#and having access to those spaces shouldn’t be limited or denied

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Leor Sapir

Published: Mar 21, 2024

Both critics and supporters of so-called “gender-affirming care” appreciated the candor of transgender activist and author Andrea Long Chu’s recent cover story for New York magazine.

Chu’s piece, titled “Freedom of Sex: The Moral Case for Letting Trans Kids Change Their Bodies,” makes a principled case for letting children dictate their own hormonal and surgical treatments. Chu believes that “trans kids” shouldn’t have to get a mental-health assessment before initiating hormones, and that, “in principle, everyone should have access to sex-changing medical care, regardless of age, gender identity, social environment, or psychiatric history.” Remarkably, Chu does not deny that biological sex is binary and determined at conception but argues that humans have no ethical obligation to come to terms with reality, calling this purported duty “a fine definition of nihilism.”

While trans activists often pretend that only “right-wing reactionaries” and “trans-exclusionary radical feminists” (“TERFs”) oppose their claims, Chu refreshingly observes that this isn’t true. The most “insidious” pushback, Chu says, has come from “TARLs,” or “trans-agnostic reactionary liberals.” Indeed, polling has shown that Americans with liberal views largely reject such policies as schools keeping students’ gender “transition” secret from their parents and allowing trans-identified males to compete in female sports.

Chu’s essay went viral, prompting New York staff writer Jonathan Chait to pen a “Liberal Response.” Chait has a history of opposing trans activists’ censoriousness, particularly about medical transition for youth. Last December, for example, he responded to transgender advocacy groups’ fury that the New York Times had acknowledged the ongoing scientific debate over how best to treat gender-distressed minors, which they claimed had abetted state-level Republican efforts to ban pediatric transition. Chait called for “carefully following the evidence,” and observed that “the whole reason leftists try to associate reporters at the Times with Republican-backed laws is precisely that their targets do not agree with the conservative position on transgender care.”

Chait’s December piece correctly identified the tribalist logic informing elite discussions of gender medicine in the United States, and progressive journalists’ efforts to banish from the liberal tribe those who raise questions about this controversial area of medicine. His response to Chu’s essay, however, fails to extend to conservatives the charity he expects trans activists to extend to liberals like himself. If Chait is worried about tribalism obscuring the pursuit of truth, he might consider how his own writing may contribute to this problem.

Consider his characterization of the debate over “trans rights.” Chait claims that “[c]onservatives dismiss trans rights altogether, while liberals completely support trans rights as it pertains to employment, housing, public spaces, and other adult matters, disagreeing mainly in how it is applied to children (as well as, in limited cases, addressing the problems raised by trans female athletes competing in women’s sports).”

Whether this is true, of course, depends entirely on what Chait means by “trans rights.” “Rights talk,” to borrow Mary Ann Glendon’s term, obscures the hard trade-offs and real-world costs that unavoidably confront those entrusted to make policy choices. Chait should have spelled out what “trans rights” mean in practice, but he doesn’t. His failure is especially puzzling considering two claims he makes in his essay. Chait claims, first, that “Trans-rights activists and their allies have relentlessly presented their entire agenda as a take-it-or-leave-it block, attacking anybody who criticizes any piece of it as a transphobe.” Second, he argues that rights claims generally render empirical questions irrelevant. As Chait puts it, “if, say, you consider firearm ownership an absolute right, then no evidence about how many lives any particular gun-control reform is likely to save is going to make you support it.”

Whatever Chait means by “trans rights,” the notion that all liberals support permissive trans policies outside the pediatric medicine and athletic contexts is unfounded, according to the data. Partisan affiliations are not a perfect proxy for voter ideology, but it’s telling that a 2022 PRRI poll found 31 percent of Democrats and 55 percent of Independents favor laws that require people to use bathrooms that accord with their biological sex. A more recent YouGov poll found that 26 percent of surveyed Democrats backed such laws, with 22 percent unsure.

Assuming the “liberal” position on public accommodations is that people should be legally allowed to use bathrooms that accord with their subjective definition of being male or female (and many liberals would dispute that this is in fact a liberal position), and if the “conservative” position is that no such law should exist or even that laws should require bathroom access based on sex, then almost half of Democratic Party voters appear to hold views about bathroom access that could qualify as “conservative” under Chait’s scheme.

Liberal opinion similarly divides on the issue of trans-identifying inmates’ prison placements. According to the same YouGov poll, most Democratic voters either supported (35 percent) or weren’t sure about (33 percent) laws requiring prisons to house inmates according to their biological sex. In this case, support for “trans rights,” here defined as a legally protected right to be housed according to “gender identity,” appears to be a minority position within the Democratic Party.

Has Chait accurately characterized the conservative position in this debate? Despite his claim that “[c]onservatives dismiss trans rights altogether,” there’s no evidence that the standard “conservative” position on, say, employment is to allow adverse action against trans-identified people tout court. The YouGov poll found that 44 percent of Republican respondents said they support “banning employers from firing employees on the basis of their transgender identity.” Fifty-seven percent of Independents, which presumably includes some conservatives, answered the same way. Recalling the abstract nature of “rights talk,” what is framed as “employment non-discrimination” often comes down to policy questions about how employers should treat trans-identified employees or candidates in circumstances where sex presumably matters, for instance access to workplace bathrooms.

When asked whether there should be specific provisions for “transgender people in hate crime laws,” 42 percent of Republicans and 57 percent of Independents agreed that transgender status merits special protection, while 24 percent and 27 percent, respectively, said they weren’t sure.

In short, it is highly misleading to say that liberals support trans rights while conservatives do not. When the abstraction “trans rights” is broken down into concrete policy questions, as inevitably it must be, many liberals seem to disagree with policies favored by trans rights activists while many conservatives agree with them. Chait himself recognizes the uselessness of abstract rights talk when he turns his attention to Chu’s argument for “freedom of sex.”

Chait’s response to Chu’s arguments about pediatric medical “transitions” admirably makes the case that “empiricism” must be part of the liberal position on trans rights. However, his commitment to political “rights” seems to constrain his commitment to empiricism and evidence in crucial ways.

First, Chait notes that the supposed consensus that “gender-affirming care” is “settled science” is the result of “a power struggle between advocates of unmediated gender-affirming care and their more cautious colleagues,” but he doesn’t really explain what makes these colleagues “cautious” or whether there are divides within the “cautious” group. By this point he must know that there are three main positions in the debate: those, like Chu and parts of the gender medicine industry, who support unrestricted access to hormones and surgeries; those who support medical transition but call for rigorous mental health assessments; and those who believe that “gender-affirming” hormones and surgeries are inappropriate for minors regardless of circumstances. Those, like myself, who belong to the third group make evidence-based arguments. We regard members of the second group, many of whom are well intentioned, as cautious compared with the first group but overall misguided in their support for harmful practices.

While Chait mentions systematic evidence reviews from Europe and Canada, he fails to disclose that these reviews found no credible evidence of benefits for any pediatric cohort, including those treated under the “gold standard” and more “cautious” Dutch approach, which Chait notes involves “extensive evaluation and screening for mental health.” Left unstated is his apparent hope that after “extensive evaluation and screening,” some kids will benefit from early medicalization.

If liberals like Chait are truly committed to empirical medicine, they must at some point read and respond to the most important scholarly paper on pediatric gender medicine in recent years: “The Myth of ‘Reliable Research’ in Pediatric Gender Medicine: A critical evaluation of the Dutch studies—and research that has followed,” published last year. It’s hard to read this paper and come away with any impression other than that this entire medical field is based on fraud.

More fundamentally, Chait needs to grapple with a problem that runs deeper than the empirical questions discussed in clinical studies. Empirical debates about medical evidence generally presuppose a coherent conceptual framework of health and disease. We can debate, for example, whether a new drug for treating cancer is “safe and effective” because we agree that there is a condition to be treated (cancer), that it constitutes illness, and that doctors have an objective diagnosis to confirm its presence in humans.

Gender medicine, by contrast, lacks a coherent conceptual framework. The discipline is riddled with deep and abiding contradictions. Advocates argue that “gender incongruence” is not a pathology but a normal variation of human development, but they also insist that this phenomenon is a potentially life-threatening medical condition that requires “medically necessary” hormonal or surgical interventions. Advocates argue that “gender identity”—a term whose definition is either circular or reliant on stereotypes—is fixed, immutable, and infallibly knowable from early childhood, but they also say that “gender identity” is fluid and a “journey.”

Above all, thoughtful discussion of youth gender transition is not possible unless one is willing to interrogate the very notion of the “transgender child.” And this, I think, is still a bridge too far for liberals like Chait. What does it mean to say that a child “is transgender”? That she was “born in the wrong body”? That’s metaphysical talk, and absurd. It’s also dangerous to suggest such a thing to vulnerable teenagers who are going through the throes of puberty. Nor is there evidence for the transgender brain hypothesis—and even if there were, gender clinicians (even the “cautious”) ones are not calling for, and most would actively oppose, brain scans as part of the diagnostic process.

Liberal journalists who continue to use the term “trans kids,” as if it’s obvious what this means, without trying to define the term and defend it against rational, good faith criticism, are not truly interested in an empirical debate about youth gender medicine. They care about evidence and research, but only within limits.

A final note on Chait’s piece. He mentions the National Health Service of England’s recent decision to decommission puberty blockers as routine care for gender dysphoric youth. Chait should keep in mind that the Dutch first proposed using puberty blockers as part of the diagnostic process—halting puberty to create a window of time for the adolescent to sort out his feelings and decide whether to proceed with transition. We now know that these drugs do not provide neutral “time to think” (the title of a book about the Tavistock clinic) but more likely lock in a child’s incongruent gender feelings and make further “transition” all but a foregone conclusion. Chait seems to have read the Tavistock book and should at least be open to the possibility that the NHS’s decision is a step toward an eventual full national ban on medical transition for minors—similar to the restrictions enacted in two dozen Republican states that Chait presumably believes are extreme.

To his credit, Chait recognizes the potential for golden mean fallacies in the debate over youth gender medicine. He argues that we should not assume that “ideas located at the extreme at any given moment are always wrong.” I agree. But Chait should acknowledge the possibility that empirically minded, principled liberals like himself are still getting pediatric gender medicine wrong. He should be open to the possibility that one day in the not-too-distant future, he will find himself among the “conservatives.”

==

"Sex is real… But the belief that we have a moral duty to accept reality just because it is real is, I think, a fine definition of nihilism." -- Andrea Long Chu, 2024

"The facts may tell you one thing. But, God is not limited by the facts. Choose faith in spite of the facts." -- Joel Osteen, 2014

Same thing.

[digitalrevolutions]

Copy(right) and Copy(wrong): Defending Fair Use, Protecting Ourselves and Our Students

As Janice Walker notes in Copy-rights and Copy-wrong, it’s so easy to save information and media files nowadays that we forget that what’s easily obtained wasn’t always meant to be publicly available. There are those, like Lawrence Lessig, who would argue that “information wants to be free”, and that we shouldn’t set up a legal system to criminalize things we know people will do anyway and that, ultimately, aren’t harming anyone. But, as much as I might be tempted to agree (so long as we make a distinction between huge conglomerates arbitrarily extending copyright every fifty years and individual artists, creators, and small businesses trying to make a living), I’m more immediately concerned with how I can teach students to protect themselves when using media for class or otherwise. The most common tool given to help prevent students from running afoul of copyright is these four principles for determining fair use:

What is the purpose of the use? Educational, nonprofit, and personal use are more likely to be considered fair than is commercial use.

What is the nature of the work being used? In most cases, imaginative and unpublished materials can be used only if you have the permission of the copyright holder.

How much of the copyrighted work is being used? If a writer uses a small portion of a text for academic purposes, this use is more likely to be considered fair than if he or she uses a whole work for commercial purposes.

What effect would the use have on the market for the original? The use of a work is usually considered unfair if it would hurt sales of the original.

(Maimon et al qtd. Westbrook 167)

Of course, these four principles are only a heuristic, and people can and do face copyright strikes for use that follows all four of these principles when they use material in a way the copyright holder doesn’t like. For that reason, Steve Westbrook argues, we shouldn’t take our concern with copyright to extremes.

By asking for permission to use copyrighted material even when we are reasonably confident it falls under fair use, we forfeit an opportunity to “deny ultimate power to holders of derivative rights, to recover a sense of agency and authority for the writer who relies on appropriative practices, and to counter abuses of copyright law (Westbrook 166).”

Janice Walker offers a few additional, more specific considerations for using copyrighted material in online spaces that can help students build multimedia projects with confidence (Walker 214):

1. Follow guidelines already established for published (i.e., print) sources, if possible. In other words, if you’re using textual materials (i.e. book excerpts or articles) where this would make sense.

2. Point to (i.e., link to) images, audio, and video files rather than downloading them, if possible. While I admire the intent behind this recommendation, to preserve as much context and ‘paper trail’ as possible, I do wonder if it could create accessibility concerns for disabled visitors/viewers/readers/participants, especially those using screenreaders.

3. Always cite sources carefully, giving as much information as possible to allow the user to relocate the source.

4. If in doubt, ask. In doing so, be sure to explain exactly what and how much you intend to use and what you intend to use it for.

She also argues that, as composition teachers, we have a particular obligation to use media mindfully and to educate other teachers and scholars about copyright. In the spirit of taking up that challenge, I reproduce here an account of the rules laid out in order for something to be considered fair classroom use under the TEACH act (Reyman qtd. Walker 209-210):

Use is limited to works that are performed (such as reading a play or showing a video) or displayed (such as a digital version of a map or a painting) during class activities. The TEACH Act does not apply to materials for students’ independent use and retention, such as textbooks or articles from journals.

The materials to be used cannot include those primarily marketed for the purposes of distance education (i.e., an electronic textbook or a multimedia tutorial).

Use of materials must occur “under the actual supervision of an instructor”.

Materials must be used “as an integral part of a class session.”

Use must occur as a “regular part of the systematic mediated instructional activities.”

Students must be informed that the materials they access are protected by copyright.

Further, it remains incumbent on faculty and/or administrators to ensure that the following restrictions are adhered to:

limiting access to material to only those students enrolled in the class;

ensuring that digital versions are created from analog works only if a digital version of the work is not already available;

employing technological measures to “reasonably prevent” retention of the work “for longer than the class session”;

developing copyright policies on the educational use of materials; and

providing informational resources for faculty, students, and staff that “accurately describe, and promote compliance with, the laws of the United States relating to copyright.”

Reading these guidelines in full motivates me to talk to my department head and seek out more detailed explanations from the federal government, because per these guidelines I’m pretty sure uploading a chapter of a copyrighted text for students to read for homework, which I and every teacher I know do all the time, wouldn’t be fair use because it’s not “under the actual supervision of an instructor”.

[undereveningstars]

Moon in Leo: Strength vs The World

The Moon in Leo is separating from a trine with Jupiter and applying to an opposition with Venus as I write. In a few hours, she will enter a sextile with Mars, before beginning the long and arduous journey towards an opposition with Saturn that will perfect tomorrow night.

I think most astrologers would agree that the Moon separating from one benefic and applying to the other is a pretty fun, cozy time. In my morning meditation I imagined her preparing for whatever lies in store during the Saturn opposition by doing things that nurtured her soul and uplifted her spirit. Perhaps the sextile with Mars would be her training montage before heading out on her Saturnian mission. I could immediately see a parallel with my own morning of meditation and cat cuddles—getting myself into a relaxed, focused headspace before the mountain of chores and responsibilities I would have to take on over the next couple of days. The Moon often speaks to us about our daily tasks. But when I drew The World card from my Tarot deck, I knew the Moon had a more far-reaching message for me.

The World is the card of Saturn, who is acutely aware of what kind of world we live in and how it might limit us. The dancing lady on The World card made me think of Saturn as a goddess, and the Goddess Saturn reminded me of how limited the expression of female divinity is in astrology. Only two of the seven classical planets are traditionally associated with goddesses, and both are given the significations of motherhood, caregiving, and birth. As profound and important as those roles are, shouldn’t the “feminine” planets have a little more range? I think the Moon in Leo, a sign that represents sovereignty over one’s own destiny, might want to resist the limitations imposed on her by tradition.

I started to feel like the Moon and Saturn were speaking to my own experience of gender dysphoria, to the struggle of transitioning in a world that tries to cage me within its strict definition of what I am allowed to do and be. And I am one of the lucky ones—like the Moon gathering strength from Venus and Jupiter, I am fortunate to have access to gender-affirming care, to live in a country where my legal rights are protected (law and justice being Jupiter’s domain, of course!). All the same, it is trivially easy for companies to deny people work or fire us for being trans, for our families to reject us, for social safety nets to fall apart beneath us. The daily task of resisting limiting cultural messages and facing down an endless barricade of transphobic slights in every public or corporate space we enter is exhausting. I am profoundly blessed, but I need to count on every one of those blessings to keep fighting the opposition I face at every turn.

If you’re looking for a way to engage with this transit of the Moon you might meditate on your relationship to The World. Are there times when you feel as though powers much larger than yourself dictate who you get to be? Who or what in your life supports your right to define yourself on your own terms? If you’re a Tarot person, pull The World and Strength out of your favourite deck and consider the story they might be telling you. Was there a time in your life when you felt like it was you against The World, when you showed Strength in the face of adversity? And if you’re looking for something a little lighter to do, I recommend watching Pixar’s Brave—the conflict between the traditional Queen Elinor and her headstrong daughter Princess Merida is a great example of how Saturn opposing the Moon in Leo can look, and how the tension between them can be resolved.

May the Moon in Leo be a guiding light on your quest for self-sovereignty, and may Saturn in Aquarius grant you the strength to resist when it feels as though the whole world stands against you.

[jackrrabbit]

Short Leash /// Lev x f!Reader x Alisa (18+)

Summary: [Post-timeskip] The Haiba siblings get up to no good with their favorite pet.

A/N: Lev really went from skinny goblin to sugar папочка, and don’t even get me started on Alisa 😭 Also, imma lay heavy on those Russian terms of endearment 🇷🇺 I know Lev doesn’t speak Russian but I feel like post-timeskip he might, and it makes me horny so…

Dedicated to my eternal muse @koiibito​ for thirsting with me and stoking my lust for this duo and to @thisisthehardestthing​ for providing the fashion references that brought this fic to life for me (although I still can’t describe clothing for shit). Thank you!!!

Tags/warnings: (slight) pet play, threesome, alcohol/drug use mentions, size kink (yk Lev is 6’5 and Alisa is 5’10), dom/sub, orgasm control, rough sex, filming, breath play, crying, reader is a sugar baby in denial, no incest but the siblings fuck you together, yandere-ish, established BDSM relationship, all characters are adults

They like playing dress-up.

With you, if that wasn’t obvious. They’re models, so you could say that playing dress-up is a career for them, a method of putting food on the table…and Balenciaga in the closet…and every luxury pharmaceutical known to man in the medicine cabinet. And they’re so beautiful, both of them. They look good in anything. But when it comes to you, playing dress-up is a labor of love.

Today was Alisa’s turn, which means today was red: crimson lingerie in a box she had delivered to you before the party tonight. The box…it looked so out of place propped up against the bottom of your shabby apartment door that it’s a miracle no one stole it. Black packaging, lettering in gold, and the label printed on the box was French, you think? The two years of language class you took in high school didn’t help you read it, but you had no trouble understanding the number at the bottom of the receipt Alisa included with the set.

She left it on purpose, you know that. She wants you to know that the money she dropped on these flimsy little undergarments could have paid your rent for two months. But you can’t tell her that, or she’ll just insist again that your apartment is so small and ugly, it’s not worth it, it’s high time you moved in with her and Lev already, they would love to have you, and you’d never have to worry about rent again.

Spoiling you. That’s what they call it. Sometimes you think the Haiba siblings spoil you because they know it makes you uncomfortable.

Either way, you can’t say no. You’ve tried, over and over, told them they need to stop buying you clothes and shoes and diamonds but they just laugh you off. Lev, especially—he’s got this way of tipping his head to the side and blinking down at you while you try to explain how nervous it makes you to be dripping in excess, smiling lightly like he’s watching a child throw a tantrum. They just don’t get it. Or they do, and they think it’s funny.

Yeah, it’s probably the latter. You were raised right, raised not to accept gifts like this when you have nothing to give in return—but you were also raised to be gracious to the kindness of strangers, and while they aren’t exactly strangers, it’s just too exhausting to try to deny their generosity. Over time, little by little, you’ve given inches and the Haiba siblings have taken miles.

The Haiba siblings. That’s who they are, constantly presented in juxtaposition since Lev made his debut. They were born for this, and not because of their height. It’s the eyes—something savagely beautiful about that shade of green, those pale eyelashes, the slitted pupils like a cat’s.

The lingerie was Alisa’s choice, but the dress was Lev’s which is probably why he can’t keep his hands off you at the party, grip gliding down the low back and breath ghosting over your neck every time you try to put some distance between you. He’s usually more careful than this—Alisa can get away with the playful touching (groping?) because the cameras will just play it off as friendly skinship, but if someone catches Lev stroking across your thighs or tracing those long fingers over your spine while you move together on the dance floor, there’s going to be trouble. Not that it’s your problem, but one of you has to be responsible tonight, and judging by the number of times Lev’s excused himself to go to the bathroom and come back blinking and grinning and rubbing his nose, the responsible one is going to have to be you.

This time when he returns his gelled-back hair is mussed and—Jesus, how careless can he get?—there’s a little dusting of coke spilled over the collar of his black shirt. You roll your eyes and reach up to brush it off for him but he catches your hand and lifts it to his mouth. A kiss on your inner wrist first, and then his teeth are grazing over that tender skin, blunt edges digging in and drawing dents. A bite.

It’s just on the edge of painful when you belatedly yank your hand away. “Lev—you got it on your shirt, seriously—“ You try to make your voice sound scolding, but it comes out too high.

Lev’s eyes are dark, dilated; he laughs breathlessly and nudges closer to you, trapping you between his long arms and the bar. “You want some? Kotyonok, little kitten wants a treat?”

“No…I’m just drinking tonight. I don’t want to be out too late.” The vodka soda in your hand isn’t nearly strong enough, but if you have any more you’re going to be too drunk to keep your act together and deal with their antics. You don’t have the tolerance they do, and just because they can get away with all the coke and the alcohol and whatever else they’ve been playing with tonight doesn’t mean you can.

…Not that your relative sobriety stops Lev from dragging your face up to meet his, lifting your chin with both hands wrapped around the back of your head and bending down only enough that you still have to rise up on your tiptoes to kiss him. You only catch a hint of the smell of honey before the sour-sweet taste of Lev’s favorite drink (that medovukha mead stuff, it’s Russian, you think) is filling your mouth and his long tongue is sliding over yours. “Mmph—“

“Kitten, always so good,” he sighs, pressing closer so your face has to arch up to the ceiling to meet his. In your limited view you can see the muscles in his jaw flexing as he kisses you, sweeping over your tongue, biting your lip and laughing into your mouth. “So sweet…and impatient, yeah? Want to go home with us already?”

His hand on the small of your back is bunching your dress up, giving him the space to push his knee between your legs. You gasp sharply but it just eggs him on and his mouth dips down under your jawline, his body covering yours, so sudden and so public that your eyes flash around the room, wondering who might witness Lev—the international model Lev Haiba—sucking on your throat. “L-Lev, wait, someone—someone will see—“

“You’re asking to go somewhere private? Greedy girl…Alisa’s still having fun.”

You try to come up with a response, but it’s not easy to think straight when he’s holding your waist, circling it with those big hands and petting up to your ribs, cupping your tits while his thigh rubs between your legs. You can smell his cologne, bergamot and amber, and—and—you can smell his cologne—

“Lyovochka~” Alisa’s voice rings out and you know just by hearing it that she’s had as much as Lev. Her hand fists in her brother’s hair and pulls him off your neck none too gently, ignoring his curse and complaints. “Naughty, naughty. Playing without me, were you?”

“Alisa, you’re fucking up my hair,” Lev whines, but he straightens off you, pulling Alisa into your tight little trio at the bar. “Kitty says she wants us to take her home.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and wonder if they can see the blush under your foundation. “I didn’t— I can go home myself—“ Not that you have a chance in hell of leaving the party without them, but still. You can pretend to play coy.

“No.” Alisa places a finger on your mouth to shush you and then her eyes lower and her fingernail—painted silvery white, her signature color—pushes into your bottom lip. You stumble closer, hands meeting her shoulders through the thick white padding of the jacket she’s wearing, over the glittering crystals that look blindingly bright under the blacklights.

Silver and white. Always silver and white.

Her fingernail traces down your lip, drawing a fine line on your chin; on instinct, you tip your head back to give her access to pet down your throat until she comes to a rest on the neckpiece of the harness she included with the lingerie set. When her hand reaches the ring in the center of the choker she grips it, pulling your face away from Lev’s and toward hers. “Lyovochka, what do you think…? I saw it and thought of kotyonok. A collar for our little kitten.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I need to see more.” Lev’s hands are on you again now, splaying flat over your chest before his fingers curl, one by one, around the harness strap that leads from the ring at the choker down between your breasts until it disappears under the neckline of your dress. He’s tugging on it—lightly, but you can’t deny the feeling that it’s like a leash…or the feeling of heat gathering in your pussy at having the two of them all over you like this.

You shouldn’t be letting them touch you (and they are touching you, Alisa’s hand stroking your throat and Lev tugging your side into his chest). There’s always people watching at parties like this; you’ve attended these things on Lev’s arm or Alisa’s enough times to know better than to let them do as they please. You’re supposed to be the responsible one. Too bad your body is craving a lot more than the innocuous touches they can give you in public.

You swallow and Alisa grins, dark-painted lips stretching over those perfect white teeth. “So. Kitten, would you like us to take you home? Say please.”

You don’t have to say it. You could ask yourself why you let them get away with this, why you keep letting yourself fall to the mercy of these siblings, why they even want you in the first place, but those are questions for tomorrow morning—tonight, even though you should hate it, there’s a part of you that wants to purr every time they call you kitten.

“…Please,” you murmur, and as soon as the word is out Lev’s grip on the harness tightens, pulling the choker taut around your neck.

///

They end up ripping the dress.

You kind of hate them for it when you think about how many bills you could have paid with the money they spent dolling you up for tonight. But by the time they get around to it, you’re pretty much too horny to care.

They didn’t even wait til you got home (their home, you remind yourself, not yours), although that shouldn’t have surprised you. From Alisa tugging on your hair and Lev’s arm draped possessively around your shoulders, you should’ve seen it coming, but it still takes you by surprise that the three of you have barely piled in the back of the Uber when Alisa’s dragging you to sit on her thigh, unceremoniously pulling your dress over your hips and sliding her hand up the slit where the fabric falls open to rub your pussy.

You whine and squirm but can’t quite make yourself say the word “no”, instead squeezing your eyes shut and trying to focus on Alisa whispering in your ear that you’re a good girl, getting so wet for them. All three of you can hear the squishy damp noises your pussy is making sucking around her fingers, and dear god you hope the driver can’t hear it too—wait, is he looking? Your eyes peek open, traitorously seeking out the rearview to see if there’s a possibility he’s watching the show, but before you can work up the guts to tell them to quit it, Lev’s hand is folding around your jaw again and forcing two of his fingers past your lips for you to drool on. And—fuck—Alisa’s petting over your cunt, drawing slow lines up from the wetness gathered at your hole up to your clit.

By the time you’ve reached the building Lev and Alisa are staying at in Tokyo, you’re past the point of caring that other people are around. Lev has to pull you out of the car and off Alisa’s lap to get you to stop humping your ass into her lap and trying to push your mound into her fingers. Alisa winks at the driver—probably earning herself a 5-star rating despite all your bad behavior—and then the two of them are steering you past the doorman and into the elevator.

As soon as you’ve got the barest semblance of privacy, Lev pulls your back into his chest and grinds himself into you. You can feel how hard he is, the heat of his body leaching through the fabric of your clothing directly into your skin, hands around your waist forcing you to mold yourself into him while he layers kisses over the side of you neck. “L-Lev, ah— mm, someone’s gonna come in,” you whine as he pushes the bulge of his stiff cock against your lower back, but he just lets one of his hands drift up to scratch at the choker of the harness again.

Alisa’s hands meet your cheeks on either side, framing your face for a short moment so she can study your dazed expression, the flush on your cheeks, your sex-glazed eyes. You look like you want to get fucked, you know that? You look like you want them to push you down in the elevator and fuck you right there. “But kotyonok, you’re so darling. We should let other people get a chance to see, no?”

Lev’s hand spans the breadth of your throat, not quite pressing down (yet), so he must be able to feel the way your muscles contract and release when you swallow—not to mention the edge of tension that enters your body at the thought of someone seeing you in such a compromising position. “Ahh, kitty wants to be all ours, doesn’t she? She doesn’t want us to share.”

“Is that so?” Alisa doesn’t give you a chance to answer, just tipping your face up and letting her lips close over yours. She tastes more bitter than Lev did and for the brief moment you have between getting pressed between them and your brain short-circuiting, you wonder what she’s been drinking. “Are you being selfish?”

“Nnnh, I—“ you don’t have an answer for her, but it doesn’t really matter because the elevator is dinging at the penthouse and Alisa’s pulling you away from Lev into their apartment by the center strap of the harness. You’ve got no choice but to follow, and you consider telling her to quit dragging you around by your neck but there’s something about the pressure on your throat that isn’t…entirely unpleasant, so you hold your tongue.

Lev murmurs to Alisa in Russian—you hate when they do that, especially because you know they’re only doing it because they don’t want you to understand—and then you’re in the spare bedroom, the one that the siblings insist on referring to as your bedroom. Even though you don’t live here. Even though you do everything you can to avoid staying here. Even though the only times you ever spend the night are when you’re too fucked-out by the two of them to consider putting in the effort to get home.

Something tells you this is going to be one of those nights.

They work in sync, teasing down the straps of your dress and easing you out of it until Alisa snaps the harness between your tits and Lev gets impatient and someone pulls the back of the dress a little too hard and that’s when you feel tearing. “Shit,” you hear in Lev’s voice, a soft curse in Russian from Alisa, and then a reluctant peal of laughter as the dress flutters down to the ground.

“Did you—“ You’re about to curse them out for ruining something so fucking expensive, but Lev clucks his tongue and shakes his head and you fall silent. He’s pulling back from you—so is Alisa—and your heart jumps for a second wondering if you did something wrong until you realize they’re just looking at you, drinking in the image of you naked except for the lingerie Alisa picked out for you.

“Bordelle?” Lev murmurs, running fingers down the straps cinching around your waist, the belt holding up the garters—as usual, you don’t know whether to move away from his touch or melt into it.

Alisa smiles. “It was made for her, don’t you think? Our kitten looks good in red.”

Honestly, they call you kitten, but the way they look at you is less like the way owners look at a pet and more like wolves sizing up a little lamb they’ve cornered. Hungry. Starving. You’re not sure which you prefer, but it makes you self-conscious. You’d felt pretty confident about the way you looked when you examined yourself in the mirror before the party—Alisa has good taste, even if the lingerie is just this side of bondage gear and not something you would’ve bought for yourself in a million years—but now you have to fight the urge to cover yourself up with your hands…not that they’d let you.

True to your prediction, as soon as your hand twitches with the instinct to cross your arms over your bound-up tits Lev snaps down to catch it. “Let me see,” he instructs, and the authority in his voice is so definite that your arms fall back down to your sides automatically. “Good girl. Alisa, do you think we can keep it on while we fuck her?”

While we fuck her.

He says it so nonchalantly. And it’s not like you didn’t know that’s what you’re here for. You’re a grown-up, you’re sober (ish), and you’ve been in this room with the two of them enough times that you’re well aware there was only ever one way this night was going to end up. But the way he says it makes you shiver. They’re going to fuck you…like they own you. And it’s kind of terrifying how much you want to be owned.

“I think we can get the panties off without taking off the rest,” Alisa says to respond to Lev’s question, even as she brushes a stray lock of hair away from your eyes. “Besides, I have a surprise for her.”

A surprise? It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has pulled out something unexpected in bed—last time it was a ball gag and nipple clamps, and the time before that it was a magic wand vibrator (plated in literal gold, because the Haibas are nothing if not excessive) that had you begging and crying and creaming all over the sheets. You can’t help your anxiousness as Alisa pulls something out of the otherwise-empty dresser and sets it up to face the bed.

It’s…a camera. A camera? “You want to film it?” you blurt out, your voice sounding pitchy and nervous even to your own ears.

“Great idea,” Lev says, patting your head like that’s all it’ll take to make you feel better.

“Yes, kotyonok. I’m going to film you,” Alisa replies, fiddling with the settings and batting those long blonde eyelashes at the lens once she’s satisfied.

“Wait, I—I don’t know. I’m not like you, I can’t just—” you stammer. Sure, the twins will look perfect and irresistible and bewitching, but you? You’re not sure you want to have a video of yourself getting fucked stupid in their hands. “What if I don’t want to…?”

“But I want to.” Alisa’s gaze sweeps down over you and you lower your eyes so you don’t have to meet it, don’t have to feel the weight of it holding you down more securely than any leash. There’s a reason she’s a model—she could sell anything. Those eyes. How are you supposed to say no?

You want to step back away from her. You almost try, but Lev’s at your back already, long arms draped over your shoulders, a loose hold that nonetheless keeps you from moving. So instead of backing up, you just bite your lip.

Alisa’s face softens—she’s good at that, good at picking up the cues when she’s pushed a little too far for your comfort—and a second later you feel her hand wrapping around yours, holding it. “Safeword?”

Cherry. The safeword is cherry. It’s not that you’ve forgotten. It’s her way of reminding you that you have a safeword, and you can use it, and it’ll be okay. This isn’t even a full-on scene, but Alisa must be able to sense that the addition of the camera made you scared.

Picking up the change in mood a second later, Lev’s hand finds your other one and he strokes his thumb over your skin reassuringly. God, maybe it’s wrong that they can make you feel hunted one second and adored the next, but you let out a breath and relax, shaking your head to indicate that you’re not stopping.

She brings your hand up to her mouth and kisses it so lightly her lipstick barely leaves a mark—wait, oops. You’d forgotten she was wearing lipstick. You must have it all over you by now.

“Good girl. We take good care of you, don’t we?”

“…Yes.”

“We do.” Lev’s impatient, you can tell from the way he’s adjusting his grip to your waist and pushing you over to the bed. “We’re not going to share the video, if that’s what you’re worried about. Alisa likes to joke, but really…”

Your ass hits the mattress so you’re half-sitting, half-lying on the covers, propped up on your elbows, peeking through your eyelashes at the two of them looming over you—and, oh, there they are again.

The wolves.

“…we don’t want anyone else seeing you like this,” Alisa finishes, holding up the camera and flicking the little red light on to record.

///

Lev starts, like usual. You think maybe it’s a control thing, that Alisa doesn’t let you touch her until you’re already falling apart on Lev’s fingers, his tongue…his cock. As much as she likes it when you bite back, you’re cuter when you’re begging.

She’s holding your face off the bed by a hand under your chin, wrenching your neck back so your wrecked face is level with the camera. You’re on your hands and knees—or, more accurately, your hands and elbows, with your ass arched up and Lev’s face buried in your slit. “Nngh, nnnnn, fuck please please—“ Your whining is barely coherent, but Lev knows what you’re asking for and he digs his fingers into the meat of your ass to hold you still as he latches his mouth over your clit and sucks.

Fuck— you keen and try to drop your head down to the sheets to angle your dripping cunny closer to his mouth, but Alisa’s grip on your jaw prevents you from getting any further out of the camera frame. “Uh-uh, no. I want to see you.”

“Alisa…ahhh…” Your tongue is lolling out of your mouth and you know you must look like a mess, spit practically falling over your lips as you try to stop yourself from cumming right here. Fuck, it feels good, feels so hot and wet that your juices don’t even have time to cool on your thighs before more is dripping down.

“Tell the camera what’s happening, kotyonok,” Alisa purrs, wiping the saliva off your lip and then pushing her fingers over your tongue.

“…eating me out, he’s—uhhhn—licking my pussy…” you slur around her fingers. Your glassy eyes flit between her appraising expression and the lens of the camera—even though you trust that they won’t show the video to anyone outside this room, it’s making you shudder to think about what’s on the little screen you can’t see—Alisa’s pretty silver fingernails coated in your drool as she presses them deeper into your throat, your body all bound up in red straps and gold fastenings, and Lev behind you, hair falling out of its careful style as he shoves his face deeper between your legs.

The edge of Alisa’s finger bites into the plush of your lip as you moan and unsuccessfully attempt to wriggle your ass under Lev’s grip. “Who’s licking your pussy?” she asks calmly, like she’s asking what the weather is like today.

“Lev, it’s, it’s Lev—fuck ohh, oh,” you whine as Lev slides his tongue flat from your clit up to your hole and pushes the slimy wet muscle inside. It’s so long, you’re never going to get used to how stupid long his tongue is, licking out your walls and making slurping sounds that are downright fucking vile.

Heat is gathering quickly in your abdomen, and you can feel it—that plateau rising before you hit your peak, and the tension in your thighs making them twitch and quiver as your muscles contract in anticipation—and his tongue is so long and thick it’s almost reaching your g-spot, almostalmostalmost, god-fucking-damnit. Your spine curls even further, arching yourself into him, wordlessly begging for him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. “Gonna cum, fuck Lev please make me, make me cum!”

“Oh? Did I say you were allowed to cum?” Alisa asks, cat-like eyes narrowing.

Shit, fuck, she didn’t, but you don’t know if you can help yourself. Your hand fists in the sheet, curling your fingernails around the fabric to try to ease up the heat where Lev’s mouth is latched to your cunt. “Please Alisa—I need to—“

Alisa shakes her head. “But you don’t get to decide what you need, kotyonok.”

She’s right, but—but, it’s not fair, Lev’s switching between dragging his tongue over your clit and fucking you with it—you try to pull your hips away from his mouth but he doesn’t let you, effortlessly holding you in place while he teases you even higher.

“Who decides?” she continues, petting your jawline and wiping away the first hint of a tear from your cheek as you try to hold it back—

but you can’t.

“You-you decide! You decide when I cum!” you gasp, but your body is already betraying your words, convulsing and contracting as your climax hits you like a truck. You try to hold yourself through it but it’s impossible—your eyes roll back and arms go slack, dropping flat on the bedspread with your ass still pushed up into the air as your pussy walls contract around Lev’s tongue.

He’s still licking you—slower now at least, but you’re shaking at the feeling of him stimulating that sensitive bud. “Stop…too much,” you whine weakly, but he just raises a hand off your ass cheek to give it a light smack.

“Bad kitty,” he murmurs with his mouth still pressed against your slit, and the contact makes you seize up and twitch.

“Yes. Very bad.” Alisa doesn’t look angry—she’s never angry with you, even when you’re…disobedient, you guess—but there’s a note of mischief in her eyes that sends a thrill of fear (and not just fear) down your spine.

“S-Sorry, I’m sorry,” you whimper, but Alisa’s already pulling you upright by the ring on your choker.

“Did you cum? Even though we didn’t give you permission?” she asks, even though all three of you know you did. You nod, avoiding looking at both her and the camera as if that’ll disguise the obvious flush painting your cheeks red. At your admission, she smiles indulgently and murmurs something in Russian that you don’t understand, but you get the gist.

You’ve been naughty. And you’re going to get punished.

You hear the bedsprings squeak and feel the dip of the mattress as Lev climbs up behind you, settling his body against yours so the bulge in his pants is pressed against your back again. He’s still wearing most of his outfit from the party—they both are, and you note (not for the first time) how ridiculous it is that the siblings are willing to fuck you together but being naked in front of one another is the one boundary they won’t cross—but you don’t have to wait long before you hear him undoing his pants and pulling his cock out to rut it lazily against your back.

Automatically you shift your legs apart and reach down to finger yourself like you usually do, stretch your cunt out so you’re ready to take him. But before you can reach your pussy, Lev’s hand is folding over yours and lacing his fingers over your hand to stop you. “L-Lev?”

“No, kitty,” he tells you firmly.

You shiver. Alisa pinches your cheek and rubs over your ear. “What…”

“You already came,” Lev continues, and then you feel his cock sliding between your thighs, between your soaking-wet lips, using your cum as lubrication. “You came, so you don’t need to get ready. You’re going to take all of me, okay?”

All of him. You swallow. The full length slowly rubbing between your legs is going to go inside of you, without any preparation beforehand. “But…if I don’t, it’ll—it’s gonna hurt…”

“Yes, it’s going to hurt.” He waits for a moment, giving you a chance to say the safeword, but you don’t. “It’s going to hurt, and then it’ll feel good, and then you’re going to cream yourself on my cock like always. Yes?”

“Uh—“ You blink rapidly, already feeling his cockhead pushing between your lips toward your hole. Alisa combs your hair out of your face and you turn toward her. “Alisa?”

“Don’t ask her. You need to learn that your owners will take care of you. You need to trust us.” Lev presses in, stretching your little cunt around the thick head, and you suck in a sharp inhale.

“A-Ah—it’s too big,” you whine, scrunching your eyes shut and biting your lip as he slides himself deeper into you. And yeah, it hurts…but with how riled up you are, it definitely doesn’t hurt enough for you to want it to stop. The burn from the stretch is just making you wetter, and the feeling of being filled up by him is unbelievable. This was supposed to be a punishment, right?

Alisa cups your face to kiss you gently, and then her hands drift lower to circle your neck. Lev’s still sliding his cock into your pussy, slowly, slowly, so you can feel everything, every inch of his skin and every vein dragging against your g-spot. The deeper he gets, the more it hurts and the more you want to stop him, to take the lead—but he doesn’t let you.

“Are you going to cry, kitten?” Alisa asks you, reaching down to take one of your hands and pull it over her shoulder so you’re holding her. You grit your teeth and shudder and shake your head, making her lips quirk into a smile. “It’s alright if you cry. You’re still cute when you’re crying.”

With another roll of his hips Lev’s pushing up against your cervix and you choke out a curse. “F-Fuck, I’m not—not gonna c-c-cry…”

“Shh…” Upright on his knees behind you, Lev’s body is so big curled over yours that you feel smothered between him and Alisa. You sneak a glance back and there’s a pale pink flush over his cheeks and shoulders. “You’re taking me so well…taking my cock like that, going to make me forget you were bad…”

You stay still because it hurts more when you try to move, and you need to get yourself adjusted. You have to relax, you have to, but he’s so big, heavy and thick between your aching legs. You still haven’t recovered from cumming earlier, and every time one of the aftershocks hits you and you clench around him, the mix of pleasure and pain is almost too much. Even as aroused as you are, your cunt sucking him in for all you’re worth, he’s pushing against your cervix…and his hips haven’t even hit yours yet. He hasn’t bottomed out.

You’re going to take all of me, he said. You’re not even sure you can. But no matter what, you’re not—you’re not—gonna cry.

Until Lev pulls his hips back, sliding his cock out of you so it’s only his head sheathed at the entrance to your cunt, and then snaps forward again, filling you back up in a single stroke. He knocks into you so forcefully that you jerk forward, your chest mashing into Alisa’s. The force and his weight pulls a squeak out of you and—fuck, fuck—you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

“—t-t-too fast,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut as if that’ll prevent them from getting glossy. The pads of Alisa’s fingers are skimming over your cheeks, and her skin is so soft and silky that you want to nuzzle in for comfort.

“But Kotyonok likes it fast, doesn’t she?…you feel how wet you are on my—my cock?” Lev’s face nudges against your shoulder, and you can feel his hands curling around your upper arms, securing you underneath him, holding you in place as he pounds into you.

You like it…like it fast? Your head is spinning, you’re dizzy and hot and feverish, Lev’s cologne is mixing with Alisa’s perfume and you feel like you’re drinking it, ugh. Fuck. Feels like you’re getting bruised up inside and it feels good. Your legs are jerking, weakly trying to push yourself back on his cock to make him fill you up deeper than your pussy can take but you’re totally at their mercy.

“Let her down, Lyovochka. I want kitty to lick,” Alisa says, looking over your shoulder to make eye contact with her brother. She shifts back on the bedspread, easing herself into the pillows and pushing the skirt of her dress up over her waist to expose her panties: mesh, lace, powder-pink. They’re so pretty against her pale skin that you just stare down at her for a second, open-mouthed, before Lev’s releasing his grip on your arms and splaying his palm into your back, shoving your face down toward her lap.

You catch yourself on your elbows—barely—but you don’t have time to adjust to the new position and how stupid fucking goddamn deep Lev’s cock is hitting you before Alisa’s pulling your face up closer to her clothed pussy and adjusting her thighs to make room. Is she going to keep the panties on? Fuck—you almost ask her to take them off but you know you aren’t allowed so you just angle your face in and let drool coat your tongue so you can try to lap at her pussy through the fabric.

The awkward angle means you can barely taste her, but fuck, what you can taste is so good—they’ve conditioned you, the two of them, conditioned you like Pavlov’s dogs to crave what they’re doing to you so badly you can’t even think. The slightly-bitter taste of her cunt soaking through to your mouth has you intoxicated. She got like this from watching you, watching you cum all over the pretty lingerie she bought you, watching you get fucked so hard you’re crying. The thought of her getting off on watching you squirm makes your pussy clench around Lev’s cock.

“Gonna cum again?” Lev asks with laughter in his voice; his pace slows, dragging out the stimulation to your g-spot right as you feel him reach down to tease over your clit. You squeak out a denial but he doesn’t believe you—and why would he when he can literally hear the nasty wet noises from your pussy eating up his cock? “Yes…you are."

“I’m—n-no, I’m noooot…”

“Poor baby, can’t control herself.” Alisa’s pushing you back into her cunt, fingernails scraping over your scalp as you desperately try to lick her pussy. “Don’t be cruel, Lev.”

Another laugh, low and raspy and juddering from the pace of his cock stretching your walls and pushing against that sweet spot inside you. “I’m not the cruel one.”

They’re both cruel, you think, but that’s the only thing going through your mind because you’re pretty sure you’re going to go fucking crazy, your pussy is so hot you feel like you’re melting around him but you keep at Alisa’s cunt because you want to be good, want to be their good girl, want to be their good little kitty.

You want to be theirs.

“Please—please, can I, can I? Please let me, please I need you to let me…” you beg—somewhere in the back of your mind you know you’re going to hate yourself for giving in to them tomorrow but you want it so so so bad and you can’t cum without their permission, you can’t, you can’t be bad again.

“Well…what do you think, Alisa? Has she earned it?” There’s a growl in Lev’s voice—is he holding himself back? Yesss… He’s slowing down, fucking you up from the inside and the outside, pulling that heat out of you, making you squeal and whine and plead just like he said he would.

You want to, you need to, need to earn it, be good make Alisa feel good earn it—fuck, you have to try harder, and you flutter your tongue over her clit through her panties as well as you can, knowing you’re being sloppy but you don’t know how to help it. She waits a long moment and then sighs, pulling her fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face so you can look up at her, those pretty pretty eyes looking down at yours so indulgently. Adoringly. Like you’re something to be cherished. “Mm…yes.”

And that’s all it takes.

Your mouth falls open and your pussy does something, convulsing—

“—cumming I’m cumming Lev, A-Alisa—“

fuck, can’t breathe why can’t you breathe? something digging into your throat—

Lev’s, Lev’s hand under the choker dragging you upright tightening cutting off the sounds coming out of your mouth, choking your scream into a pathetic little mewl so he can hold your body up next to him while he fucks you through your climax—you can feel your face turning pink, your cunny holding around him, squeezing him so tight he can barely move but he still does, hips thrusting against your ass, the pleasure so bright and heavy you’re seeing sparks, head rushing, or maybe that’s just the lack of oxygen,

too tight the choker’s too tight you bring your hand back and tap against Lev’s and he lets go immediately. “Shit—sorry, are you alright? Can you breathe?”

You can feel him pulling out, and just that movement is enough to set off another round of clenching in your pussy. You’re sputtering, throat contracting in time with your cunt, not too painful. Just raw.

“Try to breathe, (Y/N),” Lev repeats, stroking down your back to soothe you. He sounds worried, and…that’s your name, isn’t it? It’s been a while since you heard one of them actually say your name instead of just kitten or kitty or kotyonok. It’s not like you can really bother pretending you’re not at least a little bit into the nickname, but hearing your real name out of his mouth stokes some kind of soft, nervous pleasure in you. And goddamn, you do not have the brainpower to analyze why.

It takes a moment for you to catch your breath—the air tastes sweeter than it did a minute ago—and then you roll over. “Did...did you cum?”

Lev shakes his head. You turn toward Alisa, and she just pats your cheek—of course she didn’t cum. Which means you’ve gotten to cum twice, and you didn’t get either of them off.

You bite your lip, turn to the side, and try not to let your eyes water for the—third? fourth?—time tonight. “I’m sorry, I—I’ll do it again, I’ll be better—“

“No,” Alisa says gently, adjusting her position to sit next to you and kiss your forehead. “You were so good, (Y/N).”

Lev mirrors her actions on the other side so you’re bracketed by the two of them. After a second of stillness to gauge your comfort, he starts undoing the clasps at the back of the choker and massaging his fingers over the tender skin underneath. You sniffle and then feel him lay his chin on the top of your head, arrange his arm over your side. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You know we like you no matter what, right?”

Alisa nods in agreement, pupils coming to a rest on the skin of your throat as she helps Lev remove the tangle of red satin straps from your body. “Our perfect little kitten. Who’s a good girl?”

Kitten.

Your stomach drops. Not your name. Just kitten.

It must be the twentieth time she’s called you that tonight, but somehow this time it’s different. You cringe, feeling cold where she touches you, but that doesn’t stop her from wiping away the smeared mascara and tear tracks from your cheeks. When you try to flinch away from her, Lev huffs out an annoyed breath and pushes you back into place. “Myesto. Stay.”

It’s a command. Like you would give to an animal. When you freeze, Alisa smiles and then she’s tilting your chin up with her fingers and bringing the camera—the camera, you forgot about the camera—to your throat so she can capture the mess of pink lines and indentations from where the choker bit into your neck…

…and who are you kidding? It’s not a choker, it’s a fucking collar. And you’re not their lover, or their girlfriend, or even their fuckbuddy.

You’re their pet.

[salenakingston]

Mystery March Day 13 - Relax

Arthur was at his wits end.

While there was no denying he would do anything so long as he was spending time with his friends, even he had his limits. Everyone did. It was amazing to him just how long Vivi could keep going on their outings without ever crashing. Lewis didn’t have anything to worry about, being a ghost and all. Mystery would trail along after them no matter how many times.

As many times as it took to ensure their safety. To insure no repeat of the past.

The blonde had always been the odd one out when it came to his friends. He wasn’t as brave as them, even if they begged to differ on that point. He wasn’t as strong as them. They had a far better grip on their lives than he did, and that was certainly saying something considering one was dead… undead? Whatever.

It almost made him feel a little selfish, to want anything. It didn’t matter how many times his friends told him it was alright, something about it never sat right with him. He had a hand in tearing everything they had apart, no matter how indirect his involvement might have been. The least he could do was make everything up to them. They would always have some down time. He still had a work schedule he maintained on the side. He always had his late nights, sometimes still unable to find comfort in sleep.

They helped, but they weren’t going to be around him for every second of the day. He’d just have to find ways to cope.

Arthur was at his wits end… but he had no right to complain.

He hadn’t been paying too much attention to where they were going, adjusting himself in the back of the van with some of his sketches. This wasn’t unusual for him. The dynamic they shared had mended, but there was no way it would ever go back to the way it was before. They all talked, but sometimes there wasn’t a single word said between them.

The blonde didn’t look up until he felt the jerk of the van stopping. It hadn’t been a sudden stop, but there was always a distinct feeling to how vehicles halted. His head peeked over the line of seats, surprised they seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere.

Honestly he really shouldn’t have been. Considering how much time they spent on the road, it wasn’t uncommon for them to stop somewhere for the night. Hotels were common, but not always easy to access when night creeped into the sky.

Vivi’s enthusiasm was there to greet him, all of them really. She pushed the door open, “Come on guys! Let’s set up camp!”

Right…

Arthur pushed away from the seat, hunched over in the bag as he pulled out a box of their camping gear. There wasn’t much, given the van had space for them to comfortably lounge. If anything, the few supplies they had on hand were items for cooking, holding drinks, and a couple folding chairs, on the off chance they didn’t feel like sitting on the grass or dirt.

Two bedrolls were pulled forward, unbuckled, and laid out along the metal floor. He couldn’t help but stare at the small space lingering between them. He always laid them out like this. The larger bedroll was of course reserved for the two lovebirds, had always been before Lewis’ death. The single one was meant for him. Mystery usually laid with whomever had space.

But even after all this time, he still placed space between them. He knew they brought him comfort, and more often than not, would wake up with the two at his side. One would think he’d get the hint and stop digging into his old habits.

It wasn’t the same anymore. It was like his brain and hands could never communicate properly anymore.

Blue soon came into his vision, seeming to give a quick glance to the laid out rolls, the blonde laying blankets over them while she grabbed their small box. He hadn’t noticed her looking at the gap, one soon covered.

He turned around, “Something wrong Vivi?”

The bluenette shook her head, turning on her heels, “Nope. Come on Artie. You look like you’ve got everything set up in there.”

He nodded, making his way out of the van. Feet planted firmly on the ground, shutting the doors behind him. There was no harm in keeping them open, as they stopped in a rather secluded part of… whatever road it was they were on, but enough poor decisions and bad luck had him keeping everything locked tight.

Lewis was getting a fire going. Of course, he snickered silently in his head. It seemed the perfect job for a being made of fire.

Even though Vivi herself had tried using his own hair before, he’d learned to stop giving her the opportunity to do so.

The four sat around the glow, Arthur finding the courage to break the ice, “So, how much further until we get to the next site?”

The ghost and girl looked at one another, causing him to tilt his head in confusion. That’s the entire reason they were out here. That’s the only reason they ever seemed to be out on the road. It was like that before the disaster that destroyed their lives, and so too once they reformed. Why should he have any reason to expect anything else?

Vivi’s head finally moved back in his direction, a mix of guilt and sympathy intertwined with her usual cheerful expression, “Yeah, about that. It was actually a lie. We’re not going anywhere to ghost hunt.”

“...What?”

“We weren’t sure if you’d come with us otherwise. You’re always ducking out when we try to do things with you that don’t revolve around the Mystery Skulls.”

It’s not my place to come between you two.

I don’t deserve it.

I don’t deserve friends like you.

I can’t be selfish.

What haven’t I done besides ruin everything?

“Why?”

Lewis spoke up this time, “We aren’t blind Arthur. We can tell you’ve been running ragged for a while now.”

“What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

The ghost continued on as if he said nothing at all, “Why didn’t you tell us anything?”

Don’t be selfish.

“Seriously, I’m fine.”

Vivi broke through again, “Arthur, you know you can talk to us. You can tell us when something is bothering you.”

Don’t be selfish.

“Vivi, nothing is wrong.”

“It’s clear to all of us that’s a lie.” Oh great, even Mystery was getting in on this.

Selfish.

“It’s not.”

Selfish.

“Arthur.”

Selfish!

“Arthur.”

SELFISH.

“Arthur!”

He couldn’t take it anymore, nor could he help how his voice raised when he spoke, “I’m not going to be selfish enough to have you take time for me. My problems shouldn’t be your concern when I’m the one that’s usually causing them for all of you.”

Nice going.

The blonde turned around, facing away from his friends. For a while, nothing but silence hung in the air. What were any of them supposed to say to an outburst like that? Arthur began to curl in on himself, wishing her could disappear from this spot. He was about to get up so he could hide in the van when he heard Vivi’s voice again, “Well that’s too bad.”

He didn’t say anything, but heard Lewis next, “Friends are supposed to take care of each other Arthur. If you’re burning out, you can, and should, let us know.”

Again he said nothing, the nail being hit in the head when Mystery took a turn to speak, “If you don’t Arthur, nothing will change. We will have learned nothing. Do you want history to repeat itself?”

“No… of course not…”

Movement. Two hands and one paw along his shoulder. Head turned enough to bring all of them into view.

“Let us in Artie.”

He spun around, embracing all of them. He didn’t need to say anything.

Vivi was the first to break from the group, finding her hand in Arthur’s, “Come on. I think we could all use a little R and R. No ghosts, spooks, or things that go bump in the night for at least a week.”

“What about Lewis?”

“He doesn’t count. He’s more of a friend than a ghost.”

None of them needed to look to see the heart he wore blink brighter than usual. And none of them missed the way Arthur started chuckling lightly. He raised his hands to mimic quotation marks, “Things that go bump in the night.”

“Yes, I did say those words. You got a problem with that Kingsmen?”

“Nope! Not at all!”

Once he fell into a spell of laughter, everyone else followed.

It wasn’t selfish of him to want time to himself, or with his friends. It wasn’t selfish of him to want a break from their line of work, nor should he feel like he should have to beg for it. Mystery was right. If they didn’t learn from the past, something more was going to happen to them. It was time for a bout of rest and relaxation.

And he couldn’t think of anyone else to do that with than his friends.

Well, maybe Galahad and Lance might take offense to that. They were just as good at helping him. Ok, amended statement: he couldn’t think of anyone else aside from his friends, his uncle, and his hamster.

[itsclydebitches]

How do we handle art made during times were everyone was problematic? Should we ban old offensive art? I've seen birth of the nation. It's as racist as people say, but still a important film for cinema history. Snow White was 14 while the prince is 31. Tons of propaganda and racist depictions exited in early cartoons. Lovecraft made a new horror genre, but was very racist by today standards. Is it wrong to sell those or make them easily available? Do we just use disclaimers?

A peer of mine once summed up this issue in a helpfully succinct way: “My daughter really wants to read Little House on the Prairie so I’m taking time to talk to her about the racism in it.” Now, this woman has a doctorate in English so she’s well versed in the impact fiction can have and I personally agree that education is the best way to go about this. Her parenting technique (and the much longer conversation we had about it) acknowledges a couple of things: 

Straight up denying access is never the way to go, both because that feeds into censorship (who gets to decide what’s bad “enough” to withhold?) and, frankly, the more you tell people they can’t engage with something the more they’ll want to. Saying “There’s no circumstance in which you’re ever allowed to read this” doesn’t help anyone

Ignoring such stories doesn’t help anyone either. As you say, a hundred years from now we’ll have currently beloved stories that are now unacceptable, so beyond acknowledging that everything has the potential to be problematic and we can’t simply forget about huge swaths of our culture, that culture itself is important - even the bad parts. History is important. Not to get all cliche, but those who don’t learn history are doomed to repeat it. Racism, ableism, homophobia, etc. all exist in our fiction and moving forward doesn’t mean pretending that those stories never existed by hiding them away, but rather acknowledging that problem overtly as a way to say, “We can’t do that anymore.” That’s how people learn - especially kids - and that’s most safely done through something like a novel 

That learning requires overt education. Teach people to think critically about the media they consume and listen to different perspectives on it. Note that my peer doesn’t just let her daughter read this series, she does so with plans to discuss the problems she already knows are in the text 

All that being said, giving kids access to these books doesn’t necessarily mean we should continue to uphold those books in places like the classroom. There is a very complicated conversation going on regarding which books are worth giving our limited time to. Reading a racist book might teach a student something, but it’s better to simply give them access to books by black authors and have that conversation alongside the benefit of the non-racist literature itself. As said, deciding which texts are still worth our educational time is a huge conversation and everyone has a different opinion about whether what the literature might otherwise provide is worth its problems. That’s not something I alone can decide

(As a non-literature example, we’re seeing this now with BLM: there’s a massive difference between acknowledging Columbus in something like a history book and keeping a statue that acts as a means of upholding/praising him. Books work in a similar manner. Having them remain accessible in bookstores/a library is not the same thing as upholding/praising them in a classroom. Putting the books in that space and in that context presents them in a more positive light than many are comfortable with.) 

However, if you do continue to teach such books you (again) want to have those conversations - which includes letting students be upset about this. Don’t tell the woman in your class that she shouldn’t be pissed off over how misogynistic a text is. Don’t tell a queer student their reading of a text isn’t possible. I believe that it’s often less about what we read than how we read it. If a student despises a text and thinks it was a waste of time... that’s the spark of a very important conversation. Teasing out the “why” of “I hated it” teaches just as much as teasing out the “why” of “I loved it.” Of course, there’s also mental health to consider. As said, there are texts we may not want to teach anymore. There are texts you’ll want to warn people about before they buy it in a bookstore. There are texts someone may need to step away from halfway through reading it... these are all things that need to be negotiated on an individual basis 

Finally, not all texts are the same. A Disney film where the ages aren’t obvious (Snow White) isn’t the same thing as a text actively grappling with pedophilia (Lolita). In a world where “everything is problematic” it’s important to make those distinctions because though every story will have its flaws, those flaws are not made equal. Acknowledging that is necessary for having those conversations and having them mean something. Like the white person going, “Everyone has to deal with hard stuff in life!” while the black person is trying to talk about institutional racism, pretending that all texts’ problems are on an even level doesn’t do us any good 

[repentantsky]

5 Companies That Have Too Much Hype Around Them

Look, we all love our favorite games with a passion, and to an extent that’s fine, but when that passion becomes obsession and that obsession becomes forgetting our own moral compass for the sake of entertainment, it does feel like it’s gone too far. It’s one thing to love what a company releases, it’s completely another to ignore every problem they’ve ever had. Not all of the companies on this list have done horribly un-ethical things, but they’ve at least been anti-consumer, and the fact that people don’t question that enough has led to them sometimes, making horrible mistakes. I am RepentantSky, I love making lists that trash on things that are popular, and these are 5 companies, that have too much hype around them.

5. Nintendo

Already I can hear people getting angry, and in a way I get it. Nintendo is for many people the place where they either begin to play games, or the place they go to keep on playing them when everything else let’s them down, and of course, they put an end to the flipping video game crash of 1983, and no one else will ever be able to claim that from them. That’s all wonderful, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be critical of them. I’ve talked about a number of things they’ve done wrong before, so let me quickly run down the list of some of their anti-consumer practices. They, charge too much for remasters and ports, they don’t drop prices in games, they used to charge for fixing Joy-Cons and now completely deny it’s a problem for legal reasons, despite everyone pretty much having experienced drift, they haven’t been good at getting stock for their items in at least 20 years, and oh yeah, they sell all the content for a remake for $115 on the 3DS, the system and the fans that helped them get by while the Wii U was massively underperforming, all while handing owners of the, at the time, unproven Switch, free content. Nintendo has a tendency to still think like a toy company, and they even used that idea to present the Nintendo Entertainment System as a toy instead of a console when they first game to the West with it, but they aren’t a toy company, their a gaming company that also sells toys, just like everyone else. I get they’ve done amazing things, I own over 150 physical handheld games from them, and a ton of digital games besides, but when they start charging twice what they are worth for SD cards, while releasing games that absolutely won’t fit on the limited space of the Switch, and they simply don’t care when costumers complain, it’s time to at least question their motives.  

4. Bethesda

Boy I used to really rip on this company back when I posted lists on Facebook, but I haven’t done it in a while, so let’s do it again. Bethesda has absolutely spent at least the last 10 years lying to people, Todd Howard, has become famous for it, but I think I might have been the only person who wasn’t shocked when Fallout 76 was the disaster that it was. There were so many things wrong with that game, that I don’t even have time to go over every little thing, but lying, you know the thing that will get another company on this list very soon, was a big thing they did with the game. They promised at one point that they weren’t ever going to charge for items in the game that gave in-game benefits, and they did, allowing ammo and other items to be bought with real money for a time, they promised new, specialized servers if you paid for a yearly service that was way too expensive, and that wasn’t true because people found proof of things missing from what would have been a freshly made, private server, and there’s no excuse for that, games in early access do that correctly, and they aren’t, at least supposedly, even finished yet. I wish I could say that’s all they’ve done, but they also bullied an indie developer over their game Prey, a game they may have bullied the original developer for so they could get cheaper, but we’ll never know because they refused to comment on that when asked, they also refused to update their outdated game engine for years, which caused something they spent over a decade fixing, games releasing with glitches, some of them game breaking. Yet somehow, they have such a fan base that those who love their games will claim the glitches are just part of the charm. That kind of fierce loyalty led to Fallout 76, and even though we make jokes about it even now, the horse DLC from way back in the day, was an indication of everything they’ve done, including trying to charge for mods made for free, meant to be consumed for free, twice. Bethesda is a bad company and they do not care. 

3. Activision/Blizzard

You know one of the worst things Nintendo does that I didn’t really mention directly in the first entry, is limit the amount of time a product is available, instead of just letting it be there for consumption as long as it’s selling (that was what the toy company reference was about if it wasn’t clear). However, Activision/Blizzard are the Kings of doing this, as they not only limited things while they were in control of Destiny 2 to the point where you pretty much had to use real money to get everything, and never mind everything else they did to it, because we’d be here all day going through it all, but they also don’t support games as a service titles long enough for dedicated fans. Crash Team Racing Nitro fueled, is a prime example of this. People weren’t done with that game, and when fans thought for even a split second that an update was going to come to fix an issue, their hype (mine to) was so explosive, it was almost like we were getting a new game, but then nothing happened, because they didn’t care. A lot of companies that do yearly release titles as a service have this problem and nothing exemplified that more for Activision, than Skylanders, a series originally made off the back of Spyro, who didn’t even wait for a year to release new games, as technically between October 21st and November 20th of the year the first game came out, they released three of them, and I’m not even kidding. Two of them, were mobile games! You might have thought I was going to go after Call of Duty, for this, but that horse has been beaten to ground, somehow, more than Skylanders was. They also, for whatever reason, released each expansion on different generations console generations, at different months throughout Fall, like somehow the season of Fall, they needed a release every month, if not two, and so off they went. I didn’t even get into Blizzard, but all I need to say is “Blitzchung” and all the memories will likely come flooding back. There’s also the fact that in two separate years, after gaining massive profits, they dropped hundreds of employees, and hired more than they’d let go, but I guess that doesn’t really matter to some of you, because when they did it this year, with so little warning, most employees found out via the news articles about it, but we all made such a little stink this time around, it didn’t create any media buzz, so I guess that doesn’t matter, you’d all rather play flipping World of Warcraft, like better MMO’s don’t exist. 

2. CD Projekt Red

I know this one comes off a little more fresh in the mind, and they technically only lied about one game, but man, what a series of lies it was. Also, let’s be honest, one major game, does not a great developer always make. CDPR’s previous two Witcher games did exactly what the author of the books thought they would, and that was almost nothing in terms of making a serious impact, and the reason is, they are kind of bad. They aren’t the worst games out there, but there is a good reason why The Witcher 1 and 2 haven’t been ported and/or remastered, despite how important they are to the story of Witcher 3, and that’s because they both suck. Cyperpunk 2077, was in a lot of ways, them just going back to being the developer they were before, the BIG ONE happened. They lied about nearly everything in regards to the game, including how the main platforms where consumers were going to buy it, were actually running well. I made those references to Witcher 1 and  2 for a reason, although if I’m being honest, they actually look better than Cyberpunk did on day 0, and that’s completely unacceptable. The budget for CDPR was basically nothing for Witcher 1 and 2 combined to what Cyberpunk got, but they were so focused on the PC versions because PC ran the game better, somehow (like maybe because they didn’t try with consoles) and they missed glitches that were so bad, the game felt like it was still in beta, if not alpha upon release. The fact that they’ve only released eleven games in twenty-three years, and only two of them didn’t have The Witcher on them, should have told us all we need to know, and yet the game, even after returns, which was another massive screw-job that led to Cyberpunk being removed from the PlayStation store, still sold Sixteen million units, all because of hype, and because apparently, some people don’t care if they’re lied to. Do you want to know what the other game they released is besides a Witcher title? It was flipping Saints Row 2, a fun game, but also one that’s too goofy for it’s own good, and yet suddenly makes Cyberpunk’s release, make sense, because it was all a massive joke, and a parody of good, well running, open world games. CDPR needs to seriously do something, anything different, and never release a game in this poor of a state ever again.

1. Ubisoft

I put Ubisoft at number one for a damn good reason, and that reason is, that everyone seems to hate the company, but loves their games, and I don’t know why. They haven’t been the overall worst company on this list, although they are pretty bad, but the major problem they have, and have had for at least a decade is that none of their games have any identity, they are literally all the same game, with different coats of paint. Sure, an occasional gem sneaks through like Assassin’s Creed IV, but all of the rest of their games have the same visual style (although ACII does seem to be the base for which they create their art let’s be honest), the shooting mechanics they have in all the games that have guns, all feel exactly the same, which is something even Call of Duty manages to avoid most years (guess I took a shot at them anyways) and yet somehow, someway, I keep seeing people getting excited for their releases, and it doesn’t make any sense. Sure, they throw a celebrity actor in from time to time, and the artistic style they use does look pretty cool, but everything is always the same with them, every single time, no matter what it is, and they still keep making money. It doesn’t really make sense either, because a lot of developers do make games that are very similar feeling, see the Life is Strange team or much as well all loved them, Telltale Games, but at least those titles told extremely interesting stories, and developed their mechanics at least a little, which is something most companies do just on principal, but not Ubisoft. They throw out a few Tom Clancy games every time they talk about what their releasing, the Trials and AC games are still mostly a yearly experience, and I’ll say it again, their entire list of releases since at least 2013, the year the previous generation kicked off, have pretty much all been the same. It would be nice if they made more games like Child of Light, but despite the fact that their games will likely never be as popular as Call of Duty, they keep churning out same-y shooters hoping that one day, maybe just one day, they’ll create their own CoD, and it’s just not gonna happen. The saddest part of all is that when they announce something different, something fans have wanted for years, we get The Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time Remake, which was literally delayed because fans said they wouldn’t buy it unless some actual effort was put into making it, why is this company so popular that it can keep doing this, someone please explain it to me. 

And that’s my list, can you think of any other companies that are too hyped? Let me know in the notes below, hit me up with a follow if you like my content, and give me a reblog, I’d really appreciate it. Have a wonderful life!  

[apothecarinomicon]

Spring week 3, part 1

I felt much better this morning. I suppose whatever sickness fairy visions impart is strictly transient—or maybe dealing with reagents has given me a good immune system. 

When I went outside, I found that I’d somehow managed to plant the foxsocks in the garden. I don’t know how I could have done it in my feverish state and I certainly don’t remember it, but there it is. The foxsocks seem to be thriving already, or at least to have a solid foothold. As I’d hoped, they should be reliably available from here on out.

As I stood there, sleepily puzzling over the garden, I heard a screech from above. Looking up, I saw what at first appeared to be a large bird circling down towards the ground. When she landed, though, I saw she was a woman with wings instead of arms, talons instead of legs, and a feathered tail, wearing a khaki uniform—a postal harpy. She greeted me while balancing on one leg and asked me to confirm my name. I told her and she introduced herself as Liùsaidh. She indicated I ought to retrieve my mail from her talon (it’s polite to wait for their permission). She asked if I might be sticking around and I said I thought I was. She said she’d see me next time I got mail and flew off.

What she’d brought was a letter, with a return address listed as “The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke.” It was a single handwritten (actually, impressively calligraphed) page. The spelling and grammar was, shall we say, characteristic. It’s easier to just stick the letter in between the pages than copy it down, so that’s what I’ll do.

To whom it may concern:

It has come to our attentionne at The Friends of The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke that ye are a practicing vvitch reſiding in the hamlet of Greanmoore. We would like to congratulate ye on your appointmente and hope you find the positionne both fulfilling and rewarding. We had brief correspondence with your predeceſsor and were glad to learn of yovr presence.

The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke is among the premiere magical muſeums in northweſternne High Rannoc. It has one of the moſte exhauſtive collections of magical materials, svbſtances, and hiſtories native to High Rannoc in the vvorld. Academicks, travelers, and school field trips regularly reference and reſearch the Muſeum’s collections in their purſuit of more compleat knowledge.

As The Muſeum of Magicke does not have a repreſentative in Greanmoore or the surrounding areas, we have a requeſte to make of ye if you are willing to fulfill it. We pride ourſelves on the compleatneſs of our Magickal Components collectionne, but we are miſsing many of the species native to Greanmoore and its svrrounding locations. We humbly ask that ye help vs remedy this deficiency. If you are willing to do so, we woulde requeſt that ye send one of each magickal componente available in the area to the Muſeum, at the returnne addreſs listed above. Should you do so, ye will receive compenſationne.

We hope ye will partner with vs in this endeavor. Your contributionne to societal knowledge shall be greatly appreciated by generationnes of reſearchers, thinkers, and touriſts.

Eagerly avvaiting your reſponſe,

The Friends of The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke

[A plain text accessible version of this letter is available here.]

Obviously, the spelling is horrendous. This might have been forgivable a few decades ago, but the shape of the ‘s’ (that is, it not being that odd ‘f’ looking thing sometimes) and the distinction between ‘u,’ ‘v,’ and ‘w’ have been standardized since before I was born. Not to mention, the Ledgerwood Museum is associated with the University of Arcbridge—so there must be someone there who knows better.

The thing is, for a long time the only people who could write were those who received higher education, so the vast majority of documents that exist throughout history have to do with academia. So, even as reading and writing became more accessible and spelling and grammar more standardized, that outdated irregular styling retroactively became associated with education, with decorum, with genius.

I’ve never really had much respect for that kind of posturing—I think that if you’re brilliant the content of your writing ought to speak for itself. You shouldn’t have to so explicitly climb on the shoulders of those who came before you, especially not by intentionally making the mistakes they made or using the outdated styles they used.

I sent back a letter inquiring about the specifics of compensation along with a sample of my foxsocks.

I’m going to the library.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

The Greenmoor Public Library is near the center of town, not quite in the square but on Market Street directly off of it. It has some interesting architecture: it looks as if it was originally three separate buildings the size of single-family houses, that were all connected up at a later date by a circular addition between them so that the final building looks like a cog with three spokes. Each section of it is made up of a different material—exposed stone, lime render, and brick for the original houses, and cement for the central cylinder—but it all works together in a quirky, oddball way.

There are no internal walls in the library—even where there must have been external walls in the original houses. They must have knocked them down (I don’t envy that job). Every wall is lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and in each of the spokes there are many close-set freestanding shelves besides, with only narrow aisles left between. At the center of the center is a circular desk, and around this are scattered tables with benches and clusters of armchairs for convenience of reading and research.

The library is owned and run by Donella and Saundra Glasford, an older couple. Saundra is actually the schoolteacher, but she helps with reshelving and organization on weekends. I know this because Donella explained it to me in detail. As soon as I walked in the door she stood from behind (within?) the circular desk and approached me, insisting that she give me a tour of the library. In addition to a survey of the entire space and what kinds of books it contained, this ‘tour’ involved a hefty amount of insight into the daily lives and routines of the Glasford family. 

They have a kid named Muiredach, who’s very interested in ancient things at the moment—giant skeletons and the like. Donella has lived here her entire life but Saundra moved here forty years ago. Saundra’s expertise is in thaumatology (specifically thaumatozoology, the study of magical animals), in which she has a degree. Meanwhile, Donella has extensive knowledge of literary and epistemological history, though she received no formal schooling past twelve.

After she finished showing me all the different sections and layouts of the library, Donella told me I should feel free to poke around as much as I wanted. She added that I wouldn’t find any secret passages or hidden rooms, and that they had nothing to hide.

I hadn’t realized before she said that what this was all about.

I told her that the rumors weren’t true, that I wasn’t some Government spy or anything like that (I heard Saundra mumble something like “well you’d also deny it if you were a clype, wouldn’t you?”). Donella quickly assured me that she believed me, but then said “better safe than sorry,” so I’m not quite sure she actually did. I told her I didn’t understand where all the suspicion was coming from. Saundra piped up, saying that I was a stranger who came to a small, isolated town I had no prior relation with to fill a position whose previous occupant had mysteriously disappeared, and asked if I understood how that looked (not in quite those words—her accent and dialect was rather strong). I told her I’d been summoned directly by Mòrag McKinney, and had the paper trail to prove it. I asked if she thought Mòrag was involved in some conspiracy, too. She shrugged and said she was just saying how it looked.

Donella said regardless that I should feel free to use the library—it was for the public, after all—and pointed me in the direction of the section on rune magic. Thus, the conversation ended, but my uneasiness didn’t entirely abate. Still, I’d come to the library for a reason.

The rune section was limited, but I didn’t need to know any more than the basics. I’d only ever been taught one way to create runes, and it was clear my predecessor used a different one—all I needed to do was to figure out which and I could reverse engineer the runes’ meanings.

I found that she used a combination of the witches’ circle and magic square methods, which are both apparently very popular. I wonder why I was never taught them. Both systems derive the shape of the sigil directly from the letters of the intentions they’re meant to invoke. It’s traditional to remove the vowels before doing so, but luckily for me my predecessor chose not to do that.

So, with a bit of work I was able to determine that the sigils I copied down meant: life, autonomy, gentleness, congeniality, and empathy respectively. It was clearly built to be a very kind golem. Now that I know that, I’m going to try to create my own sigils and charge them, and see if that helps.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

While I was at the library, I also collected a few of the greatest works of modern literature—Lord of the Midges, Beathag’s Choice, To Kill a Gull-Drake, et cetera. The next morning I packed the books into the rucksack I’d used to travel to Greenmoor and set out to take them to Morna, heading to Hero’s Hollow by way of Moonbreaker Mountain.

As I skirted the base of the mountain, I heard a voice call out from above me, crying “hey, you! Groundling!” It was clearly far above me but somehow also quite loud. I looked up and saw, blotting out the sun, a great hot air balloon.  I’d heard vague stories but had never seen one in person before. The most striking part of it was the balloon itself, made of canvas patterned beige and blue and larger than a house. The top half of it (as I was informed later) was enclosed by a net, which had metal rings on its edges attaching it to a tangle of myriad ropes and cords. These in turn held aloft the basket, which was not the simple platform I’d seen described in books but rather looked like a small sailing boat, complete with railings, rotors, and a steering wheel.

The voice announced that it hadn’t seen me around before and that I ought to climb aboard. A ladder with metal rungs unfurled over the side of the boat, just low enough that I could reach it if I jumped. I did so after making sure my rucksack was firmly on my back and shut, and climbed up to reach the aircraft.

The man onboard was only slightly taller than me. His white shirt was rumpled and stained with oil, and his left suspender was fraying. The thick goggles on his forehead, held together with large bolts and screws, were the only thing keeping his thick black hair from whipping in all directions with the wind (mine, in contrast, had already become hopelessly tangled). His sleeves were rolled up, but his forearms were covered by brown leather fingerless gloves, with metal studs that flashed in the sunlight as he hauled the ladder back onto the balloon. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face, with a cylindrical chamber marked “O2” sticking out from each cheek. Directly in front of the mouth was a clear window, so that I could see his lips moving when he spoke. He offered me a similar one and I accepted—the air was rather thin so high up. I could see him say something that was drowned out by the wind, and then he beckoned me towards a door. Given the shape of the craft, I wasn’t surprised to discover that it led to a kind of captains’ quarters.

Inside, the wind wasn’t quite so brutally loud and I could actually make out what my host was saying. He introduced himself as Captain Akash Majhi, aviator extraordinaire, and asked if I needed a lift. I said it might have been a bit late to ask since I was already on the balloon, which made him chuckle. I said that since he’d offered, I was headed to Hero’s Hollow, and he replied that that would be no problem. I noticed as we conversed that he only made eye contact when he was speaking—when I spoke, he instead watched my lips.

As Akash turned to pull a lever on the wall, I asked where he was from. He didn’t respond. With the lever pulled, a large strip of the ceiling rotated so that a piece of what had been the floor above—the piece to which the steering wheel was attached—became the ceiling of this room. Akash then tapped what seemed to just be a wooden accent covering a swath of the metal wall above the desk and bed. The wood slid to the side, revealing a bay window through which he could see.

He took his place at the wheel, positioning me in his field of view, so I asked again where he was from. He told me he was a proud resident of the Cloud Isles. I told him I’d never heard of such a place, and he said I really must be new to the area. Belatedly, I told him my name and that I had in fact only moved here a few weeks ago. He told me that the Cloud Isles were just that: islands in the clouds, with wildlife, ecosystems, and culture. At the center was a great city that, yes, was attached to the clouds, but had mostly been built flying between and amongst them by generations of architects, donors, engineers, artists, and aviators like himself. 

I asked him where the city was located and he vaguely waved his hands. “Here and there.” He said that as the clouds drifted so did the Isles, but that the city itself never strayed too far from Greenmoor—otherwise, mapping and resource-gathering from the ground below would be difficult or impossible.

I asked him how I might visit the Isles, and he told me I’d need to be able to fly. He said the general ethos of the residents leaned towards mechanical solutions, but he had heard that there were magical ways of flight as well. I said I would have to look into that. He handed me a business card with his name, “balloonist | engineer | aviator extraordinaire,” an address, and a smoke signal pattern to use to contact him. He said if I was ever in the city he’d be happy to show me around. Then, he announced that we’d arrived.

We went back onto the deck and he unfurled the ladder over the edge. I  went to hand him the oxygen mask back but he told me to keep it—they were expensive, but he had plenty and I’d be needing it when (and he did say “when”) I visited the city. I thanked him, shook his hand, and started descending the ladder.

 ────⊱⁜⊰──── 

I made it back to the ground (the hop down from the ladder was smaller than the hop up had been), and smoothed my hair down before setting off into the Hollow. I’d only barely made it into the skull when my plans for the afternoon abruptly shifted.

It was just around midday, so the guards must have been on break or between shifts. Hurrying out of the dungeon was a group I recognized—it was the Lows, the mining family. Angus was carrying the son in his arms. The boy was clutching his thigh, and even from a distance I could see blood seeping through his fingers.

Crystal spotted me and immediately called out to me, thanking the gods for my arrival. I hurried to them and guided them back to the cottage, where I knew I’d be able to better determine how to treat the issue. Morna would have to wait—I had a patient to tend to.

⇦●〇●⇨

[exhaustedfander]

What I Could Do to You [Intrulogical]

This was requested by @chamikhan . I had a ton of fun writing this. I will warn ya, it gets into smutty territories without the actual smut. There’s just sex mentioned, but it ain’t too bad. This is the first time I've ever written a superhero!au and it was really fun, speaking as someone who generally doesn't really like superhero stuff. Please send me requests if you wanna, I’d be happy to do some.

A03 link

Word Count: 4,866

When Logan wakes up in a basement tied to a chair, the situation is decidedly not very good. Pulling against the restraints, he realizes that it’s not going to be an easy time getting out of here, not to mention the fact that he is very clearly not alone. Even in the mostly darkened room he can see a pair of eyes watching him, and he knows exactly who they belong to: The Duke.

The Duke has been becoming a talked-about villain in the city for months now, possessing powers Logan still barely comprehends. The extent of it is unclear, but Logan is aware that he has the ability to at least somewhat alter reality. He’d done so when they were fighting earlier, wrapping a tentacle around Logan’s leg and pulling him to the pavement. He’s fairly certain he’ll have a nasty bruise to show for that one.

Unfortunately, Logan couldn’t claim that he was overpowered by anything as intimidating as the alteration of reality; Logan had lost consciousness when The Duke clobbered him with his morning star. His head was still throbbing, though not as much as he might’ve imagined, but the ropes are tight.

“Well, aren’t you going to show yourself?” There isn’t any fear in Logan’s voice, not like with most of The Duke’s prisoners. If it surprises his captor, he makes no mention of it.

“Aren’t you just adorable, Calculator,” The Duke coos, throwing on the light switch and stepping forward.

Even being a superhero himself – Logan absolutely detests that word, it makes him feel as though the work he does is far less serious than it actually is – he has never had any interest in the pageantry of the costumes that some individuals wear. His outfit is simple and to the point. A mask that covers a great deal of his face, forcing him to wear contacts seeing as eye-glasses could very well get in the way of crime-fighting, a form-fitting navy-blue suit with an emblem of a white brain outlined in black on his chest. The necktie might be something that others find ridiculous in the outfit, but Logan’s always worn a necktie, even when in his suite.

The Duke’s costume, on the other hand, is everything Logan dislikes about super suits. It’s extremely tight – leaving very little to the imagination made of a sparkly black fabric that shimmers in the light. A green sash is tied around him as though the garb were perhaps meant for some kind of royalty, and there are designs of octopi all over the costume, the same lime green as his sash. It’s all so over-the-top, but from what Logan can tell, The Duke himself is very over-the-top so it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise.

“I’m not sure adorable would be the best way to describe me,” Logan said before glancing down at his restraints. “So…it seems you’ve got me. What do you plan to do with me?” The Duke stalks towards him as though he’s sizing him his prey, perhaps considering swallowing him hole. Logan wonders for a moment if he could do that, considering his alteration of reality. He wouldn’t put it past him.

“Look at you, all tied up and pretty like a Christmas present,” The Duke exclaims proudly, standing back with his hands on his hips and grinning wolfishly, “I’d just love to tear into you.”  

Logan doesn’t doubt that. The Duke has been known for committing some truly atrocious crimes, all of which on individuals who it could be argued deserved it. Rapists, known murders, abusers. That’s one of the reason Logan’s always had such a difficult time pinning The Duke down as merely a villain. He’s by no means a hero – considering the history of his crimes, as well as currently being in his captivity – but Logan isn’t so sure he’s the epidemy of evil either.

“Well then why don’t you?” The question evidently startles The Duke as he sees a look of confusion flicker in his eyes.

“What?”

"Tear into me,” Logan clarifies almost nonchalantly, “Why don’t you?” The Duke takes a step closer to him, a hand settling on Logan’s shoulder. The touch is burning hot and uncomfortable, what with The Duke’s long nails digging in through his clothes.

“Who’s to say I won’t, Calculator Watch? I know you’re practically powerless here, you can’t focus enough to get your shit together.”

The statement isn’t untrue. In order to fully access his powers, Logan needs to implement a great deal of concentration. His and The Duke’s powers aren’t so entirely different, all things considered. Logan’s powers also deal with manipulation, but in time rather than melting reality. He can turn back time, several hours at most, and speed it up for the same amount if he’s at his best. Freezing time is much more difficult process, and thusly something that he does not have the availability to use as frequently as he’d like.

It’s the fragility of his powers that make him looked down on by some, as well as the fact that he supposes he isn’t as sellable as some other more vocal hero’s. Princey, for instance, a friend of his in the real world, is a hero granted the ability of super-strength. He never shies away from the camera or denies attention from the press, aside from revealing his identity, of course. Logan on the other hand doesn’t bother with too much attention from others, especially not as a hero. It’s dangerous and more than anything, he doesn’t quite know how to deal with people. He can be a hero, he can save lives, but that doesn’t ultimately add to his social-skills in the least bit.

The limitations of his power combined with his inability to make himself out to be a very popular hero was what really encouraged Logan to learn as much self-defense as possible. He had become much stronger in the last few years and could take most anyone when also using his powers. Almost anyone, he supposes, glaring at his captor who grins over him.

“You haven’t done anything while I was unconscious,” Logan points out, earning a hum in response.

“That’d be low-down, even for me. Plus, that’s too boring! Where’s the fun in beating your unconscious body? The drama?”

“And now that I’m awake?” The Duke removes his hand from Logan’s shoulder, tapping a hand on his chin thoughtfully before curling the end of his moustache.

“I’m thinking…I suppose I could put out a ransom on you. But who’d be looking for Calculator Watch?” Logan knows that The Duke is trying to upset him, to play him for some kind of feeling sucker. But it won’t work, Logan would never let it. Never.

“I have allies among hero’s and you know it,” Logan says, for a moment considering he’s got back enough concentration to turn back the clock for a moment. But what would be the point? He’s still stuck to this chair with no means of escape. Not yet, anyway.

“I do, but if I did something to you now, none of them would be the wiser. I could slit your throat right now,” The Duke says, approaching a table in the room and picking up a large knife that glints in the light.

“But will you?” Logan should be afraid. Everyone’s afraid. The one’s who claim to be fearless are always screamers. Is Calculator Watch a screamer, he wonders.

“I could do anything I wanted to you,” he says, clutching the knife and bringing it to Logan’s jugular. If he pushes a little harder blood will begin to trickle down his neck and down onto the concrete. It’d stand out against the other splotches of blood on the floor, brown and dried. Maybe this place could use a little color, and crimson would do nicely.

“Sure, you could,” Logan says, still sounding so sure of his safety, “But, as I asked, will you?”

“Maybe I’ll chop you up into little bits,” The Duke suggests, though he’s taken the knife away from Logan’s neck and is turning it over in his hand, “Or – or I could cut your tongue out of your mouth and force-feed it to you.” Suddenly, the knife that Remus had been holding turns into a human tongue, pink and wriggling like a dismembered tentacle. It doesn’t frighten Logan, he knows it’s merely one of The Duke’s tricks, but that fails to make it any less repulsive.

“I doubt that you will,” Logan says boldly, rolling his eyes as the tongue turns back into a knife, “What do you hope to accomplish having me confined like this? If you were going to do something to me, you would’ve already done so.” “Are you calling me a coward?!” The Duke asks incredulously, the knife banging against the wall as Remus flings it behind him.

“No. I’m merely stating a fact,” Logan says. By now Remus is completely crowding any amount of his personal space with both hands digging into his shoulders, hot breath being blown in his face.

“Why aren’t you scared?!” The Duke asks, his voice sounding choked-up and dare Logan say, afraid, “Why aren’t you begging me to let you go?! Why aren’t you crying?! Why –.”

The Duke’s cacophony of meaningless questions ceases as he goes completely still, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide. It’s a wonder that Logan is able to even gain any semblance of concentration considering how loudly The Duke had been talking but Logan had to pause things, if only for a moment. Those eyes. He knows those eyes. Bright green and wild. How hadn’t he realized before, how could he be so dense not to see it?

“– are you so stupid? Huh? Oh – you fucking froze me, didn’t you? Why, you little –.”

“Remus?”

The Duke – Remus – stares at him, his mouth agape and eyes full of what Logan can only call fear.

“What…what’re you talking about? Who’s Remus?” Remus had never been very good at lying, always one to be upfront about the truth no matter how ugly, so him attempting to play dumb is no exception.

“You are,” Logan says, sure of himself, cursing his brain for not connecting the dots sooner. “I – I can’t believe this. You have his eyes. How couldn’t I tell that you have his eyes?” Remus blinks, taking a step back from Logan and letting go of his shoulders, his arms falling like limp noodles at his side.

“Whose eyes did I steal? I mean, I can’t say that isn’t something I wouldn’t do, but I don’t seem to remember.” Logan wishes Remus would stop acting this way. It’s not going to get them anywhere productive.

“Roman’s. You have your brother’s eyes.” And it seems that was what it took to finally click things into place.

“L-Logan?” Logan sighs, seeing the wide, deer-caught-in-headlights look in Remus’s eyes, an expression that was so strange to see in him.

“Yes. It’s me.” Remus pulls the mask off of his face, throwing it on the ground and running a hand through his hair.

“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Logan Croft? You’re Calculator Watch how the absolute fuck – oh my god. My brother used to call you Calculator Watch in High School – Jesus Christ!”

Remus looks as though he’s going through a sudden mental break down and Logan can’t say he feels too far off from that. After all, it’s been years since they’ve seen each other unmasked.

It wasn’t too bold to claim that Remus and Logan had almost been friends once upon a time ago. Being the twin brother of Roman, Logan saw Remus around at school and spent some time with the two brothers. Remus had been chaotic, even then a bit too much to handle sometimes, but it was all so strange now, facing one another in such a strange situation. Logan’s tied to a chair in Remus’s basement, for Christ’s sake.

Throughout his life, Logan has had a rather complicated relationship with his emotions. Most of the time he’s bold enough to claim that he doesn’t have any, but at this point even he knows that’s bullshit. Especially locking eyes with Remus Knight again…it’s been so long. They’ve both changed so much, and yet, here they are. How much have they changed really?

“I had no idea…Roman’s never said anything. I always wondered…”

“What happened to me?” Remus says, his voice strained and weary, lacking its usual buoyancy. Look at Logan, thinking about how Remus “usually” sounds, as though he knows him anymore. He doesn’t. and he doesn’t want to, either. Of course he doesn’t. Such a desire would be preposterous.

“Yeah, I think Roman might wonder the same thing. I’m sure he has a hunch of what’s become of me, but if he does he’s never cared to mention it. We haven’t spoken in years.”

Logan wishes more than anything that he wasn’t tied to this damn chair.

“Remus I... I wondered what had become of you. I tried to find you for some time, but you were so hard to track down. I – I can’t believe we’ve faced each other without knowing.”

“Why would anyone look for me?” Remus’s voice is raw and wounded, far more so than it appears he’s intending to sound, “Clearly my brother didn’t. He’s a big hot-shot now, god, of course he is. He’s always been so desperate for attention, and he’s the one with the flashy powers. All I’ve got is this,” Remus said, holding out his hand that sprouted human eyes.

Logan can’t argue on Roman’s behalf. The twin’s relationship had always been dubious to say the least and Roman hadn’t mentioned his brother in years. It wasn’t to say that Logan had ever forgot about Remus, far from it, despite how much he might’ve wanted to. Logan had become so busy in life and his line of work that thoughts of Remus simply failed to occupy his thoughts as much as they used to. And oh, how they used to.

"Your powers, while maybe not conventionally attractive to most people, are still just that: powers. You can do something that most people can’t, you’re gifted, and you can use that to your advantage.” Remus scoffed, tilting his head and glaring at Logan with a stare that burns right through him.

“Why are you saying this? I’ve got you tied up, for fuck’s sake. And it’s not even for kinky reasons! God, I wish it was…” Logan feels his face flush despite how much he wills it not to. How is it that even now, he’s helpless? He’d been so sure that it was gone, but everything’s coming swelling back at full force. This man has hurt people, he’s killed, and yet Logan can’t help but become swept up in memories of the past. When did he become such a sap?

“Why did you capture me, Remus?” Remus shrugs.

“I dunno, bored I, guess. I did it because I could; I’m unpredictable like that!”

Remus is trying, in vain, to sound unphased. He’s doing everything in his power to appear menacing, to paint on a toothy grin that’ll make Logan’s stomach churn. Except none of that is going to work, not knowing what he knows now.

“And what is it that you plan to do with me?” Remus’s smile drops.

“Well, now that you know who I am guess I’m gonna have to kill you!” Remus says it gleefully, as though the idea of ending Logan’s life will bring him immense joy. Logan couldn’t pin-point the lack of fear he felt in The Duke’s presence, but it all makes sense now. Remus won’t kill him, he’s almost certain he won’t even hurt him past the minimal damage he’s already done.

"You wouldn’t do such a thing.” Remus knits his eyebrows together, a twisted, pained expression settling over his face.

“How would you know what I am or am not capable of? I’ve done things you can’t even comprehend.” “You’ve killed bad people, Remus. Individuals who I doubt will be missed.”

“I’m surprised at you, I would think you would argue all murder is a no-no.” Logan rolls his eyes.

“I’m not Patton. I recognize that there are exceptions to every rule, even that of murder.” It’s strange, Logan breathing out the name of an individual who they once both spent time together. He can see it weighs on Remus too, thinking of their past together.

“You don’t know the things I could do to you, Logan,” Remus says, standing over him and pressing an accusatory finger into his chest, “I could just rip you apart.”

Logan doesn’t want to indulge it, doesn’t want to admit it, but Remus’s voice is steeped in want. He’d know it anywhere; even now he remembers the way that Remus spoke to him, how there was always something sinisterly unspoken between them. There have been many moments in which Remus and Logan have wanted each other and this is no exception.

“What do you want to do to me?” The question throws Remus for a loop, it’s evident for the look of hopefulness that crosses over his face.

“Well, saying would spoil all the fun, now wouldn’t it? I don’t know why I’m even indulging in this conversation. You’re a very boring prisoner, do you know that?”

“My apologies,” Logan dead-pans. Remus snorts.

“You haven’t changed much, have you? Still always the nerd, and unrelentingly tied down to your emotions in the end.” Logan knits his eyebrows together, though it isn’t visible under his mask.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re being nice to me, Dork. I’ve captured you, I’ve hit you over the head – god, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m sorry for that. Hitting you, I mean. If I had known, it was you I woulda hit you much harder!” Logan rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure.”

“You’re indulging in my ever-so tragic backstory, you’re listening to me. Why? What do you have to gain from me?”

Logan considers the question. He thinks of the desire that’s festered deep beneath the surface for so many years, a desire he can tell has been reciprocated. He also considers the fact that indulging in such things could have very serious repercussions. Surely it would be illogical to give into such things. Logan's smarter than that. And yet…

“I think we might both have something to gain,” Logan dares to say, seeing that pent-up, jittery look in Remus’s eyes. He likes that look, likes the implications of it.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Why don’t you untie me and find out?” Logan’s never been like this, so direct. That had always been Remus’s department, and yet nothing had ever occurred between them. He’d wanted it to, despite how much he denied it at the time.

“And who’s to say you’re not going to kick the piss out of me when I untie you? How can I trust you?” Logan leans forward as much as he can in the restraints, seeing the hungry expression Remus wears. He looks like he could just eat him up, and maybe Logan’s going to let him.

“Come now, Remus. I think we can drop the false pretenses by now. Untie me.” It’s an order, and before he knows it Remus is working to undo the ropes. Logan flexes his hands, moving his arms that are sore from the restriction of movement. Remus pulls the mask from his face slowly, his stare intense and awed.

“Damn, you’re a cute little nerd, aren’t you? Who would hide a face like that behind a mask?” Logan surges forward, seizing Remus by his collar and pulling him into a heated kiss. Logan had wondered for years what it might be like to kiss Remus, and never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined he would be the one to initiate it. Remus’s hands settle onto his waist, clutching tightly as Logan holds the back of his head, pulling him closer still, as close as he can get.

“Oh, you’re a feisty little thing,” Remus says, shut off immediately as Logan goes in for another kiss, searing and desperate. He bites Remus’s bottom lip, earning an absolutely lewd moan in response and allowing his tongue to slither inside his mouth.

“I – I apologize. I should’ve looked for you harder, I should have –.”

“Shut up and kiss me, you nerd,” Remus growls and he does. He kisses the man who ensnared him. A man who so many consider to be a villain. Remus certainly isn’t a hero, but a villain? Logan doesn’t think so.

Logan feels another pair of hands on him, startled for a moment before realizing Remus has created two more false hands, both of which roam Logan’s body freely. If I had the ability to focus on any one thing, maybe he’d freeze the moment, take in Remus, beautiful and disheveled and kissing him and touching him. He’s far too worked up for that, though, and it appears he’ll simply have to enjoy what’s happening in the present.

=+=

Logan wakes in the middle of the night, wondering how long he’s been in Remus’s bed. He remembers stumbling up the basement stairs and stumbling into the bedroom and all that followed that in every beautiful, burning detail, but falling asleep seems to have left his memory.

He’s held in Remus’s loose embrace, The Duke laying asleep against his chest. He holds a hand to the back of his head, wincing slightly at the welt Remus’s morning star had left. Really, it should be the least of his concerns, at this point, considering the bruises that now litter his body. The one's not related to fighting, that is.

This moment should be a teenage fantasy come true, and to some extent it is. He’d gotten something he’s wanted for such a long time, but a nagging question comes to mind: What now?

Despite what he might want to believe, his actions weren’t purely driven by lust. These feelings, goddamn feelings, go deeper than that, in an ugly, fragile place in himself he hardly understands. Regardless of everything that logic tells him, Logan doesn’t want this to be a one-time affair. Is it selfish to want so much? Especially in such a strange, complicated situation.

“You’re being too loud,” Remus groans against him, his voice sending a shiver down Logan’s spine.

“What?”

“You’re thinking too damn loud, I can hear your mind screaming.”

“I wasn’t aware that thoughts were capable of making a sound,” Logan says dryly, watching in the low-light as Remus sits up, his skin pale like the moonlight that shines in from the window.

“You know what I mean. It’s too late for taksie-backsies, you know? Well…maybe not for you. Can you go back that far, if you want to?” Logan sits up too, shaking his head.

“I don’t regret this, if that’s what you’re implying. I don’t want to take anything back.” Remus grins, a genuinely happy expression that Logan can’t help but adore. How long has it been since he's seen him like this, happy?

“Me neither. I remember dreaming about this back in high school.” A sigh rolled past Logan’s lips.

“Me too.” The admission seems to surprise Remus. He tilts his head.

“Really? You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this back then?”

“I suppose so…”

“Fucking hell, Logan. I always kinda figured you thought I was a freak and pitied me by keeping me around. We were hardly even friends.”

“I never thought of you as a freak, Remus.” There’s an intensity in Logan’s voice that he wants to blame on his sleepiness, on the dramatics of how this day has progressed, but he can’t. He means it with the utmost sincerity, as terrifying as that is. “You were my friend. I suppose I was…” Logan swallows thickly, struggling to find the words. Feeling-fueled confessions had never been his strong suite, “…afraid of what feelings for you could mean.” Remus quirks an eyebrow.

“And you aren’t afraid now?” Logan pales slightly at that, wondering if Remus notices.

“I never said that.”

“God, I can’t believe I kidnapped Logan Croft! I just thought you were some supper who I could fuck with a little bit and release or something. I planned on trying to convince you everything was a dream – I can do that, y’know? Isn’t that ridiculous to think about? You’d never fall for something like that. Some of the other idiot super heroes, but not you. You’ve got too many brains in your head for that.”

“Do you consider yourself a villain?” “Look at you, asking the big tough questions,” Remus says, though the discomfort is evident in his voice, “Why, you embarrassed for fucking a villain?”

“No, certainly not.”

“I don’t know what I am, to tell you the truth,” Remus admits after a moment, “I’ve killed, but all those folks were real fucked up people. I’ve bashed a few skulls, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually genuinely injured someone who didn’t deserve it.”

“What do you use your powers for, then? Why do it?”

“I’ve got a writing side-gig, did you know that?” Remus asks changing the subject, as if Logan had access to such information, “I go by a pen name, I’m not too popular, but it’s nice. I write horror shit, not that I imagine that surprises you. Roman never encouraged my writing…always said how dark and deviant it was.”

Logan’s never wanted to punch his friend more than he does now. But what would Roman think, knowing the day he’s just had with Remus? At this point, he's not sure he cares what Roman would think.

“I’m sure your writing is wonderful,” Logan says, despite the fact that he’s never cared much for horror, “I’d love to read some, if you’d let me.” Remus’s lips curl into a smile.

"Yeah?” “Yes. Now, as I asked before, why is it that you utilize your powers in this way?” Remus shrugs.

“Attention, I guess. I dunno.”

“And if you could get attention from something else, something more positive, would you?”

Logan doesn’t know what he’s doing, but at this rate, he can’t stop himself. He’s baring his soul to Remus, broken and desperate and ugly, something he’s always been so good at keeping under wraps. Remus had always been so good at getting him to face his emotions, even when it was unintentional.

“Lo – what’re you implying? Because whatever it is, it sounds dangerous. Messy…”

“Maybe it is,” Logan says quietly, taking Remus’s hand in his own, rubbing gently over the bumps of his knuckles, wondering absentmindedly how many times they’d been broken, “I’m not used to feeling so…”

“Emotional?” Remus supplies softly, far too soft for Logan’s liking. Remus is so bold, so loud and larger-than-life. Soft doesn’t suite him.

“Yes, that’s it. But it’s…nice, seeing you again.” “Did ya see more of me than you bargained for?” Remus asks smugly, as though they aren’t both still nude.

“More than I expected. But that doesn’t change the fact that –,” Logan has to bite back the word love because it would be absolutely ridiculous to say such a thing. At least…right now, it would be. “– I care for you very deeply, Remus. It’s been such a long time and I’ve admittedly missed your company a great deal.” Remus’s eyes meet his, burning with what he can only pray is hope.

“I like you too, Lo,” he says, squeezing Logan’s hand, “God damnit, I’ve liked you for a long time and I never thought I’d see you again but you’re here! You’re really here.”

“I am.”

“I don’t want to not see you again,” Remus says clumsily, “I don’t. I, uh, really am sorry about hitting you over the head, by the way.”

“It’s quite alright.”

“You were one of the only ones who understood me, at least I think you understood me. Maybe you still do.”

“I’d like to think so.”

“If I go back to sleep, are you going to be here when I wake up? So we can like, talk about our feelings and shit?” Logan scoffs.

“Imagine us, talking about our feelings,” he says, as if they hadn’t been doing just that. “I’ll be here in the morning, if that’s what you want.”

“It is. It really fucking is. Nothing good has happened to me for so long but this? You? You’re real good.” Sleepiness seeps into Remus’s tone and Logan kisses him softly, lacking the passion of their earlier embraces but encompassing the compassion nonetheless.

“Go to sleep, Remus. It’s alright. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Remus curls close to Logan again, shutting his eyes and quickly drifting off. Logan means it, too. Despite how complicated all of this is, despite the fact that Remus had kidnapped him, despite all that he knows could go wrong, he gives in to a years-long-desire.

What their morning conversation about “feelings and shit” will entail, Logan doesn’t entirely know. And daunting though it is, Logan can’t help but look forward. It’s been so long since he’s had something to look forward to.

=+=

[chick-from-nz]

Paper, Scissors, Rank (Ch: 5)

CHARACTER/PAIRING: Modern!Carrillo x Army!OC (eventually) 

WARNINGS: maybe some swearing, military slang, more military talk,  spelling and grammatical errors. Flippy floppy points of view and tenses. Could be very OOC/AU for some. Carrillo may not be narcos accurate as this is an AU. Some OC x OC 

AUTHORS NOTE: bit of backstory in this chapter, warning if you don't like blood, theres some but its not overly descriptive. Other than that, bit of Carrillo, bit of OC. bit of everything really. shorter chapter

WORD COUNT: 2.4k 

CHAPTER:   5 OF ?

TAG LIST(OPEN): @girlpornparadise @1zashreena1 @xxidontwikeitxx @nicke0115 @allalngthewtchtower @lettherebrelight

Greyson stayed slumped against the wall longer than necessary, hopelessly trying to bring her heart rate back to normal after the frankly, overwhelmingly hot, interaction with the Colonel. Yes she was ecstatic that she had been chosen for his team, but she wasn’t really able to process that information after the mess he had left her in. She was panting like a dog in heat, unbearably turned on, and sticky in places she hadn’t been in a very long time. Whatever he had just done to her, she wanted more of it. Lots more of it. He had opened a gateway into all things filthy and it frustrated her to no end.

Pushing herself into the upright position was no easy feat, but she knew she needed to work out her frustration even more after that interaction with the Colonel.  No, she thought, maybe from now on I should call him Carrillo, since he is now my boss and all. The thrill of that settled low in her stomach and had her heart jumping at the thought. Grunting she pushed herself towards the gym with haste, before she could follow the mounting temptation to follow the Colo--- Carrillo, down the hallway to finish what he started. 

Glancing around the gym she made note of the equipment. A few boxing bags, a couple of dumb bells, a bench press and other various things she could not name. Not the best of gyms but it would do. Stripping out of her long sleeve camo shirt she was left in her army issue green t-shirt, a shirt that was usually reserved for occasions such as this. She made the hasty decision to shuck off her boots and socks leaving her barefoot, before rolling her pants legs up a few inches to rest a rough inch below her knee. A much more practical workout attire. 

Forgoing the weights as they weren’t her style, Greyson focused on the bags hanging in the middle of the room. Now this is where she would have fun. Coming from a generational military family had meant that her father had wanted her ‘fighting fit’ as soon as she was able to walk. By the time she was five years old she had been enrolled in martial arts and kids cadets. By age twelve she had won three championships in the sport and taken home the drill trophy at the cadet school. She couldn’t have made her father prouder, until the moment she won nationals for kickboxing, taking home the trophy and quite substantial prize money. That was the moment she knew she wanted to fight for a living, not as a pro kickboxer but as a soldier like her father was, she was only fifteen at the time. 

At age seventeen she enlisted in the army, only to be denied on medical grounds and put on a two year stand down. From then on out, her father didn’t pay her any notice, always stealing himself away from the ‘disappointment’ of the family and being deployed for months at a time on purpose. Being the only child, and being denied access into the only service her family thought fit to serve in, made her feel like a useless waste of space. 

Even while feeling like the worlds biggest disappointment she still pushed herself to her limits, training seven days a week for up to four hours a day, trying oh so desperately to make her father proud of her. At nineteen she didn’t want to become a regular soldier, she wanted to become an officer, but that would require her to wait another two years to be the minimum age to enlist. So she waited, kept training hard. She took shooting lessons at the local range, would do weighted pack runs three times a week and spend hours out in the bush at night teaching herself survival techniques. All the things she could hope would help her when she finally made the cut. 

When she enlisted again at twenty-one, they denied her on the grounds that ‘she didn’t have enough life experience’, so this time, instead of letting it get to her, she doubled down on the training. And finally, when she reapplied again at twenty two years of age, she was accepted and began her first day of training a mere week after her twenty third birthday. Yet, she was still one of the youngest of the cadets she enlisted with, the eldest, Cadet Monroe, being thirty two years of age. It baffled her why someone would join as a cadet at that age when she knew the LT. Colonel, and possibly the Colonel himself, was younger than the cadet. 

Pushing those thought from her mind Greyson began her workout, spending a small amount of time to warm up, before jumping straight into combination drills on the bag that she had learnt many years ago. She was able to switch off at this point, the years of doing the same routines over and over had drilled this into her muscle memory. She was all fluid motion and hard calculated strikes at her age. Briefly her thoughts return to the situation that had occurred mere minutes ago in the hallway. The way the Colonel’s body had been so tightly pushed against her had her breathing increasing, far from being exhausted  she threw more weight into her strikes. 

Damn that handsome bastard of an officer for working me up like this. This is the kind of shit that shouldn’t be getting to me anymore! , and with one last frustrated huff Greyson threw her hardest punch yet, yelping from the force of landing on the bag. She pulled her hand towards her chest to examine it. From the look of it, there was no damage done other than a few bruises covering her knuckles, not an unusual feeling for the cadet. She just wish she had been quick enough to land a hit of that smug face that was now haunting her thoughts more so than ever. 

                                                       -------

Carrillo had finally made it to his intended destination, Lt. Colonel Sinclair's’ office. There was small doubt in his mind that the man residing within the office had been playing upon His cadets’ emotions during the course of her training. He wasn’t a stupid man by any means, he had put two and two together after witnessing the moment that occurred between himself and Greyson at the training yards. The smug smirk the Lt. had sported while walking past him that   day had planted a seed of disrespect towards the man. 

Carrillo didn't bother to knock on the man's door before barging in, he was in fact the senior officer in this situation so the LT. could suck it up. 

Sinclair stood up in a hell of a rush, not really sure as to who would be bursting into his office at this time of day, he had half expected to see Cadet Greyson standing there waiting to apologize and finally accept his attention, instead he was greeted with the stone faced Colonel from Columbia.  “Ah Sir, good to see you again, I gather that your time on the base has been productive, congrats on forming your team. Now, what can I help you with, Sir ?”

“It has been brought to my attention that you were not forthcoming about the information regarding the cadet that I have selected, rather you lied to the cadets while claiming you had not yet been informed yourself, is this true Lieutenant?”  

“I... uh... what Sir. I don’t know where you got that bullshit from but that is not the case, I held Greyson behind to give her the good news but she stormed off before I could tell her” The lieutenant cleared his throat to cover his mounting embarrassment at the situation before him. He definitely wasn’t above lying to cover his tracks and throw the Colonel in front of him off the scent of his essentially illegal advances at the cadet mentioned. He was greeted with a raised eyebrow and a knowing look on the Columbians face.

“I think it's safe to say you can cut the shit, Sinclair. I know all about your advances toward Cadet Greyson. I fail to see why you would lie about it considering the rumors' brewing in the Cadets barracks tonight. That and might I mention the encounter I witnessed between you and Greyson just a few days ago. There was nothing professional about that!” 

“Look, Sir” The Lt. Colonel spat, making his way around his desk to make himself look bigger, “Frankly it's none of your damn business which cadets I chose to associate with or not. Greyson can make up her own mind about what and WHO, she wants. And let's face it, they graduate in a little over a week now. The cadets are fair game to the rest of the corps now” The borderline insubordination coupled with the hungry grin cemented exactly what the Lt. Colonel was trying to obtain. The realization had Colonel Carrillo’s stomach turning at the thought. If he was this open and honest about his intentions then HIS cadet was in a very rocky situation. 

Clearing his throat and taking a rather large step toward the lower ranked officer before him, the Colonel fought off the need to punch the smug man in the face. But there was no point in doing that, lest he chase off the Cadet from his team, he still was unsure of her exact feelings for the man currently before him. He tilted his head back to stare down his nose at the perverse man before him.  Crowding just ever so close to the man to make him uncomfortable.

“I suggest you stay the fuck away from that recruit, Lieutenant. She is part of MY  team which now makes her, MY  responsibility and henceforth, MY cadet. Keep your filthy hands off her or I'll have you charged for unwanted advances, then it will be goodbye senior rank and back to junior officer you go. Understood?” The Colonel declared, fully expecting the man before him to back down, except defeat and allow him to carry on with his evening. The exact opposite occurred.

“I think there is something you just don’t quite get, Sir” the Lt. Colonel scoffed, “That girl out there, that stupid young cadet, will believe anything that is fed to her. How do you think I got her wrapped around my finger in the first place” He laughed off the end of his sentence, pushing at the Colonels’ shoulders in order to get past him to sit back down behind his desk.  “As far as I'm concerned, you don’t have a single claim on that cadet until she accepts your proposal to join your team..” he trailed off before delivering the most sarcastic “SIR!” he could muster. Shoulder shaking as he chuckled away to himself. 

                                                        -------

Greyson had pushed herself to the point of over exertion. Working out at a hundred percent capacity would do that to a person, even if she was used to endurance training. Combining the work out with her mental and previous physical exertion had been enough for her to drop to the mats after a solid hour of hammering the training bag. Her knuckles of her left hand were thoroughly bruised but the knuckles of her right hand were a bit more worse for wear. A deep gash had formed over the knuckle of her index finger, the bloody pouring steadily from the gash, the rest of her knuckles on that hand were marked with much smaller gashes, a minimal amount of blood coming from the cuts. It looked like she’d killed someone. 

Cradling her hand to her chest she made her way to the bathroom adjacent to the gym. She turned the tap on, waiting for the water to run clear before thrusting her hands under it to clean off the blood, barely flinching at the sting that came from cleaning out the gash. The sink turned a faded crimson from the amount of blood being washed from her hands. She felt numb, unbearingly so, it seemed the week had finally caught up with her, she felt as though she could curl up in a ball right now  and wake up a week later. So lost in her own thoughts and mesmerized by the blood flowing from her hands and into the sink, she failed to notice the presence behind her until it was too late.  One minute the cadet is watching her blood flow down the sink, the next her vision is fading to black. 

                                                      -------

Carrillo was fuming, muscles taught, hands curled tight  and ready to release upon the man before him. His jaw was clenched so tight he could hear his teeth grinding together. He took a step towards the man with the full intent of knocking his flat onto the floor, black out cold. And he would have too, if it wasn’t for the frantic knocking followed closely by Cadet Calliope all but throwing himself into the room. 

“Sir, come quick, it's Greyson” Calliope exclaimed. There was a frantic tone in his voice that snapped both men out of their grudge match. 

Carrillo spun to give the young man his full attention, before nodding at the recruit, “Lead the way Cadet” . They followed the cadet through the twists and turns of the hallways leading towards the medics bay. Upon seeing both officers the nurses rushed them through to her room. And there, laying almost deathly still, was Cadet Greyson. Gash above her eyebrow being stitched together as Carrillo watched on from the door. She looked nothing like the strong cadet he had seen perform all week. She looked fragile, too fragile. Not wanting to watch any further he pushed past Sinclair who was standing directly behind him, mouth agape, hands shaking and look like he might collapse himself.

Carrillo grabbed Calliope by the arm, pulling him down the hallway and into a spare room. He rounded on the cadet, finger pointed and eyes ablaze, as he hissed,  “Explain to me exactly what you know Cadet, and don’t you dare leave anything out” 

Cadet Calliope gulped, mouth suddenly dry. Well here goes nothing,  he thought

[damienthepious]

lizard kiss time thank you

The Rite of Movement (Chapter 2)

[Ch 1] [ao3] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters:  Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep, Original Monster Character(s), Sir Marc, Sir Talfryn, Sir Angelo, Quanyii, Sir Caroline

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Engagement, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Poetry, Presents, Monster Customs, Dancing

Fic Summary: Arum has a surprising revelation about his own feelings, and then decides to take matters into his own claws since his humans don’t seem to realize what they are denying themselves.

Chapter Summary: A conversation over breakfast. Hashing out the details, as it were.

Notes: Sorry for the long delay between chapters, I don't have as much of a well-defined plot for this one as I did for Reckoning, so Reckoning took precedence until it was done. Hopefully, this story will just keep going until we hit the actual wedding. Will I be able to actually WRITE said wedding, as an unmarried enby who hasn't been to a wedding since I was maybe eight years old? WE SHALL SEE.]

It isn’t until the next morning that Rilla remembers to question the technicalities, and Damien starts to worry again in the general sense.

“It’s one thing to be engaged,” Rilla says gently as Damien scoops out scrambled eggs and a vegetable hash onto their plates for breakfast. “There’s no law against engagement, regardless of how many people are involved or whether any of them happen to be monsters. But actually getting married… I don’t know if there’s a priest in the world who would-”

“I told you not to worry about what is possible, Amaryllis,” Arum says, voice warm and content and a little bit smug. “You are thinking too small. A human priest? Admittedly, you would be hard pressed to find one amenable to our situation. But your world is larger than just the realm of humanity now, is it not?”

“You are suggesting a- a monster priest?” Damien says, his voice lilting up in disbelief as he sets the skillet back on the counter and comes to join them at the table.

“Probably not a priest as you would recognize. But- there are monsters who oversee such ceremonies.” When they stare at him, doubtful, he scoffs, but he’s still smiling. “What, did you think that committing to each other was a strictly human desire? Not every monster wishes to, and some who desire commitment simply decide that they are married without the pomp and circumstance. But still others have a fondness for attention, ritual, the involvement of friends and rivals and underlings- you understand my meaning.”

“It wouldn’t matter that there are three of us?” Damien asks curiously. “I know that two in unity is a very human concept, but-”

“Monster unions are often complex, and often even more complex than three. Sometimes unions are more practical than romantic, sometimes they are mergers of families, sometimes a commitment of monsters will fall out of love and hold an extravagant ceremony of parting. Three instead of two in the human way is an unchallenging thought, honeysuckle. There is only one rule, for monsters.”

“And marrying you off to a couple of humans…” Rilla trails off.

Arum shrugs. “I know one or two powerful monsters who live far from the Citadel, who hold no specific grudge towards humanity, and if I asked them to oversee the ceremony for me… I think I could convince them.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I… may have already opened a correspondence or two… to test the waters.”

“Wow,” Rilla says. “You’ve really been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“… yes,” Arum admits, his tail curling around her ankle gently. “Yes I have.”

“A monster wedding,” Damien murmurs. “Saints, how my life has changed…”

“Does the idea bother you?” Arum asks, tone carefully blank.

“Once upon a time it would have,” he says with a wry smile. “Now I’m merely considering how to go about telling Sir Angelo about this without him accidentally revealing to the entire Citadel the event we are planning.”

“Oh, damn,” Rilla says with a sigh. “Working out the invitations for this is going to be interesting, huh?”

Arum gives a long-suffering sigh. “Marrying a knight, I suppose I shall have to endure a limited number of other knights in attendance,” he grouses. “I shall not be inviting many guests myself. The Keep shall be my most important witness.”

The Keep gives a joyous trill at that, and Arum hides a smile as he takes a bite of his food.

“Hm.” Rilla taps her fork against her plate absently. “Angelo obviously, and Tal and Marc and Dampierre…” she sighs. “We can’t invite Sir Caroline, even if we did kind of reach an understanding. She’ll still walk in and behead the monster that’s supposed to marry us in a heartbeat, no doubt. And I would invite Quanyii, but I have no idea how to get in touch with her, and, well-”

“You think she’ll start asking for my thumbs again, Amaryllis?”

“Oh hush, I was desperate and I never promised anything.” She pauses. “But I really don’t want her to bring it up again, yeah.”

“I am amused that you should wish such a chaotic creature attend our ceremony at all,” Arum says with a laugh.

“She was instrumental in the saving of our Citadel,” Damien muses. “I’m sure if we are determined, we can find a way to contact her.”

“Maybe,” Rilla says. “Either way, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves a bit. Saints… I can’t believe we’re going to have to plan a wedding. I had resigned myself to perpetual engagement, to be honest.”

“It can be done however you want it to be, Amaryllis,” Arum reminds her, trying not to sound too eager. “You need not adhere to any human traditions that you do not find appealing. And the Keep will help make any arrangements with the space that we need, of course.”

“Will we hold the actual ceremony outside?” Rilla asks, tilting her head. “I don’t imagine that you would want any knights and critters running around the inside of the Keep at will, wedding or no.”

“I had-” Arum pauses. “I hadn’t thought of that. I had been imagining-” a new song filling the greenhouse, hopeful and content instead of yearning, this time. Arum clears his throat, continues, “imagining it in the greenhouse. But outside, yes, I suppose that makes more sense-”

“The greenhouse,” Rilla sighs. “It is the most incredible room in the Keep, I think.”

The Keep sings a soft pleased note at that, and Arum scowls but does not mean it in the least.

“And we could have the Keep seal it off,” Damien suggests, “and only have the guests come in through portals, limit access to the rest of the structure, if only to keep things simple and contained…”

“Yes,” Arum says, fiercely glad that they appear as enthusiastic about the idea as he is. “Yes, I think that will work quite well.”

“How soon were you thinking that we would hold the actual- ceremony?” Rilla asks, watching with amusement as Arum clenches and unclenches his fists, not meeting her eyes.

“I… a month, perhaps?” he suggests, his heart thudding, not sure if that time frame is at all reasonable by human standards. “Small ceremony, shouldn’t require too much planning, just- need to see if our ‘priest’ is willing, make sure those we want will be able to attend- and-” he sighs. “I am due to molt soon, and I had wanted to wait until after that unpleasantness for this.”

“M-molt?” Damien asks, voice tilting up.

“Lizard,” Rilla chimes, and Arum scowls.

“I am a magical construct-”

“Who just so happens to closely resemble a bunch of lizards and shares many biological similarities with them,” Rilla says with a shrug and a grin. “You haven’t noticed, Damien? The Keep’s been trying to keep him all moisturized and cared for, but poor Arum’s scales have been all dry and pale lately.”

“It isn’t exactly a pleasant process,” Arum grouses.

“But I bet you’ll look pretty incredible when it’s over.” She pauses, eying him. “Shiny new husband,” she muses, mostly to watch the way his posture freezes, the way his eyes go wide, and then narrow.

“Shameless tormentor,” he mutters, fondly, leaning so he can nudge an arm against hers. “So. After I molt at least.”

“Let’s wait until we hear from your monster officiant, and when we know they’ll be available we can start inviting the rest of the little group.”

“You are being remarkably quiet, honeysuckle,” Arum says after a moment, and Rilla feigns a wince.

“Oh, don’t get him started,” she teases.

“It’s only-” Damien laughs, possibly at himself. “I’m so happy,” he says wonderingly. “It’s quite overwhelming, actually. Distracting, even- I keep thinking about-” he glances towards Arum, then gives another pleased little laugh. “I keep half expecting to wake from a dream. This seemed impossible only a day ago, and yet-”

“The impossible is my business, honeysuckle,” Arum says mildly.

“I am overwhelmed by my love for the both of you,” he says, and Rilla smiles and sighs and reaches out to grip his wrist.

“You know we love you too,” she says gently. “No need to get worked up this early in the morning. Besides, you might wanna start saving up your speeches for the wedding itself, don’t you think?”

“I am going to preemptively set a time limit on any speechifying or poetry-reading during the ceremony,” Arum barks quickly.

“At the reception, then,” Rilla concedes with a smile.

“The what?”

Rilla blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Okay- I am asking this completely seriously, I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Have you ever actually been to a wedding, Arum?”

“Of-” he snaps his mouth shut, his snout wrinkling in irritation. “I-” he bares his teeth, and then his shoulders sink in defeat. “Of course not. When would I have ever? Who do you think would have invited me?”

Damien is making a face like he’s about to declare that he would, of course, he would invite Arum anywhere, for the rest of his life, anywhere and everywhere, all the most beautiful places- but Rilla steers the conversation before the poet can make Arum any more uncomfortable.

“It’s not a big deal, Arum. I just- didn’t want there to be any big surprises for you if you didn’t know what to expect. Usually after the whole actual ceremony, there’s a reception. A party, really. With food, and dancing, presents, and stuff like that. We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, though.”

“… dancing?” Arum echoes.

“Dancing,” Damien agrees in a dreamy tone, his head tilted and eyes looking somewhere distant.

“I… enjoy…” Arum pauses, frill flaring enough to reveal his embarrassment. “I enjoy dancing,” he says quietly, and then he coughs and sticks his nose in the air just a bit. “Of course, I’m sure your human dancing customs are just like all of your other customs: rigid and ridiculous and if you put one claw out of line someone will mock you for it.”

Damien, affronted, opens his mouth to retort, but Rilla gets there first with a laugh.

“Some dancing is like that,” she admits. “But obviously if you wouldn’t like that sort of lock-step, organized dancing, we just wouldn’t do it. I mean, I don’t really like that kind of dancing either, so that’s fine with me.”

Damien ducks his head slightly, almost pouting, but then he sighs and admits, “Most of that choreography is designed for… groupings of two, anyway.”

Arum wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. So invariably dull. You creatures cannot even cavort without putting restraints on every little step and turn.”

Damien frowns in earnest, now. “You don’t seem to mind terribly the restraint on my every little step and turn when I go through my exercises each morning, when you so often conveniently happen to be nearby and observing.”

“I-” Arum’s eyes dart to the side in a way that fails entirely to be stealthy. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I mean, I do,” Rilla says with a shrug. “Watching Damien stretch is my favorite part of my morning routine, just barely beating out coffee.”

Arum laughs. “Fine, fine. I suppose restraint can have its place.”

“What I’m getting from this is that you do want to dance, though,” Rilla says slyly.

“Dancing, food,” he deflects with a shrug, “none of that sounds… disagreeable.”

“How coy your phrasing,” Damien says, voice lilting. “Who would have suspected that a monster could be so very meek about the simple matter of a dance?”

“Meek,” Arum growls. He clearly knows that Damien is goading him, but he narrows his eyes and stands regardless. “I will show you meek, little knight. Keep?”

The Keep sings, then, but not in the usual way, not in its harmonious vagueness, but with rhythm and purpose. A full song, not a phrase of notes. Arum lifts Damien out of his chair with a hand on each side of his waist, and the movement glides easily into a waltzing turn. Arum is substantially taller than Damien, and Damien is less used to following than he is to leading, but he adjusts quickly with a laugh on his breath as Arum guides him through a series of steps that manage to be both unpredictable and elegant at the same time. Monstrous, but controlled. He turns Damien in a tight circle, and his movements to the music are measured and slow compared to his typical blurring speed. Finally he dips the knight back, leaning in close to nip at his jaw as if he just can’t help himself, and when that startles a more enthusiastic laugh out of Damien, Arum pulls him back to stand again, looking equal parts smug and smitten.

“Wedding ceremony planning, version two, entry one,” Rilla chimes into her recorder with a grin, and both of her breathless fiances pause to look at her. “Dancing at the reception is non-negotiable.”

[mygolfworld-blog]

How To Build a Golf Simulator On a Budget

In case you're similar to me, the long winter months and absence of chances to get out and swing the sticks make me distraught. Indeed, it's pleasant to have a white Christmas and all that however there is just so much solace nourishment and I can eat, so much more distant family I can deal with thus time on the sofa I can spend. For a long time I look out my front room window and consider playing golf. Obviously, I scratch the tingle on my indoor putting mat, hit flop shots off the rug when my better half isn't looking and swing my weighted club in the carport. Be that as it may, toward the day's end there's not a viable alternative for the genuine article.

As I kept on stewing throughout the entire winter, I harkened back to my school days when we made our very own variant of a golf test system. It was entirely brilliant. At any rate we suspected as much. It was a canvas suspended from the roof and moored to the floor with cushions stuffed behind it. What's more, obviously we never needed to hold up until the go to get brew, the cooler by our hitting mat was in every case well-supplied.

Since its absolutely impossible I could pull off such an arrangement now, I began doing some exploration on indoor golf test systems. What I found is that there are a wide range of cool choices out there and… they cost a large portion of my outstanding home loan. In any case, with somewhat more burrowing, I found that it's possible to construct your very own test system for a small amount of the expense of having one introduced expertly.

Instructions:Buil your own golf simulator

You may feel that you need a wide range of extravagant gear and PCs to manufacture your very own test system yet such isn't the situation. All you truly need is sufficient space, a hitting mat, a projector, a screen or net and programming that enables you to play the world's best courses in 3-D.

Space

There's no way to avoid the way that golf test systems occupy room. At any rate you're going to require a space 10 feet wide by 15 feet long by 10 feet high. Except if you're blessed enough to have vaulted roofs, the in all likelihood space to put a test system is in your carport. On the off chance that you need to get particularly detailed, you should consider building a wood casing secured with work mesh to house your whole arrangement. In the event that you extravagant working with a pneumatic nailer and table saw, you can even form a work area for your PC and a rack for your clubs. In case you're searching for something less complex, buying programming like OptiShot enables you to hit balls into a net and watch the ball trip on your TV progressively.

Hitting Mat

You've presumably hit off modest mats at your neighborhood driving reach. These mats fill a need however you're going to need something somewhat more pleasant for your indoor golf test system. On the off chance that you plan on hitting drivers or fairway woods, you're going to require a tangle that you can get a tee in to. On the off chance that you need to recreate various untruths like fairway and harsh, finding a tangle with various statures is an alternative too.

Our preferred indoor mats are the:

PGM3660

Callaway FT Launch Zone

Rukket Tri-Turf

Truedays

Sklz Launch Pad

These mats are moderately reasonable and give you better input at that point mats you find on an open air driving extent.

Projector

Despite the fact that you can utilize your TV or PC for your golf test system, having bigger display makes for an increasingly practical encounter. For this you're going to require a projector. While the best ones available can cost a great many dollars, something somewhere in the range of $300 and $500 ought to carry out the responsibility.

In case you're considering getting a dir-modest projector, we exceptionally dishearten doing as such. Despite the fact that there are a lot of alternatives out there for under $100, practically every one of them do not have the splendor expected to see your shots and the course clearly.

Our best proposals that won't use up every last cent are the:

Epson VS230

BenQ MS 524

ViewSonic PJD5533W.

Before you swipe your Visa for a projector however, ensure that is has inputs that are perfect with your PC. More often than not a HDMI port is all you need.

Screen

The screens utilized for top-rack test systems can be exorbitant. Fortunately there are a few different ways to set aside cash without gambling flying golf balls breaking something in your home.

Numerous individuals settle on a straightforward net like the one you may have in your back yard. Brands like Rukket, Callaway, Jef World of Golf, Galileo, GoSports and Club Champ all make golf hitting nets that dependably assimilate the effect of full-speed golf shots and give a cost-productive alternative to progressively costly screens.

On the off chance that feel aren't that essential to you, utilizing a rock solid light-hued covering or canvas is another choice. Before you completely introduce it, you'll need to test the nature of your projector's picture against the snare to ensure it is clear enough so you can sufficiently observe course includes and the trip of your ball.

In the event that neither of the alternatives above work for you, you can make the shoddy speculation of froth golf balls. These balls are made explicitly to be hit inside and except if you hit your mother's china with a shot, you shouldn't need to stress over breaking anything.

Programming

In the event that you've hit balls in a test system in a business space, there's a reason you pay upwards of $50 every hour. Those machines, however truly cool, cost as much as $50,000 a piece. The best programming for your home test system is OptiShot which expenses under $500. While this program won't give you crush factor, dispatch edge and turn rate numbers, you will get precise input on details like club head speed, separation, shot shape and swing way.

The OptiShot likewise enables you to play an assortment of world-well known courses, modify climate conditions and play various configurations against your companions.

So What Is Total Cost?

On the off chance that you need to manufacture a straightforward no frills test system that gives you the impression that you're playing a genuine round of golf, your cost breakdown should look something like the accompanying.

Programming: $500

Projector: $300

Hitting Mat: $60

Hitting Net: $40

Complete: $1,000

Additional Features

In the event that you have somewhat more space in your financial limit, you can buy a portion of the things recorded above with some additional highlights or you can select some cool additional items to upgrade your experience.

One choice is purchasing an Ipad and introducing swing examination programming like V-1, SwingTIP or SwingSmart. These kinds of projects enable you to utilize a camcorder to take a video of your swing and after that moderate it down, draw lines and see one next to the other pictures of your swing and the swings of the Pros from various edges. A few projects even accompany pre-stacked instructional tips or enable you to pay for a membership for tweaked proficient guidance.

Another choice is to construct a fenced in area for your test system that keeps surrounding light out and light from your projector in. This includes the expense of materials like wood and some kind of covering. Covers can be anything from work mesh to shower window ornaments, essentially, anything to shield errant shots from flying out of the fenced in area and causing harm.

The choices to alter your test system are boundless. Don't hesitate to get as innovative as you need and as your spending limit permits.

Practice

Presently that you're fully operational it's an ideal opportunity to put your golf test system to utilize. The principal thing that most likely rings a bell is working on during when the climate keeps you from heading outside. Regardless of whether you're taking a shot at swing mechanics or dialing in separations with your short irons, having the option to see your ball flight and numbers inside is the thing that you assembled this test system for you know.

Play Where the Pros Play

Possibly you simply need to play the absolute most renowned courses on the planet that you likely won't get the opportunity to play, all things considered. For me that was Augusta National, the most select club on the planet where ex-presidents are even denied access. In the wake of dumping one in the water left of the green on Hole 11 and making intruder, I birdied the notorious standard 3 twelfth over Ray's Creek and parred the standard 5 thirteenth. I played Amen Corner in even standard! How cool is that? Your golf test system programming comes pre-stacked with notorious courses and at a little cost you have the choice to download others and keep them forever.

Practice With a Buddy

Possibly you and an amigo have a mutual objective for your golf games. Regardless of whether it's breaking 90 just because or figuring out how to hit a draw rather than a cut, golf test systems accompany a training mode where you can simply beat balls on a driving reach. You'll get criticism on each shot and have the option to gauge each other's advancement the whole time.

It's imperative to practice like you play as well. An incredible method to do this is by keeping your training focused with basic games. You have the opportunity to get as innovative with this as you need. One of my preferred games is KP's. The principles to this game are really straight forward. You and your accomplice concur on an objective and each hit 10 shots estimating who is nearest on each shot and the most player with the most KP's after every one of the shots are hit is the victor.

Fellow or Gal Time

Each person or lady longs for having their very own variant of a definitive man or lady cavern and for enthusiastic golfers, having a test system and a major level screen is at the highest priority on the rundown. For me, school football Saturdays resemble religion. Most Saturdays during the season will discover me tossing a spread for a couple of my companions where we have all the significant games on and crush in 36 openings while giving each other trouble. Whatever the event might be, having a golf test system just improves the experience for everybody.

Begin a League

One of the best time things you can do with your golf test system is begin an association that gets together all the time to contend. You can structure the group anyway you pick however guaranteeing that groups are equitably coordinated is vital to ensuring everybody has a decent time. In my group, we have four-man groups all comprising of an A, B, C and D player. We play an alternate configuration consistently and groups are granted focuses for where they wrap up. Be that as it may, once more, you're allowed to set this up anyway you need. Ultimately, ensure there is something to play for toward the finish of the period. It doesn't need to anything incredible, however having a prize for the triumphant group propels everybody to appear and remain intrigued throughout the entire season.

End

The chilly dull a long time of winter are hopeless for genuine golfers. The huge names aren't playing on TV and your odds to get out to play yourself are constrained, best case scenario. For a moderately little venture be that as it may, you can construct your own golf test system and have a great deal of fun with your companions all while taking a shot at your game. The best part is the point at which the golf season at last comes around, you'll be miles in front of your pals that haven't contact a club in months.

[transvros]

TITLE: Malfunctioned / Fixated SUBJECT MATTER: Connor notices that there's something up between Gavin and RK900, and in response he tries to reassure his upgrade of his options. Meanwhile, RK900 sees no problems, and furthermore is unwilling to consider feeling anything about it. WARNINGS: N/A RELATIONSHIPS: HankCon, RK900/Gavin (Toxic) AO3 LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17679086 CHAP 1 UNDER CUT

The clock was probably the loudest part of the house in the morning.

It was amazing to Connor that Hank bothered to keep an analog clock around- after all it was practically archaic in comparison to how easily time was accessed nowadays. Connor was pretty positive that most humans didn't even know how to read them anymore. Hank told Connor a long time ago that he appreciated the sight of analogs, how their hands moved about the numbers and how the roundness complimented the wall well enough. Connor didn't really know about any of that, but he did know about how it ticked and tocked in a perfect rhythm that he would often listen to. Whenever he woke up, it would be the first thing he heard. Each tick was pleasant, every tock relaxing. But honestly, Connor's favorite thing about the sound was that he knew what sound would follow... Hank's voice. This morning, however, Hank didn't seem to be in bed next to him. Connor looked over at the empty space, sitting up from his position on the bed and tilting his head to the right. It wasn't often Hank woke before him- especially since Connor didn't ACTUALLY sleep so much as he shut down and got up at a scheduled time ("what's the difference?" Hank had once pointed out), so the idea of Hank getting up beforehand was unlikely. Connor hitched his movements, assessing the possibilities before he was interrupted by the door opening. Hank stood at the doorframe, hair disheveled and phone in hand. He had a look in his eyes, like the whole world had just simultaneously hit him in the back of his head, the bags under his eyes darker than usual. Whenever he looked like that, it meant something really annoying had just gone down. This was confirmed further when Hank pushed into the room and practically collapsed into a sitting position on the end of the bed with a solid groan of agitation.

"Something happen, Hank?" Connor asked, despite how obvious the answer was. He got the urge to reach out and touch Hank's shoulder, but he knew that sometimes he didn't like to be touched, so he hovered instead. Hank leaned lightly towards him, only noticeable to Connor as a signal that now was not one of those times. He put his hand against him and kept his eyes fixated on the other.

"Yeah, you could say that." Hank replied, scoffing to punctuate his words. He ran a hand over his face. "Gavin called just before you woke up."

"Gavin?" Connor echoed, wondering what he could have wanted. Gavin didn't even seem to like Hank, and he DEFINITELY didn't like Connor. Every once in a while, the man found ways to make that perfectly clear. Bumping him, pushing him, punching him... he did it all the time. Gavin used to do it more and far more severely before Connor started fighting back and Hank started defending him. "Is there something work-related he needed from you? I can't seem to recall anything he might have asked for..."

"You think he'd ever ask me for somethin' job-related? Smug bastard thinks he's better at all that than I am, after all." Hank pointed out, almost laughing were it not for how irritated he was to have been woken up. "Instead he has the audacity to call me up to talk about RK900." Connor could feel his fists tighten against the sheet of the bed. He shifted, fidgeting in response to the name. RK900 had never exactly been a comfortable topic for him... an upgrade of himself he was forced to work alongside. It didn't help that Nines was perfectly aware and willing to bring up his obvious upgrades in technology. He was faster, better equipped, and- Connor realized as he removed his hand from the sheet- RK900 didn't fidget so much.

"I see." Connor said fretfully, voice wavering only an amount Hank could notice. "Why you?"

"Well, he was askin' me stuff about you really. I don't really know if you wanna hear about it, Connor. It's fucked." Hank cautioned. Connor shook his head.

"I won't mind, Hank."

"Okay, suit yourself." Hank swung his legs up onto the bed to sit more comfortably as he crossed his arms. "He asked me how I get you to listen to me so well. Phrased it like I 'tamed you' or something. When I told him to fuck off he said he was having trouble getting through to Nines, said they'd been arguing a lot more. He claimed it was for career reasons but I don't know how much he'd up and call someone if he was having problems with his 'work-partner'." He paused, rolling his eyes and getting frustrated all over again. "Anyway, I told him that you didn't just listen to me and that we listen to each other. He didn't seem to like that answer- thought I was copping out on him. He tried to push me further but I told him I wasn't his advice-keeper and to try asking someone else. After that, I hung up."

Connor stared blankly for a moment, and then he found himself fidgeting with the sheet again. He wasn't sure why, but something about everything Hank had just told him had him feeling... strange. It was like a twist in the pit of his stomach, an unseen force festering underneath his realm of understanding that only made its presence known enough to be ominous and inconspicuous. Unsettled, Connor sat back against the bed a bit, scanning the wall with his eyes. The thought of something deeper than work connecting Gavin and Nines just felt so unseemly. Hank must have noticed the change in his demeanor, since he had reached up and touched Connor on his back. Connor jumped, shaking his head slightly and glancing back at Hank, who wore something like concern in his expression.

"I'm... unclear on how to feel." Connor spoke at last, voice quiet. "Something about what you've said must have triggered something in my system I'm unaware of." He faltered, knowing that he was just trying to physically explain an emotion he didn't understand. He did that often. Ever since he started coming to terms with the things he felt and experienced, he found it hard to accept new feelings without fighting back. Verbalizing it was even more difficult.

"Talk to me, Connor." Hank sounded annoyed, but Connor knew he meant well. "Quit starin' at the wall and look me in the eye, will ya?" Connor looked at him, but his expression stayed mostly empty.

"Wait." Connor said before Hank could speak again. "Something doesn't add up. Why would RK900 be arguing with Gavin in the first place? That's certainly something to think about. Supposedly RK900's main major upgrade is to minimize any sort of disagreement factors or clashes with other workers. If that's the case, then shouldn't-"

"Connor..." Hank narrowed his eyes and harshened his gaze.

"- Then shouldn't he be 100% willing to compromise without fuss?" Connor continued as if Hank hadn't said anything back. "If Gavin called you, it must have gotten pretty serious. I don't know Gavin well, but I know that his pride would not allow him to ask for advice unless the issue were continuous, drastic or time-sensitive. In that case, RK900 and him have either been arguing for a long time, have had a particularly touchy dispute or need to agree soon in the face of some kind of time limit. Those seem to be signs of--"

"Connor!" Hank's gaze pierced through Connor as the man turned his shoulders to face him dead-on. "You're deflecting." Connor blinked at him, before he let his gaze drop to the bed.

"I'm not sure what you mean." He lied, the LED on his head red and flashy.

"You can't lie to me, Connor, you know that. C'mon, spit it out. What's up?" Hank softened his tone and put his hand against Connor's face, who in return let his skin fade to the white underneath that made up his body.

"..." There was a tense hesitation, and then Connor finally replied. "I feel uneasy."

"Uneasy? More scared or anxious?" Hank coaxed. They did this routine often- it was a way to help Connor realize his own emotional turmoil better.

"Anxious." Connor answered, feeling a bit foolish. He was still unused to this... still so bent on being scolded for nonconformity. "I'm anxious about the things you've told me."

"Which thing? Gavin, RK900 or both?"

"Both. Together, specifically. I'm anxious at the idea of a relationship of any kind between them." Connor hoped he didn't sound jealous. He had no desire to be close to either of them. "Anxious and unsure. Like something bad would come of it, surely."

"Why?"

That question caught him offguard every single time. Connor sighed and shook his head. "I don't know." Hank leaned in, assessing him to see if that was true and then leaning back when he decidedly realized it was. Hank held his hand and tried to think of a way to help.

"Does it have something to do with work?" He asked, to which Connor shook his head. "Something to do with how they might treat you?" Connor had to think about that one, but eventually he shook his head again. He'd be treated poorly by both of them regardless of their relation to each other. "Huh." Hank was at a loss for a moment before he had another idea. "Are you worried about how they might treat each other?"

Connor opened his mouth to deny that, but then closed it again. Logically, he should have no reason to care one way or another about how Gavin and Nines treated each other. They both hated him and they had both vehemently gone against Hank and Connor's relationship with each other. He thought back to every punch and every hit that he suffered from Gavin, and then to every insult and backhanded compliment he got from Nines. They were both awful in their own right, so of course they'd be awful together. And yet, the idea of them being awful to each other struck Connor horribly quickly. He pictured them arguing and that unfamiliar twist of sickness returned to his stomach. Connor felt his body go tense and he slowly opened his mouth to speak.

"I think so. But why would I be? It's only sensible that they'd be a tad ornery with each other when you look at their personalities. And yet, somehow..." Connor listened, and in between his speaking the tick of the clock pounded against his head. "Somehow I don't think I'm comfortable with the idea of them fighting each other the same way they fight me."

Hank frowned, and gripped his hand tighter. "You're a better man than I am, Connor. Makes sense you'd feel this way." He replied, trying to keep from sounding harsh. "But at the same time, you don't owe those fuckers anything. Knowing them, this will last a week and then they'll both be back to being insufferable separately instead of together. For now, all we can do is hope it doesn't get too bad that we have to go on hearing about it."

Connor nodded, but he was still unsure. Despite that, the overwhelming feeling was becoming more bearable and in response he leaned against Hank with his arms on the taller man's shoulders. "Thank you." He could feel Hank's face heat up despite not looking at it. The man had no idea how to respond to gratitude, much less affection. He stuttered for a few seconds, before patting Connor on the back.

"No problem...?" He sounded questioning and confused. "Eh, we're gonna be late. Get up and get ready." His tone was back to short and his voice was gruff once more. Connor smiled, and pulled from the embrace before standing from the bed.

"Waiting on you, Lieutenant." He replied, and dared to even sneak a wink to accent the tease.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, ya fuckin' weirdo."

[leatherlaceandblades]

Off the Table, pt2

"174?"

Moka was propped up on her bed, but she didn't acknowledge her voice being said. She didn't have to, technically - she was awake, she was alive, and short of yanking her new ears off herself, both of them knew that she could hear just fine. "Don't be afraid to try. Here, let me make the note for you, and you should be able to imitate the sound yourself..."

And the jen did. It was a nice sound. Pretty. But she didn't repeat it back. She wasn't in the mood.

"Please, this is important. I-"

A bark of laughter came from the front door. It was deep and guttural and came around large teeth. "Shouldn't waste your time on that one. She should have been Reaper fodder ages ago."

Moka's ears twitched. There was nothing but brutal mockery in that voice...it was one from the higher tier combat units that held their position unquestioned for their scary size and aggressiveness. And he was good at it. Most of the time, he didn't even have to do anything himself, but let those that flocked to him as a leader take care of any challengers. And when he -did- step up to face another unit, it got bloody. Really blood.

"Get moving, 159."

The male subject was cuffed on the shoulder from behind, the whole of his bulk barely even budging. Another laugh was his response, his mouth twisted in a cruel grin. There was teeth. He was spoiling for a fight, but let himself be moved out of sight and further down the hall. The door slammed a second later, and Moka was a bit surprised to find that it was her current caregiver, looking flushed and really rather pissed off.

"Don't listen to him. Big bully. You're just feeling a little down is all. Once you're accustomed to everything you-"

"He's right."

The medical woman stammered to a stop as Moka interrupted, going from angry to stricken looking. Moka waited for her to scold her for saying something like that - it seemed like a thing she would do. Instead, there was a touch of a hand in her hair. Even tangled, the touch was so careful not a single snag was tugged. "Then let's change that, shall we?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"This next set, please."

It had taken some time, but the more Moka worked at it, the easier the recognition of the notes came. jen Gabris had been right: picking this up came almost as a second nature, and she could hear even the faintest warble or incorrect shift in the music without even trying. The thrill that came with hitting everything just right was beyond words in satisfaction, making goosebumps rise up and down her arms.

They weren't in one of the examination rooms any more; the space they occupied now was large, filled with various exercise and work out equipment...worse for wear, but still in working condition. Mats were rolled up and stuffed in to the corners to be laid out when stretches or closer space wrestling was to happen. Technically, it was outside of normal Subject space, but special permissions to gain access to it had been granted as it was about as close as they could get to an open space that was still private.The majority of Moka’s bandages had also been discarded as the surgical wounds had healed themselves. No longer in danger of infection, however, she was even permitted to resume wearing a lighter armor while she was out and about, making her far less edgy about being surprised by other Subjects looking for an easy take down.

Althea jen Desideris smiled, the slender fingers of her right hand tapping the air gentle to lead Moka when to hit the notes, and when to cease. She was good at it - her patience was astounding, and a calming aura that kept even well deserved frustrations at bay. Moka had never met her up until this point, but Vivian had decided her influence was needed here. As for Vivian herself, Moka still wasn't sure what to make of her, or why she was trying as hard as she was to see that this experiment came to fruition. She could've easily walked away, but...

"...She will need to practice other sorts besides this. They'll want to know how this could be seen as any sort of weapon."

"Indeed. But you cannot deny that she has come from. If nothing else, they can find a use for her as a back up on the field, could they not? There is something...powerful. In just listening to her."

"Oh yes, sure. I mean, you're right, but I don't know how they would feel about that. We're aiming for a combat unit. Something that would lead the charge frontlines. Even the flip-side of their group goes stealthy. Nothing really stealthy about making sounds. We'll have to find a way for her to emulate sounds that normal vocal cords. I'll have to get with the other departments to see if they can give us examples of them. It seems once she hears it, she can match it, so..."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The rock exploded, the impact burst almost as if it had come from the inside, folding in then erupting back out, sending debris flying in all directions. "Oh yes, that's it! That's perfect!"

Vivian yanked the protective ear covers off, her whole face lit up in the biggest smile Moka had ever seen a person wear. They had been on a steady increasing volume, those joyful looks, the more the two of them worked together. The more sounds that the female Subject managed to make, the more delighted her caregiver got. She had thought for sure that the jen would've long ago been assigned elsewhere; it had been moons now she seemed to pop her head in to Moka's room and drawn her out for more practice. Slowly, slowly...she was getting to expect it. Almost look forward to it.

It was almost like having a friend. Or what she imagined having a friend would be like. At least someone that wanted to see her achieve something great. "Here, look! I spoke to some people in the machinery department, and they said they would be able to make us some smaller versions of projectile launchers. We could load them with more of the large rocks, so you can get something more close to practical practice in. Afterall, I don't think a target is going to just stand still and let you scream in their face until their eardrums pop..."

"...You talk a lot."

She had wanted to say it a long while ago. And, the vast majority of the time, Moka didn't mind the chatter between hitting notes, hearing various wave sounds, and other tasks. In truth she really didn't mind it right then, either. She just wanted to know what the woman would say in return.

"Huh?", the red-head paused in her pointing out her idea; the placement, the projectile, even in the midst of making an explosive hand gesture like what she imagined Moka's sounds could cause the rocks to do. "Oh.”

And she laughed. 

Moka wasn't sure if she was being laughed -at-, or if jen Gabris was finding amusement in herself. Or maybe she shouldn't have asked; as patient as this one had been, that didn't mean she didn't have her limits and bounderies too... Panic surged up in Moka's gut, tensing up when her ears picked up and jump started her brain that Vivian was coming towards her. She twitched, ears laying out to either side. She couldn't attack, but she didn't want to move either. Moving was weakness, the whole training was so she wouldn't be weak. She was going to be a combat, she was going to be a fighter. Fighters weren't weak...

Pat.

The hand that came down on top of her head was anything but harsh and strict. It was a gentle cup over the now washed and brushed pink curls, directly between the highly sensitive ears as if to take in to account even a simple touch could hurt them. A little rustle, back and forth...

Moka's eyes had shamefully shut for the moment she heard the contact coming in. Her right eye peeked open, then her left to find that the much taller Garlean was leaning in closer to her. Same cheerful face, same open smile.

"I do, don't I? My mom told me it was because I was bad at keeping anything to myself. Keeping secrets. After a while, I figured there was no point in trying to keep anything like that to myself, since it felt like I was lying about who I was. That and it was just way too hard when I had so much to share."

"Why would you want to share anything?", the concept was almost beyond her. Niceness could often times be slapped back in your face if presented to the wrong person. Moka knew that well enough...had been through it enough...

"Because, 174, if you don't share, how do you ever make friends? And how do you ever get to know yourself and grow with knowing yourself with other people?"

"Is that why you smile so much too?"

"Heh, I guess nothing gets by you, does it?", the hand finally lifted out of her hair...Moka both missed it and was glad it was gone in equal measure. "I guess in part. And it feels good to smile. Did you know it was harder to frown or look upset then to just smile? Though...", the blonde woman leaned all the further forward until her face was level with the Miqo'te's. "I think you're out of practice. I think today we'll add in smiling to your exercises."

Her expression serious, all lab coat and clipboard and done up hair meant to be professional, waggled a finger at Moka as if scolding her. "I want a big smile on your face for every note you successfully hit. We'll get those muscles in shape in no time, you'll see."

[orbemnews]

Ald. James Gardiner Denies Permit Parking Exception For Residents Of Northwest Side Building; Owners Think It's Retaliation For Social Media Posts CHICAGO (CBS) — A social media post got a woman in trouble with her alderman – and it got our attention. The post ignited a war between a Northwest Side city leader and owners of a building in his ward. On Tuesday night, CBS 2 Political Investigator Dana Kozlov dove into what the building’s owners are calling a blatant abuse of aldermanic privilege. READ MORE: CPS Board Proposes Starting 2021-2022 School Year A Week Early, Discusses Alternatives To School Resource Officer Program Barbara Murphy and her husband built a 16-unit residential building with 11 parking spaces in the Portage Park community in 2018. There were no issues, until a permit parking sign went up about a block away last fall. They asked Ald. Jim Gardiner (45th) for an exception so the tenants of the building could park on the block. Gardiner said no-can-do, and they believe he is doing it out of spite. “It’s such a simple fix,” Murphy said. Murphy and her husband hoped Gardiner would agree when she approached him about amending the parking permit on the 4400 block of North LaCrosse Avenue in the fall. She wanted the permit amended “to only allow our address to use those spaces,” so that her tenants and visitors could again park on the block instead of two blocks away. Parking distantly is often their only option, because the building is surrounded by a gas station, another apartment building, and parking-restricted Montrose Avenue. “Not having access to nearby safe parking is a real concern of ours,” said tenant Kim Rehm. Gardiner defends greenlighting the permit – even after getting a letter from the Chicago Department of Finance stating that the department had “surveyed the location” and concluded that a permit is “not recommended” because 61 percent of street parking spots are usually available. Kozlov: “So you’re saying the Department of Finance’s recommendation was incorrect?” Gardiner: “I’m saying that if they go at off hours, when it’s not Monday through Friday, 8 to 4, you’ll see a greatly different story than you would be if you’re going in the middle of the day when everybody’s working.” Gardiner also said Murphy’s building is a transit-oriented development, so she shouldn’t need more parking. “They got what they asked for,” Gardiner said. But Murphy believes Gardiner’s decision to override the city’s recommendation is personal, because she had criticized him on social media – based on something the alderman said to her husband. READ MORE: Ald. Anthony Beale Calls For City Council To Return Threshold For Speed Camera Tickets To 10 MPH “He said, ‘Well, tell your wife to be quiet on Facebook, or social media,” Murphy said. “It was mentioning to them, please, stop identifying individuals who are not responsible for getting signatures who are getting bullied on that block,” Gardiner said. It has gotten so ugly that bullying accusations are flying from both sides. Someone even threw a brick through the window of Murphy’s apartment building. Kozlov: “This whole thing is a mess. But let’s just go back to this ��� the idea and the accusation that you are doing this out of spite, and it’s an abuse of aldermanic power – your response?” Gardiner: “The clerk agrees. They wrote a letter, and I can read that for you if you’d like, and they agree with what I’m saying.” The letter was sent to Gardiner one day after Kozlov’s first call to him and the city Clerk’s office about establishing a permit buffer zone. Gardiner insists city ordinance requires any parking buffer zone, or permit exception, include all residents who live within a two-block radius. Kozlov: “You can’t just open it up to this one address?” Gardiner: “No, it would be opened up to two blocks east, two blocks west.” But a city spokesperson confirmed Gardiner could add just one address if he wanted, by amending the code. There is a document showing he has done it before – granting a parking permit exception to just a handful of addresses on the 5200 block of North Lovejoy Avenue. “It’s draining,” Murphy said. Meanwhile, Murphy and her husband are losing tenants over parking, making it tough to pay their mortgage. “If we can’t rent the units out, how are we going to pay it?” Murphy said. Murphy has filed an abuse of power complaint with the Chicago Office of the Inspector General. Gardiner is also named as a defendant in an unrelated federal civil rights lawsuit, which also alleges he abused his power. MORE NEWS: Chicago Fire FC To Welcome Fans To Soldier Field On Limited Basis When Season Begins April 17 Gardiner said he looks forward to the truth in that case eventually coming out. Source link Orbem News #Ald #ald.jamesgardiner #barbaramurphy #Building #danakozlov #DENIES #Exception #Gardiner #James #lacrosseavenue #Media #Northwest #northwestside #owners #parking #Permit #permitparking #portagepark #Posts #residents #retaliation #side #Social