#��Would I lie?” (Answered)

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.

[shirecorn]

WHY DO PEOPLE KEEP PRACTICING POOR INTERNET SAFETY AROUND ME

I don't want to know a teenager's age and state. I don't want to see your shirtless 6 year old daughter. I don't want to see kids selfies.

AND I DON'T WANT TO KNOW YOUR TRIGGERS, TRAUMAS, AND ILLNESSES.

stop stop stop stop stop JUST STOPIT

This isn't stuff I've stumbled on this is all shit that has been sent directly to me, unprompted, by people I'm friendly toward but don't consider friends. They don't know anything about me except that i am AN ADULT MAN

I CLAIM to be nice. I SAY I work at a cat shelter (what's more trustworthy than that?) but nobody verifies any of this!! They don't know my name, they can't look me up in a registry. I could be lying about all of it!

If you wouldn't show it to a known predator, please for the love of god don't show it to an unknown stranger. I am!!! A stranger!!

Even if you are friends with someone and you know about their work, school, personal life, family situation, friends, health, orientation, etc etc. If you haven't verified that ALWAYS CONSIDER IT MIGHT BE LIES. A predator could pretend to be a teenage girl and tell you about their day at school and the teacher that annoys them and it could be ALL LIES

What freaks me out is that I present myself exactly as I am. I am an adult man. And people still send me this. WHY ARE YOU SENDING THIS TO SOMEONE ON THE INTERNET. I'm ok knowing you as Tigerhawk17 I don't need to know your name and face and age and location please please please

DID YOU ASK YOUR SIX YEAR OLD IF YOU COULD SEND SHIRTLESS PICTURES OF HER TO A MAN ON THE INTERNET?

DOES SHE UNDERSTAND HOW BAD THAT IS???

[leclercskiesahead]

shellmotorsport It's here! Part two of @charles_leclerc and @carlossainz55 playing Two Truths and a Lie! Watch and guess along. (Part 1)

[deviousfatestudio]

I did make that sketchbook

[b0tster]

how much does eyeliner cost ruin your pockets per month? be honest with us

10 dollars a pen and i go through 2 sets of 2 a month (one for the outline one for fill) so 40 i guess lol?

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Of all the places you've been to, which was your favorite?

There’s this place near the end of my old prefecture in Japan called Karaoto seaside park. I’ve talked about it before, because it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.

The flowers bloom in winter. I used to wake up before sunrise and drive three hours, alone, to go see it during the covid early years. It was always empty, and the air smelled like heaven. It looked like this:

(It’s Ask Day! Ask me anything about anything. Tag to block/follow is L Answers)

[oceans-beloved]

Meme dump yayyy🥳✨️

(off to make more now muhahaha >:3)

[robobarbie]

i cant physically simp for xyx because if he were real he could live in my suburb and that is very scary to think about...

catch Xyx in the wild at your local Hungry Jack's

[necrotic-nephilim]

for the ask game

tim creates a clone of kon, but this is dicktim tim has to carry the fetus or breastfeed it, but dick suddenly gets a mommy kink and immediately falls in love

for the ask game!

DICKTIM MOMMY KINK. how did you know i have such a thing for just about any Batcest ship where the other person calls Tim mommy. i don't even know why i just think that shit is so fun.

it'd have to be Omegaverse for me, that's the only scenario i personally could write m-preg. i like the thought of no one knowing that Tim has gone on this crusade. and after 99 failures, Tim's so desperate and angry he tries in vitro fertilization. the first few times it doesn't work so he doesn't take it too seriously, at this point it's just a compulsion. he gets to a point he stops taking the pregnancy tests. so when about a month later, he's experiencing morning sickness and he's missed his heat, Tim has an 'oh, shit.' moment. and well. telling Dick first is his *natural* answer. (i think he'd also go to Steph, but in canon she'd be "dead" at this point) Tim doesn't know what to do, he didn't think he'd get this far. Dick is comforting and grounding, agreeing to help Tim hide this the best he can. Tim has to time it right, fake a bad injury so it makes sense he's benched and wearing baggy sweaters for a few months.

it's platonic at first. Dick is an alpha but his bond with Tim is more of a pack bond and he's just trying to help Tim through this awkward situation he got himself into. (and not laugh at him too much in the process bc well. only Tim. only Tim could manage this.) the pregnancy hormones have Tim all over the place. he's seeking comfort and Dick is trying to keep it platonic and professional, even when he's cuddling Tim or bringing him weird cravings at 2 am. the trust in Dick and Tim's bond makes Dick Tim's only real support system. (also just bc the Titans were a goddamn mess in this era) maybe at some point they tell Bruce the truth but Bruce is dealing with Jason so. bigger fish. it forces them closer as Dick is the only one who can help Tim with the awkward sides of pregnancy. Dick is basically living with Tim and because Tim can't satiate the itch to be in the field (he's tried sneaking out, it earned him a lecture from Dick and a warning that Dick would handcuff him to the radiator if Tim tried that again) so Tim runs comms. for anyone who asks, but mostly for Dick, to the point he's in Dick's ear even when Dick doesn't need the backup, just to keep each other company.

i think, as the pregnancy went on and Tim's chest started to fill out and his hips are bigger, that's when Dick's feeling shift. one second Tim is just his pack, the next Tim is suddenly a very pretty, very vulnerable omega that's Dick is protecting and his wires get all kinds of crossed about it. he starts dousing himself in scent blockers so Tim doesn't notice the change, can't smell how much Dick wants him. which makes Tim annoyed because Dick's scent has been a consistent calming factor keeping the worst of his hormones in check. it'd lead to an awkward fight where Dick is dancing around the truth and Tim just wants to bite him out of anger. finally, Dick admits it and. Tim kind of bluescreens bc sure he's had a crush on Dick for years, but it's sort of like your celebrity crush calling you up and asking for a date. it makes no sense and he can't wrap his head around it. he almost thinks Dick is making fun of him, because Tim is super self-conscious about the pregnancy and mortified he put himself in this situation. it takes a lot of reassurance and a long conversation, but. well, they do end up having sex.

Dick doesn't *mean* to call Tim mommy the first time. he knows Tim hates being emasculated as an omega, and knows Tim is vulnerable about being pregnant. their sex is gentle, no matter how much Tim insists he can take it because Dick doesn't want to hurt the baby, or Tim. it's when Tim finally huffs with annoyance and flips them over -reminding Dick that Tim is still trained and deadly, even like this- to take control and actually get the rough sex he needs right now, when it slips out. there's something just very pretty about Tim taking control and taking what he needs from Dick, but still being whiny and squirmy on top of him. so the first time Dick calls him mommy is an accident and they're *both* startled by just how much they like it. their sex life goes from soft and caring to *very* interesting overnight, where Dick doesn't hide how much he likes Tim's chest. and well. breastfeeding kink. for completely scientific reasons, of course. just to help the milk flow and make sure Tim's body is adjusting well. definitely not bc of the noises Tim makes when Dick does it no sir.

when Tim finally has the clone baby, they're both smitten with this tiny clone. i think they'd end up mating and either say it's Dick's baby or they adopted it. (the lie only works short term bc well, sooner or later that baby's going to start lifting trucks. not to mention Kon does come back to life and is perturbed by how much Tim's kid looks like him.) it's a very cute, fluffy happily ever after sort of deal, with plenty of mommy kink. i think Tim would be huffy and annoyed at how long he'd have to wait for sex bc in my mind, Tim uses sex as a stress relief and is very annoyed when he's deprived of it so, they'd find creative ways around it.

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

Shape do you see my vision bad would be about to ingest a perfectly normal weed brownie and missa would spot it an go OH NO HE'LL BREAK HIS FAMILY FRIENDLY RULE and rush to eat it. And then bad would be like oh missa!!! And as he likes to do with missa he Just lies to him. Yeah we've got everyone coming over better be ready to act normal forever. And missas just like

i see your vision

(og)

[echosong971]

I DONT KNOW WHAT LIES OF P IS BUT KEEP DRAWING THAT BOY PLEASE I BEG

OKAY o7

[bookdragon-shenanigans]

No hate but Violet being a truthsayer sounds so ridiculous because why would Violet have the same signet as one of Varrish's cronies 😭😭

[worstloki]

Fortesa Latifi, We Were Young

[manglam-marfach]

dyke!Chilaios has me understanding breeding kink all of a sudden

[aran-morinorea]

I wrote some more today! the boys are Getting Somewhere - not physically but they are dropping Important Info on each other

Laurefindelë knows what he’s looking for, and does not actually mind giving it, so to keep him at the edges Laurefindelë simply shows him. He remembers as vividly as he can Turukáno giving him the task, the journey here, the loss of his companions. Their speech is largely in Quenya, to which his host may take offense, but there’s nothing to be done about that. The intense stare does not abate. Without any pretense at a polite expression or tone, his host says, “What is your name, traveler? If we are to speak at length I would address you properly.” “Tell me what became of her,” Laurefindelë insists. In response he feels something in the back of his mind, ice at the top of his spine. “I do not like," his host says, flat and annoyed, "To repeat myself.” Laurefindelë breathes slowly and answers, “My name is Glorfindel of Gondolin,” because there is no point in losing the veneer of civility sooner than necessary. “Well met, Glorfindel. My name is Maeglin,” his host says, the ice receding from both his voice and Laurefindelë’s mind. “Son of Eöl and Írissë.”

[moeblob]

"Him? Oh, you know, he's kind of a loser." - probably everyone except for his younger brother.

Germaine is based on the layer of hell (Dante's Inferno) for material wealth before self, others, and god. So basically very materialistic and possessive of his belongings. Unfortunately, his younger brother qualifies as a belonging in his mind. So he does his absolute best to keep his brother safe and sound and scratch free - which is a bit tough in a post apocalyptic setting but he mostly manages.

Also a fact I just like to mention: he is incapable of lying.