty little storefronts lining the main street. His mom makes some weird noise when she sees them and starts yammering again.

“Oh, I’ve missed this.” She eases up on the gas as the traffic increases, slowing down to turn her head and look at a restaurant that’s filling the car with some kind of greasy meat smell. “That place over there makes the best dango. And there’s this cartilage karaage that’s so delicious—they pile the plate high, too. I forgot how much I missed getting the big portions. City eating just doesn’t give you enough.”

Katsuki huffs, glaring at a group of bumpkin kids who stare at their car as they walk past. “S’at why you left? Got cankles?”

Once again, no cuffing comes. Not even a growl. His mom just frowns with that fucking look again and doesn’t do anything.

“Better business in the bigger towns. Oh my, that store is still there? God, I used to go there every week to blow my paychecks. It looks even nicer than when I left it.”

They pass the shitty little boutique and she smiles at it, taking a left when the main road ends and humming at all the ancient scenery. There’s more old as shit buildings, more little shops and restaurants—more kids staring at their nice car and whispering to each other, which is just fucking great. There’s signs for the local shrine next to fox statues lining the side of the road and Katsuki makes a face at each one as they pass. This whole town looks like it hasn’t had a pulse in decades.

“Do you remember the Midoriyas, hon?” his mom asks as she takes another turn. “They left when you were small, around first grade.”

He thinks back and the memories come to the surface easily. Kindergarten had been spent running around followed by lackeys, catching bugs, making a mess of the local playground, and...huh, right. A face pops back into his mind. Freckles and curls, big green eyes, crying all the goddamn time because he had no spine and didn’t get that he wasn’t wanted around.

“Deku?” the name pops up before he can think too hard about it. Deku. The little snot who yelled too much and probably still wet the bed when he moved away. Useless little Deku.

“That’s not his name,” the hag nags him, jogging him out of the trip through memory lane.

Katsuki scoffs. “It’s what he was.”

“Katsuki,” she starts, finally seeming a little more like herself before she sighs and buries it deep. “Izuku and his mother moved here when they left. Inko’s offered to take you in while you’re here.”

So he’s gonna be under the care of the family with the worlds biggest crybaby? “Great.”

“It is great. You know her, a little. You and Izuku could catch up. Plus, Inko has a little business now. This old ryokan got turned into the local youth hostel, and it’s all under her name now since the old owner retired. It sounds very relaxing. Isn’t that nice?” His mom smiles, like this is actually good news, and it’s disgusting.

“I’m gonna die of boredom,” Katsuki mutters. He looks back out the window and there’s old people with baskets of vegetables just walking next to the road like they want to be hit by a car. Christ this place sucks.

“Don’t say that. This town has a ton of stuff to keep you occupied. You can run around to your hearts content and nothing’ll stop you.”

He lets his head rest against the glass and hopes the vibrations from the shitty road will concuss him. “Wheeee.”

“You’ll like it,” His mom promises. She’d also promised he’d be a winner, and here she is ripping him away from his top school of choice. So he thinks she can take that promise and fucking shove it.

The road gets tinier and the car slows down, with his mom squinting at each building as they pass and muttering under her breath. There are more old people with vegetables and stupid hick kids running around. The car slows to a stop at a break in whatever pathetic excuse for a sidewalk this town has lining its roads, shutting off as the hag smiles at the old ass building next to them.

“There it is,” she breathes.

It looks as shitty as he thought it would. Old, traditional, with weathered wood one good termite away from crumbling and an ancient sign trying to pass for new with a fresh coat of paint slapped on. Small for a ryokan, too, which is probably why it got sold off. There are planters surrounding the front entrance filled with flowers, where a pudgy little figure is hunched over and pulling weeds.

The hag doesn’t hesitate to unbuckle and climb out, shouting over the top of the car. “Inko!”

The pudgy woman turns around and drops the clippers in her hand. Katsuki doesn’t move to get out. He remembers her face. He remembers her taller, presenting snacks and endless bandages for her crybaby son. He remembers seeing her less and less before she was gone altogether. The short, heavy woman he’s looking at how doesn’t resemble her at all. She’s in dirty jeans and flannel, with a handkerchief tied around her head to keep her hair back and rubber boots caked in mud tracking mess all over the walkway.

Damn, Auntie let herself go.

“Mitsuki?” Inko asks, before throwing herself forward to give his mom a running hug. “Oh my—I thought you weren’t due until later!”

“Traffic was a lot lighter than I thought it’d be.” His mom laughs, as if it’s just a stupid social visit and not her dumping her goddamn kid to cover up a mess. “Look at you! You’re radiant! Kiyashi must be treating you well.”

Katsuki resists the urge to double take. His mother is a shit liar.

Inko just smiles. “It’s all the hiking. I had no idea how much fresh air makes you feel better.”

“Oh, I know. I felt like I couldn’t breathe after I left, city air is disgusting.” His mom makes a face. “How are you and the kids doing?”

“Wonderful. Izuku’s out working right now.”

“No foolin? Feels like yesterday he was learning to walk.”

“They grow up so fast.” Inko finally looks over and spots Katsuki slouched in his seat. “Is that Katsuki?”

He growls. She doesn’t even look phased.

“Yep,” his mother nods, then for the first time since this trip started she raises her voice. “Oi! Get out of the car and be sociable!”

He bares his teeth—fuck her, fuck this trip, fuck this stupid hick town—but opens the door. He makes sure to slam it shut. Just because he can. And he wants everyone to know he thinks this whole thing is a pile of shit. Especially the hag, who just glares at him but refuses to yell, even though he knows she wants to.

She always wants to. She always does. This stupid fucking pity game is going to drive him insane, why the hell does she think shutting up is gonna work?

“You’ve gotten so big,” Inko fawns, looking up at him with a big smile. “I bet you barely remember me, huh?”

“He does,” his mother deadpans. There’s a silent threat while Inko isn’t looking to at least greet her, but he responds to that with a sneer that just makes her shake her head. Instead of yelling, once again, she turns her focus to Inko. “Thank you again for this.”

“Oh, it’s no issue at all. The hostel doesn’t just exist for tourism,” Inko deflects. Katsuki looks at the hostel with another critical eye and snorts. Of course it isn’t for tourism. The whole place looks like shit. Tourists who pay for this must be idiots. “Katsuki, dear, I have a room set up for you. It has your name on it so you can go ahead and start loading your things in if you want.”

Finally, an excuse to get out of this. He yanks the car door open and grabs for his first few bags, eager to get away from sight for a few minutes. The women just keep blabbering on about nothing like he’s not even there.

“How’s the boarder?” his mom asks as Katsuki hauls his duffel bag out.

“Oh, he’s doing well. He’s at the shrine now.”

“That’s two working boys, then—“

It’s nothing to load two bags over his shoulders and get away. Leave the biddies to their gossip, he thinks. It’s the only thing they’re good for.

The inside of the hostel is...less shitty. Huh. Maybe that’s how it stayed in business. Katsuki kicks off his shoes and puts on the slippers set out with a scowl, surveying what’s visible past the entryway. The floors are polished wood, the insides done up so that everything looks bright and new. There’s a lounge right next to the entrance that’s been done up to be more teen friendly—a gaming console and a TV, a little fridge with a clear door filled with drinks, and a few bean bag chairs—he bypasses it with a huff and makes his way toward the rooms.

There’s a courtyard. The doors are open, letting him get a good look at the tree and flowers planted to look all pretty. He doesn’t see any people, though.

He passes rooms with no name on them. Empty, empty, empty—how the hell does Auntie keep this place in business? At first it’s nothing. Then it starts getting annoying.

Empty, empty, empty.

Empty.

Empty.

Motherfucker.

He circles the place twice and can’t find anything. No sign. No name. Just empty rooms in a shitty hostel in a shitty hick town and his own shitty breathing because why the hell has he had to carry the bags for this long?

The next time he finds his way back to the lounge he yells in frustration, kicking a chair. He’s about to ditch the bags and run through the place when he turns just a little too quickly and his duffel bag hits someone in the shoulder.

Katsuki bares his teeth before he can think about it. “Oi! Watch it!”

The stranger stumbles back. It’s some hick kid, in a dirty t-shirt and ratty baseball hat. His arms—thicker than expected for someone shorter than Katsuki is, with a fucked up hand that looks like it’s made of scar tissue—are carrying a wooden box filled to the brim with vegetables and paper wrapped packages that smell like blood and raw meat.

“Sorry about that—“ the stranger steadies himself, hefting the box up and stepping back. He’s too busy making sure nothing from the box is falling to even look at the guy he’s apologizing too, the asshole. “Are you lost?”

“No!” Katsuki barks.

“Well, it’s alright if you are, I just—“ the stranger meets Katsuki’s eyes and his own widen. “...wait.”

Katsuki bristles. Then something starts to churn, in his head. The stranger has big green eyes.

Big green eyes, and freckles. Familiar patterns speckled all over his face. Wild curls are attempting to escape out from under the hat, pasted to his forehead from sweat. If the hat wasn’t on it would be the same wild mass of uncontrollable coils that he remembers.

The last time he saw that face was years ago, out the back of a car as it drove away.

“Kacchan?” Deku asks, bigger and thicker and smelling like wolf in a way he definitely didn’t in first grade.

What the fuck?

[imsuchmarveltrash]

Revolutionary (A Stucky x Reader series) [Chapter Two]

A/N: So I know this is a Stucky x Reader series, but that will start up in the next chapter. For now, have a tiny bit of spice between the reader and Loki. Next chapter coming soon!

Chapter One link

Chapter Two: Hold Me Down

“You ready for the meeting love?” Loki asked as you put your t-shirt back on.

“Yes.” You stated, “I need this to start.”

You looked completely dishevelled and, for once, Loki looked the same. Undressed from his elegant, designer suit, he sat naked in your bed, covered only by the sheets the two of you had only moments ago been writhing and moaning under.

You tried fixing your hair and dabbing at your make up, but nothing seemed to be able to shake the “freshly fucked” look from your body. You huffed, giving up on trying to look somewhat proper and started collecting your notes and mentally ran through everything that needed to be said in the meeting.

“You need to get your ass up or you’re going to be late.” You rolled your eyes.

“And when has that ever been an issue for me?” He smirked.

“Loki, this is a group meeting, not one of your little Bourgeoisie get-togethers.” You complained.

Loki sighed, getting out of the bed and starting to dress himself again. He had his suit pants back on, unbuckled, the silky material already complimenting his elegant frame. Still buttoning his shirt, he crept up behind you. You became aware of him when, moving the hair from your right shoulder, he kissed your skin lightly, dragging his lips from your edge of your collar bone to the curve of your neck before stopping at the shell of your ear.

“You know what this is, right?” Loki whispered, his velvet voice sending shivers down your spine and causing heat to rise inside you all over again.

Your breath hitched, your mind momentarily clearing except for the awareness of the reaction Loki caused within you. There was something about him that always had you tingling. Yet, that tiny voice of reason slowly came back to you, and you quickly shook your head, turning around to answer him without allowing yourself to fall under his spell again–not that you didn’t want it the first time.

“It’s good sex that’s even better because of the rush from it being illegal.” You deadpanned.

“You’re wrong.” Loki chuckled lowly.

“Well, what is it then?” You asked, slightly irritated by his stalling. The two of you needed to get to the meeting, but all Loki seemingly wanted was to discuss your sex lives.

He brought himself right up against you, the tips of your noses touching as you both breathed in each other’s breaths. His swift motion threw you off guard, but the air suddenly felt static with the tension between the two of you, but you knew that you didn’t have time to do this again.

“It’s a power exchange.” Loki breathed. “For a few short hours, you have complete control of my body… my pleasure… my pain… For this brief period, you can do whatever you want with me, to me. It’s that temporary exchange of control. That one that the government is so afraid of, so they have rules. Yet, they don’t understand how that only adds to the thrill. How, at any second, we could get caught and that has me thrumming like a livewire, but even sweeter is that it’s you who’s beneath me… or on top of me… or beside me.”

As he spoke, his hands roamed your body, and you couldn’t help but quiver under his touch. His words flowed so smoothly from his lips, his seductive tone playing with your mind. If you weren’t so strong willed, he could’ve talked you straight back into your bed where he’d ravish you for the rest of the night, but you knew there were things to be done.

“Loki, stop.” You said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Fine. I know it’s not just me that desires your attention.” He sighed.

You moved away from him, but he continued speaking. “You’re leading this for a reason, you know.”

“I know.” You stated, gathering the last of your things as he straightened his suit.

“Not completely, though.” He muttered.

“What are you talking about?” You groaned.

“You might not see it, but you’re by far the most important part of this plan working. I know there are various brilliant minds within our little group, but this would all be lost without you. You don’t know this, but Pierce keeps a remarkably close eye on what goes on within this city. Yet, he’s completely overlooked you. Out of everyone within our circle, you’re the one he’d never see coming. Compared to everyone else, I know you may see yourself as small, but you’re just as spectacular, perhaps even more so. You’re so alluring, people fail to see what’s hiding beneath the façade of those entrancing eyes, and that’s their fatal flaw. You don’t see it, but we need you the most.”

You huffed out a breath, not wanting to have to think about all that when you needed to prepare yourself for the meeting that would inevitably start it all. Turning back to Loki, you softly kissed his cheek, trying to wordlessly convey your gratitude to him for seeing you in ways you couldn’t see yourself. It was an intimate gesture, and although the two of you were passionate, it was not something you were used to.

You took his hand, leading him out of your room and into the dimly lit passageway. Being part of the Proletariat meant that you didn’t have much that you could call yours. You had a small space that barely qualified as an apartment. Equipped with a single bedroom and bathroom, the miniscule, decrepit lack of room gave you the only place to escape to that you could call yours. If you were lucky, some days the government bothered to supply your building with running water and electricity, but for the most part you relied on the things your friends in the Bourgeoisie gave you. Like Loki said, it was a power exchange.

You and Loki reached the elevator that would take you into the depths of the building’s underground floors. By some stroke of good fortune, you managed to find a building to live in that still had a running underground section. There was a small collection of them in the city, but they were all slowly starting to fall apart, becoming too dilapidated to bee inhabited. The floor you were going to had a small open-plan room that worked perfectly as a meeting place for your group.

Initially, it seemed to be a large underground storeroom of sorts, but as a building that only housed Proletariat citizens who could barely afford daily necessities, it was empty when you found it. Tony and Fury had helped you sneak in all the equipment that you needed, while Peter, Maria and Wanda had filled it with all the technology that would help you monitor the government. Now, it functioned as the underground headquarters for your group. Tony and Fury had moved in a few couches and a coffee table that was situated in the back-left corner of the room and functioned as a meeting area. The entire top half of the right wall was covered in monitors showing surveillance from various parts of the city that Peter and Maria had managed to hack from the government. The rest of the room’s space housed various tables and workbenches that you each used individually to plan, strategize, develop weapons and create new technology.

The elevator ride was relatively silent, you and Loki both lost in your own separate worlds. He knew not to bother you, sensing your nervousness at finally having this plan start rolling. Your group was still relatively new, having only consisted of all seventeen of you for a few months, but you had all finally decided that you were done waiting. Changes had to me made in society, and they had to be made immediately.

The elevator opened, and you walked steadily towards the room. Your heart thrummed in both excitement and nervous energy. You knew what you wanted to say, but you had no idea how this meeting was going to pan out. As you walked through the doorway into the meeting room, you were greeted by the faces of the rest of your group members. As it turned out, you and Loki were the last to arrive. You knew Bucky would give you crap for that later. Everyone was seated comfortably in the meeting area, only waiting for you. Loki found a seat next to Thor, while you took your spot between Steve and Bucky. As you sat down, you felt them gravitate towards you–the three of you  had a likelihood to do that. Once you were comfortable, you looked up and knew that it was time for the meeting to commence.

“Hi everyone, thank you for coming.” You started.

“Where else would we be?” Clint mumbled, rolling his eyes.

You shook your head at his constant cynical demeanour but continued nonetheless. “I know how we all feel right now. Those of us who’ve grown up on these streets are tired. Tired of having to fight for everything we have and face the injustice of a society we didn’t choose. Those of you who were born into lives of luxury but had that stripped away because you didn’t have the freedom to love or the freedom to choose to be kind. Those of you who were raised straight into the hands of the government and can no longer stand their  ways. I think we’ve all realised the ways in which we’re unhappy.

“From those of you who’ve worked under the government, and from how all of our lives have been influenced by the governments rule and their laws, we all know that this injustice needs to stop. But it’s gotten to the point where it won’t stop unless we do something about it. We’ve tried the passive route. We’ve tried showing them the error of their ways. Yet, they haven’t listened. In their eyes, this system is immaculate. But we know better.

“So, we cannot act passively anymore. We’ve waited long enough. It’s time for an overthrow. There are too many people living in poverty and bearing the weight of this injustice just so that the rare few can live in luxury. This is not something we can tolerate anymore. This is our opportunity to make a change.”

Most of them stared at you in awe, completely inspired by your words. Loki was right in how he called you alluring. You had an air about you that was almost regal. Had you been born into the Bourgeoisie, you would’ve been all-powerful. Not only did you have a wondrous mind of your own, but you had the capability to inspire the brilliance and innovation of others.

“So, what’s our plan?” Tony asked, causing you to smile cunningly.

“I have a plan, but you’re all going to need to help.” You smirked.

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

Headcanon: Julian Bashir is autistic and has frequent sensory overload, and the only two people who can help him are Garek and O’ Brien. Me? Projecting? It’s more likely than you think!!!

Ha, moooood. Which on that note I have a somewhat intense fic here in which Julian has a meltdown. It’s not related to sensory issues so much as “oh boy a lot of shit’s happened to him” but if you want more O'Brien helping him out after this – so because we gave that fic to O'Brien, let’s give this one to Garak.

Also can we talk about the fact that it’s canon that Julian and the other augments can hear sounds at decibels that non-augments can’t and that it causes them pain, but Julian just taught himself to not react, like fuck, how did someone write this and not follow through on Julian-Bashir-is-autistic-and-or-otherwise-nd!

sorry for taking so long, a. this got a bit longish so it’s under a cut and b. I got distracted by the fact that I always want to see everyone’s notes on reblogs in case of interesting discussion points and i have just now learnt that that cannot be done easily if a lot of people reblog at once… oh hyper-fixation how you get me time and again

this takes place post-Doctor Bashir I Presume and alludes to the fact that during this time Garak and Bashir’s interactions were gradually stripped away in the show (because it too gay) - Andy Robinson ran with that in A Stitch In Time and had Garak write about how much he regretted the two of them not remaining close/hinted that he was in love with him… so take that background as you will.

—— More Space ——-

Thank goodness, he thought after an indeterminate amount of time. O'Brien was here. He would be able to calm him down, he would know how to come up with some soothing description of exactly which of DS9’s pistons or pipes or programs was currently making that noise and he’d either fix it or stay with him until it sorted itself out. Or maybe the noise was gone and the residual whining was just himself recreating it perfectly in his head, or maybe he was just too far gone by now for it to matter, but O'Brien would help. Since the two of them had become friends and some of Julian’s old ticks had returned after his augmentation had come to light, Miles had been a surprisingly steady presence in his life.

“Doctor?”

No, not Miles.

Garak.

He couldn’t make himself respond. His body felt like it was compressing him into a vice, with all his ability to focus somehow splintered into a million shards, each of them painful to the touch. Oh no, what if Garak touched him? If Garak touched him right now he might shatter or scream or something else entirely outside of his control, but talking was also impossible right now, so he couldn’t ask him not to touch, please don’t touch-

Garak sat down in front of him, far enough away that it didn’t feel like too… much.

“Doctor. You don’t need to say or do anything.”

He could manage that.

“I was wondering why you’d missed our lunch date. Very pleased to find you didn’t simply opt not to come without telling me, although I find the alternative to be distressing.”  He stopped talking for a moment then. “Apologies for breaking into your room. Again.”

While Garak simply sat and occasionally spoke Julian was dimly aware of the fact that he could feel his edges hardening again. The shards were being pulled back together.

He also noticed now that he was freezing. It usually happened like that, having sat sedentary for however long or coming down from some emotional extreme. He shivered.

“This station is cold,” said Garak.“The temperature, the lights, the people… all too cold.”

Julian managed a smile and it was like his mouth was freed from a curse. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Not to mention loud,” Garak added.

“All that machinery,” Julian nodded and spoke slowly. His mouth still needed to unstick. “Every time an alarm goes it’s like a sharp pain… I used to be… much better at this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used to… I used to get these all the time as a child. Meltdowns, shutdowns, I think. But then my parents told me later that it was a side-effect of the augmentations and I tried to… to will myself to stop them, to bypass my natural instincts in order to not be found out and it worked, in a way, or at least nobody found out. I familiarised myself with and categorised any sights, sounds, smells, feelings I came across on earth during my Starfleet training and ordered them into lists and sublists: What I could handle mostly, what I could handle sometimes, what I needed to avoid at all costs. I managed to… to pretend. And then I came to Deep Space Nine and for awhile it was all too much again, I had to make new lists, but I managed, I really… I really did, I really did, I really-” he was talking himself into hyperventilating again, he knew this, but he couldn’t stop now, “- and then I got captured and it was like everything just stopped. I barely- I don’t even remember most of it, but when I got back it was so much worse -”

“Julian,” said Garak and the sound of his first name coming from Garak’s mouth surprised him back to the now. “Julian,” said Garak again. “You’re here. With me. On a floor that is quite cold, I might add.”

Julian breathed out and mumbled under the exhale. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.”

“What is that,” asked Garak.

“Counting my fingers. It… helps.”

“Noted,” and the easy way in which Garak seemed to have just accepted that he would be helping Julian again in future was another shock to his system, but then why wouldn’t he? Even if they hadn’t met up as often as they used to. Even if he was untrustworthy at heart and Julian could never figure out why Garak wanted his company at all. He found he missed Garak���s simple and complicated nature. It grounded him, somehow.

He got up off the floor, reaching out for Garak when he stumbled. He held him just tight enough to make sure that he wouldn’t fall. Not overcrowding – Julian suddenly remembered that Garak was claustrophobic. He must know how easily sensory inputs could become too much.

At Garak’s questioningly soft hold on his arm, Julian nodded and he helped him to the sofa. “Would you like some water?”

Julian nodded. As Garak went to fetch it, he began to talk again. Somehow… he just needed to get it out now, like an excision. “After the truth came out my mother told me that they’d been lying. I mean, they’ve been lying about so much, but specifically about this. I’ve always been like this. Or. Some of it. The meltdowns. I thought… those memories weren’t real. But now they are? Some of them. I’m having trouble sorting them.”

Garak handed him the water.

“I developed a theory,” said Julian, forgetting to sip.

“Tell me your theory doctor,” said Garak, his tone of voice tender as he sat down beside him, again, close enough if he needed him, but not too close.

“I was wondering why a heightened inability to process inputs was a side-effect of the vast majority of augments, when I had this inability before my augmentation. I started to suspect that it was less to do with the augmentations and was simply… who we were. The augmentations gone wrong could throw that into extremes, but that may have more to do with medical trauma responses than… anyway, I can’t confirm until I have more data. I did research into my own developmental delays, the medical history – it’s fascinating how we repeat cycles actually, first it was considered a form of possession or changelings, then it began to be classed under a broad form of what would be known as schizophrenia, then divided into narrow and still somewhat inaccurate categories of autism, aspergers, adhd, add, high and low functioning etcera, and then was gradually broadened again under general brain-differences known as neuroatypicals or neurodiverse,” he took a breath and continued: “- I’m not too interested in 21st century history honestly, but I know the government upheavals affected medical classifications and concepts of what was known broadly as “disabilities” at the time, and that it fundamentally shifted again once we formed the federation. But then -” and here he started gesticulating widely in excitement or outrage - “it all becomes the same just repackaged, doesn’t? Stigma against augments who are overwhelmingly people like me is stigma against neurodiversity is stigma against the “possessed,” it’s…” he trailed off. “It’s all the same,” he finished lamely.

He’d become very aware suddenly that he’d done that thing that annoyed most of the people he ever conversed with, running his mouth while forgetting the other person. But Garak didn’t seem annoyed. He was listening intently, in fact. At the pause he even nodded and offered: “The history of such matters is different on Cardassia. Or rather, mental and developmental differences don’t get acknowledged on Cardassia.”

“Eugenics?” said Julian with a frown.

“Not as such. We don’t mind in theory, as long as everyone can perform the tasks they’re assigned to. It’s a… class thing. If you belong to a powerful family and are expected to do great things in the army or politics or the sciences, being unable to do so for any reason is usually – what is the term humans use? - “Swept under the rug.” But then someone like you, dear doctor, if you had been Cardassian it might surprisingly have been easier for you.”

Julian shook his head. “My abilities are due to my augmentations. I’d have been… I don’t know. Not me,” he said softly.

At that, Garak gave him a look that he couldn’t pin down. Something… surprised for a moment, almost? Then smoothed out into an enigmatic smile. “Perhaps. From what you tell me you’ve always processed like you do, you’ve just been given better tools to translate and more…” he searched for the word for a second, before landing on: “space.”

At that Julian burst out into an unexpected laugh. “I certainly have enough space out here. More than enough, I’d say.”

Garak’s smile deepened. “But it doesn’t matter. Either you were always going to be able to pursue medicine and the stigmas of your parents and surrounding society were preventing you from discovering that on your own, or your augmentations made you unlock new abilities. But on Cardassia someone with the kind of passion you possess would have done well, with or without them.”

“If I were born into the right class. And if I didn’t get arrested for being fundamentally against the militaristic state.”

“Naturally,” acceded Garak. “And I must say I’m quite relieved to find the incorruptible, perfect federation comes with its own flaws. One wouldn’t have expected it with the way humans constantly go on about it.”

“Oh, we go on about the federation? According to you Cardassia is superior in culture -”

“- oh, definitely -”

“- politics -”

“- without a doubt, my dear -”

“- criminal justice system?”

“- well, we’ve never brought a wrong case before the court-”

“- I know you’re just saying that to rile me up-”

“- my dear doctor, when have I ever been anything but sincere?”

“- when have you ever said anything you meant?”

“- I am offended, truly-” said Garak with a big grin on his face.

Julian found it the easiest thing in the galaxy to return.

“Remember to drink your water,” he was reminded, gently, before they continued their lunch discussion. It was a moment in which they both forgot that they had ever begun to drift apart in the first place.

—— The End ——-

[tisfan]

Ring of Thorns, Cha 3

Title: Outsider, Outsider

Written by: @tisfan art by @feignedsobriquet​

Square: 3023 T1 - headset image

Rating: Teen

Triggers/warnings: horror

Tags: Fairy tale AU, Space AU, rabbits. lots of rabbits

Created for: @tonystarkbingo

Word count: 2,249

Link https://archiveofourown.org/works/23753566/chapters/60014938

Special thanks to: @skye07 & @fightingforcreativity

 Stardate 5239.283.09

When JARVIS activated the sub-aural communication system, scrolling words across Tony’s field of vision instead of speaking, Tony wasn’t too worried.

After all, they didn’t know this Bucky Barnes guy from Adam.

Well, not true. Tony knew Adam Warlock quite well, in as much as anyone could, in fact, know anyone else. File that, JARVIS, he thought, look up Adam. 

Because the saying must have meant something, right.

But Tony wasn’t worried. Barnes was fresh out of a long sleep, he was disoriented, babbling.

And JARVIS was always just a little more cautious than his maker. Tony wondered where he got that from, since Tony and caution were barely nodding acquaintances.

Detecting anomalous readings, sir, JARVIS typed. Suspect sub-terminal communications.

Barnes has hardware installed?

Detecting chipping mechanism in spinal region.

Well, that wasn’t new, it was old. Old tech, used to influence people. Ions only knew where it had started, but propaganda was always a thing. Just, in the last sixty years or so, it was made illegal (again, according to what Tony had been able to dig up) to do so in a manner that a victim couldn’t resist. Tricking people into believing their government was always right, that was still unfortunately considered a matter of caveat emptor. 

But as recently as a hundred years ago, chipping had been a manner in which less than moral companies and businesses had installed methods to control people. Sometimes it was subtle. A chip -- which would do any number of other useful things -- would have blackware on it. Sometimes just to buy certain brands of products. Other times, it was… well, more dangerous.

Override?

You’ll need to reach the source, sir. Shut it down on that end. Otherwise, the only method for a rapid recall is cranial realignment.

That was to say, hitting someone in the head really, really hard.

Not ideal.

Can it be removed?

Because still, he liked Bucky. Was decidedly attracted to him. He wasn’t even sure why; they’d just barely met, and still, the idea of having to fight him, or even just knock him out, bothered Tony. There was something childlike and innocent about the man, whatever programming was going on in his head.

I thought true love’s kiss was supposed to break the spell.

Are we believing in fairy tales now, sir?

JARVIS could just stuff it, Tony would be petulant if he wanted to be. Bucky was nice, Ions-storm take it. He didn’t deserve whatever was being forced on him.

Although, the longer it went on, the less Tony thought Bucky was aware of what was happening. That he didn’t notice the pauses while he was listening to his programming. It might even have been malfunctioning.

JARVIS, track down that source.

Yes sir. I am sending the Mark II combat suit for you.

Tony didn’t so much as wince. He didn’t want to fight Bucky. On the other hand, death was not the preferred outcome either. Keep it pretty far back, I don’t want him to get triggered into a defensive position.

Tony almost lost his cool entirely when Bucky started talking about the tank of liquid etherium. Etherium was a theory, it wasn’t real. Or so he’d always been told. Of course, he’d also been told that magic spells didn’t exist, and that true love wasn’t real, and that money made the worlds go around.

Okay, so it might have been real, but it wasn’t stable. On the other hand, they’d said the same thing about the energy source for the arc-reactor, and look what he’d done with that.

So, etherium.

Except, based on the way Bucky’s face twitched, there was either something wrong with the etherium, or it was where the source of his subliminals were coming from.

Nothing to do but go forward, though.

You could run, JARVIS suggested.

You know I won’t do that, buddy.

“Right, show me where this tank is of yours,” Tony said. He knew his mouth kept moving, he was talking with Bucky, being reassuring, he was scrolling with JARVIS, he was planning and plotting. It was a good thing that he’d spent most of his childhood learning to multitask efficiently.

Well, technically, it was time-slicing. Humans, even enhanced ones, were only barely capable of multitasking, but Tony could time-slice like a motherfucker.

Part of his brain was dealing with his companion, who was looking like he was ready to puke or something, another part was drawing on his nanites to give him control over the armor suit that JARVIS had on standby, and by far the largest part was wondering what even, the fuck, was Hydra, and did she have anything to do with the Etherium gas?

Probably.

That just seemed like too much of a coincidence to be dismissable. But coincidence was not causality, he reminded himself.

Just because it seemed like it couldn’t be one without the other, didn’t mean there was any relationship between the Etherium and the monster.

Whatever Hydra was.

The rabbits were--

The rabbits were lining the path. Not so even as to be called rows, but they were-- more and more of them, coming out.

To watch, or to guide, to protect or to attack?

Tony didn’t know. 

Coincidence is not causality.

I am a man of science. I don’t believe in magic.

Magic is merely technology which we cannot yet explain.

Despite that, Tony was feeling pretty goddamn superstitious. Like, the rabbits were a good sign, right? He didn’t think he’d ever heard any stories about evil forest animals, even when he was in cradle school.

The lights dimmed as they moved further into the station; Bucky swayed and Tony thought he was going to fall. He swept the man into his arms, unable to do anything else. He couldn’t let Bucky fall.

Tony had always wondered, in those hundreds of stupid holo-films that Rhodey loved so much, why it was the hapless hero or helpless heroine was driven to seek out the monster, the murderer. Wouldn’t it have been much safer to run away, to wait until day, to get reinforcements? But no, there was always some valiant idiot creeping through a dark tunnel, the murdering beast around the very next corner.

And here Tony was, being the exact kind of idiot that he yelled at on the screen.

Compelled, almost. He had to see what was down there, what was… doing this.

And maybe, just maybe, conquer it.

The Evil.

I am a man of science, he insisted. If there’s anything down there, science can explain it.

Tony was vaguely aware that JARVIS is screaming at him. Not just speaking in a sterner voice, not scrolling text across his retina, but actively yelling.

Bucky was also speaking, something ridiculous and useless. 

Tony ignored them both, stepping further into the darkness.

Something was calling him.

Something he couldn’t deny.

“Hail Hydra.”

*

Stardate 5239.283.09

JARVIS -- Just Another Rather Very Intelligent System -- was a created intelligence. He was not, in any standard definition of the word, alive. He did not have any biological parts, although Mr. Stark had offered on any number of occasions to make a construct that would allow him to experience a fixed form.

JARVIS had always refused. He did not see the need to be flesh and blood, to experience pain, to eat food, or do any of the other messy biological functions. No more than most humans -- or other life forms for that matter -- would see the need to experience true logic, pure calculation.

He was not human. He would never be alive.

He did not, according to many, have a soul.

A soul, JARVIS understood to be, that part of a life form that continued on after the biological form had faded. 

The mind, however, was a complex machine, that operates on the same physical laws as all other objects in the universe. If the soul existed inside the mind, then JARVIS was as ensouled as any living creature. He had a mind. He could think independently. He had obligations and protocol, certain living creatures he was more apt to go above and beyond protocol demands than others. 

It had been a matter up for debate many times; did Artificial Intelligences have their own free will. If they did, could they be punished for using that free will to commit crimes? Or was that burden on their creator? Ultron, Jocasta, the Legions. There were hundreds of examples of AIs that had committed crimes, sometimes on behalf of their creator and sometimes as a rebellion against their creator. And sometimes, it was just faulty programming.

JARVIS had, of course, submitted his own report to the collection of data that was maintained by Enoch, who was the chief librarian of the Chronicoms, an ancient semi-biological, mechanically enhanced race whose purpose was to chronicle all of life and history.

 All of this -- which was a mere portion of one cycle of computations, the process that made up JARVIS’s thoughts -- while he was attempting to determine what, the fuck even, was going on.

Sometimes JARVIS thought he’d taken too much of his creator’s personal idiosyncrasies for himself.

In this case, however, if the data fit the drive…

He’d been getting anomalous readings, completely off the charts. If there even were charts for the sorts of readings he was getting. 

A life form-- 

Not human.

Not rabbit.

Not-- not anything JARVIS had encountered before. There were new species protocols, but JARVIS wasn’t a first contact ship’s AI.

He didn’t have the staff aboard to initiate contact.

Technically, by that mandate, he should have left initial contact up to the other party. Preferably evacuating his human crew and their guest, and informing the First Contact Association staff of a potential new species.

JARVIS did not have time for that.

And he was almost sure that the unknown intelligence had contacted Mr. Stark first.

JARVIS wasn’t certain how Mr. Stark was being contacted. He could not detect any radio signals or waves. Just the growth of certain gamma radiations. 

JARVIS tapped the station’s computer. It was slow and stubborn, but deep in those databanks might be the answer JARVIS needed. When had the rabbits taken over the station? Did they know anything? Was there any way to communicate with them? They might have been witnesses, generations back. The form didn’t seem to have developed any sort of written or data storage communication.

JARVIS found a set of recordings, vast and untapped.

They’d started about a year after Barnes shut down the station.

Rabbits. Stamping. Their signal, from one beast to the next. Until the entire warren was stamping.

The station computer had recorded it. From the very first time it had happened, until this morning’s rendition when Mr. Stark had boarded the ship.

Communicating.

The rabbits were communicating.

JARVIS examined all the footage. Listened to it. Traced patterns, turned patterns into rhythms and rhythms into song.

The rabbits sang in percussion beats.

And it could be translated.

The rabbits thought of themselves as Insiders. The Insiders lived in the station, and everything else was an Outsider.

Mr. Stark was an Outsider. 

They didn’t really see JARVIS at all, didn’t understand that he was there, that he had a presence. To them, he was nothing but noise that followed Mr. Stark around. 

Outsider, outsider, outsider.

They followed Mr. Stark around, trying to understand in their little rabbity way. He was an Outsider. From Beyond the Door.

They knew what was Beyond the Door. The great Beyond-- the nothingness that froze and killed. 

Before today, they’d never known something could Come In.

They knew the Sleeper. 

They knew… the Watcher with Many Arms.

Hydra.

Another creature, lurking deep in the station. She really almost was the station now, living inside the conduits. A creature with no form, and every form. She was the devil, to rabbit-kin, as the Sleeper was God, kind, patient.

He who had Come In? They weren’t sure what he was.

Who he was.

What his purpose was.

They huddled together, nose to nose, paws barely making a sound. Like a whisper. Outsider, outsider.

And Hydra, the watcher, the waiter, she of a thousand eyes. Was watching them.

Had they ever thought they were free from her sight?

Outsider, outsider.

JARVIS slid a portion of his code into the Mark II. Used one metal finger to tap on the wall, imitating their sounds, their language. Their words.

Outsider listens.

Every single rabbit on the station froze, and as if with a single hive mind, lifted up on their hind legs, one ear twitching.

As if they’d heard the voice of god.

Outsider.

It started as a whisper, barely audible, until the station rang from their cries.

Mr. Stark and Mr. Barnes barely reacted, caught in their dreaming hallucinations, hearing the voice of Hydra.

Outsider. Outsider.

JARVIS paused. He was going to make for himself legal difficulties with the FCA and probably most of the various legal governments outside the Ring.

Listener. It was a correction. Mr. Stark was the Outsider. JARVIS was the listener. He needed them to understand that he was different; a part of Mr. Stark, yes, but no more the same being than Mr. Stark’s biological child, if he ever had one.

Listener.

 Listener.

Listen to me JARVIS thudded. Listen to me. Listen, and give aid. Listener is a friend. The Listener guards your safety and happiness. The Listener guards the Outsiders. The Listener is a friend.

We listen. 

[aperfecttimeforscreaming]

AN EXCHANGE OF MEAT

Late valentines day ZADR drabble, extremely nsfw, takes place in the #izspacetrash universe NSFW 18+ Warning: Petplay, Zussy, Choking, Power play, Power theft, Over-stimulation, flirtatious bullying 

Back on Irk, coupling is illegal. It’s a big deal for humans because they can’t name a rock without forming an emotional attachment, for Irkens however, there’s no reason for the law to even be in place. As a species we have evolved past the need to interact with others. Every individual in the empire has the potential to be a sturdy, self sustaining island unto themselves. We’re built better than every sentient stain in all the known everything!! We have YET to encounter anything that even compares to our size and MIGHT. The last fertile cluster of Irkens died out a thousand decades ago. Every irken is cloned and easily replaced if not functioning at maximum capacity.

So, the desire to do more than indulge yourself is...low. There’s no reason to involve another irken in the matters of ones…..self congratulation.The practice of an EMOTIONAL and spiritual coupling fell out of favor long before we learned to control our natural impulses. 

If this is all true (and it is), how can I feel so much for the vicious neanderthal that calls me his? Dib was working on one of his drones as I sat in the dark pocket of the lower bunk bed, the bed itself built into the wall of a home on wheels. Dibs white rectangular fat assed Arr Vee was parked behind a dunky doughnuts so that we could stay out of the sightline of main roads and siphon power to recharge the vehicles battery. See, the outside of Dibs roaming home looks like any other shitty old caravan. In fact, it is more like Dib’s own mobile base. The battered shell outside the chrome and black and blue innards of the crisp sterile mobile lab are no more than a clever disguise. An infuriatingly smart trick. It’s a trick wrapped around stolen Irken technology and it’s to our collective benefit that everything stays hidden. It’s more comfortable being a prisoner, knowing that Dib has become secretive of his most prized belongings. Legs crossed, back pressed to the wall, chin in hand I was thinking my thoughts. 

My hand drifted down my neck to trace the soft top edge of the lined matte black metal collar locked around my neck. I felt at the difference in texture between the soft barely there fuzz on my skin and the smooth cool metal. It had been locked there for thirty one days, ten hours, six minuets and eleven seconds. It’s some fluke of nature that Dib is as smart as he is. At one point in my career as an invader I theorized that as  humans grew taller, their brain shrunk to make up for the increase in body mass. With Dibs lineage, this is less so. As an adult he is only more cunning, more dangerous, more cloyingly obsessive, more driven. He neglects his sleep to work. He works with the single minded diligence of an Irken researcher. His drive to excel in his field transcends the greasy smelly differences between our kinds. The efficiency he commands my own technology with rivals that of a practiced PAK technician. He’s studied the things I left behind on earth for 14 of his years, and it shows. With a single steady bare claw I traced the shape of the emblem embossed onto my collar tag. Dibs skull shaped symbol, displayed in shiny silver across the front of my neck at all times. An unnecessary humiliation that marks me as one of many stolen treasures. I feel its shape on the bare pad of my finger and silently kiss my teeth, stung by the reality that Dib thought of it first. If the world was just, if things made sense, things would have been flipped, things should have been different. If I really am the more advanced life form, I have no excuse for his subjugation. Thirty one days, ten hours, seven minutes and forty fucking seconds.

From my dark hideaway I could see him, hunched over his desk with the posture of a scoliosis king. A bright white desk light illuminates the front of him and reflects off the cobalt blue shine of his protective eyewear. The blue strips of emergency LED light that mark out the floor area catch the underside of his form, and stripe the wrinkles of his sloppy mechanics smock in toxic blue slivers. Through the gap in the curtains in front of him, I could make out a flickering yellow street light. Dibs sigh broke through the silence. He set down his tool and leaned back in his chair, away from the open shell of the drone he’d been repairing. I watched him drag a long fingered skeletal hand back through his greasy weird hair, and watched the unruly sprig of bone and black people fur spring back up as his hand passed it. “You’re quiet.” The human announced, obviously. Before he could twist the rotating chair around to face me I let my hand fall into my lap and folded both hands neatly together. “My brain is loud.” It needed no explanation, but Dib had demanded the cause. Slouched back in his chair, I watched him copy how I had my fingers folded into each other. His eyebrows arched high on his forehead and crinkled his sweaty brow. “You’re thinking? You’re capable of thought?” He’d lick his loathsome incisors and grin. “Damn, I’ll have to correct my notes. I thought the metal parasite on your back did all that for you.” “IT’S NOT A PARASITE! I TOLD YOU! It’s as ME as the rest of ME!” The corners of Dibs eyes crinkled with delight as he watched me retrace the fact. “MY PAK stores the thoughts of my brain jelly- it’s not responsible for my depthy, nuanced original thoughts. It’s all to my benefit. Your simple animal mind can’t BEGIN to perceive the archives of information, understanding and theorizing, locked away between my two magnificent thought centers.” On my knees at the side of the bed, I pointed to my skull, illustrating the thing Dib wished to understand but could never fully unravel. He reached up to peel the lenses of the goggles from the hollows of his eye sockets. As Dib deftly replaced them with the large circular frames of his glasses, he spat noise at me. “You’ve beaten that dead horse to a pulp, Zim. I don’t think your PAK is any different than a circuit board hardwired to the brain of a roach. You’re just as animal as I am. Only, your issues stem from being part evil cyborg, and mine stem from trauma.” Sunny as a blistering summers day, he grinned at me. Smugness radiates from him like pulsar blips, and my innards are assaulted by tight gripping trembles. I tense my core muscles to keep my tymbal from rattling at the slightest provocation. With my antenna pitched slightly forwards, I can smell the pheromones on his sweat. I crossed my arms over my chest, raised my chin, curled my lip at him to flash fangs. “Tch. Zim is no creature. You’re the animal here. You have the technology to advance yourselves into a race of space faring monstrosities, and yet all you want to occupy yourselves with is the pursuit of earthly pleasure. Your kind construct elaborate rituals just to try and rutt against each other. It could be so much simpler!!!” Dib scratched his chin, nonplussed. “Yeah, I never really got all that either. We do have dating apps and that can simplify things if you don’t account for catfishing, and people who straight up lie about themselves just to get their dick wet.” I grimaced at the mental image of a wet human phallus. I re-contextualized the image in my head and imagined the organ as Dibs. I bit the inside of my cheek. “Sooooo… what? As you get older you stop exchanging meats, and instead swap false personal information?” Dib laughed, quick and dry, brimming with unearned superiority. “Oh, fuck- what you mean like what we did back in grade school?” He sat up, leaned in closer to me. Elbows folded on his knees he hunched closer. I could smell his breath on my antenna. Coffee and sugar and bacteria filled my senses and the stalks flicked quickly backwards at the olfactory intrusion. “Yeah I don’t really know why we did that. I have a theory it’s all metaphorical, some kind of mind manipulation game the government was playing with kids to get them to associate “love” with “flesh”. I mean, you know what “meat” alludes to, right?” My face screwed up as I searched my brain for obvious answers. “MMHhn. HHHMN. Pain? Obviously, pain. Emotional...badness.Maybe hormone tampering. Disease?” Dib was already getting out his phone, snickering to himself as he does when he knows something I do not. I kept going. “Death? Blood? Salt? Disgust? The inevitability of the cycle of consumption? How you’re all doomed to be slaughtered by a greater predatory force?” “No. No- what?” He cocked an eyebrow as he looked back up at me. I wanted to rip the piercing out of it. “No. Shut up and look at these.” Dib held out his portable telephone slab to me and on it I saw a digital gallery of meat related memes. The phrase “beat my meat” was prevalent. There were photos of hammers pounding sickly off grey slabs of deceased pig muscle, and a man dusting a sprinkling of salt or spice over a carved rib of bovine corpse.

My head pulled back, giving me the appearance of multiple chins of disgust. My gut churned as I turned my head away. “Why would you show me those??! THEY’RE REVOLTING!!”  

Dib frowned, irritated, and put his phone away. “The “meat” those memes are talking about? It references human JUNK- y’know, genitalia? The memes aren’t talking about actual dead farm animals. And, that’s what I’m saying.” He put his large warm hand on my shoulder and continued, sure to hold my eye contact as he put the curl of his thick broad thumb against my cloth covered collar bone. I tensed my guts to keep my tymbal from rattling. “The government has skool children trade literal meat, so we get the idea early on that we’re supposed to exchange our "meat" with people we're attracted to. So that way, we learn to breed, and the men in power get more workers and soldiers and grease for the wheels of their self destructing machine.” My eyes flicked to look at his hand- the long pale olive fingers, the beaten fight scarred knuckles. My gaze then returned to Dibs humorless expression. “That’s a… problem?” Dib groaned, he rolled his eyes, he took his hand off my shoulder. 

It slid down to my hip, his free hand mirrored the motion  and I was lifted up from the bed and onto my humans lap. He held me there and growled at me in frustration. “YEAh! Zim! It’s a problem! If people are going to have sex it should be their own choice to do so, it isn’t something we should be culturally brainwashed into accepting! And we don’t NEED to do it! Some people are asexual- some people don’t want children and-” Dib rambled, on and on, laying out the injustices of an archaic capitalist system reliant on the breeding whims of its workers. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of the argument was fueled by Dibs xenophilic leanings and revulsion towards his own kind. I gave less than a quarter of a shit about the very political tangent my human was going off on, but I did like how Dibs lap made for a nice sitting surface, and how the heat of his angry body felt against my skin. As Dib spoke I smoothed out the front of his damp black wife beater absentmindedly, my expression unmoved. As my hand rested in the center of Dibs chest, I patted him, I then mock pouted at him. “Poor Dib, how he’s been rejected by his own kind at every turn. How hard it must’ve been for you! Brainwashed into needing the fuck, harassed by the need for fuck with noooo options for how to obtain it!!”

That got him to glare at me, and my spine tingled for it. I grinned as he countered; “You’re missing the point.” And I kept going. “Addicted to the unknown feeling he can never hope to attain, his vile monster meat might have shriveled up without the wetness- like an unwatered flower! Like a rotting length of carrot! Like a bundle of seaweed on a beach, growing drier and nastier the longer it’s left alone, collecting nothing but mold and botfly eggs and-” Dib grabbed me by the throat. His hand closed around my throat. He gave a warning squeeze as he told me to shut up and I peeped in response. 

Lowly, my tymbal rattled. 

Dibs narrowed angry eyes softened as he caught the surprised chirp of arousal. 

The words on my tongue stalled at the tight curling of his long fingers as they overlapped my neck.

“Even if that was how things worked, I’m not at risk of that anymore, am I?” 

Dib looked at me with a gaze that implored an answer, and I shrugged coyly. As he frowned and squeezed harder I gagged, my stomach fluttered and a chirp rattled out of me far clearer than the first. 

"Mhhn. That's what I thought."

Dib hummed, his human purr was deep and infuriating. He used his free hand to shift my placement on his long thigh, so that I straddled his thigh as he choked me. My eyes began to water as he raised up his knee and gently bounced my vent against his leg. 

There is nothing playmates can do for eachother that a squidgyblit cannot also achieve the end goal of. However, being choked while your nemesis grinds your pleasure center against his leg hits differently. 

I moaned with a grimace. I scowled at him as he drew another choked out squirm from my body. Unpleasant as the sensation of constriction around my throat was, we both knew the short term strangulation wouldn't kill me. It was a comfortable routine and Dib continued his gloating games. 

"You think you can resist all this? You think you can resist the urge to get absolutely wrecked- by someone who's going to lovingly put all your pieces back together when he's done? You need me as bad as I need you, you fucking moron."

He’s wrong. I don’t need him. But, his games are so amusing, they’re so entertaining. It’s such a thrill to be obsessed over. If he ever knew that, it would all go to his head. As bad as he already was, there was ample room for things to get worse. Dib pressed his fingers up underneath my jaw and held my mouth shut. My growl came out as a choking sound, I tried to open my mouth wider and he put his free hand on my shoulder as a threat. “Shhh. You don’t need to talk right now. Why don’t you show me what you want?” I glared, I tried to hack out a rebuttal, but he didn’t want that. Pink heat spread across the skin of my face plate, I chirped and ground my slick vent slowly against the black jean fabric of his thigh.  In doing so, I inspired an unhinged smile to pull across his gaunt snout.

He released my throat and my posture bent, towards him as I gasped. My throat opened back up, and my PAK hummed softly as it began to replenish its oxygen reserves.

Dib patted my warm cheek with his hand. “That’s a good boy.” He mocked softly. I was well within my right to bite him. His hands settled on the bone of my hips, I watched his eyes pass over my head and point towards the bunk behind me. The curious gentle twitching of my antenna caught the heat of his words as they stood on end, and I lifted my chin to glare up at him. “Is that really what your brain was being so “loud” over? You’re still angry about our arrangement?” My lip twitched, it’s downwards arch could not have been more dramatic. “HOW could I not be mad about it? You know better than ANYONE what a powerful beacon of mayhem my existence is- that I can be controlled by someone as misshapen and weasley as you is a blistering amount of shame for Zim- full offense.” As I spoke his fingers laid over the small of my back, he rubbed along my tense lower spine and his gentle ministrations forced my aggressively postured antenna to lower. “Oh, full offense taken. But I know you’re happy about it. Deep down, somewhere in your cold blooded brain, there’s a tiny Zim just glowing over how it feels to be fully appreciated. You’re a hideously evil space terror, I can’t take that away from you by loving you. And I wouldn’t want to.” The heat in my face wouldn’t stop, the fluttering sickly feeling in my guts wouldn’t go away. Like knotted strings being unwound or spider web being gently tugged by a trapped fruit fly, the vibrations of his words unwound my nerves. I had to look away from him to speak, the weight of his useless human affection was too heavy to bare the brunt of head on. It was blasphemy that something a horny ugly alien said to me could mean more than the approval of any tallest. “MMMhhNNG. Stop making words.” I growled politely. Dib chuckled without malice, he curled in over me to press his lips to the crest of my skull. “You love serving me.” “Phheh. Zim loves nothing.” “You love what I’ve done to you, Zim. And I can prove it.” Dib lifted me up to move us onto the bunk bed, and bumped the front of his proportionally massive head against the shelf of the top bunk. “Fuck-ow,” “HAH!”

I reached up to hit the button on the bottom of the shelf, and the top bunk folded up against the wall behind it. As the mechanical components hissed, Dib rubbed his five head. “Yeah? That’s funny? You think your master getting brain damage is just hilarious don’t you?”

“If my “master” (I used my fingers to make mock air quotes) is dumb enough to turn his brain to garbage when we aren’t even under attack, he’s not showing mastery over anything, is he?” Dib dropped me out of his arms and onto the bed, I landed with a yelp of surprise though the impact came painlessly. “HEY!”

With his teeth clenched and his eyes narrowed Dibs hands flew over my body, grabbing and groping, pulling off boots and leggings, striping me of the new uniform I’d been given, replacing dark blue cloth with an expanse of green skin. There was ample evidence to suggest Dibs need was as urgent as my own, from his feverish actions to the telltale tenting at the front of his tight emo boy pants. He needed me. I gave a quick shiver twitch at the feeling of air on my exposed skin, and hissed at him. He pinned my chest down with one hand, and sneered at me as the other cupped over my pelvis. “Your standards are way too fucking high for someone who screws up constantly.” I grinned at him with challenging eyes as my legs folded up and opened. “Where would your challenge be if I lowered them, Dib?” His middle finger split the wet slit of my vent open. He traced the sensitive pink interior and I had no choice but to draw in an afflicted breath. The finger slid deeper, he brushed the base of my wriggling dwarf ovipositor, and the distraction sent my antenna fully back. “You, crave conquest.” I crooned, distracted. Sensations continued. I felt the shivers of pleasure in the back of my teeth, my tymbal rattled with quick twitching clicks each time his middle finger teased the inch length of my pink wiggly hot button. “You don’t know what I crave, Zim.” I cackled, light and airy and I gripped the blankets beside my face. I bit my lip and looked at him. His thumb slid into my slit and he gently pinched his fingers around my “dick”. I gasped sharply. I kicked out a heel as he pressed firmly enough to make me whine. I could not help how my eyes wanted to roll back into my skull at the continued friction, but I swear I caught the reddening of his cheeks before vision became meaningless. I do know. I chirped, I moaned, I rubbed my cheek into the soft blankets stained with floral detergent as the tingling feeling of goodness rolled from my loins up the rest of my body. I felt good, and I made it LOOK good. Dib likes to watch me writhe, and in return he  rubbed over and over, again and again he rubbed, till it seemed I was breaching a new level of tingly bliss with every passing second. “But, I know what you want, don’t I?” I groaned in disagreement, his fingers stalled on my sex, then his thumb rubbed small twitching strokes at it’s base. I trembled all over at the teasing agitation, and breathed out hard. “MHn, you’ve… got AN idea, of it.” Dibs motions were less practiced as he set out to release his tube steak from it’s denim cage, but he didn’t move his hand from the source of my sultry keening sounds. He wouldn’t, I had been so SO fucking good to him. Letting him work uninterrupted without a single complaint of boredom. I hadn’t tried to attack him in DAYS. It was a personal best record at the time. I was overdue for a reward.

“UHM, EXCUSE YOU??” Dib took his hand out of my vent and I sat bolt upright on my elbows, glaring at him in a sex flushed daze as I watched him inch the clothing down his nearly non-existent ass. “I WAS BUSY. Who said you could STOP?”

He pushed me back down, grabbed my leg and sharply fixed himself between my open thighs. “I’m not stopping, you know I’m not stopping you shrill shitty bedbug.” It spiraled into more routine. In the act of copulation I could always count on the sensation of his fingers sliding into my orifice to pull it’s tight walls steadily open. I could feel all the bumps and ridges, the rough calluses, the finger pad curling around my core and pulling delicious sensation from the thing inside me that made my guts twitch and tremble and rattle like a sack of angry crickets. It didn’t take much. I didn’t need long, and he wasn’t willing to hold off from indulging in the ambrosial clutch of a wanting Irken tunnel. I groaned as he withdrew three of his fingers from me, pulling with them a thin strand of pinkish slick that broke and collapsed over my cleft. I trembled, I hissed in disgust with myself as Dib aligned the head of his extraterrestrial shaft with it’s destination. As he looked down on me, he commanded. “Beg.” “What?” My head cocked, one antenna lifted while the other lowered, my hand reached up to wipe the pearling sweat from my brow. “Really???” He ground his length into the gooey mess he’d left my vent in, I grit my teeth as my tymbal rumbled. “Yeah. Really Zim.” “Mhgghh.” Eyes closed I tensed as the friction of dick on dick action swayed my compliance. “ Plleeeeeaaaase.” “Please what?~” I tried to scowl at Dibs goading, but his grinding made me bite my own tongue. “You have to say it, pet. I won’t give it to you unless you ask properly.” The nickname is a scorning stinging wound that burbles and pops like a pollution born wound, it feels like a hot sudden burn, it catches me the way his fingers do when they clamp around my most intimate points. In the most pathetic of tones and volumes, I answer my mate; “Please, please fill me with your cum, master Dib.” I was rewarded by a hand coming to stroke across my skull. He cradled the dome of my head and caught one of my antenna stalks between his fingers. With the same care he gave my cock, he gently strokes the black hairs to reward me. “Good boy. Good bug.” When the rutting commences sense tumbles out the window in a broken screeching fury, like an escaped chimp on meth, like a rat on fire making a break for water. I lose my fucking mind to the reactions of my body. The vehicle rocks under us with the power of Dibs mighty  thrusts.He fills me so deeply with his oversized ovipositor, I can feel his pulsing want bulging against the skin of my stomach at full hilt. When he finally spills in me I am so wound up that I have already hit my climax twice over. I snarl, I lean into him and the lips I have put to his salty skin part so I can taste his sweat on my tongue. My jaws open wider, and as Dib grunts, at the height of his peak, I bite hard enough to puncture his fragile skin on the edge of my teeth. The red taste of metal is smeared over my lips, on my tongue, over the pasty tan palette of his shoulder muscle. Dib hisses air in through his teeth. “You couldn’t- you couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His panting breath stalls his words, a red tinted smile spread across my fuck drunk face. I licked my lips as I replied, and watched a thin trail of human red meet up with the black fabric of his shirt and diffuse into it. 

“No, no I couldn’t.” I hummed back at him. In the state of high endorphine swing I am not fully myself. Everything was brighter, lighter, more exciting. A hazy happy drugged exisence takes hold of me and sways me to Dibs whims. As he pulls out of me, he sighs with a shivering buzz. “Then, you’re not done yet.” In a matter of minutes Dib is redressed while I remain naked, wrists and ankles shackled to the four rectangular points of the bunk via metal shackles that the walls of the Arr Vee spat out. I was only just beginning to come out of my fogy mental state when my human retrieved a black blunt vibration wand from a drawer of tormenting devices. Over the following hour I grew more and more delirious as Dib wrung my body out for increasingly mind crushing orgasms. Things stopped having meaning, Dibs taunting words lost their sense, and I rattled straight through to my bones. That I could not pull my limbs in towards myself and protect my body from the assault of sensation had at one point been disquieting, but then and there, it encouraged me to let go of my resistance. I had let go of my fruitless delusions, I had given myself up to Dib, and Dib did not stop till I was crying with the intensity of multiple peaks.

It made up for everything else that had happened. The blinding beacon of his smothering affections absorbed me in it’s garish embrace as he unshackled me from the walls. He cleaned me, he held me in a folded blanket  till the shaking of my overwhelmed body stopped. My prickly insults bounced off him like harmless pebbles of sand.  The Dib stroked over my antenna, groomed them with the sex scented oils of his fingers, the Arr Vee reaked of the smell of our sins. Accepting Dibs terms of affection is illegal, but I’m defective anyways, aren’t I?

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Paladin Rose (An Other Magic AU Substory written by CartoonAddict564 from the comment section)

Part 6 (Beginning of the End arc)

Chloe went right up to her suite, slammed the door behind her, threw herself on her bed, and screamed into her pillow.

She couldn't get the scene out of her head. Her father, saying that he was putting the power of the Parisian government behind the Lavillants. Herself, begging and pleading for him to understand how terrible that decision was, how much harm they could do. And her father not believing her.

Because she had lied before

It was not her fault, she yelled at herself. The idea that she could be blamed for any of this was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Her father should have listened to her! So what if she'd told some tall tales about the servants before? This was different, this mattered! It could not be the case that her father was empowering the Lavillants to hunt down and persecute her friends, to possibly hunt down and kill her, because she had destroyed his trust through a bunch of stupid tantrums!

She screamed again and punched the wall with massive strength, hard enough to dent it. and tear a gash in her knuckles that quickly began to heal. "It's not my FAULT!" she yelled. "I didn't do this!"

This, she thought to herself distantly, was why this whole 'mystery gang' thing had been dumb. Fuck, working with Alix in the first place had been dumb. Being alone in the basement one night a month hadn't been so bad; she barely even remembered it in the mornings, and if her yelling terrified her father, well, that just made him spend extra-lavishly on her the next day. But now there was Alix and all these other people who were attached to her, like chains, except she could have broken chains whereas now she felt herself cringing away from even the thought of abandoning those idiots and resolving not to care about them anymore! Now if she put one foot out of line at any point in her life they could get hurt and that would somehow hurt her.

So fuck Alix, fuck Juleka, fuck Rose, fuck them all. She should never have befriended them. Then it wouldn't matter if she threw tantrums; it wouldn't matter if the Lavillants were crazy. Because the the only person they could hurt that she'd care about would be her, and if she was alone she could take care of herself and avoid them. If she didn't have to worry about a bunch of fucking 'friends' dragging along behind her--

The door behind her opened and she somehow knew it would be Alix when she turned. "Yeah?" she growled.

Alix stared. "...what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Try again." She raised her hand where the sigil of their familiar's bond was etched. "Because you don't feel like nothing's wrong."

Chloe scowled. "It doesn't matter. I'll get over it."

"Did you hurt your hand?"

"Who cares? It'll heal in five minutes."

Alix raised her other hand, which was bloodied and wounded in exactly the same way Chloe's had been. "Mine takes a little longer." She stepped closer to Chloe. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

"My idiot father won't believe me that the Lavillants are bad news." Chloe managed a quick breath. "I told him they hate werewolves, that they want to kill me and kill Rose for associating with me, but he was all, 'oh, you say that about all the staffers you wanted me to fire.' He didn't even listen when I told him this time I really meant it!" As she spoke the words she could almost make herself believe them. It was his fault, she insisted to herself. If he had just listened to her, if everyone else wasn't so utterly ridiculous all the time, everything would have been fine.

Alix stepped in front of her. "So, basically, he thought you were throwing another tantrum."

Chloe flushed. "Tantrum--you're supposed to be on my side!"

"Pretty sure I told you when we first started doing this that I'm not really into lying." Alix took a slow breath. "But I'm surprised you're so upset. Don't take the wrong way, but you've gotten other people in trouble before. What's different now?"

"What's different now is that... ugh!" Chloe threw up her hands. "This thing was stupid. I shouldn't have gotten involved with any of you."

"Oh." Alix smiled slightly. "What's different is now you have friends that you care about and don't want to see hurt."

Chloe scowled. "Yeah, well, clearly that didn't work out. I'm a lone wolf, Alix. I'm not supposed to have friends. I do my own thing, and I look out for number one like everyone else does."

"Not everyone." Alix stepped closer to Chloe. "And you don't mean that."

A vein began to bulge in Chloe's head. "Don't tell me what I mean."

"No, Chloe, you need to hear this." Alix planted her feet in front of her. "If you really wanted to leave the group, you'd have left it. You're the most willful person I know; nothing could keep you in if you truly wanted out. You'd have broken this 'familiar bond' thing we have like I showed you. You wouldn't have helped save Rose and Sabrina. You'd have quit the second it got hard to stay." She shrugged. "You didn't quit. You like having friends. But now you've hurt your friends, and you can't buy your way out of it--"

Chloe flushed. "Alix. Stop talking," she growled.

"--and you don't like feeling bad about it, so you're blaming other people. Your friends, for being your friends. Your father, for knowing you. Chloe, it's your fault--"

"Shut it," Chloe hissed. "Now."

"--that you hurt them, and it's your fault you feel the way you do right now, and--"

Chloe shifted faster than she ever had before, turning into a large wolf. And she roared at Alix with all of her strength.

Alix winced, and she had to forcibly stop her hands from coming up to cast a spell. But she did stop herself. "Chloe, enough!"

Chloe leapt at Alix, but Alix lashed out with a paper charm that she affixed to Chloe's muzzle, and suddenly the room seemed to rotate ninety degrees and Chloe found herself leaping at nothing. She fell, struggled to her paws, turned, and roared again as the charm felt off her nose. But Alix, now holding a new charm, shrugged. "If you want to throw me out, you can throw me out," said the skater. "But you have to own it. You have to take responsibility, tell me to go. You don't get to just throw a fit and hope I give up on you so you can tell yourself I just didn't give you a chance." She nodded at the door. "Want me out?"

And Chloe froze. She wanted nothing more than to be free of this pain, the pain that came from having hurt someone she cared about so much... but she wanted nothing less than to look forward to her full moon nights, to any nights, to any time at all when Alix would be gone and could never be recovered.

"Well?"

Chloe shook her head at last, and then shifted back. "What am I supposed to do?" she whispered at last. "I hate feeling like this. I can't do this."

Alix sat with her on the bed and took her hand. "You apologize," she said. "You do what you can to fix things--you help us fight the Lavillants. And... and you accept that some harms can't be fixed. Maybe the Lavillants will hurt Rose or Sabrina despite everything you do now. So you accept that you hurt someone, and you try to do better next time."

"How can I accept that?" managed Chloe.

"The same way I did." Alix hesitated. "By... by learning to live with it."

"What?" Chloe frowned. "Who did you hurt?"

Alix looked down, tracing a finger on the bedspread.

"No. No, Kubdel, come on." Chloe caught the girl's chin and turned it towards her. "If I have to open up so do you, Kubdel. Out with it."

"...Jalil," Alix said at last.

"What, that ass?"

Alix shook her head. "When I was first learning magic I was kind of an idiot. Wanted to do the most complex spells on day one. He tried to keep me grounded, but you know me. I like going fast. So I broke into his room and tried the most complicated spell in the toughest book." She sighed. "It was a summoning spell. I don't know exactly what I summoned, but I know I couldn't control it. It broke the circle, it grabbed me, and it was going to take me away. Until Jalil showed up."

"And he fought it off?" Chloe asked.

"No, he wasn't anywhere near strong enough. He made a deal with it. Do it three favors and it would let me go." Alix shut her eyes. "The thing's... sigil, I guess... appeared on his neck, with three hash marks. That's why he wore a scarf for so long, to cover it. It took him months to pay off the debt. I never found out what exactly he had to do, but I gathered it was really hard, and really painful. He finally finished maybe a year before we began doing our monthly full-moon get-togethers." The skater took a breath. "I hurt him. But I can't just stop loving him so I don't care that I hurt him. He's my brother. I just... do my best to do better. And to pay him back however I can."

Chloe was silent.

"...I meant what I said earlier," Alix told Chloe. "If you really want me gone, I'm gone. But I hope you don't want that. I like being with you. I like... I like everything about you. I like that you're willful and stubborn and fierce. I like that you put up with me when I'm surly. And even if sometimes we hurt each other, and believe me I know how much that hurts, I'd rather risk that than guarantee never being close to you again." She took a breath. "I think you feel the same, but--"

Chloe grabbed Alix and kissed her. Alix jolted, but then relaxed into it, and they embraced.

"Apologize and try to fix things," Chloe said when the kiss was over.

Alix nodded. "Yeah."

"And... you'll help?"

"With anything."

Chloe slowly nodded. She still felt awful, but at least a little more functional now. "Okay. Let's... let's tell the others how I fucked them over." She managed a small smile. "And see if we can find some way out of it."

——

"...so that's what happened." Chloe looked away and scowled, but also cringed as if expecting to be attacked. "Now Rose's parents have my daddy's support."

The others looked at each other. The gang was back in the Kubdel living room, lounging on the couch and chairs. "Well, the mayor's kind of incompetent," said Juleka weakly. "What can Mayor Bourgeois really do?"

"He can direct all police resources towards Rose's case," Luka said. "He can ask the courts to let him authorize certain extreme measures, like police raids on spots Rose is expected to be in. He can keep raising money for the reward." He frowned. "At some point we're going to start having professional bounty hunters show up."

"Damn it." Chloe leaned her head back. "Sorry guys..."

"It's okay." Rose stepped forwards suddenly and patted her hand. "We all make mistakes."

Alix smiled but Chloe looked away. "You're just saying that because you're a paladin and forgiveness is, like, your whole thing," she muttered. "You don't really mean it."

"No, I'm saying it because we all make mistakes." Rose hesitated. "Like when I didn't tell anyone one of Zombizou's love-zombies kissed me, because I was scared you'd all kick me off the bus, and I accidentally infected Juleka and Alix."

"Yeah," said Alix. "Or when I made you guys take care of my watch and then blamed you when it broke. Or when Alya tried to dox Chloe as being Ladybug."

"Hey!" said Alya. "I thought she really was Ladybug."

Alix frowned. "And if you published that, it might have led to Hawkmoth killing her, which--if she really had been Ladybug--would mean the end of Paris."

"...oh." Alya looked away. "Right."

"The point is," Rose said more firmly, "that we shouldn't be blaming each other for past mistakes. We should forgive, and work together to fix things and make them better."

Chloe nodded a little, though Juleka could tell that the blonde was still upset by what she had done. (For that matter, she--Juleka--was still upset by what Chloe had done, though she certainly wasn't going to undermine Rose in front of everyone.) But Alix was standing close to Chloe, occasionally touching her hand, and she seemed to be drawing support from that.

Alya was making notes on a pad. "So let's see. We have three basic opponents now, right? Nino is looking for Rose, random mobs are looking for her, and now Mayor Bourgeois and the Lavillants are marshaling the city's forces after her."

"We have one opponent," corrected Juleka. "The Lavillants. They're directing everyone else."

Rose looked down. "I'm sorry my family is causing so many problems."

"Don't be. You're worth it," said Juleka at once, causing a little smile to appear on her girlfriend's face. "And if they can't see that, they don't deserve you."

"Aww," said Alya as Alix mimed being nauseous.

Luka chuckled before settling back down. "Juleka's right," he said. "If we could deal with the Lavillants, we could end all of this. But I don't think we can get to them right now. They're too well protected. We'll need to deal with their minions first, strip them of allies. So I think our original plan is mostly fine. We'll have Rose show her face in London to distract the mobs, and we'll also find some way to derail Nino. The only new thing is addressing the political angle." He frowned. "Maybe we can try to get Mayor Bourgeois recalled or impeached or something. Who was the runner-up in the last election, again?"

"Our school's fencing teacher," drawled Juleka. "You know. The guy who said he wanted to run things like his ancestor Darkblade, who oppressed the people and ruled with an iron fist until a massive peasant rebellion burned down his entire estate and drove him off."

They all looked at each other.

"Maybe the mayor's not so bad," Alix acknowledged.

Luka chuckled. "Anyways. Who's going where?"

"Well, Rose has to go to London," said Juleka. "And since the police will be watching the tunnel and the airports, that means Alix has to take her using magic. And if she's going I'm going too."

"And me," said Chloe suddenly.

Juleka frowned. "Why you?"

"In case you need me."

"Why would we need you?"

Chloe scowled. "What if we happen to run into someone from Paris who knows about the bounty and Rose needs help getting away?"

Juleka frowned, about to ask if this was really because Chloe thought she would be useful or if she just wanted to do something, anything, no matter how irrelevant to stop feeling bad about having screwed up with her father, but before she could say anything else Alix cut in. "Yeah, that makes sense. Okay, us four then. What about the rest of you?"

"I'll take the Mayor," said Luka. "See if he's got any vulnerabilities, political or otherwise. Plan our approach. Maybe I'll bring in Jalil if I need help."

"And I know Nino best, so I'll help Sabrina deal with him," said Alya. "Right, girl?"

Sabrina nodded. "I'm ready," she said. "The other me has been teaching me all kinds of fey tricks. I'm sure I can get him!"

"He already thinks you're trying to trick people," noted Juleka. Behind her Jalil entered with some books. "He'll be on his guard."

"Feybrina told me that a good fey can ensnare any human, no matter how prepared." Sabrina grinned, and Juleka could feel her excitement--not just at getting to use fun magic, but at being useful, an independent person who could contribute instead of just standing in Chloe's shadow. "I mean, I won't do anything bad to him, but I'll do everything I can to make sure he doesn't come looking for Rose--or suspect any of us!" She chuckled. "And I can't lie now, so you know I mean it."

Jalil smirked. "Ah, yes. I was wondering when that would kick in." He chuckled. "I've heard it can be very hard for fey who lived in the human world once they stop being able to lie. Makes them almost unable to communicate without spilling crucial secrets." He sat down and leaned back in a chair. "You know, I'm pretty good at that kind of thing. Comes with learning summoning magic. So Sabrina, if you'd like, I could totally practice that deceiving-but-not-lying thing with you, just in case people ask you things like if you know where Rose is."

"In exchange for a favor?" Alya asked.

"Well, yeah." Jalil shrugged. "It's part of fey nature. If she uses her powers enough, she'll become literally incapable of doing anything for free. Any gift, any service, would require an equivalent favor in exchange."

Juleka shivered. That seemed like a mean way to exist, and she wondered if maybe Jalil was misinterpreting something.

"Feybrina's been training me already," said Sabrina, after a moment. "She says I'm pretty good. So no thank you; I don't need your training."

"Are you sure?" Jalil asked.

Sabrina's eyes gleamed. "If you don't believe me, go on, ask me something!"

Jalil exchanged a glance with Alix, then shrugged. "Okay. Sabrina, where is Rose?"

"How would I know where Rose is?" Sabrina asked innocently. "She's been out of school for a week and hasn't called me."

Not bad, Juleka thought. Almost anyone would assume that answer was a 'no,' even though it wasn't. Jalil, though, wasn't so deterred. "I'm sure you know," he said. "So: where is Rose?"

Sabrina sighed. "Fine. Rose is at 55, Rue du Faubourg, Saint- Honoré, Paris."

Rose blinked. "Isn't that the presidential palace?"

"How could you say that?" asked Alix. "Literally, how could you say it? Rose obviously isn't there."

Juleka got it first. "Let me guess: she looked up the palace staffers before, in case someone asked her this, and found one named Rose Smith or something. As long as Rose-the-staffer is physically there, that's a true answer." She turned to Jalil. "You didn't say it had to be our Rose."

Sabrina. nodded. "Her name is Rose Duprees, actually. She works an afternoon security shift."

Jalil scowled. "Fine. Sabrina: what is the current location of Rose Lavillant?"

"On Earth somewhere," said Sabrina, completely honestly.

Juleka giggled as Jalil Kubdel flushed red. "Sabrina," he snapped. "Tell me the street address of Rose Lavillant, the Parisian daughter of paladins!"

Sabrina hesitated, then sighed and scribbled something down on a piece of paper before tossing it to Jalil. He opened it and read it, then frowned. "This--this is Rose's home address. She isn't there now."

"You didn't ask where she is now. You asked for her address." Sabrina sprang to her feet with an almost unearthly grace. "And in exchange for that piece of paper I just gave you, you're going to stop asking me any questions relating to the location or address of the person named Rose who is in this room now."

Jalil opened his mouth, but his tongue seemed frozen. He grunted something inarticulate as he tried and failed to find a way around the injunction, and the others began to laugh.

"I don't think I need your help. But if you have other questions, feel free to ask them sometime!" chirped Sabrina. "Just remember, talking to fey can lead to..." She waved her hands. "Un-favor-able outcomes!"

Juleka snorted at the pun, and most of the rest burst into laughter. Jalil scowled. "Just trying to help, and--Alya, are you recording this?!"

"Oh yeah." Alya nodded. "And sending to Feybrina... now." She grinned. "That girl will be mad proud of you, Sabrina." The other redhead blushed.

"Alright, alright." Luka smiled. "Juleka, Rose, Alix, Chloe--might as well head out to London now. Sabrina, Alya, find Nino." He clapped his hands. "Let's go!"

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #280

“this is the place in our mind with a crooked crown / we came to execute its own perfect shutdown”

Do you have a strong local accent? No. Do you prefer green or red grapes? Red, but either is fine so long as they’re crisp. Can you stand on your hands unassisted? pffff Who was the last person to knock/ring at your door? Pizza guy. How old were you when you last went trick or treating? No idea. Have you ever been bobbing for apples? ”No. That’s a gross game lol you’re dipping your head and mouth into water other people are dipping their head and mouth into.” <<<< This. What’s your most expensive piece of clothing? No clue. What’s the last thing you took a picture of? Guys I actually took a selfie bc for once in my goddamn life, I felt really pretty with the makeup Summer did on me. She's working towards a degree in cosmetology and is so talented with it. What’s the last thing you drew a picture of? A meerkat pup. Have you ever been on a pogo stick? Omg, yes. I got one for I think Christmas one year as a kid and I got SO into it. I learned how to do it really well. Can you down a pint (of anything) in one? Probably not without throwing up. Have you ever been banned from a public place? No. Have you ever been in a newspaper? A couple times, I think. I know once in elementary school for when I was in chorus; we went somewhere for a small Christmas show. Then I believe I was in it for another school thing? Idr. What football team do you support? I don’t care for football or sports in general. What did you want to be when you grew up? My phases included paleontologist, vet, movie director, author, game designer, aaaand I know I’m forgetting one. But my current and long-term goal has been to become a photographer. Being an artist as a free time “job” has always been an aspiration, too. Have you ever tie-dyed your own clothes? In school, yeah. How often do you buy new clothes? Very rarely. Usually just around Christmas or my birthday from gift cards I get. Are you reliable? In some ways yes, in other ways no. Are you proud of yourself? No. If you could ask your future self one question what would it be? If she’s ended up happy. Do you hold grudges? Nah. Do you decorate the outside of your house for Christmas? Mom does pretty much last minute, but only sometimes when looking at the past few years. Can you solve sudoku puzzles? Sure, they’re fun. What’s the most unusual conversation you've ever had? Who knows. Are you much of a gambler? Not at all. I don’t fuck around with money, especially when just $5 makes you feel great. Have you ever been to Disneyland? I’ve been to Disney World. Do you sing in the shower? Very rarely. Almost never now that I don’t play music while I’m in there. As a child did you ever suck your thumb or fingers? I mean probably? I do know I loved my pacifier and was SO upset when Mom’s doctor or someone playfully told me I was gonna have to give it up because my upcoming baby sister would want to steal it, and guess what? Nicole never fucking used a pacifier so I was tilted lmao. What time do you usually go to bed? Lol BRO it can be as early as 7 PM on bad depression days to as late as like, 2-3 AM. I’d say the average time is like… 9:30. What's your favorite animal? MEERKATS hngggggggggggggggg Have you ever been in marching band? No. Do you have any enemies? No? At least I don’t consider anyone to be. Have you ever been a cheerleader? As a kid, Mom wanted me to so I could do something with my sisters, who were actually interested in cheerleading. She certainly didn’t force me to or anything, I just agreed to it despite not being into it. We were with this Christian sports group for a long time doing various sports all the while being taught lessons in Christlikeness. I’ve actually got warm memories of it Did you ever date anyone on the football team? No. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? No, not that I’m against the idea tho. The plushy would just have to be very special to me and also comfortable to hold. How many consecutive days have you ever missed of school? I missed an entire week when I learned about Mom’s cancer. I could barely function. With how much school stressed me, I would NOT have managed. Have you ever been pregnant? No, not in my to-do list. When was the last time you wanted to speak out, but couldn’t? I’m sure it was recently over Facebook; most times, I keep my mouth shut over political things on there that might get me fired up because I’m afraid of confrontation. Are fingerless gloves awesome? I love them. Wore them daily in high school. I still have some of my favorites, though I’m doubtful they still fit my hands… Would you rather be cannibalistic or die in the wilderness? Okay so I’m gonna actually go kinda in-detail, so the squeamish be warned. Realistically, I think I’d choose to die. ESPECIALLY if I was the one expected to kill another person; then, there’s no question. I wouldn’t be able to do it either if I knew the person. If it was some stranger someone else killed and cooked, I don’t know with absolute certainty; starvation really can make animals out of people. I do know for sure I’d vomit. I far more heavily lean into still preferring to die, because I just believe some things aren’t worth living after they’ve been committed. I’d hate myself. I’d rather die feeling clean of conscience. Would you survive on a deserted island? Hell no. Have you dyed your hair eccentric colors in the past? Yeah, I want to do it far more often… What size drink do you usually get at fast food restaurants? Medium, sometimes small. What do you think is the best thing in life? Love, both platonic and romantic. Have you ever sold anything online either on Craigslist, eBay, Amazon, etc.? If not, what is your website of choice like any of the above for buying things? We sold our previous dog over Craigslist, and I sold my iguana there as well. I know Mom has used eBay and Amazon, but idk for what. Have you ever seen an animal give birth? Have you ever had a pet give birth before? I’ve seen old pet cats give birth many times. What is something you want to try to accomplish within the next year? I want a job that I’m content with and can mentally handle. Oh, and I REALLY want to make strong progress on recovering from the muscle atrophy in my legs. What’s the most unusual kind of pizza you’ve ever tried? I have no clue; I’m not that adventurous with pizza or food in general. If you were given the chance to decorate an entire house the way you wanted, with no limit to cost, how would you decorate it? GOTHIC AS A MOTHERFUCKER WELCOME TO THE GOTDAMN ADDAMS FAMILY. What’s one of your favorite things to touch/feel? My cat. :’) How often do you wear tights? Ew, never. Has there ever been anything you’ve become interested in much later than other people? I guess Instagram, but only as a viewer. I don’t have a personal one, just for my photography that I only rarely post. Have you ever had a veggie burger? Yeah, during my vegetarian streak. Burger King’s really aren’t that bad so long as the patty is made well. Do you like candles? Yeah, sure. When was the last time you wore a sports bra? Forever ago when I was doing Wii Fit. Where did you get the shirt you’re currently wearing? I think Hot Topic? It’s an oversized Umbreon shirt. Who last messaged you on Facebook? My friend Summer when we were planning our lil witch photoshoot w/ friends. Who last walked you home? lol you don’t just have someone “walk you home” here. Bundles of homes are way too far and in-between for reasonable walking distance. Did you make any new friends lately? If so, what are their names and how did you meet them? Not really recently, no. Would you rather see your favorite band/artist in concert with 2 other people or have a free $20,000 shopping spree to Walmart? Seeing Ozzy with my mom would be a DREAM, but to be realistic, I’d take the shopping spree pretty damn quickly. $20k? That would do WONDERS for us, especially as we’re about to move into a new place. When was the last time you threw up and why did you? A long time ago when I started a new medication. Do you want revenge on the person who has hurt you the most? … I’m gonna be REAL honest. For the most part, no. But ngl there are times I’m like “I’m gonna work on getting back in shape and become H O T” like a petty bitch lmao this is embarrassing to admit. Has anyone ever claimed that you saved their life? Yes. Did you ever have that near-drowning experience? No. Have you ever performed on stage? For dance, yes, but I never did a solo. Are you a jealous person? Not jealous (usually), but I’ve come to realize I’m a pretty envious piece of shit. Morning person or night person? I’m in my best mood in the morning because I have the “it’s a fresh start” ideology. Then I repeat exactly what I did the day before. :^) Have you ever written a poem for someone? Numerous times. Do you meditate? No, but I wish I could without it only causing more stress. Do you like cranberries that they serve for Thanksgiving? EW I hate cranberries. What don't you understand that frustrates you? Finances. Do you plan on going to college? I’ve tried college three times and dropped out each time. I’m done trying with school. Do you believe the governments hide technology and information from the public? AbsoFUCKINGlutely. Which is your favorite Pokemon? Ninetales! What horror fiction character scares you the most? What’s the name of the villain in the Scream series? Ghostface? I don’t feel like looking it up, but he TERRIFIED me as a kid, and I still think he’s mega creepy. Were you part of the Brownies/Cubs/Scouts/Guides etc? I was in Girl Scouts. Have you ever invented a fairly unique meal or drink? No. Do you have any family secrets? Don’t think so. Do you often read your horoscope? Never. They’re bullshit. Have you ever had a proper Tarot reading? No; also bullshit. Have you ever milked a cow? No. Do you love or hate rollercoasters? They’ve always scared me because I’m afraid of throwing up. Now with how dizzy I get, I absolutely refuse to try one because I WILL faint with all the movement. What’s your favorite sportswear brand? idc Who’s your favorite superhero? Does Deadpool count? Who’s your favorite villain/baddie? If we’re still in the comics/superhero universe, the Joker. Have you ever won a giant-sized cuddly toy from a fair? No. What would you say is your favorite album of all time? Black Rain by Ozzy Osbourne. I fucking adore it; it was my introduction to metal, and still after all this time, every track S L A P S. I deadass played that CD so much that it scratches at a few points. Do you dislike hairy people? lol fuck this question. I’m guessing you’re asking if I find them attractive and not as if people I “dislike” them, but in both cases, it’s no. We’re mammals, who the fuck cares how hairy you are. Do you like your own name? I actually do really like my name. My first one, anyway. Would you ever sign a Prenuptial agreement? NOPE. Want one? You’re gonna have to find someone else willing to, my man. How long has your longest ever phone call been? No less than two hours, but I know more. I have three instances in particular where I talked with either friends or Jason for SO long. Could you ever have an affair with a married person? Hell no. What is your family Christmas like? Nicole comes here so she and I open presents with Mom, then we spend the day at my older sister’s to be with the kids. We also try to squeeze visiting Dad in there the same day, but sometimes it has to be a different one. If you met a genie who offered you three wishes, what would you wish for? (more wishes does not count) Just three is hard… but #1 is indisputably world peace, and then uhhhh the end of poverty and maybe the cure for cancer. I’d have a super hard time picking a third; so many things matter to me. Have you ever had your national flag painted on your face? No, not in my plans. Do you have any strange body things? Well, define “strange,” I guess? Nothing like, really strange. What fairy tale character would you most associate with? Can I be Snow White and attract cute critters like moths to a flame? Also I would 100% take a Good apple. If a loved one was to serenade you, what song would you most like them to sing? It would depend on the person and our bond, really. Is there a cherished song between us? What is our relationship like? There’s no umbrella song I can think of. Is your dad an embarrassing dancer? GUYS!!!!!!!!!!! My sister’s wedding, okay? Father/daughter dance? He actually has MOVES and it was incredible man, never gonna forget that. What if any unusual objects have you swallowed? Nothing, I think. If you were stinking rich, would you only go to places other rich people went? Hell naw, man. There are plenty of great, affordable places in all categories. I could be a millionaire and you’d still see my ass in McDonald’s ordering a burger and fries lmao. Have you ever owned a slinky? My sisters and I had multiple as kids; those were d o p e. Teenage parents, good, bad, or indifferent? An AWFUL idea. A teenager is physically, most likely financially, and mentally unprepared to raise a child properly. It can seriously affect the kid, and of course the parent. What’s the most expensive thing you’ve ever broken? I’m unsure. Pirate downloads, good or bad? It’s bad… yet plenty (myself included) have/do do it. Democracy, good or bad? Good. It’s very important to me that rule should come from the people’s majority versus a small coalition of rich guys. While the majority is not always right, it seems like the best option to me. Communism, good or bad? Okay so to be totally honest I actually don’t entirely understand what communism outlines. Like I just read multiple definitions and small articles and I’m still kinda like “????”, though judging by the countries listed as those governed by communism, I would guess it’s bad? Have you ever been electrocuted? On an electric fence, but it wasn’t too bad. Have you ever been hit on by someone of the same gender? Yeah. The war in Iraq, good or bad? Get the fuck out of it. To start with, I’m a pretty fierce pacifist, and just… killing and killing and killing for YEARS is so goddamn pointless and is just a massacre. The war in Afganistan, good or bad? jfc ^ Have you ever appeared on YouTube? LET’S NEVER TALK ABOUT THIS lmfao Have you ever eaten anything prepared by a celebrity chef? No,, but that’d be dope. Have you ever been on radio? No. Do you prefer male or female singers voices? ”Their gender doesn’t matter, but their talent does.” <<<< Do you have a list of things to do before your ‘x’ years old? Goals should not be judged by age. I’m bad at this and have to remind myself of it a lot. A goal is a goal regardless of a number. Celebrate for *you*. Are you proud, comfortable or ashamed of your body? Very very much ashamed. Do you know html? Super poorly. Have you ever flown first class? lol hunny What are better, violins or pianos? Violins. How old is your oldest blanket? As old as me. My baby blanket is stored somewhere. Do you take enough vacations? lol hell no. I’ve maybe gone on three vacations in my entire life. Have you ever been sick on your birthday? Yup. Then one time I was recovering from a wicked stomach virus but went to Olive Garden anyway lol. I was fine though, and it’s actually a sweet memory because Jason (he worked there at the time) got the staff to do the whole “happy birthday” thing. I got a bombin’ brownie. Who is your favorite person? Sara and my mom. What do you do to stay healthy? lol you assume I’m healthy. What is your favorite form of exercise? Swimming. Do you like going to church? I never did. As a kid, I would cry when/if Mom decided we were going to mass after Sunday school lmao. It’s always been boring and too long to me, even when I was religious. Have you ever fallen asleep during a sermon? Probably as a kid. Do you like to pray for others? No. I don’t believe anyone hears them or will intervene somehow if I ask anyway. Have you ever witnessed a miracle? No. I don’t think I believe in those anyway. Have you ever been the recipient of a miracle? Definitely not. How did you or whoever come up with the name(s) for your pet(s)? I thought “Roman” was a majestic name for a male cat, and Venus has the coloration that the planet does. Who did you last walk a dog with? Sara and I walked Buster the last time I was there. It was windy as SHIT so we didn’t get far because my ass was absolutely freezing, all the while Sara was used to it. Ride bikes with? Wow, good question. I haven’t ridden a bike in many, many years. Hold hands with? My friend Summer did yesterday when she was trying to reassure me of something. For what reason did you last high five someone? Ryder and Aubree each caught Pokemon in Pokemon GO. :’’’’) I was watching them in the car while my sister/their mom was doing something at work, and they wanted to play it; they’ve come to learn that between my phone and DS, I’m the Pokemon provider, lol. I was the proudest fucking aunt ever bc they did SO GOOD after getting the hang of throwing the ball like Y’ALL. When Ash came back to the car, I gave ‘em each high fives before getting back in. What color and type is your vehicle? Don’t have my own car. Looking to upgrade or add any time soon? I doubt I’ll have my own soon. What animal do you have the most possessions *of*, or featuring? Like, décor or stuffed animals, things like that? Not the actual living creature? Easily meerkats, holy shit do I have a collection. What do you use to wash your dishes? Gain soap. Last thing you measured? Uhhh idk. Last thing you weighed? Myself. Last song you danced to? *shrug* What do you remember from your dream last night? I just remember it was a nightmare about Dad being angry. How old were you when you got your first credit card? Lol I don’t have one. Do you talk to your parent(s) [almost] every day? Mom, yes. Dad, no, because we don’t live together. What does your shampoo and conditioner smell like? I just started using a Dove brand shampoo targeting dandruff, so I don’t think it has a specific smell. I don’t use conditioner, just adds grease to your hair, plus mine is short anyway. Last person to tell you that you smell good? Idk. Last person you told that they smell good? I also don’t know. If you smoke marijuana, what is your preferred or typical method? I’ve never touched it. Last person you ran into unexpectedly? Ummm idr. How many plants can you see right now? There’re none in my room. Last compliment you received on your appearance? HA On your character/personality? That I was a loving sister. Do you remain friends with anyone you met at your first job? N/A Who have you hugged in the past month? My mom, Summer, sisters, niece and nephew, Dad… Newest musical discovery? 3TEETH is great. Like, I'm obsessed. Their cover of “Pumped Up Kicks” snagged my attention, despite actually being iffy about it at first. Guess what I’m listening to this minute lmao. Last thing you cleaned? A cup. What exactly do you carry around all your stuff in? A purse. What do you carry around, typically? Phone, keys, wallet, hand sanitizer, and my iPod are items of note. Where is your newest scar? It’s on the palm of my left hand from Roman playing with me. Where is your oldest scar? Idk. Last thing you disposed of? The milk carton. What was the last picture someone sent you? Mom sent me a gif from Hocus Pocus to fit the witch photoshoot Summer, her friend, and I did. Did you hear a siren today? No. What do you typically drink? I would rather not pretend I tend to drink soda lmao Last bad news you heard? My aunt’s brother committed suicide a couple days ago. Last good news you heard? I don’t really know. How far away is the closest cinema from your house? It’s like, 15-ish minutes away. Have you ever been to the emergency room? Many times. Are you one of those people who can’t go without their morning coffee? Y’all know me and coffee. But in place, I have my morning Mountain Dew, rip in fucking pieces. Have you ever worn fake eyelashes? No, though I’m honestly curious what I’d look like. Do you know the story of how your parents met? If so, tell me? They were coworkers; that’s all I know. What is your favorite Chinese food? I love pork fried rice. Do you live far from your parents? I live with my Mom. I live around 20 minutes or so away from Dad. What was the last hot food you ate? I’m assuming you mean spicy as opposed to just hot as in temperature. In that case, probably hot wings. Have you ever seen a meteor shower? No. Describe your current position: I’m lying down in bed, just kinda perked up by my two pillows. Have you used a microwave today? Yes; I had a Jimmy Dean breakfast bowl. Do you prefer going out for coffee or brewing your own? N/A Have you consumed caffeine today? If so, in what form? yikes- Do you know anyone who follows a raw vegan diet and lifestyle? Not that I know of. Have you killed a bug this week? Yes; we’re dealing with a lovely mix of gnats and fleas. What was the first food you learned how to cook? Scrambled eggs. Or maybe pancakes with Mom’s assistance. Idr. Do you have a Bachelor’s degree? If so, what in? No. How many email accounts do you have? Two. Can you go see a doctor alone or do you like to take someone with you? I like my mom to be with me. How long is your average shower? 15 minutes, maybe? It depends on the routine I feel like doing. When’s the last time you had a headache? Yesterday. What woke you up this morning? I think I woke up naturally? A rare occasion nowadays. Who was the last person you cried in front of? Summer, yesterday.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

When the Walls Come Down

Happy Birthday to @maikkuax, I hope that you’ll have a wonderful day! Here’s some post-kidnap whump and Tony & Clint friendship for you.

Thanks to @whumphoarder for beta reading even during your vacation.

This is also for the hurt/comfort prompt of @writersmonth, written for the MCU fandom. Trigger Warnings for PTSD and the aftermath of torture, but nothing too graphic.

__________________

“This is so good,” Tony sighs as he ravenously tears bites from the days-old sandwich Clint found in his bag. “Really, I haven’t had anything like this in weeks.”

Clint knows that many people have to make do with even worse throughout their lives, so the billionaire living off scraps during his kidnapping probably reestablished global equality a tiny bit. But something about the way Tony wolfs down the food as if he’s afraid it will vanish before his eyes breaks Clint‘s heart a little.

“Honestly, the food was probably the worst,” Tony continues in a conversational tone. “The rest wasn’t so bad. Less torture than last time, and I didn’t even have to build a suit to get out – thanks for that, Birdy, by the way.”

And Clint would almost believe him - would almost buy the engineer’s repeated assertions that he’s fine, that he just wants to get home and why on earth do we have to stay in a crappy motel now? But the way Tony’s eyes are darting across the room, how his face continually looks just a bit alarmed, how his hands just won’t hold still, makes it obvious to Clint that he’s not. Thanks to SHIELD, the archer has been on both sides of the prison door more often than he can count, which means that he recognises the signs all too well.

“God, is there really no way we can just ask Nat to bring the quinjet here?” Tony complains, gesturing at the water-stained walls of the tiny motel room. “This place sucks.”

Clint rolls his eyes, but he isn’t actually annoyed. He understands how much Tony must be missing home after three weeks in the clutches of “the most unprofessional kidnappers ever” (Tony’s words, but the fact that one of them actually lost their mobile phone in Tony’s cell probably speaks for itself).

“We would need clearance from the local government, and we don’t know who was involved in the kidnapping,” Clint explains yet again. “We can’t let them know where we are before we’re positive who was behind all that.” They’re going to fly civilian, but the earliest connection to the states isn’t until the next morning.

Tony grunts disdainfully and swallows another mouthful of sandwich.

He looks a bit better now than he did when Clint blasted through the cell he’d been held in, no longer dizzy from hunger and ready to pass out. But he’s still pale and shaky and tired and thin, like a low-quality photocopy of the Tony Stark they all know, and Clint guesses it will take a long time until he returns back to his usual showman appearance.

He’s also full of blood, grime, and dried sweat. With the mission successful and the adrenaline finally tapering off, Clint can’t help but notice that the man stinks.

“How about a shower?“ he suggests. “Seems like you could use one.”

Surprise flashes in Tony's tired brown eyes, as if he hadn’t even considered that possibility. Then he beams and pushes himself up with one arm on the dirty table. It doesn’t escape Clint’s notice that he’s swaying slightly from exhaustion.

“Sounds great,” Tony declares, grabbing a towel from Clint’s bag and making for the bathroom. “But don’t finish my sandwich, Bird Brain.”

*

A shower sounds great indeed.

God, Tony’s missed this so much. He’s gotten so used to the layer of grime on his skin, the foul smell surrounding him, and the itching of the greasy hair on his skull that he’s almost forgotten what it is to be clean. He undresses quickly, suddenly eager to rid himself of the clothes he’s been wearing for weeks, then flinches when they scrape over the wounds and bruises covering his body.

Some of the burn wounds are clearly infected, which might be the source of the low-grade fever he’s sure he’s been running for days. He knows they’ll need proper dressing and probably antibiotics to heal. Clint offered several times to examine him, but Tony refused adamantly. He’ll have to show them to the doctors either way, probably tomorrow once they get back to SHIELD and he’s forced to go through the whole-ass process of debriefing and recounting and getting every inch of his skin checked over. But for now he’s just happy to have his body to himself. Nobody kicking what they aren’t supposed to kick, no burning irons and god-knows-what scorching his skin, nobody touching where they aren’t supposed to touch.

Tony gets into the shower, and god, it feels so good. It’s like heaven, except that the shower is too small to sit down and the water pressure is a bit too low and he sort of misses the customised massage functions that the Tower’s bathtubs offer. But hey, after three weeks with a rusty bucket of ice water, his standards aren’t exactly what they used to be. 

He‘s half under, feeling the hot water run down his aching back, cleaning layers of dirt off his skin. He moans with relief before stepping in fully, reaching for the small packet of shampoo on the basin’s edge. Then the next thing he knows, he’s on his knees on the floor, the showerhead hitting the ground with a bang, and he can’t breathe anymore.

“Tony?” Clint immediately calls from outside.

I’m fine, he wants to shout, I’m a-okay, stop worrying Bird Brain, but all that comes out is a choked cough. Tony’s breaths are heaving, his heart is running a marathon in his chest. 

“Tony? Answer me, or I’m coming in!”

“‘m good,” he manages to croak. “Jus’ slipped.”

He can’t hear whether Clint replies anything, but at least the other man doesn’t enter. Tony manages to maneuver himself into a sitting position against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees, the shower spilling water between his toes. He’s trembling hard and the breaths still won’t come, leaving him on the verge of hyperventilating. Even the thought of getting his head back under the shower spray causes his chest to constrict and the panic to rise up, flashbacks threatening to take over.

Fuck. These assholes even managed to ruin this for him. It had taken him years to stop getting nightmares of drowning after his time in Afghanistan, and now four rounds of waterboarding were enough to bring all of it back. Fuck his life.

After what seems like centuries, Tony finally manages to get back to his feet. He cleans himself off with his hands and the towel, standing as far away from the shower as possible, and pointedly avoids the cracked mirror on the wall. 

When he reenters the room wrapped in the towel, Clint gives him a long look, his eyes lingering at the barely healed cuts and scorch wounds on his arms and on his visibly unwashed hair. He doesn’t say anything, and Tony doesn’t know whether he should be grateful or worried that the obvious marks of torture don’t seem to faze the archer in the least.

*

It doesn’t take long for Tony to drift off against the sound of the TV, which is really more white noise than anything because neither of them understands the local language.

Clint has had years of practice learning to exist in a state that is not really asleep and not really awake. He rests, knowing that tomorrow will be a long day, but doesn’t let himself slip too deeply into unconsciousness. So when Tony starts twitching in his sleep, his face screwed up in obvious distress, and lets out a low moan, Clint is immediately alert.

“Hey,” he soothes. “Wake up, shellhead.”

When this doesn’t yield the desired effect, he reaches for Tony’s shoulder. A light touch is enough to cause the man to jerk upright, his hand batting Clint’s away reflexively even before he is fully awake. Clint has enough training to evade the hit and catch Tony’s hand mid-slap, guiding it back down. He frowns when he realises that Tony’s skin feels warm to the touch.

“Hey,” he repeats. “Tony, it’s me. 2013. Europe. Shitty motel, remember?”

Tony looks at him, recognition slowly flooding back into his eyes, then nods at Clint’s hand on his wrist. “Care to let go?” 

Clint does as demanded. “Care to explain why you’re running a fever?”

Tony glances away. “Nothing serious,” he deflects. 

Clint scoffs.

“Fine, if you must know - a few of the burns got infected,” he amends. “Nothing that some Penicillin can’t fix.”

“Because you can judge that, Stark MD.” Clint raises an eyebrow. “You should let me look at them. You know that you’ll have to get a complete medical examination as soon as we’re back at HQ anyway, right?”

“Yes, and that’s why I don’t need your hands on me now,” Tony spits back, but the look he gives Clint is almost pleading.

Clint remembers Texas - two months held in captivity by a bunch of neo-Nazis who found a perverted pleasure in using his arms and back as a human ashtray. He remembers the feeling of his body not being his own anymore, how it took weeks until he would stop flinching at Laura’s gentle touch. His skin didn’t look much different from Tony’s then.

“Okay,” he concedes. “But minor burns - that’s all there is, right? Fury’s gonna be up my ass if you kick the bucket on my watch after being rescued.”

“Pinky promise, Barton,” Tony mutters. He’s laid back down and is almost out again. Clint has never seen Tony voluntarily go to sleep in front of anyone before and it worries him a bit. He can’t get them back to New York quickly enough.

The fever rises, leaving the engineer alternately shivering under the blanket and kicking it away. Tony’s made it clear enough that touch is not an option at the moment, but Clint still tries to make him a little more comfortable by draping a wet undershirt over his forehead in the absence of any clean washcloths, refreshing it every half hour to keep him cool. 

It’s almost four in the morning when Tony wakes with a strangled cry, panting.

“Tony,” Clint says firmly. Calmly, he leans over to switch on the bedside lamp. Tony’s wide eyes follow him, his breaths still coming out fast, but once the light flickers on, he visibly relaxes.

“That bulb’s from the 70s,” he remarks hoarsely when he’s caught his breath, nodding at the lamp. “Let’s get out of this shithole.”

It’s obvious that neither of them is going to go back to sleep, so Clint prepares a meagre breakfast with instant coffee and the sandwich that’s left. Tony sips at the coffee listlessly, his head leaned heavily against the wall.

“What’s wrong?” Clint nods at the sandwich that Tony hasn’t touched. “Yesterday you were so wild about it.”

Tony shakes his head. “Kinda nauseous,” he admits. 

“Well, you need to have some of it if you want meds,” Clint states the obvious.

“Yeah mom,” Tony retorts, staring at the bread with a distinct lack of enthusiasm before biting off a tiny piece and then reaching for the painkillers across the table. The blanket falls off his shoulders, and Clint notices spots of blood all over the loose SHIELD t-shirt he’s lent to the other man.

“You should let me dress those wounds,” he tries once more. “It’s a long flight. No sense in letting that fever climb higher.”

Tony gives him a long look, his eyes a bit glassy. Finally, something softens in his expression. “You got stuff for that here?” he asks.

Clint snorts. “I’m a SHIELD agent on a mission. What do you think I carry in my bag, cupcakes and lipstick?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Tony mutters with a shrug. “You know how to suture?” 

His expression is dead serious, but Clint catches a sparkle in his eyes that’s not caused by the fever. He doesn’t even bother to give an answer.

*

Tony pulls the shirt over his head, all of his muscles protesting. Every cell in his body aches, his bones feeling heavier than lead and his skin on fire. Tony’s vision is a bit blurred, giving the world a surreal quality, which doesn’t really help convince him that what he’s seeing now is any more real than his nightmares were. He’s nauseated. He’s tired. He wants Pepper, now. He wants to be home, like, three weeks ago. But it’s not as if the world ever listens to him.

He definitely doesn’t want Barton to stitch him up, but then again, he knows that a 12-hour plane ride won’t be fun with his fever on the rise, and it doesn’t make much of a difference whether it’s Clint now or SHIELD Medical later who get their hands on him. At least the archer is someone he knows, someone he – well, trust is a strong word and not one Tony likes to use carelessly, but he guesses that it comes close to what he feels for the team.

Tony tells himself not to flinch when Clint starts with the first of the wounds, but as soon as the needle pierces his skin, he does anyways and catches the other man glancing at him with knowing eyes. 

Oh, fuck that. These assholes had to show up just when he thought he’d gotten a grip on the PTSD that was his little souvenir from the whole New York experience. He really hopes Clint’s dealt with all of his kidnappers the same way he did with the guard in front of Tony’s cell door. His memory is more than fuzzy, but he’s pretty sure that the man had been writhing in a puddle of blood when they’d left the place.

“Lean forward,” Clint directs, and Tony does as he’s told, exposing his back to the archer and letting his feverish head rest on the cool wood of the rickety table.

The needle stings a bit and the disinfectant burns, but he’s had much, much worse over the past few weeks, and once he’s convinced his brain that Clint is not going to start beating him up any minute, it’s almost pleasant to have someone take care of his bruised and battered frame. 

Tony feels himself drift off, thinking of home and his bed and JARVIS and Pepper, of movie nights with Happy and Rhodey, of Bruce and their lab work, of Nat’s and Clint’s bickering and Steve’s angrily raised eyebrows. He allows himself to look forward to them as something real, something in reach, not just a vision to hold on to in order to get through the next round of torture. It still feels surreal to be free, as free as anyone can be with the memories hovering just at the back of their mind. 

“All done, Frankenstein,” Clint states after a while, rousing him from his almost spaced-out state. “Ready to go home?”

His eyes still closed, Tony nods against the hard surface of the table. Home. Yes, home, that sounds wonderful.

__________________

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Taglist: @toomuchtoread33  @yepokokfine

[fishxx]

Se Qing and the Naked Truth

February 24th, 2017

Below the rooftop of a Beijing building that shudders against a glaucous sky of factory moans is an unextraordinary office building. In it, perhaps on the sixth floor, sits a man in a suit at a desk. The phone on his desk rings. He probably picks it up. Maybe he shifts his weight in his seat, undoing the buttons on his cuffs. Maybe he texts his wife, tells her not to wait up, a client needs this or that document tonight.

It’s 11 degrees Celsius, and a pair of broad-boned feet rest on the ledge of the rooftop above the office building. The owner of the feet crouches over them, back bent round as if in a snail shell. He looks down to the street below, speckled with pedestrians bundled in scarves and cars blaring their horns. He thinks about what kind of people might be in the office building.

Seven months prior, he’d written in a series of diaries published online:

           我总是能听到开枪的声音，开始的时候我有点害怕，时间久了，也就习惯了，那声

           音也像有人在用槌子往我脑袋里钉钉子，好像有一个建筑工地，有人要盖摩天大楼

           ，盖了这么多年也没盖好，好多无家可归的人在我的脑袋里面哭啊闹啊，我要被吵

           死了，他们不让我睡觉，也不让我出门。不睡觉也好，不出门也好，反正每天出门

           前，穿上精心挑选好的衣服，照着镜子怎么看都觉得像要去参加自己的葬礼

           I am always hearing gunshots. In the beginning it scared me a little, but over time I’ve

           grown used to it. Someone has taken up a hammer and is knocking nails into my head,

           it’s a construction site where someone is erecting a monstrous skyscraper, they’ve been

           building it for years and it still isn’t done yet. The many homeless people in my head are

           crying and jibing, they won’t let me sleep, won’t let me out the door. Staying home and

           awake suits me just fine, because every day before heading out, after putting on the

           clothes I’ve selected so meticulously for myself, and looking into the mirror, it looks to

           me as if I’ve dressed to attend my own funeral.

It had always felt this way. For much of his life, since his childhood in a suburb of Changchun, the capital of China’s northeastern province of Jilin, Ren Hang had felt as if he was stumbling through a shadowy psychosis, a jammed film reel in disparate shades of gray.

Still, through the fog of voices and visions clouding his consciousness, in Ren’s pulsing circuit board of veins, he has always felt a deep connection to his family, to his hometown, to China.

And this has never wavered, even as he moved what seemed continents away to study marketing at 17, to live in the 4-to-a-room cramped quarters of Beijing’s university housing, high from the ground, amidst the haze and cancers and pollution of a city of chaos.

–

Fragmented light splashes across the bare thighs and torso of a man whose face cannot be seen. Each hand holds a disco ball, whose mosaicked faces refract the flash’s exposure. Between the disco balls, an erect penis. In another photograph, from the last series Ren published, two nude men sit curled atop one other on the ledge of a building, pasted against a jumbled, silver skyline. Their eyes meet the camera’s gaze steadily.

As Ren crouches on the windowsill, many of these photos are already on exhibition at Foam Fotografiemuseum in Amsterdam. Museum curator Mirjam Kooiman says of the work, “It’s visual poetry. It’s without limits.”

Ren is not without limits.

The man in the office shuffles a stack of paper, maybe. He sighs when the phone rings again. Perhaps he stares at the minute hand on the wall clock.

Ren, some days, can’t tell wall clock from whiskey.

He rises slowly in the frame of the window. Stands, looks. Maybe he is naked, like so many of his subjects are. Maybe, as always, he’s meticulously selected what he believes to be the proper attire for the occasion. In one month he’ll be 30. He is always hearing gunshots.

He steps into the air.

–

January 15th, 2010

           我只会注意那些病态，结巴，物质，2维思维，单亲家庭的男孩。有一种男孩是我

           在涨潮几个小时之后会打电话给他，听到他的声音我知道虽然我还在水底，但是我

           还没有溺亡。

           I will only pay attention to those morbid, stuttering, material, two-dimensional- thinking

           boys in single-parent families. There is a kind of boy who calls me after hours of high

           tide. Hearing his voice, I know that although I am still underwater, I am still not dead.

Huang Jiaqi has the broad, hopeful eyes of youth and lips full as if they’d been stung by honeybees.

It’s been nearly a year since he ran away from home, leaving his university entrance examinations unfinished, his childhood tucked somewhere in diaries with thick-pulp pages, like those still made by tired men in the Qinling mountains.

At only 18, Jiaqi is slight of build, and can often afford nothing more to eat than a box of fried rice with a cucumber for five yuan. He devours the meal shoulder-to-shoulder with his lover, beneath the opaque and oppressive Beijing sky.

Jiaqi and Ren sleep in a house with five or six others who pad silently through the space like apparitions, also hungry.

Ren takes Jiaqi to rooftops. He snaps his shutter.

And with friends pitted naked against mosaicked Moroccan-style floors, between red curtains backlit by pale light, in reeds and bushes, amidst the haze of cigarettes in dingy apartments, Ren snaps his shutter. Boys and boys, girls and boys, girls and more girls mingle, mangled in limb and wire and branch.

Ren graduates from his compact analogue camera to a $29 Minolta X-700 film model. He is not interested in digital cameras. He says, “I like film. It’s exciting to wait.”

His work is featured in small group shows in Beijing, Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Nanjing.

Still, it seems no one in the art world knows Ren Hang’s name.

Jiaqi knows Ren Hang’s name, his mother’s name, the pock-marks of his left cheek, the sound of his heartbeat. In and out and in and out like the tide.

Jiaqi is Ren’s greatest muse, the reason for all things.

In eight years, an image of his face will splash the cover of an international art book published by Taschen and Ren Hang will be dead.

–

June 8th, 2008

           写给周耀辉的信

           每个人都是同性恋，每个人都是霸权者，每张脸都打上马赛克，每颗心都穿上防弹

           衣。所有的亲吻都是一味毒药，所有的拥抱都是一个牢房。

           Letter to Zhou Yaohui:

           Everyone is homosexual. Everyone is a hegemonic person. Each face is marked with a

           mosaic. Each heart is wearing a bulletproof vest. All the kisses are blind poisons, and all

           the hugs are a jail cell.

Ren books his first solo show in 2010. It opens in July under the name “Eat Naked Lunch!” at Yuyintang, a cozy underground live house in Shanghai.

One photograph features a young woman lying on her back, her knees drawn against her bare chest. Between her legs sprouts a tangled bouquet of leaves and red wildflowers. No genitalia can be exposed in the photographs on display, though the work Ren produces is often explicit, featuring cigarettes with seething red heads protruding from vaginas and lilies with their stems tucked into anuses.

He begins to exhibit quietly in other galleries and live houses.

And gradually, like a moonflower unfurling, Ren Hang’s work begins to bloom in the art world. The influence of boundary-pushing erotic photographer Robert Mapplethorpe becomes increasingly apparent, yet curators and collectors insist they have never seen anything like it before.

They are eager to comment on its starkness, its unapologetic sensuality, its balance and color, and its function as a bold fuck you to the Chinese government.

–

In the spring of 2018, Chinese social media platform Weibo announces a three-month “cleanup” effort of its site, a censorship initiative launched on the heels of President Xi Jinping’s new cybersecurity jurisdiction. Weibo quietly begins removing all content related to homosexuality. In response, social media users storm the platform with the hashtag #Iamgaynotapervert.

Though homosexual sex was decriminalized in China in 1997, members of the LGBTQIA+ community continue to face prejudice and a dearth of political discourse about their rights. Today, gay marriage is still not legally recognized in a single continental Asian country.

The Dream of the Red Chamber, the Qing dynasty-era novel oft considered the peak of Chinese literature features a number of steamy same-sex relationships, and passages of dialogue brazen enough to make even the most indiscreet of patrons blush: “What’s it to you if we fuck asses! It’s not like we fucked your dad,” says one character. Hand scrolls of the same time period depict what appears to be recreational sex between male friends, one colorful panel portraying a man hiking up his robes, sitting upon another man’s lap while they enjoy a cup of tea.

So whence came the disdain for homosexuality in China? Anthropologists argue that the influence of Western socio-cultural norms and exposure to foreign media rendered the subject taboo, casting shame over same-same relationships as the perverted product of delinquency or mental disorders. Others assert that the filial values of traditional China that have dominated social life since the era of Confucius are to blame.

Ren says, “We hide the body in our culture,” because it is “a demoralization to show what they think should be private.” But instead of hiding, Ren rebels—worshipping both the sacred and the sacrilegious in the human form, twisting and contorting it into geometry and shadow.

Everything about Ren’s photography is charged with the electric current of sexuality. Much of it is homoerotic. Much of it is not. As one curator puts it, “There’s no hierarchy between the female and the male model in his work. It’s very telling about these tendencies of sexuality and queerness in Chinese society and how his generation is dealing with it.”

What does this one represent?, they ask. It must be a commentary on the political state of modern China, they whisper.

When asked whether his pictures are meant to inspire or incite a sexual liberation in China, Ren responds flatly, “A sexual liberation? No.” He says, “Nudes have always been around. We were born nude. So I don’t think there’s anything to revolutionize. I just photograph things in their more natural conditions.”

Ren Hang didn’t intend to become a photographer. He became one accidentally, toying with a compact camera in the ennui of his days at the Communication University of China, snapping photographs of his roommates here and there, often naked, scuttling to the showers from their room with four bunks like narrow coffins stacked atop one another.

Perhaps he didn’t intend to become a poet either, although after his death, Tim Crowley of the KWM Art Center in Beijing says, “He was, in a way, a poet who just happened to be a great photographer.”

At times, he writes:

           "My cock"

           When soft, it’s like a piece of meat

           When hard, like a knife

           I give you soft when you eat

           Wait for you to eat hard

           Use it to kill you

And, at other times:

           "Real desperation"

           I found

           My breasts are bigger every day

           My vagina is wider day-by-day

           I can be ashamed

           I can hold hundreds of rivers

           My time is finally coming

           But I also felt for the first time

           What real despair is

           I stand in the highest place

           But I dare not take a look below

And as Ren Hang comes barreling into the world of contemporary Chinese art with images that incite gasps, fury, and arrests, he perplexes and enchants by straddling, unapologetically, the worlds of straightness and gayness, of kink and custom, of truth and deception, of masochism and tantrism, of woman and man.

–

May 9th, 2013

           还有一次连续几天晚上我都觉得我的隔壁睡了两匹马，我能听到他们的喘息，还有

           那种马的“突突”的鼻音，我每天回到家都小心翼翼地怕吵醒了他们，有一天我的朋

           友来家里住，我跟他说，我的邻居是两匹马，他们一直在睡觉，你今晚还是不要洗

           澡了，洗澡的声音太大了，我们说话走路也小声一点，不然会吵醒他们的，我已经

           三天没洗澡了。我朋友说我疯了。我说，他们不是一般的马，他们会说人话，会躺

           着睡觉。开始他以为我在开玩笑，但是我的表情越来越严肃，他说你真是疯了。后

           来我也不知道该怎么跟他解释，他再也没有住过我家。

           For a few days in a row, I felt like there were two horses sleeping next to each other. I

           was very careful not to wake them. One day, my friend came to stay at my place. I told

           him that my neighbors are two horses. They have been sleeping. You shouldn't take a

           shower tonight. The bathing sound is too loud. We can only speak quietly. Or I will wake

           them up. I haven't bathed for three days. My friend said I was crazy. I said that they are

           not ordinary horses. They speak ‘people’ and lie down to sleep. At first he thought I was

           joking, but my expression became more and more serious. He said that I was crazy.

           Later, I didn't know how to explain to him. He never stayed at my house again.

In China, mental illness is like homosexuality. It exists. We don’t talk about it.

–

April 5th, 2016

           我适应了逆来顺受，就像掷骰子，每次都掷到同一个点数，后来你发现，其实每一

           个面的点数都是一样的。这个房间里我最熟悉的就是头顶的那块天花板，它就像我

           的天空，白色的天空，没有任何阴晴变化的天空，我幻想过楼上的邻居就是住在天

           上的神仙

           I have adapted to obey just like a die that is rolled over and shows the same number every

           time. In the end you realize that each side of the die is exactly the same. I am most

           familiar with the ceiling from my room. It’s like my sky, a white sky. There is no

           pleasant change in my sky. I imagine that my neighbor from upstairs is an angel living in

           heaven with the gods.

“I love China, and I like shooting Chinese people,” Ren tells Vice Japan. “The more I’m limited by my country, the more I want my country to take me in and accept me for who I am and what I do.”

Ren is arrested a number of times—for shooting nude models in public places, where indecency is punishable by up to six months’ jail time, and, perhaps more scandalously, for self-publishing.

The Chinese government exercises nearly complete control over the press, and the country’s commitment to extensive media censorship is a well-documented phenomenon. Self-publishing, while technically legal, is a highly regulated procedure requiring an ISSN number and authors’ compliance with mandatory censorship policies.

Ren begins publishing his work underground in 2011 with the help of a friend who works in printing, knowing that he will never be able to publish his work otherwise, as the distribution of explicit photo or video content in China is illegal. The Communist Party once dubbed pornography “spiritual pollution.”

In 2015, in the vindictive heat of a Beijing summer, when asked about if he considers his pictures erotica, Ren tells a magazine intern, “I don’t like the word ‘erotica’ (in Chinese, qing se). I prefer ‘pornographic’ (se qing). I think it’s more direct.”

In China, a lifetime behind bars may await anyone who produces, disseminates, or sells “obscene materials.”

Naturally, Ren sets out to do all three.

Within five years, he produces 16 of his own zines and monographs, filled with glossy pages of penises urinating into corded telephone receivers, bodies twisted into fantastical shapes, vaginas splayed open like raw wounds. Many of the earliest of these books were sold underground in small shops whose owners knew his work.

A posterboy millennial, Ren has generated cult followings on his Weibo, Tumblr, and Instagram profiles. He publishes his photography freely on his website, alongside collections of poetry and an unassuming tab on the sidebar menu bar labelled “My Depression.”

His website is shut down unexpectedly. Once. Twice. Again. Law enforcement officers swarm Beijing galleries in wailing Volkswagen Passats, calling for the stop to his exhibitions. A man attends an exhibition and spits on one of the photographs.

He is arrested, but never imprisoned. While Ren operates as an anomaly, a dark creature inhabiting the fringes of Chinese society, authorities seem ambiguous about his status as a criminal. Is he a political rebel? Is he subverting the zhengfu?

They hesitate further because the mind of China is evolving. The economy, taking new shapes.

Chinese citizens born in the 1980s were taught that the country’s “pillar industries” included the automotive, construction, mechanical, electrical, and petrochemical sectors. But these categories are not static. In recent years, biotechnology, advanced energy, and IT have made their way to the forefront of the economy. These new pillars are China’s loyal heed to the call of science. Yet—more than anything—they’ve become the cherubim upholding the god that is capitalism to this country of atheists.

What is largely unexpected is the State Council’s 2009 announcement to make “culture” one of its pillar industries by 2020. In 2016, the Ministry of Finance earmarks nearly four and a half billion yuan in funding for cultural development initiatives. Beijing, Shanghai, and Shenzhen are booming. The art world, rising.

“The market in China has greatly matured, and this has enabled us to present exciting, emerging artists from China and across the Asia-Pacific region,” says Alexander Montague-Sparey, the Artistic Director of Photofairs Shanghai.

It’s no wonder that authorities cannot put their thumb on Ren Hang with enough accuracy to stamp him out like a cigarette butt. Instead, they fumble with his burning edges.

–

May 19th, 2011

           这几年你一直在寻找一张失踪的桌子，生活在一只倾塌的杯子里，逐步进化成愤怒

           的杯底。这世界就是离你这么近，却摸不着，又看不清楚。就像一束光要和影子做

           爱，那么难，我活得像一个影子。却只能再黑夜里出没。

           In the past few years you have been looking for a missing table, living in a falling cup,

           and gradually evolving into an angry cup. This world is so close to you, but it can't be

           touched. Just like a beam of light to make love with a shadow, so difficult, I live like a

           shadow. Only to haunt the night.

Ai WeiWei is China’s most beloved and most despised political dissident. The irreverent artist is known for designing the Beijing National Stadium for the 2008 Olympics and for his controversial visual arts challenging the institutions of modern Chinese society. In 2014, he exhibits an entire collection featuring only photographs of his left hand pitted against the background of famous global monuments and religious buildings, his middle finger raised in bullish protest.

The state media deem him a “deviant and a plagiarist.” He’s arrested in April of 2011 and held for 81 days by authorities. Officials allude vaguely to his “economic crimes” without filing specific charges. His assistant, Wen Tao, mysteriously disappears and is never seen again.

In the consistent spirit of controversy, he champions the work of underground photographer Ren Hang.

In 2013, he curates an exhibition called “FUCK OFF II” at the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands, featuring the works of Ren and 36 other contemporary Chinese artists, many of whom are pioneering a neo-avant-garde driven by a need to challenge the sociological, environmental, and political climates of modern China. It contributes to a burgeoning, global Ren Hang following.

Ren always maintains that he is simply making pictures the way he wants to make them.

“Politics is interested in me,” he tells the press at the OstLicht Austrian photography gallery in 2015, “but I am not interested in politics.”

–

March 23rd, 2015

           我昨天在超市

           偷了一管牙膏

           前天把邻居的锁孔

           用口香糖堵住

           上周把小区门口的

           一排垃圾桶

           全都踢翻

           每次我做了坏事

           都觉得生活好像

           又变得美好了一些

           I was in the supermarket yesterday,

           I stole some toothpaste

           The day before yesterday,

           I blocked the neighbor’s keyhole with chewing gum

           Last week, at the neighborhood entrance,

           I kicked over

           A row of trash cans

           Every time I do bad things

           I feel like life

           Is getting better again

Ren hasn’t spoken much to his family since he left Changchun at the age of 17.

He calls his mother. He paces the length of his apartment slowly, watching one foot move in front of the other, the pattern in the floor’s wood grain rendered into clusters of tiny faces.

“I’m wondering if you’d like to model for me in a photo shoot.”

His voice hangs in the air like a bird riding a current of wind.

“Do you want me to take off all my clothes?” she finally laughs.

He is jarred by the realization that his parents must know everything. Here, all along, he believed they couldn’t have suspected a thing.

Of course he doesn’t want her to take off her clothes—she’s his mother, for goodness sake.

She doesn’t mind.

He insists that a bra and underwear will do just fine.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

She smokes a cigarette. Ren snaps his shutter.

Expressionless, she holds a pig’s severed head. Ren snaps his shutter.

–

February 2nd, 2010

           《我爱你》

           想在你身后，

           看你走路的姿势，

           盯着你并不丰满的屁股看。

           想去你家。

           想跟你睡一张拥挤的铁床，

           在半夜突然醒来，

           舔你的眼睫毛，

           摸你冻裂的嘴唇。

           想在早上抢着穿你的内裤，

           让你穿我的，

           看你站着小便，

           拍下你用过没冲的厕所。

           "I Love You"

           Want to be behind you,

           Look at your walking posture,

           Stare at your not-so-plump butt.

           Want to go to your home.

           Want to sleep with you on a crowded iron bed,

           Wake up suddenly in the middle of the night

           Lick your eyelashes,

           Touch your cracked lips.

           Rush to wear your underwear in the morning,

           Let you wear mine,

           Watch you standing, urinating,

           Photograph the toilet you used without flushing.

Sometimes Ren darts into traffic, or lunges himself ahead of an encroaching bus, only to leap backward at the last moment. Sometimes he stands too close to the platform’s edge in Beijing’s swollen subway stations. When he swims in the chlorine-blue pools of hotels around the world—places where his work is championed, where he receives bottles of wine and dinners of black caviar and foie gras from museum directors—he keeps his eyes closed, lets his body sink to the bottom of the basin, listens to the muted sparkling of the water.

He feels most at peace when he is close to death.

“Since I was seventeen,” says Jiaqi, “the most important thing for me has never changed—to protect you and to protect our love.”

Jiaqi is well on his way to establishing himself as a leading fashion stylist, editor, and model. He makes his own pictures, too. In 2018, his photography glosses the cover of Tatler Hong Kong.

He snaps an iPhone photo of Ren. Beneath the glow of a red umbrella amidst geometries of sunlight, Ren stands in a blue Umbro soccer tank top. He looks into the distance blankly, his broad and elegant cheekbones lending to his perpetual appearance as gaunt, as exceedingly gentle, as older than he is. It seems so far removed from the world of art that they both have learned to inhabit in different ways.

–

January 10th, 2013

           《最亮的光太快》

           我从来不想变成最亮的光

           最亮的光太快

           比流星还快

           我愿意变成黑夜

           我愿意缓慢得就像静止

           我愿意经常被你遗忘

           偶尔被你仰望

           即使在那仰望里

           我只是一张背景

           “The Brightest Light is Too Fast”

           I never want to become the brightest light

           The brightest light is too fast

           Faster than meteors

           I would like to turn into night

           I am willing to be slow like static

           I am willing to be forgotten by you often

           Occasionally you look up

           Even in that gaze,

           I'm just a background

Ren Hang steps into the sky.

The gray of Beijing’s carbonate heavens flashes against fragment of glass, of skyscraper, of silver branch. Perhaps a bird darts past, cutting through the air careless—careless as one must be to have been given the great gift of flight without cognition of one’s privilege.

Perhaps before peace,

He sees his mother’s face. Her harsh mouth in a line, a stream of smoke curling around her.

Perhaps

He sees a boy with bee-stung lips.

The boy says: “I didn’t even know about this thing called depression the first time I saw you crying and telling me you wanted to set the flat on fire so we could die together.”

Maybe he hears the boy’s voice ringing in his ears, a kind of private, radiant sonar.

“You said you were my home, and I was yours.”

These words are true.

But these ideas are all simulation, are all romantic projection.

The BBC runs the headline: Ren Hang: Death of China’s Hotshot Erotic Photographer.

It is all romantic projection.

He is not an erotic photographer. He is, unapologetically, a se qing photographer, an artist of the bizarre and the beautiful, unmarried to any creed or movement, an artist brazenly throwing forth pictures of a violent peace, an artist, an artist, an artist. A mere observer of his world.

And he is, by no means, a hotshot. He is simply a student of the human condition—what his lover calls, “a kid who loves life, but lacks the skills to live it.” He is only human, diseased and obsessed, incurable and in love.

So more than likely,

When Ren Hang steps into the sky,

He does not take note of the clouds reflected in the windows of the office building tearing through space, or the dusky thrush floating above him. He does not see his mother’s stern face or hear the voice of Huang Jiaqi.

More than likely,

He thinks of nothing.

When Ren Hang steps into the sky,

He refuses to become the brightest light.

The brightest light is too fast.

Kendra Clark is a New York-based editorial content creator and part-time residential student in the creative writing master’s program at the University of Cambridge. Her poetry and nonfiction have appeared in or are forthcoming in Into the Void magazine, The Evansville Review, Emrys Journal, and more.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Eel River Inn (4/?)

In the morning, Bucky wakes to the sound of an Underwood typewriter clacking away and the smell of coffee. If it weren’t for the soft bed, he might have thought he fell asleep in the company Clerk’s tent again. But there weren’t gunshots there was only muffled swearing as you banged away. He smiled a little, Ah, the artistic process, he thought. So majestic. You groaned and he heard a soft thud that sounded distinctly like a forehead on a desk. It’s going well, he snorted.

He followed the sound down the hall, running his fingers through his hair and yawning, “Doll?” he said, nudging the door open, “You okay?” Your answering groan makes him chuckle as he leans against the door frame. You’re holding a cup of coffee and looking like you’re about to throw the typewriter out the window. The early sun is shining on your hair like a halo and you’re wearing a t-shirt and panties, a pencil behind your ear and a riotous mane of hair fall past your shoulders. His own grumpy and rebellious angel. You turn and look at him, your lips curling in a soft smile, “Did I wake you?” He crosses the floor to you, looking around your office, “I could have gone back to sleep. Clicking Keys and some swearing won’t keep me awake, I slept through worse in the army.”

You nod and pull him down for a good morning kiss, you taste like coffee and he sighs, “You taste like heaven,” he says huskily, “is there any more coffee?” You nod, “In the kitchen next to the fridge.” Bucky kisses you one last time and brushes hair out of your eyes. You look so beautiful all sleep rumpled and rosy-cheeked. He leaves you to your work and heads downstairs. Your house is cozy. He didn’t spend too long sightseeing last night but now as he sips his coffee, he’s curious. He looks at the framed photos. You with various teams. One where you have a lab coat. One where you’re lighting a cigarette with a torch with grease on your face. You look too young to even be smoking in this century but it suits you somehow. You look half feral. He wonders what you studied. He wonders why pictures seem to be missing, there’s a gap noticeable only by the length of your hair. He wants to know why you’re a writer that doesn’t seem to have spent much time writing before recently. He hears your feet on the stairs and he tried to look nonchalant but you’re smiling and it’s knowing. It makes him blush. 

“You’ll never in a million years guess what I studied in college,” you tease. You smile at him over a fresh cup of coffee and he cocks his head, looking from you to the pictures, “Something with grease,” he guessed? You smile, “Next-gen mechanical engineering.” you tell him. Bucky quirks an eyebrow, “No shit?” You laugh, “Nope,” you say, “Been working on a proper solar sailor out in the barn for the last 5 years... it helps break up the writer’s block.” The look on his face, trying to play it cool but internally screaming makes you giggle. “Gimme a minute to put on pants... and some shoes. I’ll show you.” Bucky doesn’t know what a solar sailor is. He doesn’t really care. But he wants to see it. He wants to put together your puzzle. 

He follows you upstairs, watching as you pull on clothes. Torn jeans and a black t-shirt. Sturdy work boots. He pulls on his own clothes and pulls you into a slow kiss, “I always liked smart girls,” he says smiling. You grin, “You ain’t seen nothing yet, handsome.” You take his hand and lead him to the barn. It’s unassuming. Bucky had thought it was just a storage shed. A place where you kept a lawn mower and maybe some old junk. He didn’t expect what he saw when you rolled the doors open.

It was a fully functional workshop. Nearly on par with Stark’s. You pull levers and counterweights release, lowering the skeleton of your Solar sailor to the work table. It looks like a surfboard with a sail on it. The fabric of the sail glitters with tiny golden sequin looking things and he looks at you in askance. “I really loved the movie treasure planet as a kid,” you say shrugging. Bucky smiles a little, he doesn’t know what that is either but you’re looking at your creation with pride. “What does it do?” he asks. You smile up at him with a look that just screams “trouble”. “It flies,” you say, “Or at least it will. Maybe another 300 odd hours of fabrication.” 

Bucky tilts your chin up and kisses you, “So, this all begs the question... How do you go from Next Gen Mechanics to Young Adult Author.” He’s smiling until he notices a flicker of uncertainty in your face. The woman who spills neuroses and insecurities on paper as characters in a story is hesitating to tell him. He waits patiently. God knows there are things in his past he doesn’t want to tell you. 

“That is a very long story,” you say softly. “I got time, baby,” he says, kissing your forehead. You nod, turning away from him, going to your work table. The soldier pulls up a stool and folds his arms, watching your hands. They’re aimless, seeking distraction. But he waits until you find your voice. “I always loved science,” you say. “I was fascinated by it. By the idea that we put a man on the moon with less technology than I had in my gameboy. That I could make those things if I had the plans... I started with shop classes and shit. Moved on to robotics. Studied everything I could get my hands on.” Bucky smiled a little. He could see that. A cute little girl in a baseball cap covered in grease under a car, gleefully tearing it apart to see how it worked. 

“I skipped a couple grades, and my high school trig teacher slipped me a flyer one day. Something for a bot battle. So I put a crew together, me and a couple dumb asses from my shop class you know? I just needed them to lift shit really. Lift shit and look scary. I was all of 5ft tall and about 100 pounds with a backpack on... And 15. Having some muscle on my team didn’t seem like a bad idea.” That made Bucky chuckle. You were still small but there was about a decade of lean lithe muscle packed onto your frame. He’d felt it when he’d carried you to bed. “So we went. And we won... And we kept winning. Scored me a full ride to MIT. At least in theory.” You reflexively grind your teeth, “My funding got pulled about halfway through but I stayed the course. I pulled out loans. A lot of loans.”

“So when the government think tank offered me a job, I said fuck yeah.” you snort. “First thing they did was pay off my loans. All 150,000 worth. Like that. I should have known better.” You sigh and glance at Bucky, “I was barely 21. They offered me money, good money. More money than I was gonna make anywhere else. More money than I knew what to do with after growing up on welfare and free school lunches.” Bucky wants to wrap his arms around you but he doesn’t. He stays still and waits. The story is about to take a turn, he can feel it. It hurts already and he doesn’t want to know. 

“They wanted results. Weapons. Defense tech. Anything they could get. Anything we could make. It was merciless. Endless. And I couldn’t take it. What they didn’t know... What I didn’t know. Was that the mood shifts I’d been self-medicating with Adderall and nicotine gum weren’t just a personality quirk. It was an unchecked bipolar disorder with a dash of ADHD and generalized anxiety thrown in for fun. When I dropped my basket I didn’t just drop it... I lit that shit on fire and laughed.” You chuckle darkly, “I’d been awake so long I hallucinated a giant purple weasel named Terry... That fucker still owes me $50 for surviving jumping off the catwalk railing.” Bucky tenses, an old instinct to kill rising. They’d trapped you and drove you to insanity. The fucking bastards. 

“Turns out, unbreakable contracts break pretty easy when you lose your mind,” you say shrugging, “And I’m not the only one... I spent two years getting put back together. Some of my team is still locked up.” You swallow hard and take a deep breath. “The books came later. Shit I hallucinated. Shit I wanted to read. Anything to keep my mind occupied when I couldn’t sleep. An old teacher of mine sent some of the stuff I’d written to a publisher after I talked to her about it and here we are.” You smile a little and look up at him uncertain and shy. Scared. “If you want to run, I wouldn’t blame you. My life is a mess.”

Bucky stands slowly and holds his arms out, “Sorry, Doll,” he says, “If you think a mental break down is gonna send me running you got another thing coming.” When you close the distance between you he hugs you to him and kisses the side of his head, “I spent the better part of 70 years a brainwashed assassin,” he murmurs, “There’s nothing hiding in your mind that could possibly scare me more than the things I don’t quite remember.”

[tessatechaitea]

Teen Titans Spotlight #11: The Brotherhood of Evil

Judging by the last few issues starring Robotman, Beast Boy, Mento, and the Brotherhood of Evil, this series could have been Doom Patrol Spotlight On:.

Warp might be the most intelligent super villain in the DC Universe!

Actually I'm not quite done not talking about The Brotherhood of Evil! I don't mean to suggest that the people who fled one kind of oppression weren't the best and kindest people in the world! The only reason I said all the awesome people wound up in California is because I'm from California and my family is pretty awesome. Don't worry! I can see all of the erasure in the above statement! It's just sometimes, you're speaking about a thing and you can't get bogged down by small details like Native American genocide or blatant anti-Chinese laws enacted in San Francisco (pretty much the coolest place in the U.S. (at least before the tech boom fucking turned it into a capitalist fascist run by tech start-ups and the angels who finance them)). The main point was that some people become comfortable with a status quo that oppresses others. And instead of fighting it, people flee from it. The people who flee often do so because they have their own status quo they want to enact and it's rarely one that provides opportunity for everybody. At least in the modern view, I tend to think (and hope it's more than hope and fantasy and wishful thinking) that those fleeing small town bigotries into big cities are actually more compassionate toward the entirety of humanity. We still make lots of mistakes but the key point is that we're trying to do better. When people discuss locking up immigrants at the border, you can either fight against the injustice and racism inherent in the entire process or simply shrug your shoulders like a douchebag and try to sound super smart by saying, "Well, they should have thought about that before they came here!" As if everybody in the world has access to media that somehow preempts the two hundred years of American propaganda that we're willing to accept the hungry and the tired and those yearning to breathe free. I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area in the 70s and the reality of the world that existed around me at the time was fucking Star Trek: The Next Generation compared to what's going on in 2019. We had station ID breaks on KTVU Channel 2 out of San Francisco that would show a kid running around and playing and introducing the viewer into their world that would end with the kid saying, "I'm proud to be a Chinese American!", or "I'm proud to be a black American!" It's the kind of thing that would get so many people in a huff now and yet it was a simple and effective means to introduce younger viewers to the heterogeneity of their community. And now, in 2019, we have Comicsgate who can't stand to be reminded that people other than white people can be protagonists. It boggles my mind that people can get so upset over shit that won't make a millimeter wave on the cultural yacht they were born on. Fucking grow up, assholes. Not everything is about you. I think I was going to say more things about erasure! I don't mean to make light of it since it's absolutely a strategy used to disenfranchise groups or exclude them from social movements. But it's your go-to argument against everything you read, you're not going to make many friends. Lots of essays or articles or arguments need to be specific and they can't include every situation or group in the specific argument being made. Maybe it's tough to accept laser focused arguments on the Internet when the audience is harder to gauge. I know peanut allergies exist and they're deadly but I still stick the knife I just used for peanut butter in the preserves. Not because I don't give a fuck but because I know the audience using my apricot preserves. But if I were to mention this on the Internet, everybody who knows nothing about the context of my preserves and my audience and my entire existence would jump all over me saying things like, "That's really irresponsible!" and "You're going to kill somebody!" and "Apricot? You fucking monster!" I usually hate analogies but sometimes they're fun. The general problem with analogies is that people don't use them to help clarify arguments; they use them to try to simplify their argument into something nobody can disagree with. But by that time, the relationship between the actual argument and the analogy is tenuous at best! But I think my peanut butter allergy analogy is pretty rock solid! Hey! You know who's diverse?! The Brotherhood of Evil! They have a French gorilla and a British woman and a bald white guy (also French but what can you do? This team was all up in France and shit) and a brain in a jar. Hopefully Brain was African or Chinese or Pakistani. Maybe he was also autistic. He's enough of a cypher to allow any reader to identify with him, I guess. He's definitely gay! Unless he's into bestiality. One of those reasons is why he winds up fucking the French gorilla. Hmm, maybe not making it clear what Brain's intent was was a mistake by DC because doesn't that just amplify anti-gay sentiment by associating it actual deviant behaviors? If DC did make it clear and I'm the one who's obfuscating the matter, I should probably shut up. The Brain and Mallah are definitely gay for each other's human dicks. The fact that Mallah's dick is gorilla and Brain's dick is non-existent shouldn't hamper their love. The Brotherhood of Evil are being set up by some guy named Toulon. There was a lot of narration boxes that explained it but I was too busy thinking, "How is Brain going to suck Mallah's cock?" So all I know is that Toulon managed to fuck up Warp's powers and he teleported the Brotherhood to a strange world.

Hmm, looks like Earth-11 to me!

I know this takes place after Crisis on Infinite Earths and Earth-11 shouldn't exist but it does! Maybe this story takes place before Crisis? Maybe when the story reveals they're on Earth-11, the editor will provide a note, "*This story takes place before Crisis on Infinite Earths! -- Know-it-all Knobby!" Mallah introduces himself to Tin, the leader of the good guys, I guess?, by saying, "We're the Brotherhood!" I suppose I'd shorten the name of my organization when I met new people too if it were called The Brotherhood of Evil. Unless the new guy I was introducing myself to was like Kim Jong-un or Donald Trump or Mark Zuckerberg. I'm so tuned in to world events that I first typed "Mark Zupperberg" and couldn't figure out why it looked wrong.

Welcome to my new preschool, Tiny Tots Fucktown.

You might want to be upset with me for sexualizing young children but I'm not the fucking monster who made that advertisement. Ad Exec #1: "What if we show a guy building the model with a bunch of hot women getting wet over how well he's done it?" Ad Exec #2 Who is in Prison Now: "What if they were little kids?!" Was Earth-11 the one where DC put Tin Tin after they bought the rights? I mean, I don't know if they ever bought the rights but this guy is definitely Tintin, right?

He also rides a big white dog that he has yet to call Snowy but it's only a matter of panels.

Trapped on a world about to be destroyed (in a worse way than Tintin and his cohorts know! Crisis is coming! Or came? No, no! I sometimes forget comic books can tell tales from the past! Although weren't writers supposed to completely ignore the Pre-Crisis universe once Crisis on Infinite Earths completed? Or why even fucking bother?!), The Brotherhood of Evil decide to help Tintin and his rebels take back control from some guy called Minos. But they're only doing it for their own selfish ends. You might remember how their name has "evil" tacked onto the end.

You might have thought "cutting them down like grass" was the correct phrase and "mowing them down like paper mache" is stupid but this is Earth-11, dumb dumb.

Paper mache is how you spelled "papier-mâché" before you had the Internet. There might some other difference in this comic book due to the place in time it was written:

Fuck. Now I'm horny.

The Brotherhood help Tintin and his friends steal a space ark from their enemies so that Tintin and his friends can survive the destruction of Earth-11. Never mind what happens to the people of Earth who weren't offered the opportunity to become one of Tintin's group. In payment for their help, The Brotherhood of Evil are helped back to their own Earth where they can continue to be weird and impotent. The conclusion of the story has something to do with Doctor Mist and the Global Guardians helping make the universe a better place by saving Tintin (somehow! I mean, Crisis, right?! What the fuck?), getting some guy named Toulon killed (he's only "some guy" to me because sometimes these espionage plots are just too convoluted with too many normal characters I don't care about), and getting the Brotherhood of Evil killed. They fail in getting the Brotherhood killed but seem content with their other machinations. Plus, I'm sure Doctor Mist was happy to get a small role in this comic book to pay for his bowel cancer treatments. Teen Titans Spotlight #11: The Brotherhood of Evil Rating: B-. You know I don't put any thought into the grades I give these comic books, right? You know this isn't really a review site and just a way for me to enjoy my time reading comic books while journaling, right? You know my nemesis is still the Weird Science comics blog, right? What a bunch of squares!