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vee-crytraps · 6 months

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Kiss Me More | Ch 1 | {Groan}

SUMMARY: It’s been twelve long years since you were the sad little girl tugging on the tails of your adoptive father’s coat.

Your brothers take notice. AN: New to posting fics on Tumblr, feel free to read here or over on Ao3 under the username VenusCrytraps. Same bat time, same bat channel.

{Trigger warning/Themes Masterlist}

And yeah, i wanna spend the night with you Yeah, i wanna feel a beating, bleeding heart, don't you? Because i've never really known But i pinky promise you i'm grown And i wanna know what it feels like

You’re deep in your head as you lean forward in your vanity’s mirror, lightly dabbing away the smeared lipstick at the corner of your mouth with your middle finger. You don’t notice the creak of your door as it opens, and the protest of the frame as one of your many adopted siblings leans against it.

You don’t see the range of emotions he cycles through- some visible on his face, and others happening only in his head, behind those stormy green eyes.

“Yeah. I don’t think so.” Jason scoffs to himself after a minute, startling you. The tension drains from your shoulders as you turn around to see him standing there, all geared up in his Red Hood uniform sans the armor and that goofy fucking helmet of his. Your surprise has less to do with the atrophied instincts you’ve barely managed to keep from your two weeks as Robin back in the day, and more to do with the strangeness of Jason serving you his best impression of Dick’s Blue Steel, A.K.A, his ’Concerned Big Brother’ face. Something your oldest brother pulled so often, he could have it patented. It looks totally ridiculous on Jason, a dude you legitimately haven’t seen out of his uniform since he was welcomed back into the family. You think to yourself that he must be doing his rounds, doing his best to repair the dynamics that were lost when he died, and soured when the pit left him more than a little trigger happy.

Still, you remind yourself of Dick’s advice, to reward vulnerability and welcome these moments. Jason was supposedly quite fragile beyond his hulking form.

You sighed. “What can I do for you?”

There was some lingering awkwardness around the fact that he’d briefly dedicated his life to ending your dads, but if Bruce could trust him enough to welcome him anywhere near the Batcave, you supposed you could, too. He was trying his best, after all. You just wish he’d take it elsewhere, for once.

Still, you’ll play along.

“Where the hell are you going?” Dressed like that, was the implication that hung in the air. You’re smart enough to fill in the blank. He’s smart enough to let you.

“Out.” You turn around, unable to help but be a little bit guarded about this particular line of questioning.

God, on all the nights…

Turning your back to him, you casually resume your preening. He doesn’t at all remember you being this stubborn, but he’d died and come back to find you a whole lot older than he remembered.

“Out,” Jason repeated, exhaling heavily as he pushed off the doorframe. Jason was your age, once. He knew all about ‘out’. When he was in your shoes, going to Gotham Academy, making those fancy friends with more money than sense, ‘out’ meant joyriding around, bar hopping with fake ID’s and hooking up with fast, socialite girls wearing skirts not unlike the one you sported as you shifted in your plush vanity seat.

“What’s his name?”

“Are you still here?”

It slips out of you before you can remind yourself of Dick’s instruction to give Jason the room and encouragement he needed to be a part of your life again. As if he were a scared cat, and not a six-foot-something giant with the wrong kind of bodycount.

You try again, but it doesn’t come out any more cordial. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

Jason raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting that. He also wasn’t expecting you to look so…grown up. His gaze flickered over you, over the short skirt and lace trimmed cardigan you were wearing. Over the way you applied that mascara and eyeliner with practiced skill and patience.

You were beautiful. God damn it, Bruce.

Catching his gaze in the mirror, you falter. His unreadable stare pulls the plug on your brat-ittude. A sigh escapes you.

“I’ll be careful, Jay. I promise.” You mumble, capping your eyeliner with finality as you give into this game of house he insisted on playing with you. When your eyes finally flicker up to meet his again, something in them seems…changed. The expression he wears is no longer unreadable. You recognize it, but can’t seem to place it. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you, but it’s been just as long since you were able to get a good look at him, too.

And then it’s there, again. The guilt and shame that coils within you as you notice the way his arms bulge under the brown leather of his jacket, the set of his strong jaw and the pout of his full bottom lip. You want to bash your head against your vanity. Tonight was supposed to be your night to get away from this feeling. To distract yourself with normal boys that weren't off limits. To cure yourself of the way you instantly became distracted whenever your brothers were near.

Adoptive brothers, you remind yourself inwardly. But you know that fact doesn’t make you feel any less fucking gross.

For as much as you appreciated some of the upsides of puberty hitting you like a train, there were some notable downsides, too. Inappropriate attraction to the other gorgeous men that live in this house aside, you’d found yourself concerned with things you had always prided yourself on being above. The way you gravitated towards more flattering clothes and cuter underwear, your proclivity for flavored lipgloss and this…overwhelming desire to feel attractive had you feeling so unlike yourself that it was hard to embrace the change, let alone enjoy it. Sometimes, the process of becoming a woman often felt like you were being beat with a pretty pink nightstick.

It takes you a moment to realize you’ve been quiet for a strange amount of time. And the knowledge that he has too makes you tense in places you didn’t know you could.

“Besides,” You continue, though too much time has passed to really consider it a continuation of your promise. “I’ve got backup.”

Swiveling around in your vanity’s chair, you don a self satisfied smirk as you slip the hem of your skirt up your thigh just a smidge, exposing the knife holstered to your thigh.

Jason’s eyebrows almost hit the ceiling. He wasn’t expecting that of all things. Not the sight of you, gorgeous and young and supposedly retired from this whole vigilante thing having a butterfly knife strapped to your leg. He wasn’t expecting the thrill he was getting just by looking at it, and how much he wanted to see it in use.

What is wrong with me?

He clears his throat to regain his composure.

“Where the hell did you get that?” He asks, his voice rougher than before.

“Where do you think?” You can’t help but laugh, tugging the hem of your skirt back down. Your sharp tongue gets him hot under his collar in a way he is beyond not proud of.

Still, he joins you, letting out a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a snort. The moment brings about a sense of familiarity, the conversation finding a groove it hasn’t been able to since before he had died.

Clearing his throat again, he has to fight against the heat threatening to rise in his face- unable to do much about the blood rushing south. “Look. I know it’s not my place, just…I’m concerned. About you going outside wearing…” The way he vaguely gestures to your outfit with his hands makes you forget he’s supposed to be some kind of sharpshooter.

“I’m…going on a date.” You finally answer, offering an olive branch. Maybe the truth really will set you free. From this cage of Wayne Manor, from the clear gloss, sensible shoes and frumpy skirts that were good for your optics, whatever the fuck that meant. Jason was in your shoes, once. Under the microscope of society, young and repping the name of an entire family on your back. You hope he can relate, and give you some grace. So you lay it on. Thick.

“Do you like it? It’s pretty much brand new. I never get to wear it, because there is no way dad would ever let me out dressed like this.”

Jason nods slowly.

He likes more than your outfit.

“You’re going on a date.” He turns it over in his mind. It seems his suspicions were correct. “And…Bruce doesn’t even know?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that. As if you told him where you were sneaking off to when you were my age. And don’t you dare say it was different or whatever bullshit you’re about to-“

Jason crosses the room to your still seated form before you can finish, stepping into your personal space and placing a hand under your chin. He lifts it gently, and tries not to absolutely lose it at the way you look up at him from beneath your lashes.

“Where is he taking you?” Jason asks, his voice low and rough.

You do your best to beat back that feeling again. The warmth in your core is persistent, but you’ve had a few years of practice surpassing it. Digging your nails into your palm, you try not to observe how handsome he looks, even now, with that spark of disapproval in his gaze. Focusing hard, you manage not to bite your lip at his tone.

“Drive-in.” The truth slips from you quickly, and quieter than it would have several minutes ago, when you couldn’t smell his cologne. You lean into his touch imperceptibly. “And then there’s a party we might stop by.”

“Drive-in?” Jason repeats, his eyebrows arching. “Like, a literal movie drive-in? Do those places still actually exist?” His fingers tighten, his thumb rubbing against your chin- dangerously close to the fullness of your bottom lip. There’s no way you could miss the way his eyes devour your face. And drop to your lips.

“Uh-huh.” You confirm, dropping your chin ever so little, kissing his thumb. “They’re popular spots. Sitting in your car with your date. Alone, in the dark.”

“God, you’re killing me right now.” His heart pounds as your lips touch his thumb, but makes no move to pull it away. His fingers grip your chin a little tighter. His other hand comes to your neck, the pads of his fingers brushing over it gently. “You’re just begging to be kissed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” the word escapes you breathlessly. It’s so fucking embarrassing. You can’t help it. That you care so much about your hair, that your showers are extra long and that you’re so horny all the fucking time now because living in his house is like being in the Olympic village- constantly surrounded by beautifully sculpted people. It was beyond difficult, even if you were now counted among them.

Jason doesn’t care that your door is cracked open or if anyone could walk in and see you. He drops one hand off of your chin, and the one tracing your pulse trails back and up into your hair, forgetting himself as he fists the strands and tugs it back.

“God, look at you.”

It’s all he can manage before he’s leaning down, pressing his lips to yours. The discovery of your flavored lipgloss sets off a wave of possessiveness in him when he thinks that some other punk was planning to savor the taste. He wants it to be just for him.

You kiss him back before you can think about it. You’re touch starved and aching, barely thinking straight as he lifts you into his arms with his impossible strength and picks you up as if you weigh less than nothing. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist. Breaking the kiss, your hands find his face, thumbs brushing over the scars on his cheek. “Forgot how strong you are, Jay.”

He lays you across the bed with one swift motion and kneels between your legs as his large hands roam your thighs. You know for a fact that your skin is soft and smooth. Your Everything Shower routine was of the gods.

“You’ve grown up, baby bat.”

His dark eyes bore into you, the old nickname rolling off of his tongue with ease. It no longer brings an irritated flush to your face the way it did when you were still playing with dolls. For a moment, he’s reminded of the fact that he was here to try and step into that role again. To be the brother that keeps you from making the sort of dumb mistakes he had been known for at your age, and not to touch you- but you’re so soft and so sweet. There’s no pity in your eyes, or fear of the monster he used to be. He can't decide if he wants to cherish you or ruin you, but he's greedy enough to try and get away with both.

Manicured fingers twitch to the front tie of your lace cardigan. The edge of the ribbon rests between your forefinger and thumb before you slowly pull, releasing the bow. You reveal your bare, ample chest to him as you agree breathlessly. “Yeah,”

Jason bites his lip at the sight of your chest. A deep sense of satisfaction fills him as you reveal yourself to him, and the hand on your thigh rises slowly, stopping at your hip. He lets out a soft groan as he promptly resumes to think with the wrong head.

Catching his gaze, you drag your nails down his chest, fingers stopping at his belt. Tilting your head, you don’t bother to look as you work on undoing the buckle and pull it free from the loops of his pants. “Jay,” You whisper.

“Don’t call me that.” His voice is low, his gaze still boring into yours. “It makes me…feel a certain type of way.” Tilting his head back a little, he lets out another soft grunt when he feels you working open the front of his pants. His eyes fall shut. He seems to be on the verge of something, no doubt attempting to convince himself to stop before the two of you do something you can’t take back.

“What if I want you to feel that way?” You ask, dipping your hand beneath the open waistband of his pants, your soft fingers brushing against his swelling cock.

“Jesus Christ.” Releasing a deep breath, he looks down at you. His hand travels up to your throat, fingers digging into your skin.

“Please.” You finally just beg him, your bare chest heaving as you attempt not to squirm with the anticipation. “Please, Jay. Please.” How long has it been, since you were touched? Yeah, you were gorgeous, and fairly popular at school, but being involved with the precious daughter of the ‘prince of Gotham’ was often too risky for a lot of the guys at school. With you, they couldn't get away with half of the things they could with some of the other girls you know. And then there’s Jason. Someone she’s known for a good chunk of her life. Someone she trusts, someone she’s mourned, and most importantly- someone who is not afraid of Bruce Wayne.

The dying embers of his resolve are snuffed out the minute you shift your hips, that too short skirt riding up and revealing your absolutely soaked panties. And fuck, has he even touched you yet?

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, sweetheart. I got you.” Jason leans over you, one hand supporting himself by your head as the other drags your underwear to the side. Two of his calloused fingers stroke your slippery folds, covering his hand in your warm slick before he fists his thick cock.

He brings the blunt head of him close to you, stroking your clit before it brushes against your core. “Relax for me, sweetheart. You gotta let me in.” He murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Hold onto me.”

You do. Your fingers dig into his strong shoulders as he finally manages to push into you with a long suffering groan. You’re no virgin, but you’re half his size, and so, he bets, was every other chump you had before him. And from the way your walls quiver and stretch around him? He also bets that list is pretty short.

“ ’S okay, princess,” He breathes, his pupils blown wide. It takes everything in him not to pin you down and absolutely destroy you, but he reminds himself that your desperation does’t equal experience. You can act as fast as you want, you still need time to adjust to him.

“Oooh, fuck.” Jason hisses, his nails digging into the sheets beside you as he somehow manages to bottom out. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You can feel his shoulders tense under your palms, and your soft hands slip down his biceps until you’re holding his forearms. You’re so tight it’s criminal, and he can’t even focus as he begins to thrust into you.

His name sounds magical coming from your lips, and you look so gorgeous beneath him, your eyes screwed shut in pleasure as he fucks you hard and deep and bare. Your cunt is noisy and desperate, sucking him deep into your impossible warmth, covering every inch of him in your slick. His hand finds your throat again, and he can feel the way you squeeze around him in response. He groans complete delight. “You like that? Huh?”

Something akin to a yes escapes you as he begins to fuck you harder, the wood of the antique bed frame creaking in protest as your distant sort-of-stepbrother practically folds you in half, seemingly unable to get deep enough inside of you. Jason is a complete mess above you as you all but melt into your sheets, fingers tangled in the linens as each deep thrust forces a desperate whine from your parted lips.

“Such a perfect little cunt. So warm and fuckin’ wet-“ His free hand greedily palms at your tits as a string of other obscenities that make your clit throb begin to fall from his lips. He finds a spot deep within you that makes your toes curl and your walls tighten, and he grips your hips for leverage as he abuses it relentlessly. The difference between you is such that he barely has to shift his hand from your thigh to have his thumb roll over your clit shortly after you feel him spit on it, the oddity and the sudden stimulation forcing your back to arch.

There’s a part of him that hasn’t yet forgiven Bruce for leaving him to die, and that part greedily soaks up the sight of you coming undone beneath him, your tits bouncing as your back arches off of your bed. You may be barely an adult, but you’re still Bruce Wayne’s little girl, too precious for combat, but not too precious for Jason to spread you open on your pastel linens, under your daddy’s roof. You cream around his cock as your greedy walls threaten to milk him but he refuses to let up, determined to bully another orgasm out of you before he’s through.

“Tell me you want it,” Of course he knows you do. You’re the one who practically scrambled for his belt the minute he got you onto the bed, but it’s not enough to see it. He wants to hear you say it. To beg for him His voice is hoarse. Desperate. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” You manage, barely able to get the words out. “Want you, I want you-“ His nails bite into your thigh and you can hear the blood rushing to your ears.

“Jason,” You look up at him through your lashes, tears of pleasure collecting in the corners of your pretty eyes. He mumbles your name in return, leaning down to kiss your shoulder.

“Get off in me.”

“Fuck!” His orgasm hits him like a train almost instantly, and he grinds into you needily with a disbelieving groan, filling you up. Your eyes nearly roll back as you come undone around him, and you’re not even though your orgasm before he lets out a barely coherent whine that sounds like it could be ‘good girl’ or ‘dirty fucking tease’. Your mind is spinning too much to make sense of anything and you decide take your pick, leaning back into your nest of plush blankets and pillows.

“Shit,” You breathe, exhausted.

“Yeah.” He agrees.

Jason allows himself to roll off of you, the bed creaking with impact as he collapses beside you with an uneven exhale. You close your eyes and try to catch your breath, hearing the shifting of his tactical pants beside you as he tucks his cock away. He casts a sidelong glance at you, swallowing before he can think of something to say. “That…you were okay with that, right?”

It takes a good moment to register the words, and you blink your eyes open. Turning to your side, you meet his gaze. You’re both sweating, and you feel decidedly un-sexy with his cooling cum leaking out of you. “What…what are you asking me?” You frown.

Jason tilts his head towards you. “It’s just…you know. What I was like before you uh…grew up.” His thoughts trail off, and his face creases with a frown as he tries to get through the next few words. “I just. I want to make sure…” A deep breath. Another heartbeat. “I can be rough, is all.” His expression softens, and guilt begins to seep in. You may live under this roof, but you aren’t like him. Not really. You were the soft one. The normal one. And that makes him feel equal amounts of pride and shame when he thinks about what you two have just done.

“Hey,” You recognize that shame, and you decide to put a stop to it before he overflows with it. “I may not spend my nights being tossed around by thugs anymore, but Gotham is rough. Our life is rough.”

Reaching out, you rest a hand over his heart, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. “But…being here…like this- with you? Being roughed up doesn’t have to suck.” Sitting up, you offer him a smile. “In fact, it felt so good I came twice. So. You know.”

Your answer is honest, and he can’t help but chuckle as he moves to sit up with you. His hand moves to caress the side of your face. You lean into his hand, and his gaze softens.

“You’re so different than you used to be.” His words come out in a whisper, and his thumb traces your jawline. “I want to keep you safe from this. But…I like this side of you. I like what I can bring out of you.”

“It’s been a long time, Jay.” You mumbled, closing your eyes. "A really long time."

You open them when you feel the way his lips brush against your forehead. They linger there for a heartbeat.

The moment is cut shot when you can hear the pneumatic hiss of the downstairs grandfather clock as it swings open, no doubt your adoptive dad home from patrol. “Shit. Dad’s home,” You whisper, and Jason grumbles as he leans against the headboard to catch his breath, watching you sit up. “You sure know how to kill the mood.”

“Dude, I just let you unload in me. I am the mood. So like, zip it.” You huff, fixing your underwear. Jason, despite his casually annoyed exterior, is lighter on his feet than you’ve ever seen him as he moves to get off of your bed. He’s sneaking out of here like his life depends on it, but he has the feeling it actually might.

“See you at breakfast, Jay!” You call a little too loudly, snickering at the way he tenses up in fear. He makes sure to flip you off right before he disappears past the doorframe, and you walk over and shut it.

Looking over to your desk, you see the screen of your phone is lit up, flooded with half an hours worth of texts and missed calls.

Guess you missed your date.

I ain't scared of boys, but boy, you're a man And if anybody could, I'm sure you can For a girl this young, naive, and miserable

#v.fic #batfam x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you

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kaurwreck · 4 days

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okay, so, what if aya has been passively exercising an ability this entire time.

aya koda (author) wrote and reflected on the profundity of the past, observing even her most complicated relationships with immense and broadminded humanity. she was responsive and filial in her conservation of others through memory, even when communicating with herself through them. further, her writing is not cerebral or fanciful or nostalgic. it is contained within narrow, mundane realities like homemaking, bitterly aging parents, stifling expectations, physical illness, and the material world. but the wisdom, humor, and frankness of her sharp attention to detail lend an elegant and mature candor to her impressions of the past imbuing meaning into the commonplace, without romanticizing or deifying it. the distinctiveness of her internity radiates optimism and magnetic humility, rendering her world remarkable.

in other words, she's capable of sweeping ennui from even atrophy through sheer, clearminded ardence, refusing to cheapen her world despite its fickle propensity for change — and that is what bsd!aya brings to her every panel. she's so small and is only a civilian, but she is never swept beneath the gravity of the scenes unfolding around her. because even though she is little, she expands in others their immense capacity for change by enveloping them within the wideness of her own sincerity and perceptive verve. but I think it's more than just her energy that galvanizes others; I think that's her skill.

(analysis + skill explanation under the cut to spare everyone's dashes)

like, that's how she keeps collecting all of these older brother and father figures.

Kunikida becomes shaken when confronted by his helplessness and loss of life, he will waver and curl into himself until grounded again. In the Cannibalism arc, Ranpo brought him back to his feet, but he still sought to self flagellate after. In the Hunting Dogs arc, he threw himself from a helicopter and absorbed the impact of a grenade with his own hands to mitigate the potential for lost life, but not before visibly panicking. But, in the Walking Alone OVA, he is tied to a pillar and confronted by his past failure in the form of his former student, who he not only didn't reach, but seemingly instigated into an act of domestic terrorism. A young man, like Rokuzo, an explosion, like the Azure Messengers'—this time staking hundreds of civilians lives and that of a ten year old child who has a bomb strapped to her chest while he is being physically beaten with Ideals and enduring PTSD flashbacks of Sasaki's death (who he also envisioned while under Q's curse). But he's scarcely lowered his head when Aya calls out, "Kunikida!" — to which he replies, "That's Kunikida-san," which he previously told her to use for him because when he cares to mentor others, he tends to lecture them and demand proper behavior from them. From that moment forward, he is in his best form, stalwart and brave and resourceful and utterly serene against that which he cannot change or control— even relying on Yosano's schedule for the critical moment.

It's easy to miss that this scene contrasts with the other, similar instances where he's frozen or faltered, because he does find himself again each time. That's because the capacity is always within him, and he's far more balanced than anyone gives him credit (especially when set against his irl...). But, he isn't serene, his fear of loss and lack of control are things he still grapples with, and they usually spill from him in these moments and their aftermath. He hasn't fully self actualized, and although he pulls through each time, ideals intact, he has to wrestle that from himself (which he alludes to quite literally in Dead Apple). Yet, even as he was thrust into a full-blown panic attack, he caught that Aya called him by his name without a suffix and was rendered self-possessed enough to correct her, and then seamlessly move into what needed to be done without a moment of doubt. Then, even after that, he is thrown into a literal trolley problem. But, again, he doesn't waver. He remembers Sasaki and Rozuko, but not involuntarily; he invokes them with aplomb and acceptance, holding them and what they meant to him as strengthening, rather than destabilizing, his commitment to his ideals. Despite his habit of approaching those he cares about rigidly and patronizingly, he fluidly sinks to his knees and embraces Aya (and thus his own humanity and limitations) sincerely and warmly, promising her that he will hold her through it and cradling her without any awkwardness or reticence.

The name of the OVA comes from the literal translation of "Doppo," which means lone wanderer and invokes the image of a solitary wanderer— but "lone" isn't a character invoking loneliness; it implies that he's peerless, unparalleled, matchless. His name is a double entendre speaking to his individualism and invoking the image of an iconoclast heroic figure standing above the fray of mediocrity— which is the impression that made his former student feel taunted and spat upon. But, he sheds his lofty veneer in this OVA and expresses the height of who he's capable of becoming when grounded in reality but unhibited by fear and self-doubt: the Confucian virtue of ren, meaning humaness or benevolence. For Confucius, it was illustrated by love for others, including within relationships between people. But it further encompasses an inner drive for altruism that's cognizant that one is never alone in the home, the state, the world, and, ultimately, the cosmology of the universe.

If it were only Kunikida, I would think it an illustration of what he'll be as a leader or a moment of clarity. But Aya manages to reach Bram past centuries of ennui and morbid depression and learned helplessness. Not immediately, but by satisfying his seemingly silly and, to him, unattainable want for something as mundane as a radio. She does him one better and introduces him to streaming & earbuds, and quite literally expands his whole world so that he's, however briefly, no longer immobilized within the claustrophobic confines of his coffin, but floating untethered in the ever expanding vacuum of space. He wanted a radio, but, really, he wanted music that would take him outside of himself and the limitations of his reality, which he could consistently have with him in lieu of company to transcend the constraints of his purgatory. Shortly thereafter, despite Fukuchi having command over his kin through the sword and seal, Bram regains his air of nobility to snap, "Impudent!" at a vampire such that the vampire recoiled and even l looked askance. Further, like Kunikida, Bram is swept into his memories when he looks at Aya— but not wistfully or bitterly. They're light and beautiful and remind him of who he is and what is precious to him— his family and his vassals, his duty to whom had given him purpose and meaning. I'd relate his oath to Aya and his renewed observance of his role before his kin to the Confucian virtue li, meaning propriety, or observance of the formal rules of proper conduct conducive to social harmony.

She does it to Fyodor, too, whose triggering detail is her dirty hair. He attributes his compulsion to spare her as Bram's lingering oath, but I think it's a reflection of Fyodor's own inclination towards children. (I know he kills children in canon, but his perceptions of suffering and salvation are violently skewed, and so his expressions of righteousness (as in the Confucian virtue yi) look to us like sadistic violence.)

Which is to say, I think Aya brings out the highest capacity in others, triggered when they latch onto a detail she offers them that may appear mundane, but which touches on some core aspect of who they are or their memories.

I think she'll do the same for Akutagawa, which will be part of the transformation he undergoes from the version of him clinging to the spider's thread from irl!Akutagawa's short story of the same name (the headspace that causes Rashomon to resemble spider legs) to becoming the dragon complement to Atsushi's tiger (the imagery invoked by his armor from the teaser at the end of S5). The Confucian virtue I'd assign him would be xin, aligning ones actions with one's word/ honesty, sincerity, and faithfulness. Akutagawa keeps his promises.

(I specifically think Aya is elevating the Confucian virtue each character most embodies, which aligns with irl!Aya Koda's education in Confucian ethics as taught by her father; if that isn't apparent yet.)

This ability is more conceptual than many of the others, but the precedent for an ability like this is there in Fukuzawa's All Men Are Created Equal and Lippmann's unnamed ability, which reacted to and countered others' murderous intent.

Anyway, so yeah. I think Aya's ability is a mirror into the best, most focused versions of those who see in her some detail revealing themselves.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd aya #aya koda #aya's skill #bsd theory #sorry this is messy and not as organized or articulate as i wanted #but better i offer it now than let it rot in my drafts

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avalonia320 · 1 month

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all of the ghouls come out to play

I'm flexing my slightly atrophied writer's muscles with a swing at an IWTV fic. Here's a sneak peek if anyone's interested. This is going to be a canon compliant fic, bridging the gap between season 2 & season 3. Louis has returned to New Orleans once more to reconnect with Lestat, but this time Lestat is no where to be found. Instead, Louis is distracted by dreams of Claudia and reaches out for help. This fic will cover the beginning of Ghost Claudia, & maybe even the start of Devil's Minion.

This is from the first chapter, after Louis has woken up from a particularly intense dream. I have to say, I really enjoy writing Louis/Daniel convos.

***

A few minutes later, Louis found what he was looking for: Daniel, in a bar in Chicago, side-eyeing a bartender who had watered down his drinks like the man was lunch. Which, by the direction of Daniel’s thoughts, was exactly what the man was going to be. A high price for trying to save 50 cents on bourbon.

Daniel, it’s Louis.

Louis du Pointe du Lac. It’s about fucking time. Glad to hear you’re still alive. You went radio silent after your big challenge. I was getting a little concerned.

He got right to the point. I need a favor. I need you to use your research skills to check on something for me. Something to do with Paris.

Of course it’s fucking Paris. I knew all that ‘time heals’ crap was bullshit. What is it that you’re wanting to know?

Louis steeled himself. I had a dream. About Claudia. It took him several painful minutes to explain, recounting everything he had seen, what he thought it might mean.

There was a long silence once Louis was done speaking. He could picture Daniel so clearly, as if he were in front of him, reading the expression Daniel undoubtedly had on his face right now. The disapproval. The worry tinged with fear. And finally…that hint of insatiable curiosity that Louis was banking on.

Daniel, he thought finally. Will you look into it or not?

I'm just trying to think how to talk you out of this. You know this is a bad road to go down.

I’m having these dreams for a reason. I need to know. If it’s really her or if I’m just -

Crazy? I hate to say it - alright I’m lying, I enjoy saying it - but we both know that crazy train pulled out of the station a long, long time ago.

Louis chuckled quietly to himself. That may be true, he admitted. But I still need to know.

You want my advice? Of course you don’t but I’m gonna give it to you anyway. Let a dream be just a dream. You don’t always need to go digging up the bones, trying to see if they’ll talk to you.

I trust you understand the rich irony of those words coming from you, my friend.

A long capitulating sigh was the only response for several seconds before Daniel spoke again. Fine. I’ll look into it. His words were saturated with reluctance. At least tell me something good. Tell me you’re not in Dubai anymore.

I’m not in Dubai. I’m in New Orleans.

Oh Jesus fucking Christ. Daniel groaned loudly. No wonder you’re in the mood for a seance. You know that’s the first place anyone’s gonna come looking for you once they figure out you’re not in Dubai.

It’s sweet that you care, Daniel. But this is where I need to be right now.

Who says I care? I just need you alive for the next book.

Louis smiled to himself. Sure.

OK, I admit it. I care. So listen to what I’m saying now. There’s nothing for you in New Orleans. Lestat isn’t even there anymore. Stop chasing ghosts and come visit me instead. I’m flying out to California to start the second half of the press tour tomorrow. Why don’t you come with me? You don’t have to be on camera if you don’t want to. We can relive old times at Polynesian Mary’s when we’re in San Francisco. Go night swimming in Santa Monica. It’ll be good for you.

Louis stretched before he stood up, stepping out of the coffin. It’s tempting. But I’m not ready to - He stopped as sudden realization struck him. Wait. How do you know Lestat isn’t in New Orleans anymore?

There was an uncharacteristic hesitation. Uh..

What is it that you’re not telling me, Daniel?

My agent’s calling me. I have to go.

DANIEL.

I’m hanging up now. This is me slamming down the metaphorical phone. If you really want to know, get on a fucking plane. His voice gentled slightly. I’ll let you know what I find out about Paris.

DANIEL MOLLOY DON’T YOU DARE -

It was too late. Daniel’s voice was gone.

#iwtv fanfiction #iwtv #louis du pointe du lac #daniel molloy #claudia de lioncourt #ghost claudia #my writing #lestat de lioncourt

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rodauce · 6 months

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La coordination des mouvements

Se fit plus difficile

Comme une montagne à franchir

L'air aussi était plus rare.

Le passé pesé

Causait une atrophie du coeur

La ligne de vie

Racontait une histoire ancienne

Comme un rêve diurne

Il fallait contourner des blocs

D'amnésie

Des visages sans empreintes

Et quand soi-même on s'oubliait

Le parfum de la journée

Et le contour des formes

Donnaient à lire

Une histoire du présent

Étale, friable, faite de miroitements.

Ainsi allaient les heures

D'avant l'aube blanche

Jusqu'aux rosées du soir.

#txt #rodauce

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fattlestacks · 4 months

Note

hey im sorry but ive been so intrigued by your artstyle ever since i first saw it but what are your inspirations for your art?

idk how to describe it besides "western" like idk,, maybe 80s/90s furry artstyle?? its just so unique but looks so familiar also

My memory is honestly trash... but off the top of my head I'd say childhood influences were MC Skat Kat, Roger Rabbit and Rumiko Takahashi.

As a teen/young adult Terry Moore, Johnen Vasquez and Todd Nauck.

These days... I don't know. I did get pretty heavy into Osomatsu San for a while, haha. My brain may be atrophying with age though...

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thaltro · 4 months

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Atrophy is the main antagonist is the psych sans comic (NightWatch Au) and I love writing him. The comic is going well and my first chapter should be out in August ❤️ love y’all

#sans au #undertale au #utmv #psychology sans #nightmare sans #Atrophy sans #NightWatch au #yippie #he’s a HORRIBLE person #but so fun to write #Spotify

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ovaruling · 1 year

Text

something something a post about how infuriating it is to see the stereotype of “girl or woman (often housewife) who talks on the phone gossiping with venom with her friends for absurd lengths of egregiously wasteful time.”

so, just to understand the suddenness and scope of the specific timeline of telephone communication—the telephone was patented in 1876. some light google research suggests to me that by 1900 there were nearly 600,000 phones in Bell’s ~telephone system. 2.2 million phones by 1905, 5.8 million by 1910.

the transcontinental telephone line began operating in 1915 (New York to San Francisco). by 1927 more than 3 million miles of long-distance circuits covered the entire United States. the first “official” (using a commercially available system, that is) transatlantic phone call took place in 1927, between the U.S. and England.

the conversation of government regulation of “the telephone company” and whose telephone could call to whose and for the cost of what is more complicated, but i’m just on the broad discussion of the barest bones of milestones here: as a laywoman i can more or less assert that the telephone was a fairly common household item in a number of countries by the 1920s-1930s.

now. this tidbit from the wiki of the history of the telephone caught my eye.

which is exactly what i have been thinking about today.

the book cited is “Technology and Women’s Voices: Keeping in Touch” published in 1988. it’s definitely going on my reading list immediately bc this is a topic always running in the back of my mind every time i open this app and communicate with other women—and, on a related plane of this concept, i can even freely witness the past and present communication between other women online and learn from it.

there are so many aspects of technology that women are cut out of. the telephone absolutely revolutionized the way women who were kept away from society could participate in it, and it was women seeking community and communication that seems to have been responsible for the telephone’s mass success.

but the image that has stuck to us? the featherbrained, self-absorbed girl or woman shirking her servitude by gossiping on her telephone all day long. updated only slightly to the image of the modern girl or woman on her cellphone. the view of us has always been the same. our efforts at reaching out to the society we are paradoxically both exploited in yet kept out of are trivialized. we are infantalized for long calls catching up with friends, for long or rapid fire texts, for long posts.

and it’s our communication that has been suppressed and silenced with focused effort at every turn. it’s our voices that have taken advantage of every opportunity to break through just to fucking SPEAK to one another.

i’m thinking of how it must have felt as a confined woman in an era without social media to be able to call another woman from the prison of your home and say to her in the prison of her home, “hello, my friend, how are you?”

idk where i’m going with this. there’s no structure to this post. just. here to say. that there are women in my phone from all over the world, from so many different regions—thousands and thousands of miles away from where i sit. and—to emphasize how amazing it is that we can speak to each other, in spite of everything.

and how communication remains a vital strength of our group that we cannot let atrophy. so, so much of our global history survives only because we have communicated it, girl to girl, woman to woman, grandmother to granddaughter, friend to friend, and so on.

so i guess what i’m saying is: keep talking. keep posting. keep closing the separation men wedge between us.

#to say nothing of the women who operated switchboards #as a woman mostly confined to my home about 88% of the time bc of medical problems i just think abt this a lot

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cynocardia · 1 year

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beware of dog

"For instance, in San Francisco a law of 1867 deemed it illegal for "any person, who is diseased, maimed, mutilated or deformed in any way, so as to be an unsightly or disgusting object, to expose himself or herself to public view." [2][1] "

[ID: simple digital art piece of a person standing in a white void, with weak legs. they are underweight and their face and body is atrophied, with a lopsided face. they have forehead lines and their right eye is lazy, with hypertropia. they are wearing a T shirt, pants, and socks. they use a forearm crutch on the right side. the right side of their mouth sags. there is a shiny red magnifying glass over their face with a bright lens, which makes them hard to see. inside of the person's lines are many splotches of different colors, and their lineart is also these colors. end ID]

#disability #chronic illness #visible disability #cripple punk #it's not but people do this so i'm doing it. sorry #eye strain #?

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raccoonsunratdust · 2 years

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No Bones About It

Welcome to my newest passion project that I will most likely abandon immediately

a skeleharem isekai written by your favorite void uncle itself

Kini

enjoy~~

~|~

When a beam of light shot out from the ground of an isolated backyard, the residents all startled and rushed to see what could have caused this incident. Perhaps the machine had malfunctioned again? Maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever had happened, it caused a group of figures to start moving to the source of the explosion.

Classic sat silently in the spare bedroom they had converted into a triage room for the injured, from the looks of it, human they had found in their backyard. He stared, unblinking, frustration lacing his magic and making him shake slightly. They had been laying there, unmoving, for the past three days. Some of the others had been getting worried, scared that the fall had killed them. He had to admit, when he saw them in the crater, their mangled body unresponsive, he was worried he’d have to fill in the hole as their final resting ground. But when Blue jumped in to check for a pulse, and actually found one, the chaos started.

His brother took the liberty of preparing the empty room for the injured human, it was getting hard to refer to them as anything else, and Blue started to load them up with healing magic. It was horrifying to listen to their bones crack back into place, those would not be healing fully anytime soon. Classic kept a calm facade and pulled out his phone to call Toriel, no use in freaking her out until she saw the damage herself. Dialing her number, he turned away from the carnage to watch the others. Not many were home, most were off working or doing whatever it was they liked to do in their spare time.

Toriel picked up on the second ring.

“Sans? Hello! It’s been so long since we talked, how have you been?”

“I’ve been good, Tori. Hey, I’ve got a huge favor to ask you…”

When Toriel showed up, the human had already been moved into, he hated the thought of this strange person having a claim in his new family’s home, their room. Upon seeing them, she immediately broke into motherhen mode. She administered first aid the magic couldn’t perform, bandaging them up and fashioning splints to keep their healing bones in place. After scolding them all for not telling her what had happened so she would be more prepared, she went home, leaving the boys to figure out what to do with the unconscious human in their guest room.

That was three days ago. They had taken turns watching them, monitoring their healing and changing their bandages. It was difficult explaining the situation to the rest of their housemates, but they couldn’t just keep something like this a secret forever. The air was stagnant and heavy. When Toriel had visited that first day, she washed the human of the blood and dirt that covered them. She figured none of the residents were willing to, and she was right. The only skeletons willing to watch over the human were either too uncomfortable to undress them or simply didn’t care enough.

Sans nearly jumped out of his skin, heh, when a faint groan resonated across the room. He was on his feet instantly and at the bed before the human could make another sound. He watched their eyes struggle to crack open, crust lining their lashes, before releasing a strangled sigh. Their eyes shifted to the side, hoping to get a better sense of their surroundings. When they got to Sans’ hovering figure, they stopped, opened their mouth, and shouted the one thing he could have never expected.

“SANS UNDERTALE!?”

Shouted was a generous term, it was more like a pathetic croak, given their vocal cords hadn’t been used in who knows how long. At the exclamation, though, Sans took pause. Summoning a Gaster Blaster, he wasted no time intimidating the now awake human. At the sight of the ghastly creature in front of them, the human sat up, despite having atrophied slightly after days of bed rest. Having made a terrible decision, they immediately crumple in agony, tears pricking their eyes. Sans hesitated for a moment, realizing that this person wasn’t likely to be a threat at this point in time.

There still stood the issue of them knowing his name. Relighting his blaster, he used blue magic to keep the weak human laying down. Putting on his practiced voice, Sans started to interrogate the injured human, “How do you know my name, who are you, where did you come from?”

The invisible weight of their soul being pressed against the bed made them panic, a merinthophobic fear of not being able to move their body. Taking a deep breath, they answered through a shaky voice, “My name is Y/N, and I’m not from this universe.”

They take his silence as an invitation to continue, “Look, all I know is one moment I was hiking on this mountain path, the next I was falling down this hole in the ground. I lost consciousness before I hit the ground, but I don’t know how far I fell. The hole was so deep…”

Sans sighed. They must have fallen down a version of Mount Ebott that linked their two worlds together. That would somewhat explain why they fell out of the sky and into his backyard, but it didn’t explain how it happened. Unsummoning his blaster, he focused his gaze back on the fallen human, “That still doesn’t explain how you know my name.”

At this, Y/N looked embarrassed, “In my word, you’re a videogame character. One I’m very fond of.” They take a second to think, “How did I get here, Sans? I can’t- I have friends and family at home, I can’t stay here. I need to go back home.”

Sans looked conflicted, he didn’t even know how they got here, let alone how to get them back to where they came from. They’d been trying to fix the machine and get everyone back home for months now. It would turn on randomly and link universes whenever it felt like, dragging anomalies into his world. Seeing his guilty face, the human started to cry.

“I’m not going back, am I? I’m stuck here. You can’t fix the machine. God, why did this have to happen to me of all people? I thought I was a good person. Why did I have to be punished like this? I’m never going to see my family again.” Y/N continued to ramble, sobbing quietly to themself. At this point, Sans had removed the blue magic holding their soul down, letting them curl up painfully. He never thought he would feel bad for this human.

After the rift broke, Sans held a quiet resentment towards the human race. The trauma of the resets had broken his soul several times over, and now he had to take care of this random human that crash landed into his backyard? But, watching them cry, snot dripping out of their nose and their face red from strain, he couldn’t help but pity them.

The first judge had a choice to make. Should he kill the shaking human in front of him, their pathetic sobs chilling him to the bone, or should he show them mercy.

#undertale x reader #underverse x reader #skeleharem #harem x reader #sans x reader #papyrus x reader #mod kini

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ant1quarian · 6 months

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UPDATED DUSTVERSE NAMES LIST

( With Creators/People who added the Dust to the OG post )

OG Dust

Belongs to Ask-Dusttale

Ash

BS!Dust. Belongs to @/absurdumsid.

Ruins

CV Dust. Belongs to @/askquellowsans

Remnant

Also known as Quellow. Belongs to @/askquellowsans

Flumen (And Dyst)

A Swap Sans who wears the clothes of a fallen "friend", Dyst.

Created by @/rushin-safire

Dusty Crumb

Belongs to @/kredena-dark

Has been corrected ✨

Discard

Also known as Voidface Dust, submitted by @/elizakai

Reject

Tall Dust, submitted by @/elizakai

Cinder

Femme Dust, belongs to @/elizakai

Debris

Idol Dust, designed by @/safwunnz, created by @/zucchiyeni

Wilt

Bald Dust, submitted by @/swiftmitsu

Sprinkle

Friendly Dust, @/dustsansm1 Dust, essentially, designed by @/absurdumsid

Non-romanceable. A content creator here on Tumblr.

Spread

BIB Dust, belongs to @/thelunarsystemwrites

Scraps

Saejun!Dust, belongs to @/absurdumsid

has been corrected ✨

Husks

Cap-wearing Dust, submitted by @/swiftmitsu

Mote

Detective Dust, belongs (I believe) to @/switchthedragon

Fos (Fossilz)

Fos/Fossilz Dust belongs to @/safwunnz

Pendulum

Time traveller Dust, belongs to @/ksopaz

has been corrected ✨

Detritus

Biblically Accurate Dust, belongs to @/elizakai

Olyu

Olyu, Error!Dust, belongs to @/glitchedcodez

Fracture

Ivan!Dust, belongs to @/absurdumsid

has been corrected ✨

Serial

Killer-Dust fusion, belongs to @/swiftmisu

Dander

Bitty bat Dust, belongs to @/mellybabbles

Erosion

Eldritch Dust, belongs to (/submitted by) @/wr-n

Smog

Smiles, submitted by @/elizakai

Pollen

Bitty Dust, submitted by @/createbellatheartist

Miasma

Brother Dust, belongs to @/elizakai

Haze

Drugdealer Dust that's constantly high and Built Different™, submitted by @/elizakai

Atrophy

Mr Feral McStabby, submitted by @/elizakai

Talc

Limbus Company Dust, belongs to @/tuxibirdie

Webs

Mttbs Dust, belongs to @/justanidiotartist

Malaise

Nun Dust, submitted by @/elizakai

Decay

Avian Dust, belongs to Me (@/ant1quarian)

Fallout

Witherborn Dust, belongs to Me (@/ant1quarian)

Soot

Mafiadust Sans, belongs to Me (@/antiquarian)

Molt

Flighteningtale Dust, belongs to @/dragon-tamer-1

Misery

Transfem Dust, belongs to @/mellybabbles

Mites

Middleschool (Cat?) Dust, belongs to @/inkcat1987

Residue

Magical Girl Duster, belongs to @/thelunarsystemwrites

Grit

BT!Dust (Goblin Dust), belongs to @/shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck

Fuzz

Cat Dust, belongs to @/squidiott

Corrosion

Underworld Society!Dust, submitted by @/absurdumsid, belongs to @/machicoasa625 on Twitter

Malicious (Mal)

Mind's Multiverse!Dust, belongs to @/solusminds

Specks

Glasses Dust, submitted by @/elizakai

Heather

Heathers!Dust, belongs to @/a-whispering-echo

Plague

Pestilence!Dust, belongs to @/a-whispering-echo

Murmur

Ghost!Dust, belongs to @/a-whispering-echo

Crow

EtherealDreamtale!Dust, belongs to @/fictionalshippingbean

Stain

Dust!Ink, submitted by me, belongs to Ssgt. Frost or Undriel

Burgundy

Dust!Fell, who was submitted by me, @/ant1quarian

Wraith

Festivalverse!Dust, belongs to @/meimeikyu

Rust

Fiend or Foe Dust, belongs to @/liliallowed

has been corrected ✨

Closure

GOD!Dust (essentially), belongs to @/liliallowed

Melancholy

Dust-Isabella (from Encanto), belongs to @/jadethetsu

Clutter

Dust!Swap Sans, belongs to me, technically @/ant1quarian

Stardust

Dust!Nebula, belongs to @/dzasterdumpterfire

Warden

Bodyguard!Dust, belongs to @/absurdumsid

Sleuth

Spy!Dust, belongs to @/ksopaz

Snore

Snorlax Dust, belongs to @rushin-safire /silly

Loch

Pirate!Dust, belongs to Me (@/ant1quarian)

Crimson and Ashley

Gender!Swap Dragon-esque AU, belongs to @/liliallowed

Treble

Colour!Dust, belongs to @/dzasterdumpterfire

Speckle

Little!Dust, belongs to @/thelunarsystemwrites

Reform

Ref!Dust, belongs to @/sans-wannabe-wife

Popsicle

Popsicle Dust, belongs to @/liliallowed

Harvest

Dust!Reaper Sans, belongs to @/ant1quarian, inspired and sorta designed by @/pika-pika-blog

Reign

Dust!Controltale Sans, belongs to @/ant1quarian

If I have missed any Dusts, simply comment on this post or mention me elsewhere or send me an ask, and your Dust will be added :]

( Also all tags are on this post )

Credit to every single creator and submitter that added to the Dustverse!

I think that's all I've got so far!

Anyone else who wants to add Dust's can send me an ask or interact with me in DM's, because it'll be open until the story eventually finishes! (will be literal years away-)

If I've got any credits incorrect, please do tell me so that I can fix it!

#Credit to all those creators and submitters #Dustverse #Dustverse Credit #Dustverse thoughts #Dustverse Fanfiction #Dustverse Answers #Dustverse Shenanigans #Dustverse Things #Dust Sans #OG Dust #( Or any variation of “___ Dust” )#Misery Loves Company #Undertale fandom #Undertale fanfic #undertale fandom #Undertale fanfiction #Arian's Ideas

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deviance-nocturnale · 1 year

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19. Mot-valise

Atrophie parfois, gourmandise de mots qui s'amenuisent. Mais toujours des néologismes florissants. Je dis qu'ils sont attachiants. Je me sens adulescente. Je vis en démocrature. J'aimerais une langue française allemanisée : pouvoir accoler des fragments de lexique pour ouvrir le sens. Sans règles. Sans Académie. Un capharnaüm. Composer et décomposer à l'infini. Construire des hybrides. Collecter quelques bagages égarés sur le tarmac. Mots-gigognes. Remodelage sans frontières. Mécacœur. Vertigénial. Enfantaisie.

#30jourspourécrire #jour 19 #19 août 2023

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keelywolfe · 1 year

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FIC: With Interest 1/1 (baon)

Summary: Why is it when Edge is doing his brother a favor, somehow he still ends up in Red's debt?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Mentions of Genocide Route, Making Out, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

On most days the fitness rooms in the basement of the Embassy were crowded after the workday and even during it. Monsters were encouraged to attend the available yoga classes, meditation hours, cardio jazz. Even Undyne’s infrequent krav maga classes were highly sought after, although in that case after the first class, one of the medical staff was always in precautionary attendance.

Wednesdays were an exception, the single day that was never on the public schedule. It was set aside specifically for the Security team and while anyone could make use of the training rooms throughout the rest of the week, on Wednesdays the classes were ones that would never be offered to the Monster populace at large.

On this particular Wednesday, the entire floor was empty as Edge walked through it. He was already in his workout clothes, his suit carefully hung in his office upstairs, and his gym bag only held clothes for him to wear home. He’d been making use of the training rooms frequently as of late, originally following his physical therapy instructions for his leg and after the kidnapping incident, as a way to exhaust the LV that occasionally flared up in his soul.

Not that he’d needed it very much. Despite the severity of that situation, his LV wasn’t troubling him as badly as it had in the past. Something to be grateful for and he was cautiously hopeful that this would be a trend going forward, that years without accumulating fresh LV was settling what he did have. He would never be able to shed it entirely but if it could be less troublesome, he would be grateful.

It was also possible his weekly visits to speak with his therapist were helping, loathe as he was to admit it. After pressuring Stretch to work with Dr Lee in the past, he was learning for himself that it was somewhat cleansing to talk to someone who only listened without judgement, someone whose opinion of him mattered very little. He was of two minds whether or not to bring that theory up to Stretch, much as he deserved his husband’s smugness…no. That was unfair, his own embarrassment casting Stretch in the wrong light, he knew better. As much as Stretch tried his best to talk to Edge about his own health issues, it was his responsibility to attempt the same. Stretch would only be relieved for him, he was sure. He was.

But that could wait for another time. Today he was testing a new design built for assisting in training the upcoming security recruits, with an emphasis on not only learning attacks but also how to finely control them. Any form of damage to a Human was highly discouraged and lethal attacks were always meant as an absolutely last resort. Before any recruit was allowed on even a trivial duty roster such as a crossing guard, they had to prove their skills at confinement rather than injury.

Edge was skilled in both, having trained since he was a child but in recent times, he could practically feel his skills atrophy the longer he sat at his desk. There wasn’t time to keep his reflexes as razor sharp as they’d been in Underfell and truth be told, it wasn’t necessary. Despite everything, this world was a much safer place to be. Logically, he knew that.

Illogically, his soul demanded he needed to be in top form to protect those he cared about. Not only Stretch, but both their brothers, Sans and Papyrus, Jeff and Antwan, all the children in New Home, and so many others. A part of him would always be the captain of the guard and the need to protect his people was deeply ingrained in his soul.

(And he couldn’t, couldn’t have protected all those in Underfell, an impossible task he’d nonetheless undertaken but he would not fail here, he couldn’t—)

This new setup was designed by a fresh-faced young inventor barely out of internship who’d somehow managed to get themselves assigned to Red’s team. Thus far, Edge had resisted the morbid urge to go through their files to see what atrocities lay in their past to make that a fitting post.

They’d come to Edge’s office in a lab coat still creased from the packaging, their lizard-like tongue flicking eagerly as they told him it was at Red’s suggestion Edge test it before they subjected the new recruits to the program.

Not that Edge couldn’t easily see through the paper-thin veneer of Red’s machinations. Whether this was a test of his physical ability after his injury, a trial to see if he was keeping up on his training, a way to help exhaust his occasionally troublesome LV, or perhaps all three, whatever Red’s intentions, it didn’t matter. His brother would keep his secrets and handle things his own way and the best Edge could do was keep up.

He did not allow this young, eager scientist whose name badge read only ‘D’ to see his sourness. They looked nothing like Stretch, but Edge was still reminded of him, a little. He didn’t know the details of why Stretch hated working within a proper lab, why he verged on panic even visiting one, preferring his own setup at their home. Perhaps someday Stretch would tell him, but Edge never wished to ruin that enthusiasm for anyone else, not if he could help it.

More surprising, and relieving, was that they did not ask to watch him test their design. Perhaps that was more of Red’s influence, knowing he was more likely to agree if he weren’t being gawked at. Recordings were to be expected but he had no interest in being a spectacle to a group of interns scribbling notes behind him.

Whatever the reason, Red’s newest disciple showed no sign of disappointment that they would have to get their results from the security footage. They only thanked him cheerily and told him he could try it out at the end of the day and that was exactly what he was doing.

At the very last room, he entered his passcode at the door and as he stepped inside the training room, it came to mechanical life around him.

It was a clever design, Edge would admit. The training dummies were on tracks that allowed them to move in startling ways and instead of bare padding, they were dressed as a Human might be. Well. They were dressed as a Human might be if they only purchased their clothes from the local thrift store by way of a head injury and Edge made a mental note to have them review Human fashion before releasing this as a general training tool. As important as it would be to be able to defend against a Human whose outfit consisted of sneakers and frilly lingerie, it was hardly a likely scenario.

Going through training exercises wasn’t precisely relaxing, but in a strange way it did soothe, scratching a kind of undefinable, nebulous itch. After so many years of training, dodging attacks and forming his own came down to pure reflex. There was very little real thought to it, he simply knew, and for this straightforward exercise, he could allow his body control as he moved automatically in something like a dance between each wave. There was a rhythmic back and forth between him and the training dummies, and there was an issue to report right there, a real attack should be more random, he should be less able to anticipate the moves of his opponent.

It would still be an effective training device for novices, but they would have to work much harder for it to be a genuine sparring tool for him. Not that anything could be more confounding than his own brother; even if they could somehow clone Red’s personality into their program, it was not a route Edge would recommend. Just thinking of an artificial intelligence based off Red gave Edge the urge to start hoarding supplies for the inevitable apocalypse.

Still, as a workout, it was more than effective. By the time the program ended, he was breathing hard, sweat stinging in his eye sockets and his t-shirt clinging to his ribcage. He raised one hand and the program immediately ended, the dummies moving back into their starting position.

As he walked to the bench by the door, he made a mental note to ask about what other safeguards they’d implemented. Not that he didn’t trust their design, but he knew a little about how scientists and engineers could get caught up, laser-focused on the outcome. Better to confirm than for anyone to end up injured, or worse.

Edge grabbed a towel from the bench and wiped sweat from his face as he mentally went through the design and the report he intended to write about it. He was intending to shower before heading home, absently looking up…and froze at what he saw through the breakproof glass.

Stretch was standing right outside the window, watching him. His sockets were huge, filled to the brim with the pale white of his eye lights.

He didn’t like violence, Edge knew that, knew about Stretch’s past, about what he’d been forced to do. These days Stretch didn’t even care for action movies and obviously he was appalled, horrified to see what damage Edge was capable of wreaking and perhaps he was imagining those attacks against frailer Human and Monster forms rather than training dummies. Wondering at what became of those from whom Edge acquired his LV; EXP hunters, all of them, but he’d never had a chance to tell Stretch that, never wanted to discuss it at all. Somehow, he’d always hoped he wouldn’t have to, that Stretch already knew. A Judge should know, shouldn’t he, he’d admitted to seeing Edge’s soul and while the idea still unnerved him, at least something useful could have come of it.

There was no way to guess exactly what Stretch knew and only one way to learn. Edge tossed the damp towel aside carelessly and hastily made for the door. Stretch turned to him as he came out, hands hanging empty and loose at his sides as he stood, making no move to reach for him as they so often did.

“Love?” Edge said, hating the slight tremor in his voice, “What are you doing here?”

“red told me i should come down,” Stretch whispered blankly, still staring at him with those wide, wide sockets. “oh, my god.”

Temper flared at his brother’s meddling, viciously tamped down because the expression on Stretch's face demanded his full attention. How much had he seen, what brutality did he now know Edge was capable of? Stretch knew he had LV, of course he did, had since the moment they’d met but the difference between knowing and seeing was astronomical, the distance between planets, galaxies.

Even when he’d used his attacks before, as recently as the incident with Jeff at the Golden Moon, Stretch had been distracted, not standing and watching at a ringside seat, staring, appalled perhaps even afraid and--

Edge swallowed hard, forcing calm as he asked, softer, “Rus?”

Stretch only repeated, squeaky and weak, “oh my god.”

“I understand what you saw was very violent but—“ it was necessary, he couldn’t say, the words choked off. An unfortunate necessity, this world was still a dangerous place for monsters, for Stretch, his skills needed to be sharp, surely Stretch could understand that, surely he could accept this side of him. He would never reje…he wouldn’t…he…

Edge grunted in surprise at the sudden weight in his arms as Stretch flung himself into them, his mouth hot and eager against his own. He couldn’t help a sound of his own, guttural and shocked between them before Stretch broke the kiss and instead dropped his chin to lick at Edge’s cervical vertebrae, tongue curling around the intricate bones, uncaring that Edge was filthy with sweat before he drew back, the diffused glow of his eyelights tinting to orange.

“oh my god,” Stretch practically moaned, “take me home right now and fuck my brains out.”

Edge could only blink at him, dazed and still holding him, hands braced under his femurs as he held all Stretch’s light weight against him. “What?”

“that was the hottest fucking thing i have ever seen,” Stretch breathed, the bright orange of his tongue running tantalizingly over his even teeth. “fuck me, the way you moved. You were just—” he gestured wildly, a ridiculous pantomime of a proper battle form, so enthusiastically Edge was forced to tighten his grip to keep from dropping him. “i need us to be naked together like, as soon as physically possible. now. immediately. yesterday.”

The heat of that visible desire finally broke through Edge’s shock and engulfed him, visceral and exhilarating in a way that no amount of exercise could hope to mimic.

There was a brief moment of honest temptation to simply take Stretch upstairs to his office. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that the cleaning crew would know exactly why he was dragging his husband through the empty darkened hallways and even so, it took a reluctant mental debate to decide that tomorrow’s regret would outweigh tonight’s pleasure.

As it was, it was difficult to set Stretch on his feet though Edge kept hold of his hand, unable to keep from touching him in some fashion.

“Come on,” Edge said brusquely, only taking the time to grab his gym bag before leading the way to the elevator.

It seemed to take forever for the doors to close behind them, difficult to resist pulling Stretch back into his arms, but there were few places in the Embassy with any privacy and the elevators were not one of them.

It did not help that he could hear Stretch breathing raggedly, feel him bouncing restlessly on his toes, his grip tight on Edge’s hand. The knowledge that he’d watched what Edge was capable of and wasn’t disgusted, was instead enraptured was so very unexpected and the purity of his lust was nearly a physical force, battering at the iron gates of Edge’s control.

The sudden chime of his cell phone startled him, barely loosening the hold of growing desire. Edge fumbled his phone from his pocket with his free hand, unlocking it to read the new text.

cameras are off in there, boss, in case you wanted to know. might accidentally get stuck between floors if you ain’t careful

Edge closed his sockets, counting to three, then texted back. Do it.

They both jolted as the elevator came to a sudden halt, the lights dimming to the emergency overheads.

“what—” Stretch began, confused, only to yelp in surprise as he was suddenly scooped up and pressed against the wall, Edge crowding against him as he took his mouth fiercely. There was no hesitancy in the kiss, only eagerness, and a distant corner of his mind was grudgingly sending gratitude to his brother. Their unspoken ledger was definitely in Red’s favor.

Edge shifted to yank down the neck of Stretch’s sweatshirt. He pressed the sharp line of his teeth to the smooth, wide bone of Stretch’s sternum, barely on the side of too hard and felt him jerk, his hands scrabbling to pull Edge even closer.

His wordless groan for more, a conglomerate of consonants that made an approximation of “nggg!” was a delight, Stretch’s smoke-raspy voice was ever an enticement, growing louder as Edge slipped a gloved hand into his pants, watching his love’s expression tense, his sockets closing tightly. Beautiful, so beautiful always, even in the dim glow of the emergency lights. This would be only for him, Edge could wait for the privacy of their own bedroom, wanting his love bare and begging; there was time yet to allow that flame to burn ever hotter. More than anything in this brief moment, he wanted to watch Stretch’s face as he found his pleasure.

Edge would always have LV, but he could certainly appreciate a technique for soothing it that ended in his husband’s arms.

fin

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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