#more than the sum of our parts

[vroomjohnwatson]

Fic Masterlist

tell no one what you see - james hunt&niki lauda, lavender marriage au, 2k every right thing will find its right place - elio de angelis/nigel mansell, didn't know they were pregnant, 5k feeling like the odd man out - elio de angelis/nigel mansell, t4t, 2k

this night is sparkling (don't you let it go) - andrea de cesaris/bruno giacomelli, friends to lovers, 1k

toaster - john watson, fiber art

i hope the worst isn't over - alain prost/ayrton senna, break up fic, 1k

more than the sum of our parts - ensemble, system fic, 4k

the one less traveled by - james hunt/ronnie peterson, loss fic, 300 (wip) don't you turn like orpheus - elio de angelis/nigel mansell, worldhopping fix-it fic, 8k

[digitalsymbiote]

In our "breaking down the boundaries between selves" Era.

Press your hands against our body, feel the skin separating us dissolve, feel our flesh melt together as our bodies become one.

Press your forehead against ours, feel the pinprick sensation of our thoughts mingling with yours, feel our body maps merge and extend over each other.

Experience the feeling of "you" and "me" becoming "us".

[desolationlesbian]

do you guys remember when there was discourse about how Ruby and Sapphire were in a toxic and unhealthy relationship or something because they were “fused all the time” even though it was very obviously like. A Metaphor

[dontmesswithnoheroin]

I'm so glad we're not normal about bg3 because I desperately need to talk about the fact that, while all the origin characters are tragic in some way, Astarion's fate is so grim no matter the choices you make in the game, which can be compared only to Karlach who is doomed to either die or live as an illithid. We all know if Astarion ascends, he just continues on the path of power hungry violence Cazador set him on. But even if he doesn't, if we choose the "better" option for his personal development, he's doomed to be a vampire spawn forever. He loses the hope to ever feel the sun on his skin again, something he clearly misses so much when he's adventuring with a tadpole in his head. And while other characters get to choose their next steps at the end of the game, he runs off into the shadows. He never gets his full freedom, after a century of torture, sa and literally being mind controlled, his only choices are to either accept the life of a vampire spawn or become the one he hated the most.

In fact, the only time he ever is afforded freedom is those precious few weeks between being abducted by the nautiloid and defeating the Absolute. The time spent with accidental chosen family, treated like his own person, free to roam in the daylight.

I realized it gets to me because life is like this: you get faced with terrors and impossible choices, and all you have to power you is the moments in-between, moments where other people carry the weight on your shoulders with you for no other reason than deeply caring about you. BG3 origin character stories are so great because all of them seek freedom and the price to pay for that freedom is too great. But it becomes less daunting because everyone gets to support each other along the journey.

And I do ugly cry about it.

[veilvaulting]

I'm so full of fraywol feelings it's insane

[ziracona]

The Sum of Our Parts

((@tathracyn here you go.))

-

-

The shot hit both of them so hard, they went sixty feet and through the glass side of the next building over before realizing it had happened.

From where she was several blocks south, Catwoman saw the spark of what looked save for color like lightning in the sky, saw pieces of shrapnel scatter, and two forms go through the side of a skyscraper at terrifying speed. Hand on a diamond the size of a grapefruit, and thoroughly wasted here in the wall safe of a woman who never even looked at it, Selina stopped and kept her eyes on the building—out of frank surprise more than anything. It had been a while since she’d seen the Batman take a hit like that.

Well.

Shit. Both bodies cleared the other side of the same building, still moving at speed, and dropped from the far window, just out of her line of sight.

God I hope they hit the next roof, she thought with more worry than she probably needed to ever feel towards Batman. He landed on his feet almost as much as she did.

Taking the jewel, she ran to the far side of the window just the same, getting the widest view possible in the room of the direction the bodies had been flung. There, she thought with relief and a certain pride, as she watched the figure whose silhouette she knew as the Bat’s even this far away, snag the other figure in the air, and grapple a cell tower on top of the building to yank them both the last few feet to the left they needed, before dropping onto the roof at a roll.

What the hell hit him, though? she wondered, turning to look back the way the flash of definitely not real lightning had come, I thought he was fighting Two-Face…?

But no. Two-Face didn’t fly, and whatever was up there was floating, at a kind of mockingly casual pace, and in Batman’s direction.

The hell is that? she wondered, slipping the gem into the bag she had slung over a shoulder, Who in Arkham with that silhouette floats?

-

-

Somewhere to his right, Bruce heard Harvey groan.

That—light? What can have—? His head was still spinning from the hit. Even with the protection the batsuit offered, which was no small thing, the blast itself had felt like a bomb. It had had a pretty high area of effect too, because he’d seen half the roof caving in as he went backwards, and it had hit them with enough force to send them through a building and—

Shit!

Harvey! He—

Struggling to see through the sporadic crackles of light in his vision, Bruce struggled to a knee, half his bodyweight held up by the arm that hurt less. He’s alive at least! I heard him just now but that hit-

Dragging towards the sound, he saw him them, face scrunched up in pain and anger, about six feet away, making it to his own hands and knees. His suit was a little torn up, and there was blood coming from his palms and a leg, but he was miraculously better than expected.

Good, thought Bruce with relief before remembering that right before the flash of light, Two-Face had been trying to kill him.

“Still alive?” he managed, trying to get his second leg under him.

“The hell was that?” replied Two-Face. There had been an unspoken ‘who’ very clear in there, not ‘what’.

They made it up at about the same time, tense and wary and torn up, but not exactly chomping at the bit to go at it again when something had just almost one-shot the both of them, shared a quick ‘don’t try something’ brand glance, and then turned to look back the way they’d come. All there was to see what the pane of glass Bruce had broken on his way out, and smoke past the skyscraper.

“I haven’t seen it before,” replied Batman, switching cowl functions to scan for heat signatures instead. There was one, coming this way, not fast, but definitely it, because it was flying.

“People in this city can’t even wait their own turn,” growled Two-Face, flexing his damaged hands and glancing around for where his tommygun had landed. It had apparently not made the trip with them successfully though, so with an irritated sound, he went for the dual pistols he still had strapped to his chest instead.

Usually Bruce would have been a little bit more concerned about who exactly his opponent was planning to shoot at first, but Harvey was predictable, in a good way. This thing had butted in to an ongoing conflict, struck from complete cover unannounced, and almost sent them both twenty stories to the pavement with a single shot. Two-Face would probably try to shoot at him again later, but, it wouldn’t be until this was over.

“Whatever it was, it’s headed this way,” he informed, drawing a batarang and readying his posture, “and it can fly.”

“Great. Another Gotham special,” said Two-Face, taking in Batman’s stance, and aiming his pistols to align with him and the heat signature he couldn’t track himself. “Whatever it is is going to really regret blowing me off a building.”

That was probably true. Two-Face had a way with revenge, and even without superpowers, he was no joke. Sort of like Batman himself…which was an uncomfortable thought, in the two seconds Bruce let it remain in his head.

The thing rounded the corner of the skyscraper it had sent them flying clean through, and almost before Batman could see it, Two-Face was firing both barrels. The thing raised an arm and some kind of kinetic shield came into existence in front of it, deflecting bullets like it was nothing. Okay. Energy powers of some kind. Something like lightning, and solid enough to shield.

He let his batarang fly, going for a foot, the least likely extremity to be shielded, and it hit—hard enough to get the thing to wince and look at him instead of Two-Face, but it pinged off the armor the thing had on instead of landing.

A flash from its hand sent a bolt of the same energy it had hit them with last time, but they were ready this time, and dove in opposite directions, coming up under the little cover piping and vents on the roof offered, as a smoking crater where they’d been dropped rubble onto the floor below.

It was hard to even tell what this thing was. It was a …vaguely humanoid silhouette. Two legs, two arms, torso, head. Bigger, taller, but not a lot, and so encased head to toe in thick armor, it was hard to tell what shapes were natural, and what was protection. The head was the wrong shape, longer, like a crescent moon viewed from head-on, and there were spikes all along the body, like it was some kind of being made of a shattered chunk of crystal. There was something like wings coming from its back, but Batman could hardly believe anything that shape and bulk provided flight, instead of just decoration—he didn’t believe it, in fact. Mutant? Costume? Alien? Too soon to tell. Powerful, that was for sure. Any with a bone to pick with one of us.

“Batman…” The voice was distorted and projected artificially, like a computer, but smother. Voice distorter, probably. But anyway, that answered that question.

“Attacking from the shadows is a hell of a way to introduce yourself,” called back Batman, stepping up from his cover.

The thing in the air paused and turned to look at him. “You’re one to talk, really.”

Maybe a fair enough point, but Batman glanced at the smoking crater and back up just the same.

“Well, you’ve lived longer than I expected, so I suppose an introduction wouldn’t be rude,” commented the figure from above. It made a sweeping bow in the air. “You may know me as Tachyon, and I’m here for something glorious.”

Batman narrowed his eyes.

“The salvation of the world,” said Tachyon, a smile in its voice, making another grand gesture as it straightened up.

“Which involves incinerating me, how?” said Batman, deadpan.

It had been longer than he expected, and Two-Face hadn’t started shooting again yet. Where is he? Batman didn’t see him. He could turn on the infrared and look, but if he did, that thing might notice and do it too, so.

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t really have time or motivation to tell you the whole story, as fun as a good monologue can be,” replied Tachyon, “Suffice it to say, you’re a sort of…stepping stone.”

Great. One of these.

“See,” said Tachyon, gesturing with an arm as he went, “I’m going to change things. Change…everything. Everyone. I’ve…seen it, Batman. I’ve seen it all. Everything there is to be seen. And I have the keys, to the answers. All that’s left, is to put it in, and turn the lock.”

“I fail to see what that has to do with me,” replied Batman, “Or blowing holes all over my city. That could be viewed as pretty anti-salvation.”

“Yes, I’m sure to you it does,” said Tachyon in the most pitying, patronizing voice Bruce thought he might have ever heard, even with the voice distortion. “And that’s the problem. Take him for example,” added Tachyon, gesturing to where Two-Face had vanished behind cover what must have been two minutes ago now, “Take any of your ‘rouge’s gallery’ criminals. You beat them, and drag them off to Arkham, where incompetent doctors give them treatments that don’t work, and they slide back out that revolving door, and we’re here again, gunshots in the night sky. Really, all you’ve accomplished since your arrival on the scene is…a little…flashy notoriety for the city. It’s not solving anything. In fact, if anything, you’re causing more problems. But do you know what’s worse?” He floated closer, bending forward to look down from twenty feet up. “People here think you’re right. Think you’re good. Well, a majority of them anyway. They think you’re helping this city. But you’re not.”

Judging by proportions, it was entirely possible a human could fit into a suit the shape Tachyon made, as inhuman a silhouette as the thing cut. That was Batman’s guess. Plus, generally, it took a human to monologue in this specific way, especially after noting they were not about to monologue.

“I’m sure you think you’re helping,” said Tachyon pityingly, “But you’re part of the disease. Half these things can’t be helped, and the ones that can be reintegrated to society are never going to get there spoon-fed and seeped in their own engrained toxic behaviors. You think somehow following the system will work, even after decades of it failing. It won’t. People won’t change on their own.”

“You can’t force change,” replied Batman. Where are you, Harvey?

“You can lead a horse to water, Batman,” said Tachyon sympathetically, “and you can make it drink. Actually. If you know how to train it properly. You can make anyone, do anything, if you train it properly. And I have the answers. And you? I’m afraid that’s about all you have time for.”

“You still haven’t said anything that puts killing me in line with your goals,” said Batman more out of slight annoyance at the thing than any need to stall longer.

“No, I suppose I haven’t,” agreed Tachyon, “But I should have hoped it would follow, logically. Surely you can see some of the pieces, Dark Knight.” There was great disdain with the title. In the tone of voice an especially cruel adult might mock a five-year-old pretending to be a dragon. “People think you’re right. And training is fastest with participants who are beginning to see the light. I’m going to cut down on losses, and time, greatly, by making a name for myself, and my path. And what better place to start than the hollow hero and empty ideology of my own hometown?”

Ah. There it was. And a solid lead, if this went past one fight, and there was research to be done.

“So you want to kill me for recognition,” said Batman with his own tinge of disgust.

“I want to make an example, of you and the city, and now I think I will,” said Tachyon.

Batman didn’t actually see the grenade thrown. He heard the gunshot, when Two-Face shot it out of the air to control exactly when and where it would explode, and he knew what it was because he’d seen the trick before, but there was no warning between the word ‘will,’ and the crystalline figure’s side lighting up orange and being slammed with such force it knocked it out of the air and sent it plummeting towards the road below.

Shit-! thought Batman, dashing to the edge of the roof to grapple and catch the thing before it hit pavement and died. It caught itself though, about eight stories down, and hung in the air there.

“I don’t know why you bother talking with those things,” said Two-Face, glancing down from beside him, “Still alive, huh?” he added in mild disappointment but no surprise, “It looked like the armor was too solid for that to do him in.”

He drew his pistol and started shooting at its back, and the thing whipped around to look, and then flew to the side and back up at speed, and Two-Face and Batman stepped back together and readied.

“You!” it hissed in rage, pointing at Two-Face, “You shouldn’t even be here!”

“You showed up to my fight,” retorted Two-Face, unintimidated, emptying his clip in its face.

The translucent energy shield it had used before appeared just in time to deflect the bullets, and it slashed a hand, a beam of the same purple-blue not-lightning streaking from in front of its fingertips and towards Two-Face, who dove to the side and rolled, coming up on a knee with a new clip in his pistol, returning fire. Projectiles weren’t working so well, so Batman ran at it instead while it was distracted. It had landed only about five feet up this time, and he could make that. Through the smoke of its own attack, and the distraction of Two-Face trying to blow its head off, the thing didn’t see him until he was close. Perfect. Using one of the exterior vents as a platform, Batman launched himself at it, sharp knuckles on his gauntlets aimed for the side of its face, and caught it, hard. Its head snapped to the side with a grunt, and he was bringing his other fist down when it turned a palm against his gut and sent him rocketing off the building. It felt like being hit with a missile.

For some stupid reason, as he was plummeting to the street, all he could think was How was there no kickback? He hit me with that much force without being moved back at all? which was really bad, because he needed to be thinking about what to grapple to not to die. Thankfully, there were enough stories between him and pavement for a momentary lapse of judgement, and he slammed the grapple into the side of the building Two-Face was still on top of, close to the top, and started rocketing back up towards it. I can’t tell how bad that hurt me. It hadn’t gone through his suit, but that didn’t make it good. He could feel it. Bruised ribs, maybe. Maybe worse. Not really time to—

The thing above him turned and looked down at him and raised both hands and energy arced from it, in two paths. One for him, one for the grapple. He managed to twist in the air, the left hand shot slicing past so close he could feel the crackle of energy in the air on the skin of his face, but there was nothing he could do about the one shattering the head of his grapple and a tenth of the floor it had been anchored in.

Time slowed for him as he reached the pinnacle of the upward momentum he’d had, and hung for just an instant before gravity had him again and he was going down, still about five stories from the top. He had his other grapple out and aiming, and Tachyon, featureless face fixed on him, shot again. He tucked in limbs to fall faster and angled as hard right as he could, and just barely got himself between both, lefthand grapple finding a high point on the building they’d been blasted through, and rocketing back up towards it, trying to avoid falling debris from the blasts as he went. Tachyon turned with him, bringing his hands together and then making a sweeping gesture outwards, sending a burst of energy the size of a minivan at him. Shit.

He released the grapple to try and fall past it, because there was no way left, right, or up was making it in time, and for an instant he lost visual on Tachyon, the energy between them, and then he was falling past it, and there was another right behind, aimed a little lower, and no way to move in time.

Past it, he could see Tachyon’s upper body, hand drawn back for another shot, and at the same moment, two things happened. Something moving up and left rapidly caught him by the waist and he was jerked to the side of the shot, and towards the building, and Two-Face jumped off the edge of the building and onto Tachyon’s back and started unloading both clips point blank, one in its head, one in its heart.

Then he had lost visual of it, snagged around the left corner of the building by his rescuer, and he looked up to see Catwoman. She had her eyes on the roof, but glanced down for a moment when she felt eyes on her, and gave him a wink behind the gold tinted goggles. “Hey handsome. Just give me a second to stick the landing.”

She tugged her whip free and cracked it around the leg of the same cell tower he’d used as an anchor earlier, and swung them both up onto the rooftop just in time to see Tachyon summon an immense burst of energy like a shockwave around itself with a shriek, blasting Two-Face back off it. He landed about two feet from them with a curse, a little singed but not much worse for the wear, and double took at the sight of Catwoman.

“There a scheduled event today?” he asked.

“I saw you two from a few blocks away, and it just looked like you were having so much fun,” replied Catwoman with a smile, and then, turning her attention to the seething thing in the air about fifteen feet back, “What is that?”

“Tachyon. Beyond that, and some obvious flaws, anybody’s guess,” replied Batman, straightening up. Well, the ribs aren’t broken at least. Bruised is good.

As it turned, there were dents in its face on the left side, and in its chest, but the bullets didn’t seem to have made it quite through the armor, which at point blank range was almost unbelievable. It must have still hurt though, judging by the absolute fury cascading off the thing facing them. There was so much energy hanging in the air he could feel it standing his hairs on end even from here.

With a shout of rage, it aimed both hands at the three of them together, and they leapt in different directions as a blast with the size, force, and judging by the score it left in the building’s roof, length, of a freight train, tore past them.

Bruce came up on a knee right by the edge of the roof, Catwoman just behind him.

“Jesus. When I came to help you boys, I thought it was going to be Electrocutioner, or Strange with some new freak,” said Catwoman, glancing from one to the other as the smoke cleared.

“What, don’t like picking fights you don’t already know you can’t lose?” asked Two-Face with a grin, reaching into his jacket and snagging a grenade, pulling the pin with his teeth, and chucking it in Tachyon’s direction.

“Yes,” said Catwoman, glancing up and jumping out of the way of another blast from Tachyon, “Some of us like to win.”

Batman let a batarang fly, then rolled out of the way of a blast aimed for him, coming up between the others and sending three more after Tachyon when he came up. The first three deflected harmlessly off the thing’s energy field, but the fourth exploded on impact, encasing the front of the shield in ice, and he heard an angry curse from the thing.

“This is getting us nowhere fast,” said Batman.

“Not exactly great for city infrastructure, either,” added Catwoman, glancing at the maybe 40% of the roof still intact.

“Yeah well if you’ve got a plan get on with it,” said Two-Face, taking a knee behind one of the exterior vents to reload.

“I do-” he had to stop to avoid another shot, snagging Catwoman and diving far left beside Two-Face not because he needed to get her out of the way too, but to get all three of them close enough to talk without being heard.

“Yeah?” said Two-Face, not glancing up. He finished reloading and went up over the vent for a second to return fire, then back down as a blast went over his head.

“By his own admission, he’s not familiar with the city. We can use it,” said Batman.

“Okay. How?” said Catwoman.

“There’s two water-towers in a four block radius. The one off 18th has a million gallons in it.”

“Go on,” said Two-Face, interested for the first time.

“Every time we’ve landed a hit, it’s because he’s only paying attention to one of us,” said Batman, “He wants to kill me? We use it-“

Another of the minivan sized shots came for the three of them, and as one they scattered in opposite directions, Catwoman swinging wide with her whip, and Harvey rolling behind another chunk of roof.

Shit. I should have done this first, thought Bruce, annoyed with himself, grappling to land by Catwoman, and taking an earpiece out of his utility belt.

“Here.”

She took it and gave him a funny look.

“It’s an earpi—” started Bruce.

“—I’m not an idiot,” said Catwoman, “But this isn’t how you’re going to see my pretty face either. Go give one to Harvey and give a girl a little privacy for a second, would you?”

Oh. Right.

He forgot how to think of responses and just gave her an awkward nod, and grappled for where he’d seen Two-Face last, tossing a smoke grenade as he went, and an exploding batarang behind it, aiming below Tachyon. It was flying, so that wouldn’t make him fall, but the shrapnel had a good chance of hitting his feet, and that would at least distract the thing.

“Harvey,” he called, landing and not seeing him.

“Behind you, and not present,” came Two-Face’s voice, and he glanced behind him to see his former friend crouched by an upturned chunk of roof from one of the earlier shots.

“Here,” said Batman, passing him an earpiece, “The odds of us being able to stick close together is basically non-existent.”

Harvey took it and gave it a glance, then put it in. “So, you were saying?”

“Catwoman?” checked Batman.

“Loud and clear,” came her voice from his cowl.

“We move the fight towards 18th,” said Batman, “—Harvey, how many grenades do you have left?”

“Enough to punch a hole in the side of the water tower, if you’re asking what I think,” replied Two-Face.

“Good. We get there, I keep his focus on me. Once he’s in position, blow the side of the tower. Catwoman, I’ve got enough ice pellets I can pass you to freeze him solid inside it.”

“And you?” asked Catwoman.

“I’ll move.”

“Worth a shot,” said Two-Face, taking a couple through the smoke, guessing apparently pretty well, because Bruce could hear the bullets pinging off the thing’s shield.

“Okay. Let’s do it. Meet you at the edge of the roof for the pellets,” came Catwoman’s voice.

Batman tossed a flash grenade, then turned and ran for the far end of the roof, towards 18th street, Two-Face with him. Ahead, he saw Catwoman land on the edge of the roof and look back at them over her shoulder. As he ran, he opened the pouch on his belt with the freeze pellets and took all of them, sliding to a stop by Catwoman and the waiting open bag she was holding out. As he dumped the pellets inside, he noticed an enormous diamond in there too.

“Oh, you want to start something about that now?” asked Catwoman, catching his look. Not giving him time to respond, she jumped off the roof and caught onto a pipe with her whip, swinging up to the next rooftop and running.

He aimed his grapple.

“Uh, you two know I can’t go leaping from rooftop to rooftop, right?” said Two-Face in slight annoyance behind him.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing back and offering an arm, pretty sure neither of them was going to be too happy about this. Two-Face definitely wasn’t, but the helpful sound of Tachyon firing an energy blast their direction quickly changed the subject mentally from anything but ‘let’s get the fuck out of the way of that before we’re vaporized,’ and Two-Face ran to him, Batman snagged him around the waist, and grappled for the next building, hearing the edge of the roof explode behind them.

Not needing to use his arms for any of this, Two-Face twisted around as they swung, and emptied both clips in Tachyon’s direction.

How many of those is he carrying? Way more than two, apparently.

“Running?” called Tachyon’s distorted voice—much more distorted, apparently, by taking a gunfull of bullets to his mask, “How unlike you, Batman.”

Ignoring that, Batman landed on the roof a yard behind Catwoman and ran, neck and neck with Two-Face. Two energy blasts came their way, and he saw Catwoman swing to the side as he and Harvey split, ducking in opposite directions, then course-correcting towards the same corner of the building. As he got close, Batman turned around and sent an exploding batarang towards the thing rapidly gaining on them. Its shield caught the shot, but in the moment of smoke and light, he caught Two-Face again, and jumped, grappling for a building across the street, then again around the edge of the block. Close. He could see the tower up ahead, and Catwoman well on her way towards it on his right.

“Get on a building!” shouted Two-Face.

“Why?” he asked in surprise.

“Because that thing can fly a lot faster than it was before!” he snapped, and Batman looked over his shoulder just in time to see it hurtling towards them at speed, hand outstretched and crackling. No time to maneuver, and too low to reach a roof, he chucked Two-Face at the nearest fire escape, and turned to brace. The thing hit him like missile, digging its fingers into the chestplate of his suit. The claw-like fingers snapped through armor and it bent its arm and flung him, slamming him into the side of the building.

Even with time to brace for impact, it hurt. The brick building gave way around him and for a second he was stuck in it, hanging there, head throbbing. Trying to think as the thing in the air stopped and turned. It opened its hands and flexed.

“On the ropes,” it said proudly, “If you can take it as some consolation at the end, you lasted much longer than I expected. I’ll remember that. You should be very honored.”

It was so…sincere. Whatever this thing was, it really believed every word of that. Which was information he felt like he could find the importance of, if only he could get his mind to focus. He’s going to shoot me. I have to…

It raised its hands towards him, energy sparking, and a whip cracked.

For a brief instant, he saw Catwoman falling past him, and the tip of her whip caught Tachyon around the hands and jerked them towards each other as he unleashed his attack, and then everything in the air was a blinding flash of purple and blue and white and he couldn’t see anything except sparks along his eyes, and there was a horrible sound like an engine exploding. A shockwave of air slammed into him, and he lost vision for a second.

Catwoman. She-

Struggling, he blinked, focusing blurry eyes on the chaos around him. Tachyon was on the ground across the street, in the wreckage of what had been a car. On the ground, he could see a body in black he recognized as Catwoman, and his heart sped up, but as he struggled to get free of the wall, he saw it move, a little unsteady, and stand. Oh she’s okay. Thank god.

What a crazy thing to do. Effective, though.

He had to hand it to her, she was nothing if not that.

Oh shit I hit my head worse than I thought, didn’t I, came the follow-up thought too late as he pulled free of the wall and raised an arm to shoot his grapple and watched his vision go black. It was too late though. He had leaned into the motion too far not to fall, and he blacked out and pitched forward, thinking please wake up before you hit the pavement in some dismally disconnected way. There was a jolt along his left arm he was vaguely aware of, and he felt himself hanging for a few seconds as he fought to wake up. What…?

Blinking hard, his vision came back into focus, and he saw Catwoman below him again. She was running for the side of the building, and climbing a drainpipe, trying to get back to the roof. Across the street, Tachyon, not looking so great himself now, was dragging himself off the ruined sedan, seething. His gauntlets were shattered, cracks running all along the arms, and some of the fingers missing, revealing human hands underneath, and bare bone robotics wrapped around them. So you are human.

He felt himself being lifted then, and looked up to see Two-Face with a death-grip on his left arm, hoisting him towards the fire escape. Ah. That’s why.

As Harvey got him over the railing, he heard Tachyon shouting and glanced down to see it take to the air again, a bit raggedly now.

“RRAAAAH!” it shouted in what appeared to be just frustration, waving its damaged arms at them furiously. “WHY are you helping him!” It shouted at Two-Face, enraged. “You were trying to kill him yourself when I arrived!”

“Just because I want to kill him doesn’t mean I want you to kill him,” replied Two-Face in disgust.

Thanks, I think, thought Bruce.

“Boys, we should maybe get a move-on?” came Catwoman’s voice over coms, “He uhhh, looks pretty mad to me!”

Batman took Two-Face and grappled with him to the roof, and took her suggestion, running towards the end of the block and the waiting water tower up ahead.

“Yeah! Nice shot!” called Two-Face as they ran, “That was fun to watch.”

I’ll bet, thought Bruce, trying to ignore the agony in his ribs as he ran. I should really take Al’s advice and carry pain meds with me—why don’t I do that? Why?

 The buildings were close enough they could both jump them here, so they did, Bruce trying to mask how much landing had hurt by looking over his shoulder at the enemy behind them. He was moving a lot slower now, which was great. Two-Face might have a little too much of a point though—vendetta of some weird kind or not, the thing might be more angry at Catwoman right now than him, so he’d have to think of a way to make absolutely certain to draw all its fire. This thing has a temper though, so that should be easy enough.

They jumped another alley and tore across the roof of the last building on the block, Catwoman ahead of them, taking a running leap to a light post, and from there to a billboard, then launching herself at the building on the far side of the street, slamming into the side wall and digging into it with her claws and starting to climb.

For a second, Batman was confused, and then he saw the whip, wrapped around her waist like always, but missing a sold third now, and scorched at the end. Right. Of course.

He and Two-Face reached the end of the roof side-by-side, and Batman grappled them across the street and onto the waiting roof, landing just as Catwoman swung herself up alongside them.

“Well boys,” she said like that had all been perfectly easy as she straightened up, “Game time?”

Two-Face shot her a grin, and flipped his coin. He seemed pleased by the result and placed it back in his pocket, replacing it with a gun and cracking his neck. “Looks like.”

“Okay. Let’s go,” said Batman, and they split.

Okay. Where do I do this. There were plenty of places close enough to the water tower to work, but he wanted to be low enough to let gravity and the weight of that water cause some damage, and far enough to give Catwoman and Two-Face a little space. And somewhere I can stall. That part might not be so hard. This guy liked to monologue.

Maybe not with that many holes in him though, thought Batman with a grimace, glancing behind himself and taking in the incredible damage to the suit Tachyon was wearing as it banked around the building behind them, and into his line of sight.

Okay then, there. South corner, next building over. Close enough, almost right below, and one of those little bulkheads for a stairwell, which would provide decent cover if talking failed to stall.

Now just to make sure Tachyon came after him.

“Have your pet criminals abandoned you?” called Tachyon, pausing to hover in the air now that it could see him again. Its suit of armor did…not look good. His, suit of armor, at a guess, but it was impossible to be sure. “Or have the rats just scuttered off, waiting in the wings for a good chance to dive on back in from the shadows like cowards again?” They added, glancing around for Catwoman and Two-Face.

“You act like I’ve used some unfair numbers advantage on you,” said Batman, turning to face him, “But neither of them works for me. Two-Face wouldn’t even still be here if you’d only blown me off the side of a building. You think you’re awfully important and powerful, but you’re still picking fights and complaining about it.”

Ah, there we go, he thought with some satisfaction, seeing the immediate change in body-posture and tone in Tachyon.

“It’s not a matter of fairness or fear. They’re mild irritants, which in general I’m not fond of,” said Tachyon icily.

Still hesitating to hit me though. I bet you think this is a trap. Which, it was. So I’m either going to have to get him a whole lot more comfortable, or a whole lot more angry for this to work.

Tachyon raised a palm and a sphere of thick purple-blue energy appeared in the air.

Oh, or not, nevermind.

Bruce leapt back and right, out of the way of the pulse, and returned fire with a batarang, aiming for the exposed skin now on the hands. Tachyon’s shield flickered to life and deflected the shot, but they could see what he’d tried to do, and did not seem pleased by it.

Taking a few steps back towards is goal, Batman flung another two batarangs, then leapt backwards and handsprung to the far edge of the roof, dodging two more blasts from the thing.

“This was supposed to be easier,” said Tachyon with great irritation, to itself though, not him, from the volume.

“Funny how that works,” said Batman, levelling a batarang at it and smiling, “You showed up thinking you’d take one shot from the shadows yourself, and kill me, the symbol of power and justice in Gotham, and here you are getting your ass handed to you by a couple of two-bit criminals who happened to be nearby.”

That did it. Whatever small amount of holding back Tachyon had had went completely out the window, and it shrieked in rage and came after him, firing off blasts from its palms at such an insane rate, there was no way it was even aiming all of them. Batman leapt out of the way and back, then turned and ran, hearing it come after, and zig-zagging from cover to cover, leaping an alley and sliding into position behind the bulkhead just as the side of it exploded in a flash of bright energy.

“You’re laughing, but I’m no joke,” came Tachyon’s voice, drenched with venom, “I am going to change this city, and the world, into what you couldn’t. Into what no one else has the guts, the brains, or the ability to make it. It was only my mistake to think I’d do you the honor of fighting you evenly, like this. You didn’t deserve it.”

That’s one way to take losing badly, thought Batman, readying a smoke grenade. He dashed out of cover and threw it, sliding under a shot from Tachyon, and to the edge of the roof.

“I looked on you as a necessary sacrifice, but I respected what you wished you were doing,” said Tachyon, turning to face him, palms leveled, “So I thought I’d do you the great favor going, since there is no way around you going, without any unnecessary emotional pain.”

What on earth does even he think he’s talking about?

“As much trouble as you’ve caused this world, you do it because you’re mislead. An ego-maniac who thinks he’s the cure the world can’t offer.” There was a strange sensation then, sudden. Not…painful. But. Not…not painful.

It…it wasn’t doing anything he could see, but if felt like. Like. …Being pushed out of your own head, a little, or pushed further in. What did…? He… Pressure, like the altitude had risen suddenly, and…

“Or maybe…it’s guilt,” said Tachyon, “That makes you cling to the festering corpse of this rotting ci—”

The water tower exploded behind them.

Bruce flung himself backwards and off the building as fast as he could, tucked in limbs, and launched, then spreading them and using the cape to glide at the last second, and swinging up and wide of the massive downpour of water. It was thunderous. The sound drowned out anything else. He couldn’t even hear the explosion past the water after the first second. The deluge slammed into the building with such force, it completely obscured it from vision as he twisted in the air to look. And then, there was a little faint flash of light, and he saw chemicals bond at speed, and the water turn to ice, so fast it was still in the air when it did. The water clung to the roof of the building like the inside of a jagged snowglobe, a partially translucent picture, or a frozen moment of time. In it, just at the edge of the roof, still in the air, but trapped there now by the solid matter around him, Batman could see Tachyon. Horizontal, knocked down by the force of the water, and trapped near the roof, about ten feet below where he’d been.

We did it, thought Bruce in relief, landing on the next rooftop over and letting out a breath. With it, the pain in his ribs became more real. Ow.

“Nice job,” said Batman into the coms, not sure where exactly the other two had landed.

“Two-bit criminals?” came Harvey’s voice from behind him with distaste.

Ah, there you are.

He glanced behind himself, not sure if they were going to immediately go back to fighting, and hoping Two-Face would at least wait for them to be completely certain that thing wouldn’t find some way out of here.

“I had to get his attention,” he replied.

“Well, it worked,” came Catwoman’s voice, and he heard a clink of metal on metal, and saw her sling herself down from a billboard by the building, and land easily on his other side, “That man certainly likes the sound of his own voice,” she added, glancing at the frozen scene.

Tachyon, for his part, hadn’t moved. They seemed trapped there, well and truly. So I guess I’d better get them out before they suffocate, thought Batman with some (he felt) pretty deserved tiredness.

He stepped over carefully, onto the ice, until he was directly above, and scanned the body.

“All clear?” asked Catwoman curiously, slinging her arms casually over his shoulders and looking down with him.

“Well, he’s alive, and human. Heartrate…surprisingly normal, for being encased in ice, and still conscious for it. No movement, no change. Whatever he’s got his suit made out of, it’s letting him breathe, though, so no rush thawing him out,” said Batman, lowering his palm as the sensors in his fingertips finished their scan.

He stepped back onto the roof, checking data on the screen in his cowl.

“Well, that was a fun little intermission,” said Two-Face, cracking his neck and eyeing Batman.

Ah. Right. He’s being unusually decent about announcing it’s back on. I guess I should be…grateful for that.

God he was tired though. And his ribs and chest hurt. And head. He would have loved to go home and call it a night. Sadly, that wasn’t the job, though. Ever…

He shut off the little data screen on the back of his gauntlet and straightened up, sliding a batarang into his hand and turning to face him.

“Wait, what?” said Catwoman, double-taking, “You two? Are going back to fighting? After that?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, so you might want to move along,” said Two-Face, levelling his gun and not taking his eyes off Batman.

“Wait, are you serious?” she asked, incredulous, looking from one to the other, “Why?”

Batman glanced at her, then back at Two-Face, tensed, throw ready.

“Why?” echoed Two-Face, still not looking at her.

“Yeah,” she said, turning to Batman, “Aren’t you going to let him go?”

Two-Face lost his perfect focus for a second.

Shit, thought Bruce nervously, This could get really bad for me. He kept his scowl and his eyes on Two-Face.

“Stop it—no, I’m serious,” said Catwoman, irritated now, and moving slightly between them, putting hand on Batman’s shoulder, “Come on. He helped you.”

“And,” said Batman flatly, praying she would take the hint and stop.

She did not.

“And?? And he saved your life! You owe him. What, you’re not going to let him walk?”

“Kitty-Cat,” said Two-Face, slightly off his own game at this point, “What are you trying to accomplish here?”

“Come on, what were you even stopping him from doing tonight? Robbing something?” said Catwoman, still on Batman.

Well…

“Oh, come on,” she pressed, “You let me go.”

“Wait, what?” said Two-Face.

God damn it.

“That’s hardly the same thing,” said Batman, irritated and struggling to find a quick way in his head to remedy this situation. I can’t just let him go! With her, it’s different. She doesn’t kill people. She’s never even really hurt someone. But Harvey…

“It’s completely the same thing,” said Catwoman, dedicatedly making everything worse, “He’s a thief; I’m a thief. It’s not like he’s some serial killer like Joker.”

“I am not a thief,” said Two-Face in disbelief, the target of his aggression beginning to swap.

Oh god.

“Well what do you call yourself then?” said Catwoman, not seeming to notice that as she turned to him.

“A crime boss,” said Harvey in the slightly stunted voice of someone who had had no prepared response and just barely managed to produce that answer on demand.

“What, like the Roman?” said Catwoman, “You’re nothing like that.”

This is going to get out of hand almost immediately, thought Bruce in distress.

“Enough!” he tried, cutting off the last syllable of Catwoman’s ‘You’re much more like me than you’re like that’. “It’s different,” he said, looking from one to the other, “He’s different.”

“What, and you can’t let him go, even once?” she asked, eyes getting huge in the very annoyingly effective way she was so good at, “Even after he saved your life?”

He glanced at Harvey, mind running questions he already knew the answer to again, just in case maybe this time there would be some amazing, new, different answer. Arm lowering on its own just an inch as he felt, like always, for just a second like he could see the person he used to know behind those eyes instead of the one who was really there now in front of him.

And then there was a sound of ice cracking.

Bruce turned at the sound, but back to it, he turned too late. Catwoman had looked at Two-Face when he did, and turned at the sound too. Two-Face, who had been already looking towards the ice, moved before the sound.

As he turned, time seemed to slow and Batman saw Tachyon above the ice somehow, not in it, hovering upright, arm leveled, and what looked like a gun in his hand. Which was impossible. He had no belt. No pack. Nothing. Where had it come from? His armor was broken like before, but there was no hole in the ice, no crack, no shrapnel from someone breaking through it. It was like he’d vanished and re-materialized. There was just no way.

The bullet that had been fired before he turned at the sound of ice cracking was already on him when he turned, and it was going to hit the broken dent in the front of his chest armor Tachyon had made with his claws, and then Harvey’s arm slammed into his side, and he fell out of the way of the shot.

Time did not return to normal.

Bruce felt everything slow.

How?

It wasn’t possible. That wasn’t how physics worked. Nothing about how he’d acted had indicated any kind of—displacement power. If he could teleport, why wait until now?

But arguing with reality didn’t stop it. And Harvey went back as the bullet hit him instead.

And Tachyon vanished.

Batman stumbled, and caught himself, staring at the nothing where an enemy had just been, waiting for another attack, and then he heard Harvey hit the ground, and looked. Oh God. Please, please don’t be hurt badly.

Catwoman caught him, just before he’d fallen all the way, and Bruce slid to a knee and found the blood and the torn fabric immediately. It had only hit his forearm, and he felt almost sick with relief at the sight. If he never, ever saw another person he cared about shot in front of him again, it would be too soon.

“Go!” called Catwoman, “I got him!”

He gave a nod and turned and ran for the edge of the roof, switching the cowl to look for heat signatures. Nothing. He tried cold, tried light spectrums, electromagnetics, soundwaves, anything he could think of. But Tachyon was just…gone.

Really gone, he realized, as the faint sound of Catwoman and Two-Face exchanging words registered, and the seconds ticked from one to twelve, and nothing happened.

He looked down at the ice, a strange feeling in his chest. Why did I hear the ice crack, if he teleported?

A part of him thought the thing had just wanted him to turn and look. There was no crack, not anywhere he could see at least. Just a hollow, the size of Tachyon, where his body had been.

…

He turned, and walked back to Harvey, taking a knee and reaching for the arm.

“I’m fine,” said Two-Face in annoyance, pushing himself up to his feet, “barely even winged me.”

“…Why?” asked Bruce, standing with him, and looking from the torn fabric up to his face, “Why would you-”

There had been irritation and hostility ready in whatever answer Two-Face had been about to give, but he didn’t. Instead, he screamed, and snatched the wounded arm with his free one reflexively, stumbling back.

“Harvey?” asked Catwoman in alarm, catching his shoulder and trying to steady him.

Thinking fast, Batman grabbed his arm and sliced through the fabric of the sleeve with a batarang, exposing the bullet hole, and watched in horror as something very clearly moved under the skin. Two-Face cried out again, arm spasming as whatever had been in the bullet dug in deeper under his muscle, and then started crawling up his arm under the skin.

“Cut it out!” he shouted.

Batman grabbed his forearm at the elbow, tight, to block the thing, and sliced into the skin right in the thing’s path. Harvey jerked and gritted his teeth, face sweating, and Catwoman tried to keep him steady. Quick, Batman pulled the top layer of skin back about three inches across, and he could see it. A little purplish robot, small, about the size of a nickel, with hundreds of tiny feet propelling it along. He snatched it with the tips of his gauntlet claws, and ripped it free with intense relief.

And it broke apart in his fingers.

No. Split apart, into something like a hundredtiny versions of itself, the size of seed ticks. They flung themselves from his fingertips and rained down back onto the open wound, burrowing in with a horrific speed and frenzy as they touched flesh, and dispersing, up the arm, in the skin, in the muscles, on the tendons, along the nerves.

Harvey screamed again, falling to a knee as the skin on his upper arm wriggled with the tiny robots that were close to the surface, scuttling beneath the skin towards his shoulder, and his arm started to spasm uncontrollably.

“Do something!” shouted Catwoman desperately.

There was a ripple of movement along the skin on the side of his neck now, and the muscles in it began to twitch; his whole body jerked with it, and he began to choke, and Bruce realized the robots were going to burrow into his brain, and he found the emp in his utility belt as fast as humanly possible and discharged it against Harvey’s neck at maximum charge, frying every electronic in a half mile radius.

Two-Face collapsed forwards and went completely still, and Batman dropped to his knees, arms shaking as he raised the suddenly lifeless head and felt for a pulse at his neck.

My god, Harvey. Please. Please, God, don’t let him be dead.

There was a pulse. Faint. But there.

He met Catwoman’s eyes.

“He’s alive.”

“Oh thank God,” she said like an exhale, looking off at nothing wide-eyed for a second, then back at him. “What the hell was that?”

“What the hell is it,” said Batman, finding adhesive, and using it to secure the emp to Harvey’s neck, still running, “I’m not taking chances on having permanently fried those. Whatever they are, they’re little bits of metal, and they’re still in him.”

“A-At least you got them before they got to his head,” offered Catwoman shakily, and then much more shakily, “You did. Get them before they made it all the way up his neck, didn’t you?”

He didn’t know, so he didn’t answer.

“Christ,” she said, sounding sick.

“Either way, I’m getting them out,” said Batman, rage starting to replace the fear that had been all he could feel until a second ago. Careful, he stooped, and lifted Harvey, and Catwoman let go to let him.

Thinking as fast as he was physically able, Bruce used the button on his gauntlet to remote call the car, really, really glad Al had insisted on all the emp casing on all of his own tech it was possible to get some on once he’d started using the things, and moved to the edge of the roof, watching for the bright flash of blue light announcing its turn down the street.

I can get him to the Batcave, get Al’s help. Run a full scan from the computer, see what we’re dealing with here.

“I’m going with you.”

He hadn’t heard her come up, but when he turned to look, Catwoman was standing beside him on the roof.

She turned her head to meet his gaze, expression determined. “That thing is still out there, and you don’t know what you’re dealing with. He would have fried you twice already tonight, without me.” She hesitated a second then, and glanced down at the street, and when she continued, her tone was different. “Besides. If I don’t know you got those things back out of him, I’m going to have nightmares for the next weeks. …And besides,” she pressed on, tone more casual again, “Diamond Boy is still out there somewhere, and I’d hardly like to think what might happen to me if I take a hit like that without you and an emp to save me.”

She turned her head towards him and tilted it, giving him a smile.

“…Please, let me help,” she said after a moment of his silence, expression never once wavering. Like she already knew he must be going to let her.

Bruce thought.

..There were…plenty of reasons to refuse, the most simple of which was the absolute havoc that woman could wreak on the Batcave and all the tech he had in it, and had the one time he’d taken her before, and the second of which was Alfred, but…

But she’s smart, and she’s observant. She might have seen something I missed, and I’m not taking chances, when someone almost died sixty seconds ago.

If Harvey could still be in trouble, and he could be, and she even might be able to help, and she might…

“Okay,” he said quietly, turning to meet her gaze, and her face brightened with a very proud grin. “But you’re staying blindfolded on the way in, and the way out.”

Expression completely unchanged—even more pleased honestly, if anything, she nodded. It never hurt her case with him that she had to be the single prettiest thing he’d ever seen, he thought to himself, chagrined.

There was the familiar screech of tires, and the batmobile slid to a stop in the street below them. They both looked down at it, then back at each other. She was practically glowing.

“Please, don’t make me regret this,” said Bruce. …Again.

[dreamingpine]

do you think my characters hate me for loving them and hateing them and putting them thru it?

[screampied]

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ F★CK ME LIKE U WANT ME ! ’﹒

𐚁̸ sum. how the jjk men fuck—feat. gojo, geto, choso, nanami, toji.

𐚁̸ warnings. fem! reader, size kink, hair pulling, hitting it raw, face sitting, manhandling, impact play, degradation, squírting, faking it, spit, overstim, breeding, choking, mdni.

��� NANAMI KENTO fucks like he’ll never see you again.

he loathes his dreadfully long work hours more than anything, spending time away from you was like a death sentence to him—all he knew at the end of the day was that he missed you, he missed his wife. the moment he’s buried deep inside you, interlocking his fingers with yours—it feels like pure bliss. “hey,” he’d breathe, and for a moment you feel his weight press against you. he’s hovering, you’re in the classic missionary position. he feels warm, tenderly hot inside. you then instinctively wrap your legs around his waist with your arms slinging around his shoulders. “my love,” he kisses near your neck, starting up a frantic yet sensual pace again. “oh, how i missed you,” and he kisses near your chin. “mwah,” he concludes before you feel his knees spread a bit more wider for a more better base. “keep those eyes up here—i missed my girl,” and he says it again and again until it sounds like a mantra.

“i missed you more.” you’d coo out in a soft voice, the back of your heel gingerly running down his back. your knees open, nanami’s kneeling between your legs and you moan at his sloppy yet erotically risqué thrusts. his sweet rotating rhythm was the icing on the cake.

“oh, honey that’s just impossible,” he’d purr in a honeyed voice, a big hand pressing against your tummy. “tell me one thing though,” he hums, and the more you listen to his voice—the more melodic it sounds to you. “when i press . . here, do you feel me or do you feel our future baby?”

a candied moan runs out your mouth before you cling onto his hips that continue to delve in and out of you. he’s piercing straight into you at full speed, you merely get whiplash from it all.

he was so thick, so hefty…

the stretch made your mind speed run, he knew just the right spots to drive into. your gummy walls clamp down on him tightly, and he bites his lip at the way your loving cunt keeps him continuously hostage. every time, he’s forevermore entangled with nothing but your warmth. bodies on bodies, he liked being on top of you—the shared warmth of his skin brushing against yours, it sends you and him both various amounts of secretive inevitable shivers.

“future baby?” you inhale with a sheepish grin, his body, the way it strenuously rocks against you in such sync makes you fall more and more and love with him. “you want another baby, kento?”

“i want a whole family with you,” he murmurs in a quavering breath, leaning up close to you to nip a few sugared kisses near the corner of your neck. glacé, a perfect word to describe your taste—in nanami’s eyes, you were the sweetest treat anyone could get their hands upon. to him, you never failed to taste so appetizing, he loves more than anything to softly run his tongue near the very inner parts of your neck. he gives it a few concise sucks, meanwhile he’s still got you right where he wants you. his cock’s idly jackhammering in and out of you and you’re holding him close with the most harmonic sounds leaving the back of your throat. “you’re such a good mommy. whenever this tummy’s all round ‘n plump, it’s so pretty,” and he brings another kiss near your lips. “you’re pretty, my love.”

the very back of your heel continues to skim down his back. nanami’s muscles tense a bit from your touch and he steadies his pace for a bit.

“let’s m-make another baby then,” you stammer, his cologne scent making you a bit dizzy. he always smelled so good, his fragrant was so loud, forever reaching your nostrils the more he’s getting himself closer and closer. nanami loves the feeling of your touch, the way your hands grab onto him—pulling him closer so he can be more thorough with his deep deep strokes. he adores it.

more importantly, he adores you.

he’s panting heavily, a few strands of sweat beads race down the corners of his forehead before he kisses you once more. after a lengthy amorous kiss, he departs with a cute flushed expression and you moan. “you’re always such a good daddy too, kento.”

“. . . oh, i try to be the best for my gorgeous wife, after all.”

nanami’s words dripped with tenderness and warmth. as the bed creaks, creating a mere harmony within itself—he feels himself coming close, he knows it. blond strands of his begin to stick and glue to his forehead from the sweat that already coats his skin. “m-my love,” he suddenly says, and his grip on your hand tightens, still intertwining his fingers with yours. “i’m gonna give you so much—sooo much,” and he kisses the top of your forehead. “you’re gonna look even more stunning once you’re done being f-filled.”

“k—kento.” you’d whine, feeling his heavy base thwack against you consistently. you could tell by the sheer hits against your cunt, he was full of incoming ropes of seed.

his breathing becomes heavy and as his kegals flex and flex. a few long extended amounts of seconds pass before he finally finishes. his tip radiates with a feeling of hotness, and once he starts to flood the inside of your pussy with strings of his load—he lets off a cute strained moan himself. “f-fuck,” he’d huff out in a short breath, and even his swears were cute. nanami’s hooded eyes stare at you, and he leans against your chest, still plugging you up. feeling his cum trickle into you furthermore, nanami then slithers a hand down your tummy. “oh, m—my gorgeous girl. now we wait.”

☆ GOJO fucks like it’s the end of the world.

“yeah so angel, we’re gonna like die in five days.”

“what?”

“i read this article earlier—the world’s ending ‘n i also just so happened to stumble across this position i wanted to try on ya.”

“……”

with gojo, it’s always abruptly unforeseen moments such as these. he’s so unserious, if unserious was a person—it’d be satoru gojo.

yet, that’s all it took because it doesn’t take long before you’re literally being stretched out to the very fullest. with your legs thrown up in the air, just dangling and dangling over your shoulders like an earring, you’re whimpering your head off.

“o-oh my god, s—satoruuuu,” you’d babble out, and he’s got you in a full nelson. in the flesh, this position was practically known for having someone feel everything. each nerve, each pulse, you felt it all.

with a clouded mind and a stuffed cunt, you felt like you’re residing in cloud nine. your mouth was just stupidly hung open—you were sure a few strands of your spit were about to run past you’re lips and you whine. “you’re so d-deep, ‘s good, more.”

he’s laid back all lazy like, manspread with you all on top of him. gojo feels his thighs ache a bit from the rough repetitive slams your cunt makes against him before he groans huskily. “s-shittt,” and his arms lock around your neck. the sounds your cunt makes in retaliation were so lewd. soaked and oh so sopping wet.

you were dripping profusely, drenching his lap with nothing but your pool of sweet arousal. “clampin’ all on me, such a nasty g—girl.”

each time your pussy flings down against his lap over and over, it sends multiple shockwaves all throughout your body—so many shockwaves. you’re hot and bothered, he brings a hand down to grab near your right tit, giving it a soft firm squeeze.

“so cute. how deep do you feel me, angel? grab my hand ‘n show me. i wanna know where my girl feels the most stuffed.”

hesitatingly, you grab onto his wrist leading it towards the very lower part of your tummy—he hums a sweet tune, nearly having you in a headlock before you mewl out.

“feel you here, ‘toru,” and you feel your knees sink. he’s so deep, the stretch has your mouth salivating before you gasp. the pointed tip of his cock prods near your clit, causing you to shudder within his hold. “s—satoru, fuck, f-fuckkk.” you’d whine out, and your voice pitches just a bit more. your entire body feels warm, it’s rising temperature the more he’s got your cunt buried to the hilt with his thick cock. a few specks of white hair that coats near his base tickles and titillates against your ass each time you mercilessly plop back down. the air’s growing heavy and stuffy. you can barely even process that a familiar feeling was concurrently arising.

“upsie fuckin’ daisey,” he groans, lifting you up just a bit more. he was so strong, well considering he technically is considered to be the strongest. the strongest in bed for sure—gojo’s got his legs parted, and he’s just dumping such mean inches in and out of your cunt. you swallow him up within your walls every time. his stallion-like stamina was purely out of this world, not showing an ounce of fatigue. “so w-hot ‘n cozy inside f’me, gonna make me cum quick, angel.”

his voice was starting to get a bit trembly and whiny.

breathing patterns irregular and picking up—he was close. although, your release ends up coming straight away, so abruptly quick to where you don’t even get a moment to breathe. it literally takes your breath away—it’s so quick you have to blink thrice.

your body, its first initial response was to vigorously shake upon impact. you gush out, and you hear yourself squelch—surprised that that even came out of you before you slump way back against gojo’s bare chest. he pauses, holding your hips in place before with a sigh, he snickers a cocky, “hm, did you just . . squirt on me, baby?”

alas, there’s no reply—cute.

so much volume came out, it felt incredible. the pressure makes you whimper out louder while still being laid back against him with his twitching cock hidden inside your pussy. he stood still, and yet you still felt the pure stretch mend your walls in place. gojo’s hand slowly reaches down between your legs before feeling near your now sopping wet cunt.

“well shit, you messy girl. you really did squirt on me huh,” and he sounds more playful than usual. gojo finally puts your legs down and then he lifts you up once more, making you rest against him. pressing a wet kiss near the corner of your neck, he whispers, a lengthy finger gradually inserting between your folds. with a hushed whisper, he murmurs, “now that i know you’re a little super soaker, do that for me again, yeah? let’s play with that little squirt velocity of yours for just a bit.”

☆ TOJI fucks like he hates you.

when toji fucks, he fucks.

toji’s mean—an asshole, practically the human embodiment of the seven-lettered word. sure, he loves you. but at this particular moment, it’s like he hates your guts. ironic, considering he was actually deep in them, stirring them up in such a rough spiteful way.

“arch the fuck over more. even i can do better than that, girl,” he indignantly grouses, a hand grips a good handful of your hair whilst he’s just rudely pounding into you. he could arch better than you? truth be told, as you’re moaning your head off while being pounded full of his thick inches from behind, you giggle. toji spanks you, his palm kissing against your ass and you bite your lip from the after-effect of the sting. “giggle giggle ass girl. the fuck is so funny,” and he deepens his thrusts—a gasp lets out from the back of your throat once he smushes his weight against you.

prone bone, one of his favorites.

if toji really wanted to, he’d lean up so close and do his most treasured move—simply putting a foot near the back of your neck. it was so lewd, you’d moan whenever you feel the very back of his sock run against your neck. such a lazy way, a foot pressed against the back of your head while he’s just gifting you with mean thrusts while you’re on all fours. “uh huh. yeah, ‘s what the fuck i thought.”

“you’re the one saying you can a—arch better than me,” you whine, your voice was shaky but he could tell you were holding back laughter. you were playing with fire, especially at a lewd moment like this. he’s deep inside, the tip of his angry cock mashing against each and every corner of your cunt before you’re about to burst. “if you can arch better than me then prove i—”

“. . . listen here bitch,” toji grumbles, feeling his eye twitch.

he tugs just a bit harder on your hair. your back arch was simply immaculate. sitting upright, your palms sat against the sheets of the bed, bawling them up before you felt his free hand grip your waist steadfastly. toji leans right up to your ear before muttering in a low raspy voice. “you know, babygirl. sure do got a lot of talk for someone who struggles to take me every damn time.”

he’s got you there, you swallow before feeling a brief sharp pivot of his hips.

everything was just downright filthy. his strokes had you gasping for air practically—meticulously, he makes sure to hit every spot. his aim was thorough and precise, making sure to hit everywhere like the insides of your cunt was his target. your pussy incessantly clenches every few seconds and it makes him groan. the necklace chain that wraps around his neck tickles your back, the way it runs against your skin makes you metaphorically fold. the material of it skims down your tense muscles and you think you’re so close you could taste your sweet release on the very tips of your tastebuds.

“c—cum, ‘m gonna cum, toji.” you suddenly whimper, feeling the brusque twitch of your right thigh. with your teeth shattering, he continues to maintain a firm grip—this time, his hand placement lowers towards your neck. it gives him a good amount of leverage before he tilts his hips forward. once he does that, he thrashes his angry plump cockhead against your folds and the whine you choke out was immaculate. “f-fuck, cumming.”

toji pauses—something wasn’t right, he knew your body and how it responded to him.

the silence was straight-up deadly. your heart races while he’s still inside, you feel him twitch whilst he’s still buried deep into you and it feels so raw. “oh, girl i know the fuck you didn’t,” he grits, and he pulls out almost immediately. literally the definition of a sassy man—you could hear the bitter annoyance lingering on his tone before he flips you over, making you stare right into his dark viridescent colored eyes. “faking orgasms today yeah? you’re on a roll today.”

“i— i didn’t fake it.” you pout, not fond of the way you were suddenly empty from him pulling straight out. you wanted to be full, but you also wanted to act like a bit of a brat. “it was real.”

“sure,” he rasps, and he suddenly gets up—you’re confused, actually quite close to your finish despite you faking it the first initial time and he casually just reaches for the remote, switching the tv on. “while ya work on making y’erself finish, i’m gonna catch up on shameless.”

“are you serious?” you pant, and he very much is. he’s getting all comfy underneath the silk sheets, lazily throwing his feet up before the dim ‘who’s watching’ prompt for netflix appears. he scrolls on his assigned name which was displayed of ‘old dirty bastard with a few racks.’

“dead serious. heh, now shut up, princess. fiona ‘n lip are speaking.”

☆ CHOSO fucks like it’s the last time.

it’s an ongoing thing for him.

he loves you more than life itself—so for him to have you straddling him, taking in every inch of your gorgeous figure, he had to give you at least one more orgasm. it was the least he could do.

“i love you.” he says, and he repeats it again and again.

once choso says those words—he never hesitates, not even once. with the way your hips rotate, he’s already about to lose all sorts of composure. big rough hands of his grip and attach near your waist to help slam you up and down his pulsating cock. “i— i love you. i love the way you always m-make me feel.”

“i love you too,” you’d say in a short breath, a snatching wind nearly takes your breath away as you feel yourself clench and tighten against him. “babyyy,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. “you can touch me more, it’s okay.”

his lip quivers. with a needy look in his eyes, he cutely releases a surprised sigh of relief. “o-oh, thank you. i was gonna ask but i didn’t know if you’d want me to.”

“choso, you’re literally inside of me and you’re shy to ask to touch me?” you tease, sneaking a kiss near the corner of his lips.

a tint of sheer embarrassment rises to his face before he sheepishly smiles, softly running his fingertips against your hips. “oh yeah. r-right,” and you start to rotate your hips even further. your impactful rhythm has him weak, the grinding that you’re doing also has him in an utter chokehold. choso’s speechless—he’s more of a whiner than you, he tries to even suppress his moans by biting his lip but it’s to no use. you’re leaning forward, sliding your hands down his chiseled chest before he whimpers. “you’re so sexy when you touch me,” and then he cutely gasps. “ah, sexy—i mean, breathtaking.”

“you’re adorable,” you titter, and he feels the warmth of your own chest pressing all up against him. he really was though, he’s very gentle with his touch—the way his fingers wander, choso’s heart races a mile a minute. as he’s still massaging your gummy walls with the lengthy size of his cock, he sighs himself. “close, baby?”

he nods, literally melting from your touch.

choso feels abnormally warm—he only wants more of you, he can’t help but inch his face towards you before bringing you into an idyllically deep kiss. it’s passionate, a few poking out strands that ran down his face pricks against your skin and you moan right into his mouth. as you’re rocking into him at such a pace, he touches more. you do the same, a finger trailing down his v-line, his pecs, everywhere. further and further.

“. . . you touching me—” he breaks away, glossy lips starting to stain with his gleaming saliva. he looks so pretty, his dark eyelids start to lower and he whimpers once his cock sits still. you’re practically doing all the work like this, grinding back and forth while he lies back. “you touchin’ me, ‘s gonna make me cum, princess. i— i feel so hot when you touch me.”

“you’re always hot when i do anything,” you tease, sneaking another kiss near the edge of his mouth. choso’s breathing heavier than usual before he feels himself start to pulse—his dick twitches inside and you hear him gasp once he squeezes your hips forward. he’s about to fill you up, he even gives you a glossy eyed stare, pursing his lips as if he’s merely asking permission and with a stroke of a thumb near his lips, you murmur. “it’s okay, give it to me, baby. fill me up.”

he whines, mentally preparing himself before choso feels his thighs tighten. your cunt’s gripping down against him so tight, his jaw clenches. stingy, you had him in an entire hold.

“f— fuckkk, ‘s so much coming. you’re gonna milk me like you always do, princess,” and with his eyes shut, he’s hugging your body against him solidly before seconds later, he cums. it comes out in spurts— such sweltering stringy ropes, he’s taken aback and his moans against your ear only makes you more aroused. you could listen to choso whine into your ear all day, he’s shaking underneath you and he obviously needs a moment. his black hair was all ruffled and messy before he’s still feeling himself emit filthy amounts of seed into your cunt. “s—so good,” he groans, and for a second, his voice gets a bit raspy. “baby,” he swallows, feeling himself burn up—you straddling him like this, frail arms wrap around his shoulders whilst giving him the most sly stare. he felt like he was gonna explode, you were even more warm and toasty inside now that he’s stuffed you full. “marry me,” he suddenly says. “marry me, princess.”

“i’m already your wife, silly,” you tease, he’s still pumping you full of his never-ending amounts of hot cum. you kiss near the twitching right side of his lip before purring. “too worn out to remember?”

he moans, giving your ass a needy squeeze before he throws his head back. “let’s marry again, and again, and again then. s—so i can fill you up like this all the time. i— i want you, i love you,” and then he reaches between your thighs to feel against your cunt, skimming his fingertips against his own strings of cum that painted the inner entrance of your pussy. “i love her just as much,” and then he gasps. “oh … baby, you didn’t even finish.”

☆ GETO fucks like he hasn’t eaten all day.

“less talking, more sitting on my face,” is all he says with the most lust-driven gaze.

a good way for geto to rewind from a long day is to simply be between your plush thighs. it’s his favorite pastime, hell—probably his only pastime.

you’re barely hovering over his mouth by this point—sheeny glossy lips ready to slurp you dry before he hums, a few slender fingers of yours brushing against your hips before you speak, “only if you let me pull on your hair again.”

“ah, you know you can always do that. i keep it extra long just for you, baby.”

your heart swoons—you slowly sit down, positioning your pussy against his mouth, making sure he has a bit of room to breathe before geto gradually creates one single lick against your folds. sopping, you were already soaked and his moist tongue only made matters ten times worse.

“f-fuck,” you’d moan, keeping all eyes on his the entire time. irises of yours dilate immediately the moment you watch geto start to kiss all near the crevices of your shaky legs—only to then suck his lips against your swollen needy clit. he grunts, already feeling a tent creep up in his sweats. your hips move on its own, starting to slowly grind against his face.

back and forth, back and forth…

it was so hypnotic.

you were so hypnotic.

“mhm,” he grunts hoarsely, cupping his mouth near the very top part of your slit — he’s savoring your sweetened taste entirely, lapping the flat of his tongue everywhere. your entrance dampens his chin already and he sneers, licking near the corners of his mouth. such a sloppy man, his tongue then swiftly runs against your hood before it starts to flick and jerk at a much more rapid speed. “move those—hips, ride my fuckin’ face ‘n pull on my hair, pretty girl.”

he’s eating you out so good you’re already feeling a sudden rush shoot through you. you follow what he says exactly, creating a decent rhythm with your hips—he’s so pretty like this too, black lashes half open or just about closed.

geto was already pussy-drunk, that much was to tell. “o-okay, suguuu,” you’d whimper, and you grabbed an ample amount of his tangled strands, giving him a brief hard yank. he always gets hard once you tug on his hair, his head briefly forwards further into your cunt and he chuckles—warm breath fanning against your clit. “right there, sugu. s-spit on it.”

“anything for the princess,” he says between sharp breaths. you’re slowly rocking your hips against his face—feeling the soft tip of his nose brush up and down repeatedly against your dripping entrance before he departs just to spit right on your pussy. he brings a hand to smear it all between your folds, all the while a tongue slides against his own lips and oh he’s hungry. hungry for you. “damn. she just gets more sloppier every fuckin’ time. should be a crime to be this soaked, baby.”

and you whimper, watching with glossy eyes as he laps up his saliva—coating your slick entrance with a plethora of chaste kisses shortly afterward.

it's lustrous, so shiny.

geto makes sure to study your body if its entirety. the way your breathing dramatically picks up and the harder and sloppier your thrusts against his mouth becomes. you’re coming close and he’s much well aware, “yeah,” he utters, and it’s in the mere form of a question. “already, hm? you gonna make a mess on me so i can clean you right back up?”

“y— yes,” you moan, the tugging on his hair only getting rougher. pant after pant escapes through your lips before he starts to playfully nibble right on your clit. a finger of his slowly inserts into you and you clench around it, feeling a few steady pulses before that’s right when you gasp. ultimately, you end up finishing after a few minutes—so much so, that your eyes were all hazy, rolling to the very backs of your are and you whimper loudly, still grinding against his face.

“. . . ooooh,” he hums, a right hand of his that tucks behind you, giving your ass a concise squeeze. once he sits back up again, geto peers into you with a sly amused gaze before giving your cunt one more kiss. “now give me one more, ‘m still not satisfied with my meal, sweetheart.”

[pomefioredove]

Okay but imagine one of the guys actually win the prefect, and they just go rubbing it on the others face by making them wear their respective form uniform.

Except Kalim, he would probably just make them have a sleepover every night and paint each other nails.

ohhh see now I'm imagining all the alternate routes this could take... okay okay I'm so here for this. like half of the cast would totally make them wear the uniform just to rub it in, the other half would just be crazy about seeing them in the dorm uniform at all. I DO have some thoughts on this concept alone... and I'll make another part later yk yk

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | bad ending

summary: joining their dorms + wearing the uniforms. a proper ending to this type of post: short fics characters: ace, deuce, jack, epel, riddle, ruggie, azul, jamil, kalim, vil additional info: yuu is gender neutral, ruggie is cute, azul is the cutest, vil enjoyers come get your food, maybe a little ooc for some parts

If you thought it was bad before, the news that Malleus intended to marry you made everything about twenty times more chaotic. Bids were upped to insurmountable sums, rumors were spread like the plague, fights were raging through campus as the deadline to donate approached. Even Crowley was starting to feel a little antsy, despite all of the brand new amenities he had already ordered for his office.

Finally, the day came. The announcement was held in the courtyard, where just about any student who had stakes in the matter had shirked whatever after-school responsibilities they had to gather. The prefect themselves was nowhere to be found, though only few noticed their absence.

"Maybe it'll be nice," you say to your direbeast companion, the both of you tucked away in a dark corner at Ramshackle.

"It'll definitely beat living in this dump. You think they got good food in Diasomnia?" Grim murmurs.

You grimace. "Uh... sure. I can't imagine they wouldn't, right?"

Crowley clears his throat, pulling a thin, delicate envelope out of his coat pocket while the crowd eagerly watches on. He takes his sweet time opening it, much to everyone's utter dismay, and when he finally withdraws the contents the entire courtyard falls quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

"And our winner is..."

First Year's Ending

"Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, and Epel Felmier. Congratulations! The prefect will be ready at Ramshackle for your collection this evening. I trust you'll sort out the details..."

The four freshman look between each other, a mix of awe and shock on each of their faces.

Everyone else is staring daggers at them.

Vil is the first to speak. "How?"

"We may or may not have sweetened the deal with a few exclusive bonuses," Ace snickers, crossing his arms. Vil rolls his eyes. Deuce sighs.

"We'll be Crowley's new slaves for months after this..."

Jack grumbles from the back of the four. "Well, it was worth it. Imagine if someone underhanded and dishonest had won, and-"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever,"

The four pause, looking between each other in silence. Then, finally:

"So who will they be staying with?" Epel asks, catching Vil's attention again.

"Excellent question, Epel," the housewarden smiles, stepping back into the conversation. "We would be more than willing to accommodate the prefect at Pomefiore. Our dorm far outshines the others."

Leona growls. "I heard that. Besides, why should you be first in line? We've already housed them before, they were plenty comfortable then,"

"As I recall, you forced them into servitude as penance for staying," Riddle snaps. "Not exactly the friendliest host. I think they would be much more comfortable at Heartslabyul."

The four freshman can only watch in silence as the housewardens break out into bickering with one another about who's dorm is best.

"Soooo..." Ace starts. "Maybe we should rotate?"

Deuce sighs. "For once, you actually have a good idea,"

Riddle's Ending

"Riddle Rosehearts, congratulations! I'll alert the prefect at once," Crowley says, immediately turning and disappearing into the crowd before anything can get ugly.

It doesn't exactly come across as a surprise to anyone- Riddle closely calculated his spendings, taking into consideration Leona's overconfidence, Malleus' stranger proposal, and Kalim's over-enthusiasm.

Of course, with some additional prodding about how no other dorm is responsible enough to handle another person like Heartslabyul, Crowley finally gave in.

And now, you're sat in front of the dorm's rose gardens, suitcase in tow as you make no apparent effort to walk in.

"Thought I'd find you out here," Trey says, taking a seat in the grass next to you. "Feeling okay?"

"Nervous," you admit.

Trey chuckles, much to your annoyance. "I promise there's really nothing to be nervous about. Riddle is really quite happy you're here,"

You find that a bit surprising, though you suppose it's hard to tell when he's excited. He always has this impression of deep psychological stress on him that makes him difficult to read.

"Is he?"

"Oh, yeah. He's been running Ace and Deuce ragged getting ready. He really wants to impress you," Trey pauses with a small smile. "You'll get used to the order of things here in no time. And if you ever need any help, you've got me, Cater, Ace, Deuce... I'm sure even Riddle will take it easy on you."

You smile in return. "Thanks, I-"

"Prefect!" Riddle storms out of the front doors, looking rather well-dressed for a simple Tuesday afternoon. "You were expected four minutes ago! I've taken the liberty of finding your measurements, so your dorm uniform is already ready and inside!"

Yeah. Excited, right. You give Trey a little look (to which he only waves merrily) and start off behind the housewarden.

For a moment, as you follow him, you could swear you catch him humming and smiling. But before you can say anything about it he catches Ace messing with your dorm uniform and starts shouting.

Ruggie's Ending

"And the winner is... no... this can't be right..."

Crowley clutches the paper, bringing it close to his face. He clicks his tongue, murmuring to himself.

"Um... Ruggie Bucchi, everyone!"

The news sends a shockwave through the audience, and everyone turns to the sophomore at the back of the courtyard. The sudden shift in energy is enough to make him drop his sandwich.

"Damn it..." he grumbles, picking it off the ground and swiping the dirt off of it with his sleeve. "Still good, eh?"

"Are you deaf?" Leona glares. "You're just embarrassing yourself now, and me by association."

Ruggie raises an eyebrow. "What? Oh, the lottery-thingy? I'm pretty sure Crowley misread that. He's going senile, y'know,"

Crowley crosses his arms, begrudginly handing off the paper to Azul in the front. He adjusts his glasses.

"It says Ruggie Bucchi,"

"Then someone mistyped it! I'm telling 'ya, there's no way I managed to scrounge up enough before the deadline. I was digging between couch cushions by the end of it,"

Leona looks as if he's about to smack him upside the head. "Would you just get up there?"

"Geez, alright. But don't blame me when someone comes around with the right winner later," he says, trudging to the front of the crowd. "So what do I gotta do?"

"Erm... the prefect is waiting at Ramshackle. You'll collect them and return to Savanaclaw, where you'll be responsible for handling the details."

"Sure, whatever. Let's get to it, then,"

---

Even your surprise is palpable, though you suppose it could be a lot worse. Ruggie has been a pal before, helping you out at Sam's and convincing Leona to let you off the hook when you accidentally annoy him.

Though, he himself seems less than pleased as you step out of your new room in Savanaclaw, dressed in a slightly too-big uniform.

Leona smirks as if watching something amusing and claps, slowly. "Looking good. See, none of those other pompous outfits woulda looked half as nice on you. Nice work, Ruggie,"

Ruggie rolls his eyes and leans back against the wall. Leona excuses himself to find somewhere warm to nap, leaving you two to stare at each other.

"So... what's wrong?"

"Hm?"

"I mean," you say carefully. "You don't exactly seem excited about winning."

"Oh," Ruggie shrugs. "That's cause I didn't. Guys like me don't win anything. I'm sure someone will come to give you away to the right winner tomorrow."

The thought doesn't sit well with you- you're already here, after all, and Grim is gorging himself in the lounge, and you really-kinda-don't-mind Ruggie winning.

"Well, I hope not,"

He raises an eyebrow. "You know I can hardly afford to take care of myself, right?"

"So then we're even. Just don't make me go through all that bidding stuff again," you sigh. "Let's leave it at that."

A brief, though comfortable silence falls over the two of you, and then he grins. "Alright, then. I can live with that,"

Octotrio's Ending

"Azul Ashengrotto!"

Azul's immediate reaction is to collapse. he hadn't really realized how much stress the anticipation was causing him until suddenly his knees were buckling like he was learning to walk on land all over again.

Floyd grabs his shoulder to keep him upright and Jade joins the scattered applause.

"Don't look so pale, Azul. I'm sure this will prove to be a worthwhile investment," he says, folding his hands neatly in front of him.

A part of Azul knows that Jade isn't referring to anything financial, but he doesn't say a word about it.

"Besides," Jade goes on. "It'll be nice having another member of my club."

Both Azul and Floyd groan in unison.

---

Floyd gives you a standing ovation when you walk into the Mostro Lounge, fully dressed in the provided dorm uniform.

Azul, on the other hand, looks away entirely.

"It feels too long," you say, staring at the bottoms of your pants. You're not exactly in a place to complain, so you keep your voice meek.

"We can make the necessary adjustments," Jade says, walking into the room with a tray of tea, his all-too-knowing smile as unnerving as ever. "You look very nice, though. Wouldn't you say, Azul?"

The merman's eyes immediately turn away from Jade. "Hm?"

"Tell the prefect they look nice, Azul,"

Floyd laughs from across the room, clearly enjoying the spectacle. You tilt your head to the side like a curious puppy, not exactly sure what this banter is about. But it's not your place to pry, either.

Azul's face is beet-red. "You... look nice,"

"Thank you,"

"So are they gonna work or what? I'm tired," Floyd whines, lying on one of the couches and kicking off his shoes.

Azul grimaces. "Don't do that, that's disgusting. And I thought we should let them adjust a few days before giving them the option of working,"

"Option?" Jade's grin widens. "My, aren't you feeling generous?"

"I... assume this process has been rather jarring. I don't want any of my employees distracted or mopey. Is that right?"

You blink. "Uh... yes. This whole thing has been pretty terrible,"

Azul nods in acknowledgement as Grim tumbles in the room, wearing a brand new purple and silver-streaked bow. "Can't believe you guys had one of these 'jus lying around! I feel like a million thaumarks!"

You chuckle and scoop him into your arms. "You look very handsome. Just like Azul,"

Azul can feel his soul leaving his body and has to swiftly turn around to face the wall so you can't see him blushing. Floyd laughs.

"Oh- oh I meant the bow looks just like Azul's outfit!" you correct yourself. He pretends he didn't hear anything at all.

Jade breaks the awkward silence with a chuckle. "Ah, what fun this will be. Now, I think it's only appropriate that we give these two a proper welcome dinner. Prefect, do you care for mushrooms?"

Floyd and Azul groan in unison.

Jamil's Kalim's Ending

"Kalim al-Asim!"

Everyone could see that coming from a mile away. The disgruntled mumbles and groans of the crowd are drowned out by the cheers and claps of one sophomore, practically jumping up and down in the middle of the crowd.

"Yes! Yessss! This is going to be so much fun!"

Jamil suddenly looks exhausted.

Kalim runs to the front of the crowd, shakes Crowley's hand, steals the envelope from him, and sprints the rest of the way to Ramshackle.

Your moping is quite abruptly interrupted by a procession of loud knocks at the door, and after managing to summon your courage, you answer them.

"Wh-"

The very second the door is open, a familiar ball of energy is in your arms, squeezing you tightly.

"I wonnnn, prefect! I won!"

Your eyes widen. "You- you-"

You breathe a sigh of relief.

Out of everyone who threw their name in the hat, you couldn't get much luckier than Kalim. Financial problems? Gone. Loneliness? Blown away in the wind. Your chances of getting assassinated...? Well, let's hope Jamil is in a good mood.

Your uniforms are ready, measured to the exact inch, sitting on a set of mannequins that greet you as soon as you're inside.

Jamil is hovering behind one of them, picking at the sleeve of your school uniform for stray threads. He gives you a sideways glance, not exactly looking happy.

"My two best friends in the whole world in the same dorm!" Kalim claps. "You have to try on your dorm uniform, you'll love it! Oh, let me get you some new sheets- we have silk!"

He bounds off down the hall, leaving you alone in the lounge. The silence is thick and uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I'm outta here," Grim says, walking off in the opposite direction.

"Grim!" You whisper-shout.

"It's a preventative measure! No cracker-dry mouth for me!" and with that, he's gone.

Jamil smirks slightly, turning his attention back to sorting the uniforms. "You should get changed while you still can. I have a feeling Kalim will be attached to your side for the rest of the evening,"

You're pleasantly surprised to see how well the dorm uniform fits you, and your return to the lounge is accompanied with a little smile. The fabric is light and breezy, perfect for the dorm's usual weather- you could certainly get used to the perpetual summer.

"Fits well, I presume?" Jamil asks. "You certainly seem to be in high spirits."

"It could be worse,"

"Much worse," he agrees.

A silence falls over the two of you. Eventually, he sighs to himself, watching you out of the corner of his eyes.

"If you ever need a break from Kalim," Jamil says tentatively. "I could certainly find a way to distract him. Just so you know."

You understand the nature of his offer immediately, and though you know it's wrong, you don't exactly say no.

"...Thank you, Jamil,"

Vil's Ending

"Vil Schoenheit! Thank the sevens..."

Though he walks to Ramshackle to collect his prize with a sense of ease, Vil admits that there was a brief moment where he felt anxious about not winning.

Standing in that crowd, surrounded by royalty and nobles, his chances were higher than most but certainly not assured. The very thought of you being stuck with someone other than him was enough to send a shiver up his spine.

After all, how many people on this campus would you feel comfortable with taking your measurements? None, none but him.

"Hold still," he says for the millionth time. "I'm almost done."

Vil insisted on taking your measurements himself, and you had no qualms about that. After all, things could be worse.

"There. I'll have these sent out right away. Pomefiore has many students of your size, so it's likely we'll have a spare uniform for you. That is, until I can have one custom-made,"

"You really don't have to..."

He raises an eyebrow. "Of course I do. You're a Pomefiore student now, I expect you to present yourself like one,"

A knock at the door pulls your attention away from him, though it's Vil who answers it.

He returns to you, dorm uniform in arm.

"That was fast," you say, accepting the bundle of clothes.

"Punctuality is important. Now, get changed, I want to see what I'll have to adjust for you,"

Waiting for your return is almost as nerve-wrecking as it was waiting for Crowley to call out his name. Vil can't be sure why exactly you're making him so nervous now, but it's all he can do to keep from showing it.

The dorm uniform- which you've dawned before- is just as comfortable as you remember. Warm, but not suffocating, soft but durable.

Vil stares at you for a short while before saying anything, simply drinking in your presence.

"Come here. I need to have a look,"

You inch forward, standing in front of him as he turns around you in circle, inspecting every inch. "Well, it fits much better than your last,"

He pauses, stopping in front of you. You look down at your feet, feeling as nervous under his analytical gaze as ever.

Vil chuckles, cupping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his eyes. "You look wonderful. I'll have to help with your confidence, though,"

Good Ending

"And our winner is... M-"

"Crowley!" a loud voice resonates from the very back of the crowd. The sound of hurried footsteps follow it as Trein and Crewel show up on scene.

"We're... we're kind of in the middle of something-"

"You are absolutely not. I cannot believe I had to find out about your little scheme from Trappola and Spade, of all pups," Crewel grimaces. "Are you well?"

"Well I- I-"

"Called it," Ruggie grins. "Totally senile."

Leona rolls his eyes. "Oi! Just read the damn paper!"

"Absolutely not. This is a highly immoral and borderline illegal offense," Trein crosses his arms. "You will all be refunded promptly. Now return to your studies!"

The crowd slowly dissipates, murmuring amongst themselves. Crowley remains in front of the well at the front of the courtyard, kicking the ground with his hands behind his back, like a child being scolded.

Both Trein and Crewel glare. "If you were having such issues with the prefect's expenses, you could have asked,"

"In what universe is giving them away to teenage boys a sound idea?" Trein grimaces. "I can overlook many of the things you do, but this is far too much."

"But-"

"That's enough," Crewel snaps his pointer against his palm. "If the prefect is causing you such troubles, we'll be glad to take them off your hands. In fact, I've already had the necessary legal papers drawn. I've always wanted a pup of my own, you know."

---

A gentle knock at the door rouses you from your melancholy and after some lengthy pestering from Grim, you finally go to answer it.

Outside is none other than Ace and Deuce, looking rather somber.

"No- don't tell me," you say. "I don't even want to hear it."

Deuce sighs. "It's not that. The whole thing got canceled,"

"No- wait, canceled?"

"Someone got caught with their hand in the cookie jar," Ace snickers, but quickly clears his throat after Deuce gives him a sharp glare. "Crowley's negotiated a different solution to the problem."

Deuce nods. "Hypothetically... how do you feel about being adopted?"

[monstersflashlight]

Ohhh, maybe something with sugar daddy minotaur? Started with money end on the bed then the minotaur get so clingy with us, claim to be more then sugar daddy because our squirt 🥺

I feel so hot request something like this ahhh-

Minotaur daddy

Minotaur x fem!reader || daddy kink, squirting, praise kink, oral sex, super fluffy fluff

When he reached to you through your social media to be your daddy, you thought it was a stupid bot once again, but you answered to see what kind of crazy offer he had to give you. It was funny at first, just checking if he was a bot. But in less than thirty minutes there was an amazing sum in your bank account and you had a date and a contract set with the most handsome minotaur you’ve ever met.

Your first date was amazing, soft and quiet and he indulged you in everything you liked. You fell a tiny bit in love with him that day, but your relationship was purely transactional. Or so you thought.

You fooled around a couple times, but he never got his pants down. He pleasured you over and over, but never taking care of himself. He insisted it was all for you, that you were the focus of that relationship, money or not. So it worked great for you, you got his soft big tongue ravishing your pussy and money for it. You were completely fine with it…

But the reality is that you weren’t. Not at all. You wanted more, so much more. He gave you the best orgasms of your life, allowed you to pay for your living and indulged on your stupid craving. He took you out, dressed you with fancy clothes and paraded you around like the most precious thing he had. And that was great. But you wanted more, so much more. You wanted him. You wanted him to fuck you into oblivion. You wanted him to want you… But you didn’t know how to tell him that. How to act on your feelings. You didn’t even know if he wanted you that way.

The only thing you knew is that he fucking loved eating you out until you were a mess.

You were whiting against the sheets of his fancy penthouse. “Please, daddy…” You came three times already, your pussy so tender and overstimulated you didn’t know if you could go more.

“One more, babe. Gimme one more and I’ll stop,” he always promised that. He always said he wanted one more and you ended up soaking his face and clenching so hard on his fingers he would whine and tell you how fucking amazing your pussy was.

“I don’t know if I can,” you told him. Someplace inside of you, you knew there was at least one more inside of you, but it felt different this time.

He always ate you out incredibly well, but for some reason the combination of his fingers and his rough tongue were hitting something different inside of you. It was like you were on the edge of the most amazing thing was at arm reach but you couldn’t get to it. Not quite. Not yet. Your need to be a good girl was above your need for him to stop.

“Of course you can, babe. Do it for me. Come for daddy one more time,” he coached. His words felt hot and bothered against your pussy, his lips engulfing half of your pussy at once, lapping and sucking as he pressed against your G-spot over and over. His clever fingers giving your insides a massage that was driving you into insanity.

But you didn’t know if you could do it. It was so close but so far away at the same time. You grabbed his horns and rose your hips to meet his eager tongue once again, trying to reach that part of you that wanted to break under him, that part of you that wanted to be pliant, perfect for him. He chuckled at your eagerness and resumed his activities, his big tongue playing with your clit softly but intently, the way you liked. His fingers inside of you rubbing circles in the most awesome way. Your eyes were closed as you panted, pulling at his horns until he whimpered against your flesh, making you feel even better.

And then you felt something inside of you break down, like he destroyed some kind of dam and you were exploding into a million pieces.

You squirted for the first time ever over his surprised face as he pulled his face back but kept rubbing over your G-spot. You came, and came, and came until you felt you were losing your mind and your brain was melting inside your head. It was the most extreme feeling you’ve ever felt and the most amazing, too.

When you came down, still panting, he pulled you to him, your body wrapped around his as he caressed your naked back. “You did amazing, pretty girl. So good for your daddy.” You blushed at his words, like you always did. There was something special about him praising you, you never thought you had a praise kink, but he helped you discover a lot of things about yourself… Like you could squirt.

“I didn’t know I could do that, daddy,” you confessed. You tried not to sound too shy, but the fact that his furry face was still damp with your release and he was smiling at you like you held the light of the universe was doing things to your insides.

“You did great, you are perfect. My perfect pretty girl,” he caressed your face and pulled you up. Your mouths collided into a frantic kiss that left you breathless. He parted ways and said: “I think I’m going to keep you,” he whispered, making you shiver and look at him confused.

“What?” That couldn’t mean what you thought it meant. Right?

“I want you to be more than my sugar baby,” he responded, your heart doing crazy shit inside your chest as the butterflies inside your stomach flew around frantically.

“What are you saying? Do you want… more?” You asked, wanting to be sure of it.

“Of course I want more. I didn’t know how to say it because I thought you wouldn’t want an old bull like me. But you coming like that, for me… That was too much, babe. I need you like I need air. And I would need a repetition of that at least once a day for the rest of our lives. I… I love you.” The softness in his tone mixed with the way he was looking at you, your heart was beating like crazy in your chest and you thought you were about to implode with happiness.

“Are you for real, don’t joke with me. Because I love being your sugar baby but I kind of… love you, too,” you confessed. The happiness in his eyes was answer enough. You launched for his mouth, and you felt like everything was right with the world again. Like there was hope in the future. “But I’m still going to want pretty dresses,” you joked when you broke apart.

“Of course, pretty girl. Everything you want.” You smiled down at him and kissed him again until your bodies were melting into one.

Reminder that you can commission me (info here) or suscribe to my Patreon (info here). And that my second account is @whiskis

[vroomjohnwatson]

more than the sum of our parts | ensemble, system fic, 4k

A collection of plural/system aus focusing on various classic F1 drivers.

[catmask]

Just a random question but what are your thoughts on having multiple fursonas? I have a few and I keep on switching between them even though I want to narrow them down more but I like them too much to do that if that makes sense...

oh i have multiple fursonas i think its cool. i know i made a timeline that made it seem like my old design of willow was 'retired' but thats not at all the case

critter is my 'mascot' self and an expression of the parts of myself i like. id also say its an expression of joy and the things that i liked/wanted to be as a kid. so because of that a lot of the art of it is colorful, and focuses on nature/food/motion

whereas willow is the more 'real' or 'true' version of my sona. like, they are essentially 1 to 1 with me and because of that i use them to express more serious subject matters and internal troubles, like bad relationships, addiction, body troubles etc

thats why art of willow ends up looking more like this ^

and art of critter ends up looking like this ^

you can have more than one because ultimately i think its impossible to sum entire people up into a single 'character', i think the idea of a character can never be as vast as a human being actually is.

throughout our lives i think we live as many different 'characters', but none of them are any less true than the other

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Prime’s enshittified advertising

Prime's gonna add more ads. They brought in ads in January, and people didn't cancel their Prime subscriptions, so Amazon figures that they can make Prime even worse and make more money:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2024/10/amazon-prime-video-is-getting-more-ads-next-year/

The cruelty isn't the point. Money is the point. Every ad that Amazon shows you shifts value away from you – your time, your attention – to the company's shareholders.

That's the crux of enshittification. Companies don't enshittify – making their once-useful products monotonically worse – because it amuses them to erode the quality of their offerings. They enshittify them because their products are zero-sum: the things that make them valuable to you (watching videos without ads) make things less valuable to them (because they can't monetize your attention).

This isn't new. The internet has always been dominated by intermediaries – platforms – because there are lots more people who want to use the internet than are capable of building the internet. There's more people who want to write blogs than can make a blogging app. There's more people who want to play and listen to music than can host a music streaming service. There's more people who want to write and read ebooks than want to operate an ebook store or sell an ebooks reader.

Despite all the early internet rhetoric about the glories of disintermediation, intermediaries are good, actually:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/12/direct-the-problem-of-middlemen/

The problem isn't with intermediaries per se. The problem arises when intermediaries grow so powerful that they usurp the relationship between the parties they connect. The problem with Uber isn't the use of mobile phones to tell taxis that you're standing on a street somewhere and would like a cab, please. The problem is rampant worker misclassification, regulatory arbitrage, starvation wages, and price-gouging:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/29/geometry-hates-uber/#toronto-the-gullible

There's no problem with publishers, distributors, retailers, printers, and all the other parts of the bookselling ecosystem. While there are a few, rare authors who are capable of performing all of these functions – basically gnawing their books out of whole logs with their teeth – most writers can't, and even the ones who can, don't want to:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/19/crad-kilodney-was-an-outlier/#intermediation

When early internet boosters spoke of disintermediation, what they mostly meant was that it would be harder for intermediaries to capture those relationships – between sellers and buyers, creators and audiences, workers and customers. As Rebecca Giblin and I wrote in our 2022 book Chokepoint Capitalism, intermediaries in every sector rely on chokepoints, narrows where they can erect tollbooths:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

When chokepoints exist, they multiply up and down the supply chain. In the golden age of physical, recorded music, you had several chokepoints that reinforced one another. Limited radio airwaves gave radio stations power over record labels, who had to secretly, illegally bid for prime airspace ("payola"). Retail consolidation – the growth of big record chains – drove consolidation in the distributors who sold to the chains, and the more concentrated distributors became, the more they could squeeze retailers, which drove even more consolidation in record stores. The bigger a label was, the more power it had to shove back against the muscle of the stores and the distributors (and the pressing plants, etc). Consolidation in labels also drove consolidation in talent agencies, whose large client rosters gave them power to resist the squeeze from the labels. Consolidation in venues drives consolidation in ticketing and promotion – and vice-versa.

But there's two parties to this supply chain who can't consolidate: musicians and their fans. With limits on "sectoral bargaining" (where unions can represent workers against all the companies in a sector), musicians' unions were limited in their power against key parts of the supply chain, so the creative workers who made the music were easy pickings for labels, talent reps, promoters, ticketers, venues, retailers, etc. Music fans are diffused and dispersed, and organized fan clubs were usually run by the labels, who weren't about to allow those clubs to be used against the labels.

This is a perfect case-study in the problems of powerful intermediaries, who move from facilitator to parasite, paying workers less while degrading their products, and then charge customers more for those enshittified products.

The excitement about "disintermediation" wasn't so much about eliminating intermediaries as it was about disciplining them. If there were lots of ways to market a product or service, sell it, collect payment for it, and deliver it, then the natural inclination of intermediaries to turn predator would be curbed by the difficulty of corralling their prey into chokepoints.

Now that we're a quarter century on from the Napster Wars, we can see how that worked out. Decades of failure to enforce antitrust law allowed a few companies to effectively capture the internet, buying out rivals who were willing to sell, and bankrupting those who wouldn't with illegal tactics like predatory pricing (think of Uber losing $31 billion by subsidizing $0.41 out of every dollar they charged for taxi rides for more than a decade).

The market power that platforms gained through consolidation translated into political power. When a few companies dominate a sector, they're able to come to agreement on common strategies for dealing with their regulators, and they've got plenty of excess profits to spend on those strategies. First and foremost, platforms used their power to get more power, lobbying for even less antitrust enforcement. Additionally, platforms mobilized gigantic sums to secure the right to screw customers (for example, by making binding arbitration clauses in terms of service enforceable) and workers (think of the $225m Uber and Lyft spent on California's Prop 22, which formalized their worker misclassification swindle).

So big platforms were able to insulate themselves from the risk of competition ("five giant websites, filled with screenshots of the other four" – Tom Eastman), and from regulation. They were also able to expand and mobilize IP law to prevent anyone from breaking their chokepoints or undoing the abuses that these enabled. This is a good place to get specific about how Prime Video works.

There's two ways to get Prime videos: over an app, or in your browser. Both of these streams are encrypted, and that's really important here, because of a law – Section 1201 of the 1998 Digital Millennium Copyright Act – which makes it really illegal to break this kind of encryption (commonly called "Digital Rights Management" or "DRM"). Practically speaking, that means that if a company encrypts its videos, no one is allowed to do anything to those videos, even things that are legal, without the company's permission, because doing all those legal things requires breaking the DRM, and breaking the DRM is a felony (five years in prison, $500k fine, for a first offense).

Copyright law actually gives subscribers to services like Prime a lot of rights, and it empowers businesses that offer tools to exercise those rights. Back in 1976, Sony rolled out the Betamax, the first major home video recorder. After an eight-year court battle, the Supreme Court weighed in on VCRs and ruled that it was legal for all of us to record videos at home, both to watch them later, and to build a library of our favorite shows. They also ruled that it was legal for Sony – and by that time, every other electronics company – to make VHS systems, even if those systems could be used in ways that violated copyright because they were "capable of sustaining a substantial non-infringing use" (letting you tape shows off your TV).

Now, this was more than a decade before the DMCA – and its prohibition on breaking DRM – passed, but even after the DMCA came into effect, there was a lot of media that didn't have DRM, so a new generation of tech companies were able to make tools that were "capable of sustaining a substantial non-infringing use" and that didn't have to break any DRM to do it.

Think of the Ipod and Itunes, which, together, were sold as a way to rip CDs (which weren't encrypted), and play them back from both your desktop computer and a wildly successful pocket-sized portable device. Itunes even let you stream from one computer to another. The record industry hated this, but they couldn't do anything about it, thanks to the Supreme Court's Betamax ruling.

Indeed, they eventually swallowed their bile and started selling their products through the Itunes Music Store. These tracks had DRM and were thus permanently locked to Apple's ecosystem, and Apple immediately used that power to squeeze the labels, who decided they didn't like DRM after all, and licensed all those same tracks to Amazon's DRM-free MP3 store, whose slogan was "DRM: Don't Restrict Me":

https://memex.craphound.com/2008/02/01/amazons-anti-drm-tee/

Apple played a funny double role here. In marketing Itunes/Ipods ("Rip, Mix, Burn"), they were the world's biggest cheerleaders for all the things you were allowed to do with copyrighted works, even when the copyright holder objected. But with the Itunes Music Store and its mandatory DRM, the company was also one of the world's biggest cheerleaders for wrapping copyrighted works in a thin skin of IP that would allow copyright holders to shut down products like the Ipod and Itunes.

Microsoft, predictably enough, focused on the "lock everything to our platform" strategy. Then-CEO Steve Ballmer went on record calling every Ipod owner a "thief" and arguing that every record company should wrap music in Microsoft's Zune DRM, which would allow them to restrict anything they didn't like, even if copyright allowed it (and would also give Microsoft the same abusive leverage over labels that they famously exercised over Windows software companies):

https://web.archive.org/web/20050113051129/http://management.silicon.com/itpro/0,39024675,39124642,00.htm

In the end, Amazon's approach won. Apple dropped DRM, and Microsoft retired the Zune and shut down its DRM servers, screwing anyone who'd ever bought a Zune track by rendering that music permanently unplayable.

Around the same time as all this was going on, another company was making history by making uses of copyrighted works that the law allowed, but which the copyright holders hated. That company was Tivo, who products did for personal video recorders (PVRs) what Apple's Ipod did for digital portable music players. With a Tivo, you could record any show over cable (which was too expensive and complicated to encrypt) and terrestrial broadcast (which is illegal to encrypt, since those are the public's airwaves, on loan to the TV stations).

That meant that you could record any show, and keep it forever. What's more, you could very easily skip through ads (and rival players quickly emerged that did automatic ad-skipping). All of this was legal, but of course the cable companies and broadcasters hated it. Like Ballmer, TV execs called Tivo owners "thieves."

But Tivo didn't usher in the ad-supported TV apocalypse that furious, spittle-flecked industry reps insisted it would. Rather, it disciplined the TV and cable operators. Tivo owners actually sought out ads that were funny and well-made enough to go viral. Meanwhile, every time the industry decided to increase the amount of advertising in a show, they also increased the likelihood that their viewers would seek out a Tivo, or worse, one of those auto-ad-skipping PVRs.

Given all the stink that TV execs raised over PVRs, you'd think that these represented a novel threat. But in fact, the TV industry's appetite for ads had been disciplined by viewers' access to new technology since 1956, when the first TV remotes appeared on the market (executives declared that anyone who changed the channel during an ad-break was a thief). Then came the mute button. Then the wireless remote. Meanwhile, a common VCR use-case – raised in the Supreme Court case – was fast-forwarding ads.

At each stage, TV adapted. Ads in TV shows represented a kind of offer: "Will you watch this many of these ads in return for a free TV show?" And the remote, the mute button, the wireless remote, the VCR, the PVR, and the ad-skipping PVR all represented a counter-offer. As economists would put it, the ability of viewers to make these counteroffers "shifted the equilibrium." If viewers had no defensive technology, they might tolerate more ads, but once they were able to enforce their preferences with technology, the industry couldn't enshittify its product to the liminal cusp of "so many ads that the viewer is right on the brink of turning off the TV (but not quite)."

This is the same equilibrium-shifting dynamic that we see on the open web, where more than 50% of users have installed an ad-blocker. The industry says, "Will you allow this many 'sign up to our mailing list' interrupters, pop ups, pop unders, autoplaying videos and other stuff that users hate but shareholders benefit from" and the ad-blocker makes a counteroffer: "How about 'nah?'":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

TV remotes, PVRs and ad-blockers are all examples of "adversarial interoperability" – a new product that plugs into an existing one, extending or modifying its functions without permission from (or even over the objections of) the original manufacturer:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/adversarial-interoperability

Adversarial interop creates a powerful disciplining force on platform owners. Once a user grows so frustrated with a product's enshittification that they research, seek out, acquire and learn to use an adversarial interop tool, it's really game over. The printer owner who figures out where to get third-party ink is gone forever. Every time a company like HP raises its prices, they have to account for the number of customers who will finally figure out how to use generic ink and never, ever send another cent to HP.

This is where DMCA 1201 comes into play. Once a product is skinned with DRM, its manufacturers gain the right to prevent you from doing legal things, and can use the public's courts and law-enforcement apparatus to punish you for trying. Take HP: as soon as they started adding DRM to their cartridges, they gained the legal power to shut down companies that cloned, refilled or remanufactured their cartridges, and started raising the price of ink – which today sits at more than $10,000/gallon:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/30/life-finds-a-way/#ink-stained-wretches

Using third party ink in your printer isn't illegal (it's your printer, right?). But making third party ink for your printer becomes illegal once you have to break DRM to do so, and so HP gets to transform tinted water into literally the most expensive fluid on Earth. The ink you use to print your kid's homework costs more than vintage Veuve Cliquot or sperm from a Kentucky Derby-winning thoroughbred.

Adversarial interoperability is a powerful tool for shifting the equilibrium between producers, intermediaries and buyers. DRM is an even more powerful way of wrenching that equilibrium back towards the intermediary, reducing the share that buyers and sellers are able to eke out of the transaction.

Prime Video, of course, is delivered via an app, which means it has DRM. That means that subscribers don't get to exercise the rights afforded to them by copyright – only the rights that Amazon permits them to have. There's no Tivo for Prime, because it would have to break the DRM to record the shows you stream from Prime. That allows Prime to pull all kinds of shady shit. For example, every year around this time, Amazon pulls popular Christmas movies from its free-to-watch tier and moves them into pay-per-view, only restoring them in the spring:

https://www.reddit.com/r/vudu/comments/1bpzanx/looks_like_amazon_removed_the_free_titles_from/

And of course, Prime sticks ads in its videos. You can't skip these ads – not because it's technically challenging to make a 30-second advance button for a video stream, and doing so wouldn't violate anyone's copyright – but because Amazon doesn't permit you to do so, and the fact that the video is wrapped in DRM makes it a felony to even try.

This means that Amazon gets to seek a different equilibrium than TV companies have had to accept since 1956 and the invention of the TV remote. Amazon doesn't have to limit the quantity, volume, and invasiveness of its ads to "less the amount that would drive our subscribers to install and use an ad-skipping plugin." Instead, they can shoot for the much more lucrative equilibrium of "so obnoxious that the viewer is almost ready to cancel their subscription (but not quite)."

That's pretty much exactly how Kelly Day, the Amazon exec in charge of Prime Video, put it to the Financial Times: they're increasing the number of ads because "we haven’t really seen a groundswell of people churning out or cancelling":

https://www.ft.com/content/f8112991-820c-4e09-bcf4-23b5e0f190a5

At this point, attentive readers might be asking themselves, "Doesn't Amazon have to worry about Prime viewers who watch in their browsers?" After all browsers are built on open standards, and anyone can make one, so there should be browsers that can auto-skip Prime ads, right?

Wrong, alas. Back in 2017, the W3C – the organization that makes the most important browser standards – caved to pressure from the entertainment industry and the largest browser companies and created "Encrypted Media Extensions" (EME), a "standard" for video DRM that blocks all adversarial interoperability:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2017/09/open-letter-w3c-director-ceo-team-and-membership

This had the almost immediate effect of making it impossible to create an independent browser without licensing proprietary tech from Google – now a convicted monopolist! – who won't give you a license if you implement recording, ad-skipping, or any other legal (but dispreferred) feature:

https://blog.samuelmaddock.com/posts/the-end-of-indie-web-browsers/

This means that for Amazon, there's no way to shift value away from the platform to you. The company has locked you in, and has locked out anyone who might offer you a better deal. Companies that know you are technologically defenseless are endlessly inventive in finding ways to make things worse for you to make things better for them. Take Youtube, another DRM-video-serving platform that has jacked up the number of ads you have to sit through in order to watch a video – even as they slash payments to performers. They've got a new move: they're gonna start showing you ads while your video is paused:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/money/2024/09/20/youtube-pause-ads-rollout/75306204007/

That is the kind of fuckery you only come up with when your victory condition is "a service that's almost so bad our customers quit (but not quite)."

In Amazon's case, the math is even worse. After all, Youtube may have near-total market dominance over a certain segment of the video market, but Prime Video is bundled with Prime Delivery, which the vast majority of US households subscribe to. You have to give up a lot to cancel your Prime subscription – especially since Amazon's predatory pricing devastated the rest of the retail sector:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

Amazon's founding principle was "customer obsession." Ex-Amazoners tell me that this was more than an empty platitude: arguments over product design were won or lost based on whether they could satisfy the "customer obsession" litmus test. Now, everyone falls short of their ideals, but sticking to your ideals isn't merely a matter of internal discipline, of willpower. Living up to your ideals is a matter of external discipline, too. When Amazon no longer had to contend with competitors or regulators, when it was able to use DRM to control its customers and use the law to prevent them from using its products in legal ways, it lost those external sources of discipline.

Amazon suppliers have long complained of the company's high-handed treatment of the vendors who supplied it with goods. Its workers have complained bitterly and loudly about the dangerous and oppressive conditions in its warehouses and delivery vans. But Amazon's customers have consistently given Amazon high marks on quality and trustworthiness.

The reason Amazon treated its workers and suppliers badly and its customers well wasn't that it liked customers and hated workers and suppliers. Amazon was engaged in a cold-blooded calculus: it understood that treating customers well would give it control over those customers, and that this would translate market power to retain suppliers even as it ripped them off and screwed them over.

But now, Amazon has clearly concluded that it no longer needs to keep customers happy in order to retain them. Instead, it's shooting for "keeping customers so angry that they're almost ready to take their business elsewhere (but not quite)." You see this in the steady decline of Amazon product search, which preferences the products that pay the biggest bribes for search placement over the best matches:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

And you see it in the steady enshittification of Prime Video. Amazon's character never changed. The company always had a predatory side. But now that monopoly and IP law have insulated it from consequences for its actions, there's no longer any reason to keep the predator in check.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/03/mother-may-i/#minmax

[commissar1927]

a lot of sociology is undoing your own biases I'm gonna be honest it's discovering that 90% of what you grew up thinking about other races/cultures/genders is complete bullshit

[wine-dark-soup]

ough ough waaaaugh...

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[littledovesnow]

a growing family pt. 2

a/n: yay for part 2!! read part one here

word count: 1.8k

warnings: pregnancy, pretty canon-level violence and stuff i think. also i'm sorry in advance about this part <3

-----

"Now, Mr. Snow, you and your wife leave tomorrow for your District Tour." Lucky Flickerman spoke into microphone, eyes bouncing between Coriolanus and you.

Coriolanus nodded, not quite sure where this was going. He was briefed on the. main topics that Flickerman would go over during the interview and this was not one of them.

"Is there any worry about the twins? Congratulations, by the way! Twins! How lucky are you!"

You smiled, patting your husband's hand to signal that you would answer this question.

"Thank you, Lucky," you started, sweet smile on your face. "I've been in conversation with my medical team, and we've all come to an agreement that it's quite safe for me to travel with Coriolanus and the rest of his cabinet. I'm not due for another couple of months, anyway."

Coriolanus smiled at you, voicing his answer, as well. "We've also spoken to the OB/GYN, and she will be joining us on the latter half of the tour. We hope she can just enjoy the travel, not needed for any medical emergencies."

Lucky nodded, satisfied with that answer. "Now, Coriolanus, you've mentioned in some changes to the Hunger Games in the coming years. We've had questions coming in from watchers, but first, a few words from our generous sponsors."

The red light went off on top of the cameras, and you let the superficial smile fall from your face, hand going to rub your lower back.

"Your back still hurt, love?" Coriolanus asked, noticing your discomfort.

"I think our kids are going to be soccer professional, Coryo." You grumbled, one of the twins had been kicking mercilessly for a few weeks.

Coriolanus chuckled, removing your hand, using his palm to massage the area. "Well, you can tell them off when they're out here."

Lucky, who had been observing the couple from his spot on the seat across from them, wore a smile. "One thing that my wife asked I do when she was pregnant with Caesar was massage her back every night. Sometimes she still makes me do it."

You smiled at the TV host, humming. "Not a bad idea. Coryo, I think I know what your next job will be."

Coriolanus snorted, hand still massaging your back. "Anything for the mother of my children."

-----

The train car you were currently seated in was more luxurious than you remembered, seats having been upholstered from your last trip out of the Capitol.

You looked away from the mountain ranges decorating the horizon when the door opened, Coriolanus entering.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, coming to sit in the seat across from you, moving your feet from the seat to his lap.

Humming, you leant your head back as he began massaging them. "Better now. What was that meeting for? I thought you had travel days free."

Coriolanus pondered over how to answer, not wanting to tell you he had just had some rebels executed for a potential threat in Six. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Opening an eye to look at him, you could read the man like an open book. "How many were there?"

There was a beat of silence before Coriolanus spoke up.

"Four. Would have been three but some things you can't avoid."

You didn't reply, simply wiggling your foot when Coriolanus' hands stopped massaging the arch of your foot.

He laughed, resuming the action as you two watched the mountain ranges and nature outside of the train.

-----

You yawned, staring at the ceiling of the Crane's hotel in District Three. It was nearing one in the morning, and you had gotten a sum total of about two and a half hours since you and Coriolanus crawled into the bed.

Moving as quietly as you could, you rose from the bed, waiting a beat to see if Coriolanus woke up.

His rather loud snore told you he was still off dreaming, something you were thankful for. He had a lot on his shoulders, and you didn't want to add onto the never-ending pile of worry and stress with the upcoming election.

Moving to the bathroom, you softly closed the door and looked at yourself in the mirror. The twins had been keeping you up at night more frequently, and your OB/GYN said it was just because while they were starting to get a regular sleep pattern, they couldn't tell day from night and often slept during the day.

When you opened the door, you frowned when you saw your husband sitting up in the bed, cheek still indented from the creases in the pillow.

"What are you doing up?" He asked, voice hoarse from sleep.

Rubbing one hand across your ever-growing bump, sleepily blinking at the man across from you. "Your children are wide awake, it seems."

Coriolanus smiled, patting the spot you had previously occupied. "Come here, I'll rub your back."

With the promise of that, you made your way back into the bed, stuffing one of the many pillows on the bed between your knees.

"Oh, well hello, little one."

You looked at where Coriolanus was staring at your bump, tiny foot barely visible. "Oh that's the most disturbing thing I think I've ever seen."

"Don't say that!" Coriolanus chided, though there was a smile on his face. "That's your child in there!"

"Coryo, you shouldn't be able to see their hands from outside!" You laughed, even though your OB/GYN said it was very possible to start to see little hands and feet as there became less and less free space.

Coriolanus pressed a kiss to your hairline, rubbing the place where the foot was. "Hi, babies. Please let your mother sleep, she needs to help me win over the hearts of Panem."

Rolling your eyes, you moved Coriolanus' hand to your back, letting your head fall back against a pillow. "Rub my back."

"Yes dear."

-----

Hand clasped tightly in Coriolanus' you two followed the Peacekeepers to the barracks to meet with the district's mayor and Commanding Peacekeeper.

You two had won the hearts over a majority of each District you've visited, but as you two traveled farther from the Capitol, you knew it would be more difficult and the chance of threats and rebels increased.

The number of Peacekeepers surrounding you two had grown within each stop, Coriolanus wanting to make sure nothing happened to his wife and mother of his children, his heirs.

"Mr. and Mrs. Snow, we're very pleased you two could be here!" The mayor smiled, shaking both of your hands.

You returned the sentiment, eyes locked on the plush-looking chair behind him. "Is it alright if I sit? My feet are killing me."

The mayor, who seemed to have just realized how large your bump had grown, nodded quickly, gesturing to the chair you had pointed to.

Coriolanus stood behind you, one hand smoothing your hair as he and the mayor discussed the afternoon's speeches and tour around the main hub.

"Will you be joining us, Mrs. Snow?"

"No, she's been feeling a little more tired." Coriolanus replied before you could speak up.

The mayor frowned, seemingly disappointed.

"Is there a problem?" You asked, feeling Coriolanus' hand still at the nape of your neck.

"Well, the children here have been so excited to meet you, but I'm sure seeing Mr. Snow will be just as fine."

Coriolanus knew you had a soft spot for children, how they still saw the best in everything. "Love, you barely slept last night. It's safer if you rest."

"Coryo, it won't be too long. And besides, we have a couple travel days I can catch up on sleep."

You ignored your husband's deep frown, instead smiling at the mayor. "We can't possibly let the kids down, can we?"

The mayor clapped happily, rising from his seat. "Well then, shall we go?"

You stood from the chair with some help from your husband, who placed a hand on your lower back, unable to keep his hands off of you.

"You're a spoiled brat, you know that?" He whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"And you love me for it." You replied, sharp smile on your face.

-----

Coriolanus watched as you followed a few of the schoolchildren around the classroom, letting them explain the backgrounds of their various posters and projects.

"She's going to be a wonderful mother." The mayor spoke, standing next to Coriolanus.

He nodded, watching you kneel down to listen more to a rather small girl, your eyes focused on her entirely. "She already is."

"Mr. Snow, Mayor, we're going to be late if we don't head for the town square now."

Nodding, Coriolanus walked over to your side, kneeling down next to you and the young girl. "Hi, love. Mind introducing me to your friend?"

You looked at your husband, and then at the young girl. "Coryo, meet Clementine. Her friends call her Clemmie."

Coriolanus saw the twinkle in your eye as you looked back at the girl. "It's lovely to meet you, Clemmie. You know, Mrs. Snow and I have a friend named Clemmie."

"Really?" Little Clementine asked, eyes wide.

Nodding, Coriolanus helped you stand up straight. "We do, but don't worry, we can have two Clemmies. Now, I do have to steal Mrs. Snow now, we have to go to town square."

Clementine pouted, but nodded. "It was nice to meet you!"

"You, too, Clemmie! Good luck with your new brother!" You smiled, squeezing Coriolanus' hand as the two of you followed some Peacekeepers out of the school and down to the town square and stage.

You've only seen the stage on television for the Reaping Ceremonies, it looked larger on screen. "She was so sweet, Coryo. She was telling me how her mother looked like me and now she has a little brother."

Coriolanus smiled, thumb rubbing your hand. "That's very sweet. I'm sure you made her ent-"

A loud explosion cut Coriolanus off, Peacekeepers immediately springing into action, separating the two of you to get you both to safety.

There were a few more explosions around the stage, sending debris and dirt in the air.

"Coryo!" You called, trying to wriggle out of the Peacekeepers' grip and find your husband.

You coughed as you inhaled smoke, eyes wide to spot Coriolanus. "Let me go! I need to find Coriolanus!"

"Ma'am, you need to come with us! We have orders to bring both you and Mr. Snow to a safe room, please cooperate."

You had a disdain for the Peacekeeper who spoke to you rather harshly, feeling his hands tighten their grip on your bicep.

Stumbling a few times, you had finally made it to the small bunker, heart hammering when you saw Coriolanus and the mayor already in there, dirt on both of their faces and clothing.

"Love," Coriolanus sighed in relief, though it was short-lived as he ran his eyes over your body. "Love, you're bleeding."

-----

a/n: oh how i love a good cliff-hanger