#something something having to take care of a version of your dead mentor

[the-broken-truth]

A Father's Son [Part One] - Miguel O'Hara w/ Teenage Spider Son Reader

Summary: Hi, I'm [Name] O'Hara. As the son of Miguel O'Hara, the leader of the Spider-Society and Spider-Man 2099, I strive to be one of the best Spider-Men under the guidance of my mentors Jessica Drew and Peter B. Parker. However, it's disheartening that my father doesn't acknowledge my efforts and instead holds onto memories of my late sister Gabriella, with whom he destroyed the past. While I am my father's son, I yearn to be recognized for who I am.

[Earth-928 / Spider-Society / Main Hub / Your POV]

It is said: "Children should not be burdened with the successes of their parents, no more than their failings.", whoever made that statement should have passed it on to my Father - Miguel O'Hara. This man was stubborn and obsessed with success when it came to her preservation of the Multiverse but he could never stop and take a look at what was before him and appreciate what he had; always wanting more than what he could care for... least with his work, because it seemed like he never wanted me and cares not for my achievements in the Spider-Society.

My name is [Name] - [Name] O'Hara - and I am the only son of Miguel O'Hara, in fact, I am his canon son; the child he was meant to have instead of the daughter he tried to raise from another universe. I was 12 years old when he left me to replace the dead version of himself and he returned a broken man after he caused a canon event & an entire universe to collapse because of his greed and selfishness. I tried to be there for him, to make him see that while I wasn't Gabriella I was still useful, I was still his son and I wanted him to love me but he just looked t me and shook his head before he left out of the room, leaving me to cry alone with Lyla comforting me until Jessica and Peter came to get me and take me home per my father's request.

Now, I am 15 years old - one of the best spider-men in the field, and today, I was on a solo mission to take down a Varitant of Doctor Octopus & return him to his proper earth. I managed to find him on Earth-876 and defeated him before wrapping him up in a web and doing a scan of him - he belonged to Earth-656. I opened a portal to his proper earth and sent him there before opening another portal to my home and jumped in before reappearing on the other side in the Main Hub of the Spider-Society. I was greeted by Peter and Jessica before I heard a rather grumpy voice speak from the upper level.

"[Name], we need to talk. Now." My Father said as he had his back turned to me with his hands on his hips and his head shaking once again; he was upset at something but it couldn't have been me, I took care of the variant alone without a single scratch. I looked at Jessica and Peter before webbing my way up to my father's platform and looked at my father's back.

"Yes, Father?" I asked him with my hands in the pockets of my spider suit but when he turned around, he looked rather pissed off.

"What the hell were you thinking, boy?" He asked me with his deep tone but I just looked at him with confusion in my eyes.

"What are you talking about? I took care of the anomaly and returned it to its proper earth all on my own." I said with pride in my voice but his glare was too much for me to bear. I miss his brown eyes but the red was a side effect of the Spider Injections.

"You weren't supposed to go alone, I was supposed to go and deal with the Anomaly." He said.

"What does it matter who deals with the anomaly? It's dealt with and there was no other reason for you to be in that world, right?" I asked.

"I found an Orphaned Version of Gabriella on that Earth and i was going to bring her here to raise." Those words made my heart freeze, again with this?!

"ARE YOU FREAKING SERIOUS?! YOU WANTED ANOTHER VERSION OF GABRIELLA AFTER YOU CAUSED A CANON EVENT AND DESTROYED AN ENTIRE UNIVERSE?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND, FATHER?!" I roared at him.

"This version doesn't have a parent, taking her from her universe and bringing her here wouldn't have caused a Canon Event." He said but the anger in me was too much.

"Why can't you just be happy with what you have?! You have me, I'm your son! Your Real Son! A son you made with your wife, who you divorced becuase she wasn't able to have more children!" I pointed at him, eyes flowing with tears.

"I need Gabriella. You aren't her. I don't want nor do I need you." He said. I just stood there and soaked in what he just said.

He didn't need me?

He didn't want me?

Fine.

Then, he was about to lose me forever.

I turned away and jumped off his platform before walking out of the Main Hub with Jessica and Peter at my sides, I didn't want to speak to them, I needed to see someone who understood me. I needed to see my mother.

#spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spider!reader #son reader #male reader

[ratasum]

*breaks into your bedroom* if You're cool with it, can you talk about ur version of Zojja 0v0

So I'm gonna put this under a cut but there are two things to start with: Jenn and I had been considering how to rework our original story with the announcement, and have since decided we won't be changing our stuff at all.

The most important thing to note is that we had been rping for the last decade like Zojja had been there the whole time. And we had considered "Maybe we'll switch that around now that they're bringing her back!"

And then, in our opinion and it's fine if you don't agree but in our opinion, they absolutely botched it.

So we made the decision that she didn't go to the wizards, someone else entirely winds up there, and that's completely altered the trajectory, which I can get into later on. To start: what's up with Zojja?

While back in Rata Sum post-HoT, she was a captive audience. We know from canon that she was a very sought after genius, and since she was stuck in a medical ward recovering, she couldn't stand all the stress. It was something she relayed to Vezz in letters frequently, and spoke to when Taimi visited, as well as once Qirri was well enough herself to visit. She mentioned it often to Eir, as well, since she would come by to check in on her. (This is another complicated bit but! We press on!)

During this time she also thought Leyya was dead. This was because Leyya had run off after learning what happened to her and hadn't been seen since.

It was some time after this, near the end of S3, that Zojja got to the point that she was tired of feeling like she was being watched, feeling like something was present, and feeling the council breathe down her neck to use as a pawn. But right as she was planning to find a way to sneak away was when Leyya finally got over her fear of telling everyone the truth and came back.

There was a half angry, half tearful reunion, with both of them discussing their struggles and anxieties, and finally decided to head to Lion's Arch together. And with help from the Order of Whispers, they got set up at @wall-legion's Odetta's soap shop.

This did involve dealing with Sheridan, a Mordrem. We haven't figured out how they figured that out yet but it takes some time.

It's a lot, but it helps both of them. Zojja can work on recovering peacefully among people she trusts with someone she cares about, even though the chronic pain and fatigue never fully leave her.

They reenter the actual narrative for the first time in Icebrood Saga, when Rytlock calls in a favor from Tyria's premiere dragon expert to help, and she's present when Garrus and Qirri are badly injured by Bangar. Frustrated with her continued struggle with her recovery from Maguuma, she at least does what she can to help out.

(There's an important scene here with Qirri and Zojja that I want to draw but I'm still very shaky in my art confidence so... someday.)

She even helps the krewe get set up in Cantha, watching the two girls she mentored finally come into their own as tough, capable young women. And starts wondering if they still need her guidance at all.

Which is why Zojja is eventually with Odetta and Leyya when they get to wizlandia in the first place.

We had swapped the order of WLB/WLW and the epilogue, so after the epilogue Caithe disappeared... and imagine everyone's surprise when they find her in Wizlandia instead. And talk starts of this talented young elementalist with a deep well of unusual power. If only she'd stay with them...

I can go into more detail on whatever anyone would like, but that's more or less the nutshelled version of it!

#bunny asks #this is VERY TENTATIVELY subject to change if they stick the landing but we'll see #currently this is how we plan on things INITIALLY playing out

[jackoshadows]

honestly idt show sansa is truly THAT popular but yeah she has a lot of stans for the reasons you listed. d&d even lifted from theon's reek arc to give to her! "let me die while there's still some of me left" oh i was so pissed.

Theon got massively sidelined in his own arc once they decided to replace Jeyne Poole with Sansa. In the books Jeyne Poole is a tertiary character written in for Theon's arc and characterization, Jon's arc at the wall and to keep Arya Stark involved in the North plot. Even Ramsay was a character created and written in for Theon's story.

What inspired him to create Ramsay Snow? GRRM said, and I quote, that he needed something “to bite Theon in the ass”. Ramsay was created for Theon’s storyline,  and he is first presented as a prisoner and a servant and then rises to  a high position while Theon becomes his prisoner and servant.

I think even D&D knew this, which is why they spend an entire season on just Ramsay torturing Theon - wholly unnecessary (They could have just referred to it) IMO. However, what was the point of all that when they kicked Theon out and turned it into Sansa Vs Ramsay in season 6?

I always talk about how Jon, Arya and Bran got massively sidelined for D&D's Sansa fanfiction, but yeah Theon's story arc got entirely chucked out. I am quite certain that Theon will have a big role to play in Ramsay's take down in the books, unlike in the show.

Theon’s story is harrowing and at the same time is the epitome of ‘Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?’ No one cares about poor Jeyne Poole in the story. Not the Northerners, not the Boltons, not Mance and his spearwives, not Jon Snow at the Wall. Theon knows that Jeyne is not Arya and yet risks everything to help her at the end.

And there’s a nice contrast with Theon actually managing to save Jeyne Poole and Jon Snow getting stabbed by his own men and dying and failing to rescue his ‘sister’.

And you know, the show version of Sansa even takes away from book Sansa! GRRM has given book Sansa Stark a whole arc in the Vale with her mentor Littlefinger. D&D thought Jeyne Poole's story of rape and torture would be more fitting for their favorite character because they wanted the actress, Sophie Turner, to have a more meaty role on the show. 

So many media articles were complaining about how the camera was focusing on Theon's pain instead of Sansa's ... That's because in the books the story WAS ABOUT THEON'S PAIN instead of Jeyne's. That's what happens when you replace a tertiary character with a main character. And yet Sansa fans keep stanning for this plot because it gets Sansa North and that's what they want for her.

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: I was trying to set up Jeyne for her future role as the false Arya. The real Arya has escaped and is presumed dead. But this girl has been in Littlefinger’s control for years, and he’s been training her. She knows Winterfell, has the proper northern accent, and can pose as Arya. Who the hell knows what a little girl you met two years ago looks like? When you’re a lord visiting Winterfell, are you going to pay attention to the little kids running around? So she can pull off the impersonation. Not having Jeyne, they used Sansa for that. Is that better or worse? You can make your decision there. Oddly, I never got pushback for that in the book because nobody cared about Jeyne Poole that much. They care about Sansa.

Which is so true.

Ultimately, the show took a giant hammer to the North plot in the books and gave us a nonsensical hodgepodge of ridiculous plot lines and characterization and one can always tell which 'asoiaf expert' or bnf is a Sansa fan because they think that nonsense is what's going to happen in the books.

#asks #Theon Greyjoy #anti GOT

[batstorm93672]

You know how in canon Damian tells Bruce that it was better when you weren’t here when he came back from being dead/the time thing. Dick goes back to blood haven and a week into being robin to Bruce’s bat man Damian realizes that Bruce is a horrible mentor and parent. He runs away to blood haven without telling anyone after Bruce yelled a him for (insert something ridiculous and contradictory). Dick comes home from work as a police officer to Damian on his couch and agrees to let Damian stay and become flame bird

Didn't know anything about Flamebird, found out it's a fandom version of Damian working alongside Nightwing (correct me if I'm wrong, I just looked it up and I don't have many details)

I think my favorite iteration of them is this

With that being said, let's get on with the fic:

Damian was convinced that all Bruce needed was time to understand him and the two could work together. Yet it was nothing like that, everything was labeled as "violent" and "wrong" whenever Damian did something. He tried to be a good Robin for Bruce, yet it seems that whenever Damian reaches a requirement somehow ten more are needed before Bruce can trust him. He was getting sick of it. How long does he have to put up with his supposed "great" father, whom mother would always speak of? This man seemed to be less of great.

Finally his patience had grown too thin.

"You were irresponsible and reckless! This was a stealth mission and you just attacked for no reason!"

"I was covering for you! They had nightvision in their scopes and before you were shot I acted! Why don't you believe me?!"

"You could've done better, you should've alerted me instead of giving it away to the others or find a way to subdue the enemy without giving yourself away"

"Fine! I'll let you get shot next time then!"

"Go to your room, you're done for the night"

"Tt. At least Richard tried to hear me out, all you do is hide and scowl"

.

Dick unlocked his door, stepping in to come upon Damian with a hoodie looking small as he kept his knees to his chest sitting on the couch.

"Damian? How did you get in?"

"Window was easy to unlock, you should get better security"

"Well I'm not exactly expecting someone to waltz in through the window like that"

"You should. Anything can happen officer"

"Heh alright, wanna explain what you're doing here? Long way from Gotham"

"...why did you leave?"

"What?"

"Why did you go back to being Nightwing? Weren't we the best? So why did I have to stay with father... he doesn't understand me"

Dick sat on the sofa "You are hard to understand, very difficult"

"But he doesn't try, he berates my efforts and catergizes my actions from my background only. Never giving me time to explain or see my way on it. He doesn't care like you have. Richard, why did you have to go? Did you not... like having me around?"

Dick opened and closed his mouth a few times "You are a brat, but I always enjoyed having you around. We're Batman and Robin. When Bruce came back I thought it ample to let him take back the mantle and let you bond with your dad as we all did. You didn't know him well enough, so I wanted to give you time to know Bruce-" Dick sighed "-I clearly underestimated his paranoia. I thought he would be nicer to a child, but I guess all he can see is how you were raised and not how you changed"

"I left without saying a word, I couldn't take it"

"...do you want to go back?"

"No. I'm tired of trying to appease to him, I don't want to"

"Alright, then since Gotham has Batman and Blüdhaven has Nightwing. How about Nightwing gets a partner?"

"You... would really want to work together again? Can Robin even do that?"

"Who says you have to be Robin? We've all changed, how about Flamebird?"

"Hm... I would like to work with you again. But won't father try to take me back to Gotham?"

"If he does we will handle it. For now, how about we get you a suit Flamebird?"

#damian wayne #bruce wayne #robin #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #flamebird #ask fic #anon

[heyhojoy]

The Case for Hornigold

So like a lot of people I would love to see S2 focusing on Ed’s character arc, him finding out who he really is / wants to be, freeing himself from the constricts of expectations and toxic masculinity and integrating all the different parts of his personality into something wholesome (preferably doing all this independent of Stede, as has been argued really well in other metas that I will link here as soon as I find them again).

And you know who he absolutely needs to meet for this integration and healing to happen?

Hornigold!

Let me explain why this would make for excellent storytelling.

The epic potential of this meeting struck me like a lightning bolt when I was reading up a little bit about the historical version of Edward Teach. In an article somewhere there was one sentence that let the whole story unfurl in my mind immediately. It’s the last sentence of this paragraph:

Uuuuh. So “historically”, Hornigold is out there somewhere hunting pirates. At the end of S1, Ed has just broken his Act of Grace contract after like one day, so we can assume that the British navy will be after him real bad (not just a  Badminton brother out for personal revenge this time!) and will presumably start something of a hunt for him / put a price on his head. It would be very believable for Hornigold to start taking up that trail.

Now, we now that this show does not care about historical accuracy, but why pass up a chance of such  juicy meeting, when history serves you a cue like that? (An excellent opportunity to go with the “yes, and…” of improv!)

We know from the breakfast conversation with Calico Jack that also in the OFMD universe, Ed sailed with Hornigold, back when CJ and Ed “first became outlaws”. We know that Hornigold abused them, verbally and physically  (“worse than dogs”, “stabbed us”, “ground us down into nothing” etc.). So Ed learned the way of piracy from an abusive asshole, an epitome of toxic masculinity. Let that sink in. He (presumably) ran away from home after he killed his dad in a very traumatic experience and first place he ended up in was Hornigold’s ship, which sounds like horrible environment to be at any time, let alone after something like this.

But he got out of there and is now one of the most infamous pirate captains himself. He made a name for himself by telling a ghost story of violence, by creating a creature that came straight from Hornigold’s ship of horrors, if you so will. But we know that he did not turn into that person, it is just a performance – it has been drilled into him that this is how piracy works (and it does! it does work! But for what price) and he performs this role brilliantly for a long time.

At the end of S1, Ed turns into the kraken. He does not ‘revert’ to Blackbeard, his flashy, charismatic fuckery persona, but turns into something much darker, where actually he is all the things that he only ever projected before, dead-serious, stone-hearted.

Good storytelling will show us how he gets out of this again. How he makes deliberate choices that bring him closer to peace and understanding of himself, to acceptance of all sides of him, the soft and the chaotic-violent ones. It will be very hard and obstacles will need to be overcome. And, very importantly, for this to feel like fulfilling storytelling he needs to face his past and tell it: No. I will not follow your dictate, I deliberately and consciously choose to leave you behind and forge my own path – my past does not determine my future!

What better way to spell that out than meeting the abusive mentor (who has even taken a pardon!!! Who has even ‘betrayed’ the concept piracy??) and tell him NO to his face?

It would feel really threatening to be hunted by your horrible former mentor, having to face him, making you inevitably revert back to feeling small, young, helpless and hopeless. (Is there any other character that could possibly have this effect on Ed??)

So imagine how good it will feel to then slam your foot down, because you’re not young and helpless anymore, you’ve grown, you choose a different path, and you stand up for your current self and your younger self.

Imagine how good it would feel to Ed to tell his abusive mentor that he did not deserve to be treated like this, that Hornigold was wrong about life (and I guess piracy) and that he can go suck eggs in hell.

So, anyone else excited for Hornigold in S2???

#ofmd #ofmd meta #our flag means death #ed teach #hornigold #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2

[tinotika-arts]

In Alex gets turned into a young kid with memories of that age, caused mayhem in the Pact Camp because he thought he got kidnapped, and Trahearne now has to take care of his husband until he returned back to normal, which includes keeping him from running his mouth off at every mistake he sees before someone decides to punt him.

Not that it works when Alex decides to fly out of reach anyway.

Tiny Alex has all the smarts of his adult version but with none of the diplomacy. If he thinks you're stupid then he's going to tell you that you're stupid. But he means well.

(Some musings for after Alex returns to normal under cut)

"So Alex... Who is Rurrik?"

The embarrassed Commander removed his hands from his face and looked at Trahearne like a confused moa, before the look turned calculative, as if wondering if he should speak.

"Where did you... Ah, I must have mentioned it when I was de-aged, didn't I?"

"While we were trying to restrain you - to prevent you from running off into monsters, mind you- you kept yelling for some guy called Rurrik."

Alex sighed and pinched his nose. "He's... an old friend. A mentor. You could say he's the very reason why I am the man I am today."

Alex looked out to the skies, a fond look on his face. "He came to our isolated community one day, originally as a traveler. But I grew interested in his stories of the Tyria outside our walls. He was the one who taught me about the leylines and magic."

Seeing his husband speak so fondly about the man made Trahearne smile. It was rare that Alex brought up anything from his past. And even rarer that he confided in anyone besides him. Especially his greatest kept secret.

Trahearne would be his secret-keeper.

"It wasn't only until I was a bit older that I learned how to offer criticism in a way that doesn't get my ass kicked though," Alex chuckled, "I'll go apologize to those I've.. accidentally roasted."

"I'm sure they know you mean no harm, but it would probably help."

"I would do it even if you tried to stop me, you know that right?"

Trahearne held the urge to roll his eyes a little. "Yes, I'm aware. You would do so even if I tried to stop you and assure you it wasn't your fault. The least I can do is support you." Trahearne turned his mind back to Rurrik. "So Rurrik, is he..."

Alex gave a shrug. "I have no idea. After teaching me all he knew, to the point my magic was far better than anyone else's... He suddenly stopped coming. And that was.. many years ago. I've traveled all of Tyria before coming to Kryta and meeting Logan. I'm.. pretty sure he's dead."

The sorrowful look on Alex's face pained him, and Trahearne moved in to give a hug. "Perhaps we can find a grave? Humans make graves for their loved ones, no?"

"That's provided we can find one. I couldn't find any relatives either. He just... disappeared."

"Then perhaps we can make one oursides. Not an official one, just something to remember him by."

Alex looked thoughtful for a moment, before cracking a gentle smile. "Perhaps giving him a drink would be nice."

Trahearne smiled back, before resting his head on Alex's shoulder. His husband had a past of many secrets, one of which got brought forth by this little episode of age reversal. He could only hope that the past doesn't come to bite his husband back in the rear.

Even if it did come knocking, he would be there to support him.

#gw2 #Trahearne #; Alexander Rufus #; doodles #; tino's ramblings #it's time for the de-aging episode

[linkspooky]

TITANS, ISSUE #2 THOUGHTS.

This is way late but welcome back to my continual coverage of the new Titans series currently being released by DC Comics. Goodbye anime it's time to return to my real passion cheesey super hero comics. This is the first series since the N52 and Rebirth reboots to feature the classic New Teen Titans lineup so as a fan of the old comics I'm interested to see where they're taking these characters. Especially since this is the first time in like three reboots the focus is on letting these characters grow up.

This is also running simultaneously with World's Finest! Teen Titans which is bringing back the silver age lineup + Bumble Bee and making them canon again. As a fan of the silver age comics I'll be covering that series eventually too. Anyway, issue number two under the cut.

MEET THE NEW BOSS

We open with a much younger version of the Teen Titans about to ambush Brother Blood only to find the Justice League has already taken care of them. As far as I know something like this never really happened in the old continuity. Robin always acted separate from Batman that was sort of the point, and the only time they really clashed was the crossover with Batman and the Outsiders. It culminated in a story arc where Dick Grayson realizing he'd been emulating batman a little too much realized he didn't actually want to lead people the same way that Bruce did.

Then much, much later in the JLA and Titans crossover Technis Imperative. So yeah, The Justice League never really sniped one of the Titans targets. It was more of a silver age Teen Titans thing that they were just considered the Jr. Justice League and the Justice League / Their mentors were more active in interfering with them. By the time of New Teen TItans, they were just the Titans their own independent group.

Wally's not dead (obviously), but an alternate timeline version of him does give us the interesting premise that Dick is tasked with solving a murder before it even happens. It gives Dick a chance to show off his detective training here presenting a unique challenge to his skill set.

Cyborg's question of whether or not Dick has contingencies in place is a reference to the Tower of Babel storyline where Batman prepared weapons to use against the Justice League with the knowledge of all their weaknesses, only for those same weapons to get stolen by Ra'as al Ghul who put them into place and crippled the league while at the same time sending Batman on a wild goose chase by robbing his parent's grave an forcing him to track down where Ra's moved the bodies in order to distract them. It was a pretty big deal in the pre-reboot continuity.

Dick having those same contingencies shows his control-freak Bruce foiling, but at least he's open about it I guess. I'd say that Nightwing having all of those weapons and contingency plans though does put a little too much power in his hands over the others. The whole point of Tower of Babel is it's not so much about Batman always needing to carry krytponite around in case Superman goes evil, as it is that Bruce needs to feel in control and in order to achieve that he disrespects all of his comrades agency by devising methods to control them.

THough later on Dick does have a point that it's Wally's tendency to rush off immediately without thinking because he is a speedster and therefore stretch himself too thin. IT's the right call to keep Wally close when Dick knows that he's going to get murdered soon, but it's kind of wrong to hold "I can keep you here if I want because I know your weaknesses" over his head to get him to stay.

Dick makes another controversial decision by putting Donna in charge instead of Starfire. This is probably to give Donna a character conflict.

It's funny that Dick chose Donna over Starfire considering their track record with leadership. One of the biggest fights Donna and Dick ever had is when Dick trusted Donna with leading the team in his absence and Donna let the whole team fall apart. Basically while Dick was gone Cyborg and Beast Boy ran off, Raven was kidnapped by Brother Blood and missing for months and Donna basically sat on her hands and did nothing about it. All because Donna's greatest character flaw is being unable to live up to the perfect image that everyone else has on her.

It sparked one of the biggest fights Dick and Donna ever had in the comics, they literally got into a fist fight over this. Anyway, in summary Donna does not have the best leadership skills. On the other hand Starfire led the Titans pretty succesfully when they were mentoring Young Justice in the 2003 comics and Dick walked away from the team.

Dick probably just made the call because it's his tendency to trust Donna with everything, due to their close friendship.

At least it doesn't get in the way of Donna and Starfire's friendship. There's a funny little nod here to the New Teen Titans which had pretty constant inner-group conflict, to the point Cyborg would make fun of it by calling their lives a soap opera. The Titans are pretty famously a dysfunctional found family. We'll see if they keep that element in or not.

Two more things set up for future issues, number one it's Garth's turn to be brainwashed by Brother Blood this week. Garth seems like the natural choice to get brainwashed, despite being a member of the original four he's kind of been more of an outsider to the group. In the original silver age titans he felt so insecure about his place in the group he literally developed an illness and had to quit.

The second is that it's mentioned that the explosion that started the fire is Tamaranean in origin. Considering Starfire's Tales of the Titan comic deals with her encountering a pair of sisters with a healthy relationship, and featured an off-hand mentioned of Blackfire.

This could be foreshadowing the return of Blackfire, which I'm excited but also nervous for. Blackfire is one of my favorite villains in all of comics, but her relationship with Starfire is often reduced to "Starfire is the good one, and Blackfire is the bad one" when in the New Teen Titans it became much more complicated than that and became a pretty nuanced analysis of the conflict between a golden child and a scapegoat.

However, my hot take about Blackfire and Starfire's relationship is a rat for another post, so I'll just end things here.

#teen titans #tt meta #teen titans meta #titans 2023 #titans #new teen titans #dick grayson #garth #donna troy #nightwing #wondergirl #starfire #dc comics #dc comics meta

[malevolent-muse]

The Price of Silence - Barisi Fan Fiction

After reconnecting with his former mentor, Barba, Carisi becomes concerned when Barba brings up an unfortunate event from Carisi's past. Later, Barba admits to hiding a deep, dark secret and cautions Carisi to keep his distance. Against his best interest, Carisi ignores Barba's warning, and he finds himself becoming something he had never thought he would be - a victim. In the end, Barba tries to make amends, but it is too late.

Warning: This is a DARK fic. This story includes EXPLICIT NON-CON CONTENT. Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. (Word Count: 20,000+ Chaptered version on AO3)

Chapter 1

Hearing a knock at the door, Sonny tilted his head up to see who was wandering around Hogan Place long after the sun had set. 

"Barba!" Sonny exclaimed softly, as he lowered the box of items he had been holding carefully onto his desk's surface. "What are you doing here?"

"I came by to congratulate you, Counselor," the former SVU ADA replied as he sauntered into the shared office space and looked around at the vacant desks.

"I thought you were still out in Iowa," Sonny said, his voice strained as he tried to keep down his excitement at seeing his friend and former mentor.

“Oh, I am," Barba replied causally. "But I had some family stuff I needed to take care of in town. It's a short visit, which is why I didn't tell anyone I was coming. But then I heard you had turned in your badge to work under Chief Hadid as SVU's new ADA."

Slightly humbled and a bit embarrassed by Barba's concise assessment, Sonny shuffled a bit, putting his hands in his pockets. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity," he finally said.

"Nor should you have," Barba replied. "Though you'll have to forgive me for dropping in on you like this. I wanted to see how you were settling in."

Spreading his arms wide, Sonny indicated the stacks of paperwork already accumulating on his desk. 

"It's my first day, and I already feel like I'm drowning."

"That's the law, Carisi," Barba retorted as he stepped closer. "You're always going to be drowning in paperwork. Once you get yourself settled, you can start treading water. Win a couple of cases, and you'll be swimming in no time."

Sonny huffed in self-derision. "Speaking of swimming, what's that saying about lawyers and sharks? Something along the lines of both always being out for blood?"

“Actually, I think it's: Why don't sharks attack lawyers?" Barba chuckled before answering. "Professional courtesy." 

Grinning at the joke, Sonny felt a sense of familiarity wash over him. It had been months since they had last seen each other, but in typical Barba fashion, his old mentor never missed a beat.

"You know," Sonny sighed. "I'm glad you're here, Barba. It's good to see a friendly face at the end of my first day. It's been... well, it's been stressful."

"Not an easy transition?"

"No. Definitely not easy."

”Well, you're still getting settled. I wouldn't let it bother you too much."

“Thanks," Sonny mumbled, a bit awkwardly, not knowing what to say next.

"Of course," Barba replied, coming even closer and clapping a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Though I was wondering, did you ever get that business with the bar exam worked out?"

”Oh?" Sonny wondered, a sudden pit forming in his stomach. "That's not really something I've thought about in a while."

"No, of course not," Barba said dismissively. "It's not your fault, after all. "

"I would never cheat."

"I didn't mean to imply that you would."

"C'mon, Barba," Sonny groaned. "Don't do this to me, okay? I passed the exam, plain and simple. It might be surprising that a guy from Fordham Law managed to pass on his first try, but we can't all be Harvard prodigies."

Barba smirked. "Well, you were my protege. I am proud of you."

“Again, thank you."

“You’ll have to forgive me for bringing it up, Carisi. I am trying to look out for you," Barba stated. “But if you’ll remember, back when one of your classmates got caught cheating on the exam, I told you to retake it. That sort of thing can tank a career.”

"But I passed."

"I know, Sonny," Barba explained. "But you knew the guy, and you went to school with him. The fact that he cheated while you both were taking the test could be seen as suspicious."

“He wasn’t just some guy. His name was Kip. And I wasn't the only one besides him taking the test that day," Sonny growled. "Also, it's not like I conspired with him in any way. You know me, Barba. I would never—"

"But does your new boss know that?" the former ADA interrupted. "Sonny, I'm worried about your career. If someone were to find out about the circumstances around your exam—"

"They won't!" Sonny interrupted. "Jeez. I passed the bar years ago. No one is looking into those specifics now."

"Not yet," Barba countered. "But Sonny, you're in the big leagues now, and you're going up against seasoned professionals. And I hate to say it, but some of them are out for blood. They will notice the gap between when you passed the bar and now and see it as a reason to undermine you. I want you to be prepared."

"And I am!" Sonny said defensively. "I don't have the experience that you have, but I know what's at risk if I can't do my job. I'm not going to fail at this."

"I know you won't. But I want you to be prepared if it does come up. You should get ahead of it while you can. Besides, I don't want a call to come out of the blue and for someone to start asking questions I don't want to answer."

"Well, you wouldn't tell anyone, would you?" 

Barba paused, saying nothing.

“Rafa?” Sonny prodded.

Sighing, Barba replied, “Honestly, Sonny, I don’t know.”

“Rafa!”

“Don’t ‘Rafa’ me,” Barba grumbled. “Life is complicated. And if someone came and asked me, I might have to share what information I have about the situation with him… or her.”

“You’d tell Ms. Hadid?”

“I never said that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That you should tell her, Sonny,” Barba huffed. “You know what, I shouldn’t have come. After everything happening with my—“ Here, Barba abruptly stopped short. Taking a breath, he continued, “I’m not in a good headspace right now. I’m sorry.”

“Barba,” Sonny said softly, “please tell me you won’t speak to anyone about what happened with Kip. He was a fool for doing what he did but I had nothing to do with it, I swear. I just want a shot at being a lawyer and actually doing some good.”

“And you’ve managed to put yourself in a position where you’ll get that shot,” Barba muttered. “I just—“

“You want me to bargain with you?” Sonny interjected. “C’mon, Barba. What is it that you want? Why did you really come down here? You want me to beg you to keep your mouth shut?”

Looking over at him with sad eyes, Barba replied, “You are too noble a man to trade your honor for my silence, Sonny. I can’t promise you much, but I can promise that if the situation arises, what information I am forced to share, I won’t do it willingly.”

Sonny nodded slowly, taking in Barba's words. 

"Thank you," he said after a tense moment. "I appreciate that."

Barba nodded back at him, looking almost sullen. 

"I don't want to ruin your career or anything, Sonny. You deserve this chance. Just be careful, okay?” 

"I will,” Sonny promised, though his chest still felt tight from the air of contention that still lingered. "And thanks for coming down here. It means a lot to me."

"Of course," Barba said with a tight-lipped smile, as he made his way back towards the office door. "Just don't expect me to make a habit of it. I've got my own problems to deal with." Reaching the exit, he paused and turned back to Sonny. "Oh, and Carisi? Good luck."

"Thanks," Sonny replied. "I'll need it."

With a parting nod, Barba left the room, leaving Sonny alone with his thoughts and a sinking feeling in his stomach. As the new ADA stood there, staring at the empty doorway, he couldn't help but wonder what had truly prompted Barba's visit. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than merely a social call. 

Chapter 2

Wandering into the bar, Sonny glanced around the dimly lit room. While there was a good crowd of people, the interior of the establishment was spacious. Most of the patrons were gathered around the counter, sharing drinks and conversation. He wasn't sure what kind of establishment he was entering, but he knew who he was searching for.

Or, to be more accurate, who he was looking for. 

He hadn’t seen Rafael Barba for months. Yet with information that the former ADA was back in Manhattan, Sonny had easily stepped back into the role of a detective and had been tracking down his former mentor.

The chatter, music, and various noises filling the room were distracting. Still, after a moment or two spent scanning the various individuals sitting at the counter, Sonny then moved along. He was trying to make a quick assessment of the customers seated at the booths all while keeping his hands close to his sides and his movements slow and fluid so as to remain inconspicuous. Just as he began to think that he had yet again failed to locate Barba, he came to the last booth in the corner of the restaurant. There, sitting alone, wearing a rumpled three-piece suit, and staring blankly at a tumbler of whiskey, was Rafael Barba.

Sonny exhaled deeply before sliding onto the hard wooden bench opposite his friend.

Beneath a hooded brow, dark green eyes darted up as Sonny shook off his suit jacket and settled in his seat.

“What are you doing here?” Barba grumbled.

“Thought I’d return the favor you paid me on my first day and drop in on you,” Sonny casually remarked.

Catching the eye of a passing waitress, he lifted his hand as an indication that he required her service.

“Why?” Sonny continued. “Have I caught you by surprise?”

“No.”

The waitress Sonny had flagged down approached and he made sure to keep the inflection in his tone calm and casual. Though, if he was being honest with himself, he worried his countenance would betray his deeper concerns as he ordered a round of drinks from her.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having. And why don’t you get him another round as well?” he stated, his voice raised so he could be heard over the other patrons and the clinking of glasses.

Fishing his wallet from his pocket, Sonny pulled out his card and handed it to their server, asking her to open a tab for him.

A second after the waitress left, Barba spoke.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked, his voice strained through gritted teeth. 

“Your mother’s funeral was on Friday. I figured you’d still be in town. My condolences, by the way. I wish you would’ve let me know. I would’ve come.”

“But —“

Cutting Barba off, Sonny hastily added, “Liv called. She said she was having a difficult time reaching you.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem finding me though. What did you do? You didn’t have TARU run a search for my card transactions, did you?”

With a shake of his head, Sonny retorted, “No. Just wore out some shoe leather going from bar to bar looking for you."

“Well, you found me,” Barba remarked, his voice thick with sarcasm as he lifted his cup to his lips and took a sip. “Congratulations.”

Just then, the waitress returned, balancing their drinks on a round plastic tray. Nimbly, she placed each tumbler in front of them.

“Here you are. Anything else I can get for you?”

“We’re fine,” Barba said, a restrained growl resonating in his voice. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Sonny echoed.

He watched the waitress turn and leave to serve other tables and in her wake, she left nothing but silence. It hung in the air between the two men. Sonny, determined not to make Barba upset, waited for his friend to be the first to speak.

Taking a drink from his glass, he tried not to grimace at the burn of the spirit. Sonny wasn’t much one for hard liquor and knew if he attempted to keep pace with Barba, he’d be chugging Pepto come morning.

“You didn’t need to go through all the effort of tracking me down,” Barba finally said.

“I figured if you weren’t answering Captain Benson’s calls, you wouldn’t answer mine either.”

Barba lifted a singular brow.

“You’re not wrong.”

“Good, ‘cause I would hate to think of you actually sending my calls to voice mail. Rafa, man, I got to tell you: What you’re going through is a big deal. And you don’t need to go through it alone.”

“Some things are better dealt with alone.”

“You sure about that?” Sonny quipped back.

“Yes, detective, I’m sure,” Barba said with a deep sigh.

“Detective?”

“Err,” Barba corrected himself. “I mean counselor.”

“It takes some getting used to,” Sonny said with a chuckle.

“Your cases going okay,” Barba asked, using his mistake to redirect the conversation.

“Better than most,” Sonny answered, fidgeting with his glass as he delayed taking another sip of the strong liquor. “I’ve won more cases than I’ve lost.”

“Did you ever talk to Hadid about your classmate? The one who cheated on the bar?”

Jeez, Sonny thought, not this again. Why won’t Barba let this go?

“I know you didn’t care to talk about it much the last time I saw you,” Barba continued. “But I’ve been in your shoes, Sonny. I’ve done the job you’re doing. And I know it’s better to get ahead of potential rumors before they become your downfall.”

“No,” Sonny responded, making an effort not to sound bitter. “I haven’t brought up that with my boss. And I don’t plan to either.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll lose my job,” he snapped.

“Not the end of the world. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“No, Barba,” Sonny challenged, “you resigned.”

“I was charged with second-degree murder.”

“And then you got acquitted. You didn’t have to resign.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Barba emphatically stated.

“The right thing?” Sonny argued. “Barba, it’s not about what is right and what is wrong. It’s about you thinking that you’re alone in all of this.”

“I am alone.”

With a sigh, Sonny countered, “No. You’re not.”

“Strong words coming from someone whose mother is still alive.”

Sonny’s jaw dropped at Barba’s insensitive comment. Though he managed to snap it closed again just as quick. Then, taking a breath in through his nose, he looked down at the whiskey still in his cup. Figuring he could use a dose of liquid courage, he lifted the whiskey to his lips and downed a couple drams at once.

“Well,” Sonny stated, “I know what it’s like to feel alone, even when there are people around who care. But you don’t have to be alone, Rafa. You have friends. And every one of them, myself included, wants to make sure that you know that we care. That we are here for you.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Barba replied, “I just don’t see the point anymore.”

A bit shocked, Sonny came to the abrupt conclusion that Barba was spiraling. Drinking alone at a bar after the death of one’s mother was one thing, but saying that there wasn’t a point anymore was drastic. It seemed incredibly out of character for his former mentor to say something like that. 

“The point in what?” he quickly asked, seeking clarification. “And please don’t say life. Trust me, Barba, life is always worth living, even when it’s painful.”

Though their corner of the bar was dimly lit, Sonny noticed a smirk briefly flash across Barba’s features.

“No,” he remarked. “The point in pretending.”

“Pretending? I don’t know what you mean.”

Finishing his initial glass and starting in on the one Sonny had purchased for him, Barba explained, “I mean that I don’t see a point in pretending that deep down I’m not … that there’s not something seriously broken inside of me. For as long as I can remember, I didn’t want to disappoint her. My father I could give two shits about, but not my mother. I wanted so badly to show her I could be the good and decent son she deserved. And without her here, I feel so … empty.”

“So you thought you’d handle this sort of loss easily?” Sonny scoffed. “Barba, how many drinks did you have before I got here? You may be an ass, but you’re not broken.”

“I think I’m on my fifth. But don’t think I’m going to forget you calling me an ass to my face though,” Barba answered, his voice dark but tinged with humor.

Sonny let out a low huff. 

“I should get you home.”

“No,” Barba countered. “You should leave. Thanks for the drink, Sonny, but I think it’s best that I find my own way back.”

“And why is that? Oh, right, because you think you’re broken and undeserving of—“

“You don’t think I’m broken?” Barba interrupted. “Sonny, if I wanted … I could—“

Stopping abruptly, the former ADA instead took another drink.

“You could what?” Sonny prodded.

With a shake of his head, Barba replied, “I’m not going to say it.”

“And here I thought you said there was no point in not pretending anymore.”

Sonny was just antagonizing the former ADA at this point. Still, it was better than the alternative, which was leaving Barba alone with his thoughts. Mourning the loss of a parent could be destabilizing. And what Sonny wanted most was just to ensure his friend’s well-being. However, given the context of their conversation, he doubted that Barba would actually tell him anything significant.

“Tell me, counselor,” Barba retorted, emphasizing his words with thinly veiled mockery, “for as long as you’ve known me, how many relationships have I been in?”

“Is that a trick question? You’re married to the law, Barba, and she is a jealous mistress.”

Huffing in quiet laughter, Barba replied, “That she is.” Then, a bit more serious, he added, “I didn’t date because not having a relationship was better than having one and disappointing my mother.”

“Mothers often have strong opinions on who their children should date. I know mine does. And let me tell you, I definitely don’t agree that all I need is a nice Catholic girl. But, ah, if you don’t mind me asking, how do you think your relationships would have disappointed your mother?”

“By dating men.”

Sensing heat rise to his cheeks, Sonny bowed his head to hide his embarrassment. Barba’s sudden admission left him reeling. He had never truly understood the idiom 'knocked down with a feather,' but now he felt it was entirely applicable. The shock was profound, and it made him feel terrible for not knowing something so important about someone he thought he knew well. 

“I didn’t realize…” he stammered. “I thought…”

“You thought what I wanted you to think,” Barba admitted. “I only mentioned my past relationships that were with women because I didn’t want my sexual preferences to draw the wrong sort of attention; especially not in the workplace.”

Taking a moment to process, Sonny thoughtfully said, “You’re right. It’s no one’s business but your own. And, clearly, I had no idea. Not that changes anything, I am still your friend.”

Barba heaved a heavy sigh.

“You know,” he muttered, “part of me is glad that I never had to tell her. And I feel bad about that, like I’m happy she’s gone. I’m not though. But to her, being queer wasn’t just a sin, it was unacceptable. She would’ve seen it as a failure on her part as a mother.”

“That sounds more like relief than happiness,” Sonny stated, trying his best to comfort the other man sitting across from him.

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“They can be. But not in this case, I don’t think. And it doesn’t make you broken, not being bi or even feeling some relief from having to share that information with someone who —“

Interrupting, Barba interjected, “That’s not why I said I feel broken.”

“Then why?” Sonny prompted.

Instead of answering, the former ADA took the opportunity to drain the last of the whiskey from his cup. Then, his eyes casting around, Barba caught the attention of their server and wordlessly raised his empty glass.

“You think another drink is going to get you out of answering my question?” Sonny asked, his tone serious and somber.

“I think getting another drink might convince me to answer it,” Barba responded as the server approached yet another round.

“Thanks,” he replied carelessly, his attention focused on his now replenished beverage. Silence lingered between them as Barba rotated the glass, almost absentmindedly, only taking sips of the dark liquor sparingly.

Sonny waited. He could be patient.

Finally, Barba spoke, “It’s like I have a loaded gun.”

“Do you?” Sonny quickly asked in reply, his eyes going wide. 

Though he was sure it was just a figment of his imagination, the buzz of conversation around them seemed to become eerily still. His mouth going dry at the thought of a loaded weapon in a crowded bar, Sonny waited for Barba to answer. 

Rolling his eyes, Barba said, “No, Carisi. I don’t. I’m making an analogy.”

“An analogy for what?”

“I thought it was obvious: I’m not dealing with this well. I dunno, maybe I’m the loaded gun. And the strangest thing is I’m desperate, okay? And yet I’m terrified that I’m going to do something drastic. I … I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Rafa,” Sonny said, confidently, “you’re not capable of that sort of cruelty. Trust me on this one.”

Taking yet another drink, Barba asked, “And what if I said the person I’m worried about hurting is you?”

A lump stuck in Sonny’s throat at this new admission and he did his best to gulp it down. Leaning forward, he made an attempt to pull Barba’s glass away from him.

“Now you’ve really had too much to drink.”

Yanking away, Barba pulled his drink back toward himself and hissed, “You don’t get it, Sonny! It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. You’ve handed me this loaded weapon and then have been all but provoking me to use it. That’s why I want you to tell Hadid. Please tell her and rid me of any possible leverage I could hold over you.”

“Leverage?” Sonny asked, taken aback. “Are you really saying you’d try blackmailing me over not disclosing someone else’s mistake? Why? For what purpose?”

“Because I am broken,” Barba admitted. “Because the idea of coercing a friend to do things he would never do if given a choice has somehow taken up a permanent residence in my mind.”

“You’re not that kind of person.”

Shaking his head, Barba said, “I don’t know anymore. All I know with I’m tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. And if that means using what I have to get what I want, then so be it.”

“That’s not a solution.”

“Then what would you have me do? Just sit here and pretend that everything is okay? That I don’t have demons gnawing away at me, trying to get me to do the unthinkable? And I could do it, Sonny, I know I could. I need to be stopped,” Barba sputtered in frustration, tears coming to his eyes. “Why won’t you stop me?”

Sighing, Sonny reached over for his jacket before sliding out of the booth. He stood silently, sliding his arms into the sleeves before he answered.

“I don’t have all the answers. But I do know that if you were to act on a compulsion like that, it would be an act of self-destruction rather than one of malice or intention to harm.

“You think I wouldn’t hurt you?”

“No, Barba, I don’t. Now, I’m going to go close out the tabs then we’re going before you confess to anything else and end up passing out before I get you home.”

Almost as though he had been defeated, Barba nodded silently. Bowing his head against the onslaught of tears, dark strands of his normally well-coiffed hair hanging down over his brow. 

Walking over to the bar, Sonny quickly finished paying for both his and Barba’s tabs. He took his time, giving his friend time to dry his tears in relative privacy. Then upon his return to the booth, he watched as Barba downed the last of his drink before standing up. As he swayed slightly, Sonny caught his arm, steadying him.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, reassuringly.

Barba said nothing, instead he just leaned against his former mentee as Sonny led him out of the bar. As they walked out into the night, Sonny couldn’t help but feel a weight settle over him. Had he been right to reassure Barba that everything was fine or had he inadvertently put them both on a trajectory that would ultimately lead to catastrophe?

Chapter 3

Sonny's fingers were steady as he hit the button on the elevator to take him up to Barba's hotel room floor. He’d been at this particular extended stay before, after the time at the bar. But that had been a while back. Since then, he hadn’t heard from Barba and neither had their mutual friends. Sonny was beginning to wonder if his former mentor had skipped town without telling anyone.

As the elevator doors rumbled open, Sonny stepped out onto the plush hotel corridor, feeling a strange sense of unease. 

Barba didn’t know he was coming. And after he had tracked the former counselor last time, Barba had made it known his unannounced presence was not appreciated. As Sonny approached the door, he could hear nothing but the sounds of his own heart beating wildly in his ears. He hesitated, wondering if he should just turn around and leave. 

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. A moment later, the door opened, and rumpled-looking Barba stood in the doorway. Standing there without a tie or suit jacket and his shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the older man’s vest was splayed open with all its buttons undone. Despite his state of relative undress and shorter stature, Barba looked as imposing as ever.

“Absolutely not," Barba said, standing his ground, preventing Sonny from entering. “Carisi, go home.”

“I see you’ve already started for the night,” Sonny said, raising a finger to indicate the half-drunk tumbler of dark liquor in his former mentor’s hand.

“What’s it matter to you?” Barba challenged.

“It matters if end up passing out and choking on your own vomit.”

“I’m not going to—“ Barba said, his voice rising before he abruptly stopped speaking. Taking a moment, he then said much more quietly. “Fine. Come in. Say your piece and then leave. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Sonny said with a little bit of mocking respect.

Still, feeling relieved, he stepped inside the hotel room. Glancing around, he noticed that the room was spacious and tidy. At a nearby desk lay a stack of paperwork and a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. Slung over the back of the chair, was Barba’s suit jacket with the brightly colored handkerchief spilling out of the lapel pocket.

“What is it?” Barba grumbled, interrupting Sonny’s visual analysis of the area.

A little nervous, Sonny didn’t answer right away. Instead, he made a bit of small talk.

“You working on a case?” he asked, jerking his head to the side towards the desk and its stack of papers.

“No,” Barba grumbled. “My mother’s estate is taking far more time to reconcile than I anticipated.”

“Can I help?”

Fixing the younger man with a glare, Barba said, “Estate law is especially complex. It’s best that you just stick to the small portion of the law you practice, counselor.”

Raising his hands in a small gesture of defeat, Sonny replied, “Okay, Barba. Have it your way.”

“If I had my way,” Barba said, gruffly, “I would be drinking in peace, not answering pointless questions about my day. So if you want to stay, you need to tell me why you are here in the first place.”

“I… um…,” Sonny faltered, “I’m sorry, Barba. I was trying to do what you asked me to do.”

“Which was what, exactly?”

“I went to Ms. Hadid to tell her about the incident involving my classmate’s bar examination.”

“How did that conversation go?”

“It, uh, didn’t actually end up happening. I got cold feet.”

“Jeez, Carisi,” Barba grumped, “did you really have to come here in person to tell me that?”

“Hey,” Sonny countered, “you don’t know Hadid like I do. She’s uncompromising and quick to pass judgment. I haven’t eaten all day because I’ve been so nervous to talk to her about it. I know it’s a small thing but it still could have serious repercussions.”

“Which is why—“

“Which is why,” Sonny said as he interrupted and echoed Barba’s words, “you told me to take care of it. But I’ve decided, I’m not going through with telling her. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation from the other night. And I’m going to call you out on your bluff.”

“My bluff?”

“Yeah, Barba, your bluff. Because at the end of the day, I know you’re not capable of ‘hurting’ anyone. And I’m going to prove it to you.”

“How?”

Sonny laughed, “I’m not going to tell Hadid about Kip so you’re going to have to blackmail me.”

“Carisi,” came Barba’s stern reply, “that’s not funny.”

“Sure it is, Barba,” he countered with a big grin. “Do your worse.”

Barba’s brows knitted together in confusion.

“What are you trying to prove?”

“I’m trying to prove to you that you don’t have to pretend to not be broken and callously cruel because you are in fact neither of those things.”

Eyes narrowing, Barba took a step forward. His voice low and dangerous, he said, “You are putting yourself in a position I guarantee you don’t want to be in. You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Sonny sighed, “Why are you fighting me on this?”

“Because,” Barba said vehemently, “my demons are my own. I will work through them on my own.”

“How?! By drinking yourself to death?”

Angrily, Barba turned away. Walking over to the desk, he set his drink down with a heavy thunk.

“Rafa?” Sonny gently prodded.

“Leave, Dominick,” Barba said curtly.

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Sonny said, approaching his former mentor and laying a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder.

Spinning around, Barba knocked his hand away. Looking at him with what could’ve only been pure rage, Barba spat as he gave him a shove, “LEAVE!”

Sonny stepped back, raising his arms up in a non-threatening gesture. “Hey,” he said calmly, “let’s talk, okay? There’s no need to get physical.”

Taking a step forward and with his fists clenched, Barba growled, “You think I won’t?”

Worried his former mentor might actually take a swing at him, Sonny said, “Barba, are you being serious right now? I have the advantage of both training and being bigger. You wouldn’t win.”

“I want you to GO!” Barba shouted, coming closer and giving Sonny another push.

“No,” Sonny countered. Backing away from the door, he walked over to the bed and sat at the end of it with a huff, the crisp bedclothes wrinkling beneath his weight. Taking off his suit jacket, he folded it and set it next to him.

He had no intention of leaving, not when Barba so clearly needed someone to help calm him down. After all the guidance his former mentor had provided him, he felt compelled to return the favor and help Barba work through the emotional upheaval his mother’s death had caused. And while Sonny was trying to outwardly convey a sense of calm composure, Barba was clearly in a state of distress.

With one hand on his hip and the other buried in his hair, Barba paced.

“Barba,” Sonny said softly, “calm down and just talk to me.”

“Calm down?!” Barba replied through quick breaths. “Sonny, you’ve gone too far. And now you’re sitting on my bed like … like …” Biting the knuckles on his hand, Barba turned away. However, Sonny could hear him say, “Oh my god, he’s on my bed.”

“Listen, okay?” Sonny said, his voice composed and steady. “I’m sorry I made you upset but I think it’s important to discuss what exactly set you off. I’ve never seen you this worked up before.”

Suddenly turning to face him, Barba said, “If I do anything, it will be your fault, Sonny. You understand that, don’t you? You … you pushed me too far.”

“Pushed you to do what?” Sonny asked. 

“For crying out loud!” Barba exclaimed as quick steps brought him over to the end of the bed. Grabbing Sonny’s vest and the layers of shirt beneath it, he pulled. “You have to leave!”

Hearing the sound of the popping of stitches, Sonny raised his arm and knocked Barba’s clutching hand away.

“Barba! Get your hands off of me. What the actual fuck are you doing?”

What occurred next, happened too quickly for Sonny to stop it. Barba raised an open hand and struck the younger man across the face.

Shocked, Sonny’s fingertips flew to his left cheek. The pain was quickly dissipating but it still hurt. Barba had been right, he had pushed him too far.

Still too stunned to speak, Sonny went to grab his jacket and stand. If Barba was so hell-bent on having him gone, he’d go. Glaring, he raised himself to his feet but was knocked further back onto the bed when Barba gave him a forceful shove. 

“Wha—?!”

Barba moved quickly, getting on the bed and pinning Sonny down. Sonny struggled, trying to push the other man off of him.

“Barba,” he huffed, “what are you doing? Get off of me.”

His hands up and gripping Barba’s arms, Sonny kept trying to force him off. But he didn’t have the upper position and the other man’s weight was centered on Sonny’s torso, effectively pinning him. A formidable struggle ensued, and while Barba attempted to grab his wrists, Sonny just tried to get away from the situation without harming Barba.

Thrashing around, and losing a shoe in the process, Sonny managed to swing one leg over the other and turn his hips at an angle. As his foot caught on the fabric of the bedspread, he used the leverage it gave to turn himself over onto his belly and to push himself back and towards the head of the bed. Now, he just needed to get his legs under him and he’d be able to shake Barba off.

A knee planted itself forcefully in the small of his back and it knock the air out of his lungs.

Having finally secured Sonny’s right wrist with his left hand, Barba leaned over him. He fished  something out from underneath one of the pillows, it must’ve been tucked under there all along: a looped restraint made from tightly woven nylon. With deft fingers, Barba wrapped it around Sonny’s wrist and firmly secured it with an attached band of wide velcro.

While Barba’s intentions were now becoming clear, Sonny found himself slow to react. It was as though his brain simply couldn’t fathom his former mentor being in the possession of such an item, let alone using it on him. And so, despite his struggles, he felt in a state of shock as he watched Barba pull out and wrap a second restraint around his left wrist. 

Feeling the weight come off of his back, Sonny could finally breathe again.

“Barba!” Sonny yelled, yanking at the restraints. “Let me go!”

“Quiet!” Barba snapped back, his tone hushed, as he hastily removed Sonny’s smartwatch from his wrist and pulled his phone from his pocket. Turning off the devices, Barba added, “Do you really want security to be called up here?!”

“Then let me go,” Sonny replied through gritted teeth.

The former ADA did not respond. Instead, he backed off until he was at the end of the bed. Then scooting off of it entirely, he slumped onto the floor. Only the top of his head now visible, Sonny watched as Barba’s fingers intertwine within the strands of his hair. His hands now balling into fists, he pulled at his short dark locks as he began to shake. And all Sonny could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and Barba’s short gasps of distress. 

Unwilling perpetrator, the phrase flashed across Sonny’s mind. It was a term often used by the defense to negate the guilt of their client. It was a tactic to manipulate the jury into thinking that somehow the defendant wasn’t fully culpable for their actions. 

But had Sonny inadvertently pushed his former mentor in becoming just that? Barba had been drinking before he got there. And though not as drunk as he was the night at the bar, it was definitely a factor in all this. 

Taking a deep breath, knew he had to somehow rewind tonight’s events. It was paramount, for both their sakes, that this ‘misunderstanding’ not go any farther. 

“Rafael,” he said as calmly as he could manage, “you don’t want to do this. You don’t want to hurt me. Let me go and no one has to know.”

“Stop,” Barba stammered, his volatile emotions cutting through and shaking his voice. “Don’t talk to me like some sort of negotiator.”

Getting up from the floor, Barba stalked out of the room. Entering the ensuite bathroom, he shut the door and locked it. And dread settled in Sonny’s stomach at the sound of the bolt sliding into place.

“Barba!” Sonny called out, though not too loudly. He didn’t want to risk drawing more attention to the situation from anyone potentially staying in the neighboring rooms. 

However, the door remained firmly closed.

Struggling against the restraints, Sonny tried to bring his hands together to undo the fastenings. When that effort became clearly impossible, he lowered his face to the velcro straps securing the loops and tried pulling them off by gripping them with his teeth. When they remained unmoved, Sonny twisted his hands around until he could see that there was a secondary adjustable hook that latched the straps in place once they were secured.

Fuck, Sonny silently fumed

His mind raced with the various circumstances that held led him to this situation. Feeling helpless, he weighed his options. He could start yelling again, it would surely anger Barba but it was the only possible way he could get someone to intervene. Of course, security would come and subsequently call the police. They were in Manhattan, so it was likely SVU would get called if the responding uniformed officers suspected any sort of sexual element to the assault.

Ugh. No, not that.

Then again, the unis might just recognize either him or Barba and call SVU anyway.

Sonny turned red with shame just at the thought of Captain Benson being called down to handle the unit’s both current and former ADA getting into such a predicament.

The reality was that fighting against the restraints around his wrists was pointless and his only viable option was that he needed to talk some sense into Barba and get him to undo the velcro straps. 

“Barba,” Sonny called again, his voice just above a whisper.

When there was no response, Sonny found himself with nothing left to do but fruitlessly struggle. The tight nylon restraints dug into his wrists the more he pulled at them. As the minutes ticked by, he grew tired. Finally giving up, Sonny maneuvered himself into the least uncomfortable position he could manage. 

Settling, Sonny turned his head to lay on one of the displaced pillows and waited for Barba to reemerge. Staring at the nearby digital clock that sat on one of the nearby nightstands, he watched the minutes tick by. With his mind a chaos of emotion and apprehension, Sonny chose to focus on the mundane.

One, two, three … sixty.

Trying to accurately count the seconds, Sonny recited each number every time the minute changed. He didn’t manage to make it through ten minutes before his eyes began to droop. Even though he found it odd that he felt tired enough to fall into an uneasy slumber, part of him was very aware that it was a common coping mechanism for the body to shut down in times of extreme stress and fear. 

Fear: it was never a word he before thought to associate with his former mentor. And yet now, he did.

Chapter 4

The metallic click of the bathroom door being unlocked quickly roused Sonny from unconsciousness. How long he had been out, he didn’t know. But it had been long enough for a wet patch of drool to form under his cheek and on the pillow. Instinctively, he went to wipe his face but was immediately hampered by the restraints still firmly in place.

Craning his neck, Sonny looked over his shoulder to see Barba emerge from the bathroom. The former ADA was clearly no longer being run ragged by his own emotions. Standing there, Barba was neat and presentable. Apparently, he had taken the time to shower and put on a fresh set of clothes.

Not yet fully awake, Sonny mumbled, “What…?”

Coming forward, Barba fiddled with one of the buttons on his sleeve. “What’s done is done. I hate to say it but there’s no turning back now.”

Dread clenched in Sonny’s belly, but he couldn’t help but ask, “Are you going to kill me?”

“I wouldn’t talk much if I were you,” he said firmly. “I’ll just gag you if you do. And, no, I don’t think killing you will be necessary.”

His mouth suddenly went dry, Sonny’s tongue shifted to the roof of his mouth as he swallowed against the lump forming in his throat.

“Were you sleeping?” Barba asked, his tone unnaturally casual. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Sonny softly confessed.

“Hmm,” Barba hummed in acknowledgment as he walked over to the desk and began searching through one of the drawers. “Good. It’s probably for the best. We’re going to have a late night.”

“Late? Barba, c’mon. Don’t …,” Sonny stammered. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t have me strapped to a bed against my will!”

Barba turned to shoot Sonny a cautionary glare.

“Sorry,” Sonny meekly apologized, remembering Barba’s prior threat about a gag. Then, when the other man resumed his search of the drawer, Sonny carefully asked, “What are you doing with restraints like these, Barba? Did you know I was coming?”

“No,” Barba answered. 

“Then why have them?”

“Why do you think?”

Fear clawed at Sonny’s throat and strained his voice as he asked, “You’ve done this before? Tied someone down to your bed?”

“Yes,” Barba calmly replied. “Though on previous occasions, the other party has always been willing. This, this is a first for me.”

As he spoke, Barba turned, his search over and a pair of scissors in his hands.

“Shit!” Sonny shrieked, renewing his struggle against his bonds, and thrashed helplessly on the bed. “Barba! Don’t! Please just — don’t!”

“Hush!” Barba’s voice interjected like the crack of a whip. “I don’t want to hurt you, Carisi; at least not in a way that will leave scars.”

Sonny’s jaw tightened, as he turned his face down towards the pillow beneath it. Unshed tears were burning at the corners of his eyes and he refused to let them fall. It was a terrible situation to be in but he had to remind himself that he wouldn’t make it any better by panicking. 

Once he felt as though he had his emotions in check, Sonny said, “This is not okay, Barba. You need help, psychological help.”

“And what,” Barba propositioned, as he came over to the side of the bed, “would a shrink tell me that I don’t already know? I know that when I am experiencing uncertainty in my life, I seek control as a form of stability. That’s all this is.”

“Okay, okay,” Carisi huffed, his mind scrabbling for reasons he could give Barba to change their present trajectory. “So if you want control, you have it. You get to decide how this goes, for both of us. But we both know the ramifications if this continues without my consent.”

“You’re offering your consent?”

“No. I didn’t say that,” Sonny immediately retorted. “I’m just saying that if you do anything more than what you have already done, there’s no undoing it. But you have the control. You can choose to undo the restraints and let me go. No harm, no foul.”

“But if I don’t?” Barba postulated. “What then, Carisi? What would you do? Let me answer that for you. You’ll do nothing. You’re your mother’s good Italian Catholic boy with strong traditional values. The shame alone is enough to prevent you from doing anything. And, on the off chance you gather the necessary fortitude to talk to someone about what takes place here tonight, I’m sure the statute of limitations will have long since passed.” 

“But would you be able to live with yourself, knowing what you had done?” Sonny seethed quietly, angry that Barba would manipulate him this way.

“I think so, yes.”

“Then you are not the man I thought you were,” Sonny bitterly admitted. “You really are broken and cruel. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I am sorry I ever trusted you. I am sorry I was ever your friend.”

Barba’s countenance grew dark as he listened to Sonny’s words, the hues of his green eyes shaded under his knitted brow and the muscles in his jaw flexing as he clenched it. Leaning over the bed, Barba’s fingers snaked their way under Sonny’s collar, flipping it up and loosening his tie.

“Hey!” Sonny protested as his tie was lifted up and brought higher up on his neck. “Barba, stop. Listen to me, you’ve got to lism-mhu-eeh.” As the length of silk was slotted between his teeth and pulled tight, the rest of his words were garbled and muffled.

“I think you’ve done enough talking. Shall we begin?”

No! Sonny screamed but without the full use of his lips and tongue, he couldn’t enunciate anything more than strained sounds.

“Relax,” Barba instructed, “or at least, as much as you can. After all, you came here requesting that I blackmail you. And that is what I am doing. This is the price you are paying for my silence. You’ve brought this on yourself.”

But I never thought you’d do anything like this!

Pulling against the restraints, Sonny knew they would not yield, and yet he still tried, flailing on the bed like a fish out of water. He struggled, hoping that there was a chance one of the straps wrapped under the mattress would snap and he’d get free. Barba couldn’t stop him then, that he was sure. And even without his phone and missing a shoe, he’d still run until he was far away from his former mentor as his legs could carry him. 

But each moment he spent contending with the restraints, he could feel the strength ebb from his muscles as they tired with effort. Finally, after many minutes of fighting to free himself, Sonny let his body go limp, yielding himself to the soft comforts of the mattress beneath his belly.

“I know I said it was going to be a long night,” Barba muttered. “But there’s no need to wear yourself out proving my point.”

Lowering the scissors he still held in his hand, he extended them and placed the open blades on either side of Sonny’s shirt sleeve.

Seeing what Barba was doing, Sonny gave a distinct moan of dissent.

“I know, I know,” Barba said, his tone almost placating. “It’s a nice shirt and so is the vest. But for what I have planned, I think it best to have you bare. Don’t worry though. I’ll keep what I can intact. You’ll have clothes to wear when you walk out of here.”

Sonny’s face contorted in fear and disgust as Barba closed the shears together with a grating snip. Trying to protest once more, no distinguishable words came from his mouth as he raged against what was being done to him. And it certainly didn’t stop Barba from meticulously cutting away at the fabric of his clothing. 

It made Sonny sick: the carefulness of Barba’s deliberate actions. Cold metal blades touched his skin with every movement and yet Barba made sure it was only swathes of cotton, linen, and silk being cut.

Closing his eyes, Carisi did his best to avoid having to be present for what was happening. If he could escape, even if it was just in his mind, it was the only way he could rationalize getting through this experience. However, as it turned out, his own thoughts were not the place to seek a reprieve.

How is this even happening? Barba has been one of my closest friends and mentors for years! I trusted him! And now… now this?!

That one simple word: this. It was the only word he could use to describe what was taking place because bringing himself to even think ‘assaulted’ was too much, let alone contemplate the idea of being raped. 

Barba wouldn’t?! Not that. Not after all the lives he’s seen destroyed by it. Not after all the work he has done to put those sorts of perpetrators away. This cannot be happening!

Gulping down his distress, Carisi held still as his clothes were slowly snipped into easily discarded pieces. Once Barba was done, the man stood back and viewed his work. The vestiges of Sonny’s shirt and vest now lay in scattered pieces on the floor.

Reaching down, the tips of Barba’s fingers traced along the smooth skin of Sonny’s spine. 

Sonny shuddered. It made his skin crawl and his stomach soured from knowing the degrading touch he felt belonged to someone he had trusted so completely. 

Naked from the waist up, Sonny tucked his bent arms so that they rested underneath him. Curling in on himself, he buried his face in the plushness of the white hotel pillow. How he wished there was enough slack in the connecting straps so he could bring his hands together and undo the velcro keeping him restrained. 

“Arr-ah,” Sonny tried to speak Barba’s name even though the gag prevented it. But Sonny was desperate. There had to be something he could say that would stop all of this.

“Shhh,” Barba hushed him, moving around to the end of the bed. “We’ve only just gotten started.”

When Sonny felt a hand reach down and wrap around his ankle, he kicked out. Though he didn’t manage to strike Barba, he was rewarded with a sharp and disapproving cluck of the tongue.

“Tsk,” Barba hissed. “Come now, Carisi. I’m not asking for your consent but I do demand your obedience. Otherwise, I’ll have to reconsider going against my word and start hurting you.”

If Sonny had the ability to speak and an ounce of power in this situation, he would’ve mouthed off. But he had a feeling telling Barba something along the lines of ‘bite me’ would have caused the already violating situation to escalate to new heights of depravity. Consequently, Sonny remained compliant as he was stripped of his socks and remaining shoe. 

Pressing his hips firmly into the mattress, Sonny hoped to deter Barba’s efforts at unfastening his belt and pants. But despite this, the other man was firm and methodical. Kneeling over Sonny’s legs, and pinning them to the bed with his shins, Barba’s unyielding fingers slithered down under his hips. Carefully, so as not to tear the fabric with sudden jerking motions, he undid the belt and unbuttoned Sonny’s pants. Once this was accomplished, Barba got off the bed and began to pull at each pant leg. It wasn’t a smooth process as Sonny was forcefully undressed, his pants snagged his underwear and they came down with them.

As the cool air brushed the skin of Sonny’s ass, he let out an unanticipated sob of grief. The last thing he wanted to do was cry but cry he did as he pressed his face into the pillow below. Like his trust, his clothes were now gone. In their place was left a profound sense of betrayal and heightened vulnerability. 

Nothing was said as the younger man cried. Instead of making one of his trademark sassy remarks, Barba moved about the room quietly; picking up and folding the intact clothing and setting them on a nearby chair. The items destroyed by the blades of Barba’s scissors were then discarded in the bin next to the desk.

Finally, coming to stand at the end of the bed, Barba surveyed his handiwork.

“You know Carisi, I have to say it: you are a very pretty specimen. Far more pretty than I think you realize. Had you remained as a detective, I am sure there would’ve eventually been a perp that would’ve noticed. I suppose what I’m saying is: this sort of thing was always inevitable. Just be glad it’s me and not some stranger.”

Turning his head, Sonny shot Barba the most damning glare he could manage.

Fuck you, Barba! He inwardly screamed. Fuck you for ever pretending to be my friend. And fuck you for trying to justify what you are doing, you sick fuck! I fucking hate you! You will burn in hell for this, you disgusting excuse for a man.

“I suppose,” Barba continued, “you should be grateful that I’m doing this to you and not someone more vulnerable. Honestly, Carisi, think about it: I have finally caved to acting out something I’ve only fantasized about. And out of all the people who could’ve pushed me past my breaking point, at least it was you. You know all the resources and tools you’ll need to deal with any sort of trauma. And that’s how I can live with myself because I know, once we’re done, you’ll be fine.”

Fine?! No! Barba! I won’t be fine. And fuck you for trying to twist my sense of integrity and willingness to protect others into a reason for me to be okay with this. This is not okay! 

Anger now surging again, it abated Sonny’s tears. 

I can’t just lay here and take it, he thought. I have to resist. I have to fight!

Pressing his knees together, he tried to keep what shred of dignity he had left as he pulled himself as far away from Barba as he could. Extending his right arm, he wrapped the excess length of nylon tethering him to the bed in his fist. Breathing in deeply, he gave the strap an almighty yank.

“Oh, we’re struggling again, are we? Go ahead, Carisi, wear yourself out. That’s made with the same material they use to make seatbelts,” Barba commented as he observed from the sidelines. “If those straps can withstand high-speed collisions, I very much doubt your tugging at it is going to make a lick of difference. My biggest concern is you’ll yank your shoulder out of its socket.”

Panting and sweating, Sonny ignored Barba and continued to pull at the tether. The bed springs groaned underneath his knees and the mattress began to curve upwards but the woven nylon remained intact. With one last push, he hauled a strap up and back before he felt something in his arm pop. 

“Ah!” He let out a gasp of pain and dropped back down onto the bed.

“Shit, Sonny!” Barba exclaimed, coming over to the right side of the bed. “I literally just said not to—“

Unable to keep quiet, Sonny interrupted Barba with a string of unintelligible expletives.

“Lower your voice,” Barba growled, “and I’ll take off the gag so you can tell me where it hurts.”

Immediately falling silent except for a constant grumble of pain, Sonny did as he was told. Once, Barba had loosened the knot, Sonny spat out the sodden fabric and exclaimed, “Fuck you, you mother fucking son of a bitch!”

With his done exceptionally dark, Barba replied, “Do you want to be in pain? Tell me where it hurts.”

“My fucking elbow,” Carisi growled.

“Good,” Barba replied. “Then it’s just a muscle strain or a small tendon tear.”

Lifting the silk of the tie back up, Barba ignored Sonny’s words of dissent as he retightened the knot.

“No, Barba. Arr-ah!”

“Give me a second,” Barba replied. “I’ll be right back.”

Walking over to the desk, Barba picked up the ice bucket before heading into the bathroom. Moments later, he returned, a plastic sack and a rolled-up hand towel in one hand and a small toiletry bag in the other.

Not wanting Barba to touch him, Sonny still relented when he was told to stretch out his arm. He lay on his left side warily eyeing Barba sat next to him and placed the towel-wrapped-ice on the joint before subsequently securing it by tying the two ends of the plastic bag around it. 

“There,” Barba pronounced. “That should hold for a bit.”

I still hate you, Sonny silently grumbled, though Barba’s small act of kindness had taken the sharpness off of his anger.

Getting up from the right side of the bed, Barba disappeared out of Sonny’s line of sight. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for what he thought was coming next. Maybe if he walked through what he anticipated would happen, it wouldn’t be as terrible when it was actually happening.

There would be the jingle of a belt being unbuckled before the zip of a fly coming undone. Barba would then get right up behind him before pushing his legs apart wide enough he’d have easy access. Then to the worst part: there would be pressure and the tug of skin on skin. It was likely the next repeated motions would create tears in delicate tissue. There would be pain. He would bleed. Barba would climax. And then it would be over.

It will be over, the notion echoed in his head.

“Carisi,” Barba's voice broke through Sonny's thoughts, “you are really not going to like this next bit but I’m going to need you to get on your knees. You can keep your shoulders down and rest your arm but those hips need to be up.”

Glancing backward, Sonny watched as Barba riffled through the toiletry bag and pulled out a few small items. One of which was a disposable razor.

“Uuccr-eehu,” Sonny muttered through his gag with a grumble.

“I take it you’re saying ‘no’ in the form of vulgar insults,” Barba replied. “But do keep in mind that you have very little to no control here. I am going to do exactly what I want and I am more than capable of making you comply. It’s your choice: the easy way or the hard way.”

Sonny shook his head. 

Just get on with it! Sonny raged silently. You don’t need to debase me any farther, you bastard!

“Trust me,” Barba growled, “it is easier to just get rid of the hair than let it tangle and catch once it gets matted with lube. Unless you’d rather I not use lube at all.”

Sonny knew that there was no avoiding whatever Barba had in store for him. He also knew that the anticipation of it all was beginning to edge him towards a state of panic of epic proportions. The thought of getting violated dry would not only make tearing a possibility but would guarantee it happening. With one last shake of his head and delicately cradling his arm against his chest, Sonny raised his hips and got onto his knees.

“Good boy,” Barba snarked, his patented sarcasm coloring his mocking words of praise. “Now spread your legs just a bit.”

Getting on the bed behind Sonny, Barba didn’t waste any time knocking Sonny’s shins to either side as he knelt between them.

Indignation seared through Sonny’s veins and he cocked a knee back just to thrust it back violently, kicking at Barba. This time he made contact.

“Oof,” Barba gasped as Sonny’s bare foot struck him.

And though Barba was reeling from being kicked, he wasted no time retaliating. 

Less than a second after kicking Barba, Sonny felt the pads of Barba’s fingers as they struck his testicles. 

Gasping, Sonny’s knees went out from under him and bile rose in his throat as he retched in agony. Unable to help himself, he curled up and whimpered at the pain.

“Why must you insist on making me hurt you?” Barba fumed. “I told you I would and yet you still act like you have no fear. What is wrong with you?”

There’s nothing wrong with me, Sonny silently answered. I’m just not some submissive fuck toy you can bend to your fucking will.

“This is your last warning, Carisi,” Barba continued. “Make me discipline you again and I’ll have to break out an actual gag that will keep you silent. I can make you suffer and you’ll regret being alive to experience it. Do you understand me?”

Still shaking from the pain, Sonny didn’t make a sound.

“I said do you understand me?” Barba repeated himself with a growl.

Sonny nodded his head in agreement. What other choice did he really have? He was no masochist and he was finding that pain was a strong motivator. 

“Now back up on your knees. And don’t fucking kick me.”

Grinding his teeth down against the saliva-sodden silk of his tie, Sonny complied. With his head bent low, he hid his face in shame. He wanted to cry again but his fear kept the tears at bay.

A cool wet cloth was pressed between his cheeks as Barba wiped him clean of any of the day’s sweat and grime. Next came a muffled hissing sound as a can of shaving cream’s nozzle was pressed before the damp foam was applied to the skin surrounding his puckered hole.

Humiliation wasn’t a strong enough word for what was happening to him. And yet Barba was acting as though it was the most straightforward process and not a gravely cruel form of sexual assault.

Once Barba had finished applying the shaving cream, he began to use the razor. Cautious strokes of the blade were used to get rid of any hair from the sensitive area. Seemingly, Barba was not bothered by the actions he was taking as he began to speak.

“I am going to ask you a few questions, Carisi. You need to be completely honest because I will most definitely find out if you’re lying. Just tap on the bed to answer: one tap for yes, two taps for no. Do you understand?”

Begrudgingly, Sonny tapped once.

“Earlier you said you haven’t eaten today because you were nervous about talking to Ms. Hadid. Was that a factual statement?”

The question, though straightforward, was not one Sonny had expected. Then again, it was certain that Barba was prepping to penetrate him anally. It only made sense that the former ADA wanted to ensure he knew what he was running into once he breached Sonny’s virgin hole.

Shuddering at the realization of the context and the calculated callousness, Sonny tapped once.

“Have you taken a shit today?”

This question was worse than the first and Sonny had a hard time answering it. His mind raced, trying to remember such a mundane yet incredibly explicit personal matter. To complicate things, Barba was palming Sonny’s ass like a basketball in order to spread his cheeks apart. Sonny clenched.

“Hey!” Barba scolded, “Do you want me to nick you? Because that’s how you get nicked. Now, answer the question.”

Sonny tapped once for yes.

“Was it solid?”

Again, Sonny tapped once.

“Good,” Barba said, a bit of relief in his tone. “That means you’re probably clean enough and I won’t have to douche you. I wasn’t looking forward to trying to have you squat over a bucket while still tied down to the bed.”

Sonny growled in indignation at the mere thought.

“You know,” Barba relayed, “I probably don’t need to even bother asking this but have you ever been on the receiving end of anal sex?”

Sonny couldn’t even bring himself to dignify that question with a response.

Sighing, Barba finished shaving Sonny’s ass and wiped him off. Then, getting off of the bed, he headed over to a nearby closet. It opened with a creak and though a few articles of clothing hung on the rod and a suit case rested at the bottom, there was nothing that immediately drew Sonny’s attention. What could it be that Barba needed to get?

Taking down a large black box that had been sitting on the top shelf, Barba carried it over to the bed. He placed it down by the headboard so Sonny didn’t have to crane his neck to see it.

But before opening it, Barba explained, “This: this is very special. I saw it being used once in a femdom video and it shocked even me. Luckily, the domme was kind enough to drop a link to the product she used in the comments. I had to order it from the UK. It took months to get here and I haven’t yet had the chance to use it. There was no one I considered special enough to use it with. But you, Sonny, you are very special.”

With this pronouncement, Barba opened the box.

Sonny’s eyes went wide. 

For all intents and purposes, it was a large black silicone snake. With a tapered head and thick scaly body, it was absolutely massive.

Staring at it, Sonny’s vision swam with an array of colors before blacking out completely.

Chapter 5

“Sonny?” a voice called his name. “Sonny?!”

“Barba?” he replied, his tongue feeling thick and wooly. 

“Hey,” Barba said softly, “you back with me now?”

“Yeah,” Sonny answered, disoriented and confused.

“What’s going on with you? You keep losing consciousness on me. Though this time, I think you fainted.”

I fainted? Sonny wondered. And then it all came rushing back to him: abruptly showing up at Barba’s hotel, confronting him, Barba trying to get him to leave, them fighting, the restraints, having his clothes cut off of him, getting shaved, and lastly, seeing what it was Barba had in a big black box. 

Jerking away from Barba’s deceivingly caring words and gentle touch, Sonny didn’t get far. He was still restrained. He felt an invisible pressure on his chest, it restricted his breathing and his panic rose. His breaths coming in rapid succession, Sonny thought he might pass out again.

“Sonny,” Barba gently hummed, “Easy there, Son. You’re okay. Just take a few deep breaths and try to relax.”

With his gag having already been removed while he was out, the thought of screaming flashed across his mind. But Sonny quickly opted to plead with Barba instead. It was not as though a scream wouldn’t be immediately silenced and subsequently punished. A scream would not guarantee help would come, either.  He decided that he much rather have the ability to communicate.

“I can’t relax. Barba,” he begged quietly, “please, can we stop? I’m sorry for pushing you to do this, okay? Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll stay here. I’ll be quiet. I’ll do whatever you want. You can even leave me tied up. But, Rafa, that thing is like six feet long. If you force that inside of me, I’ll die. I know I will. Please, I don’t want to die. Not like this. Please, not like this.”

Barba didn’t respond right away to Sonny’s pleas. But when tears started to fall from Sonny’s eyes as he looked up at his former mentor, Barba gently wiped them away before then placing a chaste kiss on Sonny’s brow. 

“You won’t die,” Barba stated.

“Please,” Sonny cried, feeling guilty that he was disregarding his own moral compass, “can’t you just have sex with me instead? I much rather take what’s between your legs than that, that monster!”

“Are you really asking me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Sonny stammered.

With a heavy sigh, Barba replied, “As I said, Carisi, you are a beautiful specimen. I’ll not corrupt you by violating you in ways that should be intimate. Besides, think of the DNA I’d leave behind.”

“No one has to know. Rafa! I won’t tell a soul. You know I won’t. That’s why you picked me, right?”

“Sonny,” Barba chided. “We are way past the point for bargaining. You have nothing to offer me that will change my mind. I have you and I will take what I want. There is no stopping me.”

“You have me now,” Sonny frantically rationalized. “But what about later, Barba, do you want me later? Do you want me whenever you want? Because you can have me. I will give myself to you. Not just this time but every time.”

“It sounds like you asking me to keep you like a pet.”

“Or a boyfriend,” he stuttered.

“Boyfriend? Sonny, you’re straight.”

“So? Does it matter?”

“A relationship is more than just physical intimacy, you know.” 

Getting up from where he sat on the bed, Barba paced a bit. This was the first time since he had emerged from the locked bathroom that he was showing any sign of real emotion. 

Was it possible that Barba’s outward portrayal of decisive calmness this past hour was just him going into some sort of dissociative-like state? A state where Barba’s mind retreated to a place he could assert power and control because he felt overwhelmed and unable to cope. Which in turn resulted in his behavior resembling that of someone on a sort of dementedly sadistic autopilot.

Sonny’s heart hammered in his chest. This was possibly his only way out of this mess. He had to convince Barba that he was serious about establishing and maintaining a romantic relationship with him, even if it meant going against some of his most fundamentally held beliefs.

Stopping his pacing, Barba asked, “Do you trust me? Answer me honestly, Sonny.”

Trembling at the potential repercussions, Sonny admitted, “I used to…”

“Then wouldn’t I be a fool to trust you to keep any promising you make for the future?”

“I wouldn’t call you a fool,” Sonny bitterly conceded, “but yes, I suppose you shouldn’t trust me. But, Barba, just because you shouldn’t doesn’t mean you can’t. I swear on my mother’s life, you can trust me. I want to be your boyfriend and all that entails. I’ll take you home with me to Staten Island for Sunday family dinners and everything. Please, Barba, please. You can trust me.”

Sighing, Barba said, “As tempting as your offer might be, Sonny, I really don’t think you’d follow through.”

The finality of Barba’s statement brought Sonny to another bought of tears. He couldn’t recall a time in the past he cried this much and yet there was no stopping it. Sobs tore from his chest and he could only breathe in with shuddering gasps. As much as he wanted to reason with Barba, all Sonny could do was cry.

Leaving his side, Barba left briefly only to come back with a damp washcloth.

“Oh, Sonny,” he said gently, wiping the tears and mucus running down Sonny’s face. “I know you don’t want this, but you don’t have to make such a fuss.”

“It’s hu - humiliating and de - degrading,” Sonny hiccuped through the tears. “This shouldn’t be - be happening. I used to be a - a cop. And I - I trusted you.”

“This isn’t going to last forever,” Barba soothed. “And I promise, it won’t kill you. Besides, it’s extremely flexible and only three and a half feet long, not six.”

Shaking his head, Sonny tearfully lamented, “It’s too big, Barba. It’s too big.”

“You'll be fine. I've seen this done before.” 

“In porn!” 

Barba glared. 

“Do you need me to put your gag back on?”

“No,” Sonny said with a shake of his head. “Barba, please, no.”

Instead of replying, Barba moved from the side of the bed down to the end. 

As Sonny craned his neck to see, he noticed that the black box had been moved to the foot of the mattress.

Was this really happening?!

“It seems sort of strange,” Barba said, his tone once again falsely casual. “You keep calling me Barba as if we’re merely work colleagues. But I think we’ve moved past that, don’t you? This is a far more intimate situation, so if you must call me anything, use my given first name. And not that pet name you picked up from Liv, either.”

“Rafael.”

“Yes,” Barba stated. “Unless you’d rather use terms like ‘sir’ and ‘master’ which are more typical in these types of scenes.”

Even hearing the terminology left a lump in Sonny’s throat. Still, he shook his head.

“Okay,” Barba said, exhaling deeply. “I think we’re finally ready to get started. Now, I know it’s intimidating.”

“I’m not intimidated,” Sonny interjected, his voice raw. “Rafael, I’m scared. Don’t you get that?”

“I have a perfect understanding of the situation I’ve put you in,” Barba replied. “Inducing fear is not accidental. Fear makes you easier to control.”

Gulping, Sonny softly begged for the last time, “Please don’t do this.”

His voice laced with pity, Barba replied, “It’s too late. Now, you can keep laying down for this part but later I’m going to have you get up on your knees when I use the toy. Understood?”

“Yes, Ba — Rafael,” Sonny whispered, his whole body tensing up and preventing him from even raising the volume of his voice. 

Sonny could feel the shifting of the mattress beneath him as Barba’s weight was added to the bed. 

“So pretty,” Barba murmured softly as he pushed Sonny’s legs open.

He wasn’t looking but he could feel Barba touching him, with his strong masculine hands. They were nothing like the slender fingers of a woman, especially not as Barba tucked his hand down between Sonny’s legs and wrapped it around his testicles. Rolling the tender balls between his fingers, Barba let out a sound somewhere between a hum and a growl.

Fear and disgust writhed in Sonny’s belly. He knew that with one tight squeeze of his hand, Barba could have him gagging in agony. But besides that, Sonny couldn’t help but feel that Barba’s apparent lusts and desires were wholly unnatural. It was deplorable, the way Barba was engaging in such a depraved manner. It went against his most sincere and, and not to mention, religious beliefs: to objectify or be the object of another man’s sexual desire. 

Guilt gnawed at him.

Sonny had even offered to enter into such practices willingly had Barba agreed not to use the snake. Surely that was a sin as well. 

Mumbling some other words Sonny’s ears could not quite capture, Barba had removed his hand only to place it as well as the other hand on each of Sonny’s ass cheeks. Barba spread him open and the cool air of the room grazed against his freshly shaven skin.

Sonny felt so bare and exposed and he feared he’d die from embarrassment as Barba leaned down a drew the wet surface of his tongue across Sonny’s sensitive flesh.

“Don’t,” Sonny groaned with a hitch in his chest.

It was vile and abhorrent, what Barba was doing. 

“Never been eaten out before?” Barba questioned. “Really, Sonny? Not even by a woman?”

Through gritted teeth, Sonny confessed, “Never.”

“Then,” Barba said, “you’ve been dating the wrong sorts of women.”

Shifting uneasily, Sonny tried to stay still. Repulsed as he was, he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. His tender hole twitched and spasmed tightly with every wet caress or press of lips.

“I must say,” Barba stated, between additional strokes of his tongue, “your tight little ass is just as pretty as the rest of you. It tastes pretty too, almost earthy but with a hint of sweetness. I can tell you keep yourself clean, unlike other men. I would, though, prefer if you would unclench just a bit so I taste a bit of that inner pinkness.”

His teeth gritted together closed and Sonny couldn’t bring himself to respond. It was bad enough that he was being forced to endure such deplorable behavior. But, having that behavior described to him in vivid detail was just making a bad situation worse.

“Do you like how that feels?” Barba asked, his breath hot on Sonny’s hole.

Sonny silently answered with a meek shake of his head.

Huffing indignantly, Barba ceased his licking and pulled back.

At that moment, Sonny was relieved. Unfortunately, that relief was short-lived.

With his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched closed, Sonny could only listen as there was a pop of a capped lid and the oozing sound of viscous liquid. A second later, the cool and slimy sensation of lube smeared between his cheeks sent Sonny scrambling. With his wrists secured, he could do nothing besides try and angle his lower half away from Barba.

“Sonny,” Barba grumbled, grabbing the inside of a thigh and roughly repositioning the younger man. “Knock it off. You’ve already thoroughly exhausted all your options and continuing to resist me is pointless. Besides, don’t act as though you’re some sort of naïve virgin.”

Wanting to counter in some way, Sonny instead found himself completely frozen as a slick digit was prodding the outside of his anal opening. His whole body tensed and his fists curled in the bedclothes beneath him as Barba’s finger slowly pushed through the tight ring of muscle.

“That’s it,” Barba muttered. “It’s just a finger. You’re okay.”

“Ra-Rafael,” Sonny said through stuttering breaths.

It was distressing, though not excruciating. But the twinge of pain was enough to start inducing him into a panic.

“Shhh,” Barba hushed him. “Just relax and let your body get accustomed to it.”

But there was no getting used to such a violating intrusion, and he could feel his heart rate rising as it became harder and harder to breathe. 

This was also no doctor’s examination, despite Barba’s even and composed demeanor. In a medical setting, there might be some discomfort but assuredly the doctor would be wearing rubber gloves. Instead, Sonny found himself actively trying to ignore the sensations of warm skin-to-skin contact and the odd press of Barba’s fingertip. To make matters worse, his body was having instinctual reactions to what was happening. It was too much. All of it was just too much.

“Wait!” Sonny suddenly exclaimed, heat flaring up through his whole body and settling on his face. “Rafael, stop. You have to stop.”

“Sonny, settle down. I told you, you’re fine.”

“No,” Sonny huffed. “It’s not that. If you don’t stop, I might end up . . . shitting myself.”

“You’re feeling the sudden urge to defecate?” 

“Yes,” Sonny stuttered.

“Good,” Barba replied, nonchalantly. “Don’t fight it. Relax into it.”

Mortified by such an instruction, Sonny replied, “This is sick, Rafael. Please don’t make me do this.”

Barba sighed, “I know this is your first time but it’s not mine. And in my experience, I very much doubt there’s anything in your system that needs immediate clearing out. It’s just an urge trigged by digital penetration. It will pass. But rest assured, I am prepared to clean us both up if you do end up making that sort of mess.”

Biting his lip, Sonny barely kept himself from saying that he rather die. The humiliation was awful enough on its own, he didn’t need to complicate things by wishing for death. Instead, he remained quiet and still. And as each moment passed he felt the rigidity fall from his limbs as he became more and more pliant. 

Minutes passed and Sonny silently noted that as much as he hated being forcefully anally penetrated and violated, Barba’s actions so far were actually becoming bearable. Instead of sawing in and out of him, the tip of Barba’s finger was applying subtle pressure as it stroked a spot inside of him.

Sonny muffled a moan.

Whatever Barba was stroking, it felt . . . different, electric, even. But not electric like a sharp shock but more of a warm buzz that was spreading through his whole body.

“That’s it, Sonny,” Barba hummed. “Just relax.”

When he felt Barba’s finger ease out of him, Sonny glanced over his shoulder to see what was happening. Still terrified of the silicone snake, he was relieved to recognize a slim container of lubrication in Barba’s hand.

“Don’t worry,” Barba said as he smeared more lube on his fingers. “I’m still working on prepping you. The toy is too flexible to push past much resistance. And you’re still far too tight for me to get it in.”

Sonny whined in frustration and discomfort as he returned his head to the comforts of the pillow beneath it. He didn’t want to be prepped open to be violated. But saying that aloud wouldn’t change the fact that he had no choice in the matter. 

He felt Barba’s finger once again prodding at his backdoor. And though he clenched against the intrusion, there was less resistance as Barba pressed inside of him. A few soft strokes later and the first finger was joined by a second. 

“Rafael,” he bemoaned at the stretch. “Too much.”

“It’s not too much,” Barba chided. “You just need to loosen up Sonny.”

“Can’t,” Sonny replied with a shake of his head. 

“Hmm? You mean you can’t take something like this?” Barba questioned as he V-ed his fingers open.

Gasping at the sensation of the expanding digits inside him, Sonny lowered his head and bit down on the pillowcase.

Waiting for a beat, Barba said, “Looks like you took it just fine to me. Let’s keep trying that, shall we?”

His voice muffled by the pillow, Sonny screamed in indignation. He wanted to kick out at the man violating him but anticipation of painful repercussions, along with a healthy dose of fear, kept his temper in check. 

As Barba continued to V his fingers open and close, one of the fingers was brushing against that very particular spot again and the strange sensations it elicited. His eyes falling shut, Sonny let his mind focus on that electric feeling rather than the mechanics of what was happening to him. Like white noise clouding his brain, he let it wash over him.

Once again, the minutes ticked by, and with them, they pulled the tension from Sonny’s muscles and bones.

“Good boy,” Barba praised him softly. 

He could feel the heat of Barba’s breath against his skin just a second before the other man pressed a kiss on Sonny’s lower back, right above his left ass cheek.

Sonny would’ve grumbled at this but there was an odd sort of pressure beginning to mount. It was like nothing he had experienced before. It was as though Barba was pulling at invisible strings within him, weaving them into some intricate pattern with only the motions of his fingers.

Barba’s smooth movements were that of someone well-practiced. As he alternated between the come-hither motions and the occasional V-ing of his fingers, the slickness of the lube ensured that his digits glided along with relative ease. Repetitive and rhythmic, the actions were almost mesmerizing. 

As his whole body was beginning to tense, Sonny found himself beginning to pull his knees up under him.

“Rafael,” he gasped, his breaths becoming shorter.

“Ride it out,” Barba instructed, his fingers still resolute in their motions. “Even if you feel like you’re losing complete control of your body, don’t try to stop it.”

Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Sonny was seeing stars. And then, simultaneous with a sharp intake of breath, he reached some sort of peak. Waves of pressure seemed to be released and his whole body trembled. It was as though he’d been disconnected from the world and totally immersed in a cloud made of soft yet intense sensation. By the time the waves settled down to mere ripples, he was completely exhausted.

“Fuck,” Sonny muttered in a husky whisper.

He knew he had had some physiological response but still, it wasn’t like anything he had ever experienced or knew he could experience.

Behind him, Barba removed his fingers briefly before adding in a third. There was no burning at the stretch this time, even with the slight push and pull motion Barba was using.

“What…?” Sonny questioned.

Answering him, Barba explained, “I find orgasms from internal simulation of the prostate are much more powerful than external ones. Additionally, there’s little to no refractory period. And with all those endorphins flooding your system, it really helps to loosen you up.”

“I … I came?” Sonny uncertainly wondered aloud. “I’m not … I’m not even hard.”

“Time to get on your knees, Sonny,” Barba instructed.

Barely registering what was being said to him, Sonny let Barba move him into position. He felt groggy, almost drunk. Looking down, he stared at his limp cock hanging between his thighs. It was dripping, and not with lube either. Drops of clear fluid were freely leaking out of his cock and falling to the bedspread below. 

Sonny felt the blush of shame heating his cheeks. 

What was happening to him? This was all very wrong. His former mentor was basically raping him; and using his fingers alone, Barba had managed to make him orgasm like some sort of cheap and easy broad.

“Rafael?” he whispered just loud enough over the sloshing noises being made by the fingers and lube in his ass. “Can we stop? Please. I don’t know if I can handle any more, at least not mentally.”

“By the time you’re incapable of speech,” Barba countered, “then I will know you aren’t capable of handling anything more.”

“Do you plan on stopping then?”

“I might. We’ll see.”

Chapter 6

Sonny knew there was a term for what he was trying to do. It was called dissociation. There was little wonder why he was doing it. It was easier to no longer associate himself with what was happening to him physically than continue to face the fact that he was being raped.

Actually, a voice in his mind chided, the penal code stipulates that for the charge of rape to be applied, the perpetrator must engage in sexual intercourse with the victim. Since Barba has only used his fingers, the charge would be aggravated sexual abuse in the second degree. But once he uses that freakishly long dildo, you can tack on sexual abuse in the first degree.

However, as the victim, he would not be assuming his role as ADA. He wouldn’t be upping the charges against Barba at all. 

It would be satisfying though: personally bringing charges against the former ADA assigned to SVU.

Closing his eyes, Sonny envisioned the scene. He’d be standing in the courtroom, expensively dressed in a sharp suit and a pair of shined-up Oxfords, presenting the evidence like it had happened to someone else and not to him. His face would be contorted in righteous rage as he detailed for the jury all the corrupt and heinous acts that Rafael Barba had committed. And Barba, he would …

He would wipe the floor with you, Sonny’s internal dialogue supplied. Barba went to Harvard. You went to Fordham Law. It’s not an even matchup and you know it. 

He wouldn’t represent himself either. A lawyer who represents themselves has a fool for a client. And you know that Barba doesn’t abide fools.

What then? Sonny thought. I couldn’t prosecute him and he wouldn’t represent himself either. 

He knew what would happen. He’d be sitting behind the state-assigned prosecutor with his friends and family. They’d surround him in a cocoon of protection. But he would still be unable to keep his eyes off the back of his former mentor’s head. Barba, of course, would be sitting with his defense attorney, his eyes straight forward. Steadfast and determined, he’d never even glance back over his shoulder at him. 

Would Barba do that because he was afraid he might burn beneath the heated glares of hatred? Or rather, would he do it as an exhibition of complete control as he feigned innocence? Crimes involving sex were, after all, not the easiest things to prove. Especially if Barba kept his word and didn’t — Carisi shuddered — use his penis to fuck him. Would Barba claim it had been consensual or pretend like it never happened at all?

But this was all predicated on Sonny bringing charges. 

Barba was right. 

It was doubtful Sonny would do that. Even now, as he knelt naked, his ass exposed as Barba sexually abused him with multiple fingers, he knew that the title of ‘victim’ was one he did not want to claim. The shame of it was just too much to bear. So he here was, dissociating and  getting lost in thoughts of being in court instead of being present in this awful reality. 

And just as Sonny knew he would not disclose what happened this evening to anyone. He also knew that dissociation during traumatic events often was a precursor to developing PTSD.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: it was a nasty fate.

A bout of anger surged through Sonny’s veins. The intensity of his hatred towards Barba, had it been made of something other than emotion, could’ve burned through him. It was as if his rage was molten metal, pouring through him and casting off bits of hot slag in sparks of hostility. 

Fight back!!! Sonny’s mind screamed at him. Get out of this and kill the mother fucker!

But the ache in the crux of his arm, where he had pulled or maybe even torn a ligament from yanking at the restraints, throbbed numbly. It was a constant reminder: he wasn’t physically capable of getting out of this, no matter how hard he tried.

Despair wasn’t enough to temper his anger. However, it pulled him back into the sharpness of his reality. Overcome by emotion, Sonny let out a gasping sob.

Behind him, the even tone of Barba’s voice resonated with calculated composure.

“More tears, Sonny? I thought we were past the crying phase.”

Though his face was damp with a mixture of the tears and the mucus dripping from his nose, Sonny still snapped back in anger.

“Fuck you, Rafael. You know exactly what you are doing. You know I will never, ever get passed what you are doing to me. I wish — I wish you would just kill me.”

“Kill you?” Barba replied, the shock in his voice palpable. “Sonny, you can’t be serious.”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life as a victim,” Sonny countered, though jagged breaths. “Not a cop or a lawyer, not a son or a brother, but as a victim. I’ll never be anything else. I’ll never be a husband or a father, Rafael. You have stolen my life from me, so you might as well kill me.”

Barba heaved a heavy sigh.

“That’s a worst-case scenario. Besides, we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet. Who knows, you may even like it.”

“No!”

“Watch your volume,” Barba hissed. “You know what I’ll do if you don’t.”

With a shake of his head, Sonny lowered it to the pillows below and let the tears silently fall.

Then came the now-familiar snapping sound of the lid on the tube of lube. He felt it dribbling down the crease between his ass cheeks as it met Barba’s still-inserted fingers at the point where they were still fucking him at a slow and lazy pace.

The addition of more lubrication could only mean one thing: Barba was nearing the end of his preparations. Soon, Sonny was going to find himself impaled on more than just a few fingers. Sloppy noises issued from where Barba had forced his body open wide for insertion. Sonny could even feel the slight brush of fabric on his cheeks where the cuffs of Barba’s dress shirt were whispering along his skin.

For a second, Sonny felt a pang of dismay at the thought of getting such fine clothes soiled by the excessive amount of lube that was being used. Then, chagrined that the thought had even crossed his mind, he did and said nothing as Barba continued. The ever-fluctuating emotions crisscrossing his mind kept him unbalanced, pliable, and, most of all, subdued.

Had Barba known this whole time that this is how it would go? That the fear, anger, despair, shame, humiliation, and outrage would undermine his ability to maintain any sort of composure. That all of it would effectively hobble him like some sort of tamed creature, rendering him defenseless and vulnerable. Had Barba known?

Fuck.

There was no answering his question. Instead, Barba began once again to command Sonny’s attention.

“Sonny, you’re going to have to listen to me now and respond when I speak to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Rafael,” came Sonny’s meek reply. 

“And no more talk of how you would rather be dead. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Rafael,” Sonny muttered through gritted teeth. 

If Barba didn’t want him speaking those words, then fine. He wouldn’t say them aloud. But he would continue to think it: that he wanted to be dead. If he was being honest with himself, he wanted Barba dead as well. He wanted his former mentor gasping for breath as he wrapped his hands around Barba’s neck and squeezed until the man was deceased. And though shame blossomed at the thought of committing such a mortal sin, Sonny rolled around in the idea like a pig in the muck.

“I am not sure how good of a look you got at my special toy snake, Sonny,” Barba continued, seemingly obvious to the turmoil his actions were invoking. “But it is a thing of beauty, it really is. There is a flared base at the end, so it doesn’t taper off like a real snake’s tail. But that’s a safety feature, it ensures that it doesn’t get pushed completely inside. If that sort of thing happens, it’s a one-way ticket to the ER.”

Sonny nearly snorted in disbelief. That thing was so long, he knew that no way could that possibly happen. At least, he hoped not.

“It’s crafted out of smooth silicone,” Barba continued. “It’s easy to clean. Though, I admit, I haven’t used it before now. But besides that, it has these detailed scales and ridges on it to mark how deep it’s gone. And the head of the snake, it’s really shaped like one. There’s a blunt nose that tapers into a bit of a bulbous head, but that’s the widest part. The rest of the body isn’t that wide. Really, it’s not. I would say the circumference is just smaller than that of a silver dollar.”

Not knowing how to respond, Sonny said nothing at first. Instead, he felt his belly churn at Barba’s practically loving description of the sex toy. 

It’s just a toy, he told himself. It’s just a toy that is being used as intended. If Barba uses it properly, it won’t hurt. It’s supposed to be pleasurable.

Sonny had no intention of deriving any pleasure from the object but he knew that he wasn’t going to avoid it being used on him. Besides, he had exhausted all his options. He had fought, bargained, and pleaded. Better for him to come to grips with his reality now instead of tensing up and prolonging the process. 

“Just do it,” Sonny finally said, his voice muffled as he buried it in the pillows. “Rafael, please. Get it over with.”

When Barba replied, Sonny could tell there was a wide grin on the other man’s face, even if he couldn’t see it.

“And I thought you’d never ask.”

Sonny could feel Barba’s fingers flex inside of him as they were slowly drawn out. But before the full length of the digits had left his desecrated hole, Sonny realized that Barba had the nose of the snake already butting up against his puckered entrance. Instinctively, he tightened and wished he could prevent the inevitable.

“Sonny,” Barba chided, “relax.”

“I can’t,” Sonny gasped his earlier expressed desire to ‘get it over with’ quickly forgotten. “Please, no. No, no, no…”

Like a broken record, he pleaded for Barba to stop as his former mentor used the tips of his fingers to spread Sonny’s ass wide and eased in the head of the snake.

Blunt nose first, the toy penetrated him and Sonny could only inhale sharply as efforts to keep the intrusion at bay failed. As he released the air in his lungs, he could feel the widening bulbous head push into him as the rim of his asshole flared out around the widest portion of the snake’s silicone skull.

“Oh fuck!” Sonny exclaimed as finally the head popped inside his rectum. 

The ring of muscle along the rim of his ass burned at the exertion of having to spread so wide.

“Head’s in,” Barba noted gleefully. “You should see yourself, Sonny. It looks like it’s a part of you. It’s almost as if you’ve grown another appendage.”

Shifting uneasily, Sonny said nothing. And though silent tears streamed down his face, he knew better than to give his disgust and revulsion voice. Besides, he had to admit it, the stretch of the snake’s head was no worse than the stretch he had felt around Barba’s fingers. The toy was pressing against that very particular spot that had given Sonny those electric feelings earlier. And the weight of it tugged teasingly at the inner rim of his ass. Couple those two sensations together and Sonny wasn’t as horrified as he initially thought he would be.

Barba’s fingers briefly grazed along the plump swell of Sonny’s ass cheeks as the former ADA gripped the toy just below the base of the head. With persistent yet cautious effort, Barba pushed it further inside Sonny’s rectal cavity.

His jaw fell open and Sonny repeatedly gulped in one lungful of air after another. Words were failing him as he tried to comprehend the sensations he was perceiving. He felt full; too full. And it was all so wrong. It was the reverse of all the experiences he had ever had in his lifetime. Where he was well acquainted with the sensation of defecation, this was the reverse of that. It was unnatural.

“Rafael,” Sonny gasped, unable to escape the feeling of total defilement, “take it out. Please, take it out.”

However, despite Sonny’s pleas, Barba kept slowly easing in more and more of the snake’s length.

The experience of being penetrated completely and Barba’s lack of communication left Sonny feeling utterly helpless. It was as if his consciousness or his soul could have been removed from his body and been left on the outside: a passive observer. Because, as of this moment, he had no tangible will of his own and was totally incapable of interceding and preventing the events that were occurring.

He knew he couldn’t with any accuracy estimate the amount of length that had been pushed past the rim and into his rectum but Sonny was sure that it was far too much. That was until pain shot through him like he had been pierced or stabbed with something far more sharp and solid than the blunt rubber nose of a sex toy.

Sonny couldn’t help it; he screamed. Still, knowing Barba would gag him again, he tried to swallow down the volume of his cry and was left gasping out a sob.

“Shh,” Barba hushed Sonny, calmly explaining. “We’ve just reached the S-curve that connects your anal passage to the rest of your intestinal tract.”

His fingers clenched the bedspread beneath him, the fabric bunching and folding in his grip. Sonny's knuckles turned white as he gasped, his breath ragged and shallow, each inhale a struggle against the waves of discomfort crashing through him.

“You,” he wondered aloud, though his voice kept hitching because of the pain, “you really get - get off on this … sort of thing?”

Behind him, Barba shifted his weight, bringing himself up onto his knees and pressing himself up against the back of one of Sonny’s thighs. Through the fabric of the other man’s pants, he could feel the firm bulge of an erection.

“Does that answer your question?”

Numbly, Sonny nodded.

He wanted to tell Barba that he was a ‘sick fuck,’ but he was wise enough not to voice this aloud. 

Still in pain, Sonny was relieved when Barba drew back and with him, he pulled part of the snake back as well. 

“With a little trial and error,” his former mentor explained, his tone a blend of reassurance and determination, “I’ll find the right angle and be able to push past the curve.”

“Too big,” Sonny muttered, knowing his complaints would fall on deaf ears. “It’s too big, Rafael.”

Once again, Barba began pushing more of the snake inside Sonny’s rectum. This time, when it hit the curve, Sonny was able to prevent himself from screaming though the pain was worse. What was sharp before had now escalated into searing agony that seemed to radiate from the depths of his core throughout his entire being.

Gasping, Sonny involuntarily wailed. 

“Ma!”

Like a scared child, he had cried out for his mother.

With a tut of his tongue, Barba adjusted the angle of the snake.

“There’s no need for hysterics, Dominick. Call for your mother again and my response will be to make you start calling me ‘daddy.’ It would be a first for me: taking on that familial title. But I’m sure you wouldn’t like calling me that now, would you?”

“No, Rafael,” Sonny said, as every fiber of his being screamed in protest.

Utterly defeated, he felt the humiliation twist at his insides.

Though, after this brief exchange, there were no more words between them. Instead, the only sounds Sonny could hear were the occasional snap of a lid as Barba applied more lube and the shuddering breaths escaping his own lips. 

Over and over again, the snake was pushed into him until it met the curved bend of his colon. And time and time again, there was no headway made. With each failed attempt, Barba would become frustrated. Growling softly, he'd apply more lube and try another angle. 

This continued for at least an hour, Sonny was sure. He could, after all, keep his eyes trained on the brightly lit red numbers of the clock resting on the nightstand next to him. And it was nearly 2:00 am when the last of the strength Sonny had began to ebb. He had been instructed to remain on his knees but his legs were losing their rigidity. 

The snake’s head continued to butt against the bruised and battered curve. Then, one of Sonny’s legs slipped. And as the angle of his body changed, so did the angle of the bend within him. 

Gasping, Sonny felt the toy push past the curve and further into him than it had ever gone before.

“That’s it,” Barba exclaimed, clearly excited. “Good boy. Take it in.”

It was as though the snake had taken on a life of its own, winding and curling like a serpent as it navigated the hidden depths of his body. 

His breath hitching, Sonny began to hyperventilate. But trying to regulate his breathing and move away from what was happening to him was pointless. With every slight movement, the snake within him wound its way further inside his body.

“Stop moving,” Barba ordered.

Instantly, Sonny froze.

“It’s only about halfway in. I’m going to pull it out a bit and see if I can’t get more in.”

More? Oh, fuck. I can’t handle more!

Sonny nearly voiced his thoughts aloud on the subject when the snake began to slowly ease out of him. His eyes rolling back and his lids fluttering, Sonny moaned at the new sensation. After hours of torturous pain, the relief he felt as the snake slithered out of him was practically glorious. 

Behind him, Barba chuckled.

“Like that, do you?”

Realizing he had inadvertently conveyed that he was slightly experiencing what could be construed as pleasure, Sonny vehemently shook his head ‘no.’

“Sonny,” Barba growled, “I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me you like it.”

Scared, Sonny hesitated. And even when he spoke, he could only muster a whisper.

“No.”

“No? You sure?” Barba’s voice held a thin veiled threatening tone.

Shaking his head, Sonny shivered. The snake was mostly out of him now, though the head still rested within him, just past the curve. 

“Sonny,” Barba prodded, “are you sure you don’t like it?”

“No,” Sonny said, his voice trembling.

“No, what?”

“No, I — I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything,” Sonny admitted. 

Hearing this remark, Barba once again began to push the freakishly long toy back inside the younger man. And beneath his touch, Sonny whimpered.

It was true, he didn’t feel sure of how to feel about his body being violated and manipulated in such a despicable fashion. But one thing Sonny knew for sure, Barba had officially lost all sense of what was right and what was wrong.

Though the thought didn’t remain with Sonny long as the snake slithered within his guts. He knew it wasn’t real but it felt as though it was writhing. Internally, he could feel his belly cramping at the intrusion. But instead of rejecting the foreign object, this reaction only seemed to be drawing it further in.

“Ho,” Barba crowed, “nearly two-thirds this time.”

He won’t be satisfied until it’s fully inserted! Sonny realized. Shit. Even if there are people out there who enjoy this sort of thing, I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve been in no way acclimated to such an extreme practice. This thing is going to cause a tear in my intestine. Barba might actually end up killing me.

With his own mortality looming before him, Sonny’s mental fortitude fractured and then crumbled. Even as the Barba withdrew the snake once more, his mind remained adrift. Relief mixed with suffering as they came in tandem waves, lapping at what remained of his senses. 

The abstract concept that was time eluded him. It no longer held any meaning. Each push and pull of the long silicone toy, the weight of it heavy in his gut, further splintered the pieces of his consciousness. Though his body was tethered to the bed, his perception blurred everything around him and everything that was happening to him. 

He could’ve been there for hours longer or mere minutes, Sonny had no idea. However, he did know that, after multiple attempts, the silicone creature had been fully seated deep within him. Along with the ache and sharp twinges of pain, he felt the round base of the toy flush against the rim of his ass.

Barba was silent as he removed it for the final time.

Shivering and exhausted from remaining on his knees for so long, Sonny collapsed. A sheen of sweat covered his body and dripped from his brow though he barely registered anything besides his throbbing limbs, ass, and belly. Concrete thoughts still eluded him. Only sensations remained such as the slick feel of excess lube dripping from his ass, sliding thickly down his taint, and glazing his testicles. 

These sensations were the only way he knew he was still alive. Though, even then, he wasn’t too sure. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe.

“Sonny?” 

He heard his former mentor’s voice question him. And though Barba’s tone was soft and gentle, Sonny squeezed his eye’s tightly shut against the sound, as if by doing so he could block it out. And while he was incapable of much at the moment, he knew that he wouldn’t — no, he couldn’t — give Barba the satisfaction of a response.

Barba’s fingers trailed gently down Sonny’s lower back, stopping to cup his ass. 

“You were so good for me,” Barba said, his voice the barest of whispers. “Thank you.”

His eyes, already raw and sore from crying, eked out the last tears he would shed into the damp pillowcase. They were finally done and what relief Sonny felt was overshadowed by the fear that still kept him compliant.

Compliant.

Yes, that was all he could be in that moment as he numbly realized that Barba was undoing the restraints and releasing Sonny’s wrists from the tightly woven nylon straps. It was only once they were off did he realize that though he hadn’t lost his life, he had certainly lost a part of himself. As that black silicone snake had thoroughly penetrated him, all the fight had been slowly pushed out and extracted from his soul. 

An odd sense of hollowness washed over Sonny as he lay there motionless. 

“Sonny?” Barba’s voice came again. “You can leave now.”

With his eyes still closed, Sonny couldn’t bring himself to do anything. His only compulsion was to fall into the void the rifts in his soul had created as Barba had so easily cracked him open.

The flat of Barba’s warm hand came to rest on Sonny’s shoulder.

“Sonny?” Barba said, his tone a touch more stern. 

When there was no response to his words, he became more stringent in his actions. The flat of his hand now gripped Sonny as Barba gave him a slight shake.

“Carisi, look at me.”

Unable to resist any order given to him by the former ADA, Sonny’s eyes flashed open and he met Barba’s stare with a dull and unblinking deadman’s gaze.

“Oh Sonny,” Barba voiced, “have I broken you?”

Sonny didn’t bother responding as the answer was apparent to them both.

Strong hands maneuvered him closer, rolling him onto his side. A gentle push and Sonny found himself staring up at the ceiling. Seamless crows-feet patterned ridges of mudded spackle splayed across the flat white surface. Dull light cast long shadows along the deep corners of the room as Sonny lay there numb and despondent. 

It wasn’t long, though, until his view of the ceiling was obscured by the face of his former mentor. Barba had moved from his position off to the side until he was crouched over Sonny on all fours. And while he couldn’t bring himself to meet Barba’s line of sight, he could see the hunger that remained within those green iris hues.

The same fear from earlier reared up and tightened its grip around Sonny’s heart, though it threatened to pound out his chest. He could barely breathe as he surely couldn’t move as Barba lowered his face to meet Sonny’s.

Soft lips brushed against his own. And while Sonny remained unresponsive, the press of Barba’s kiss became more urgent as his tongue dipped into Sonny’s slack mouth. 

“Sonny,” Barba muttered, pulling away ever so slightly, peppering his face with more kisses. “Sonny, oh, Sonny.”

His name was like some sort of mantra, repeated over and over as Barba smothered him with one kiss after another kiss, nuzzling into his neck, and sucking a single hickey along the skin at the edge of a smooth collarbone.

“You’re so pretty,” Barba said, lifting a hand and gently caressing the edges of Sonny’s hairline. “I can’t resist you. You know that?”

Still staring blankly at the ceiling, Sonny gulped. This time, he was one-hundred percent certain that Barba was going to have sex with him. 

Barba was going to rape him.

A spare pillow was yanked from where it had fallen, off to the side of the bed, and pushed under Sonny’s hips. Maneuvering the former detective’s legs apart, Barba kneel between them as he unbuckled his belt and unfastened the buttons and fly of his trousers. Then, pushing down the hem of his underpants, Barba released his erect penis from its constraints. 

Barba hoisted Sonny’s legs up, briefly hooking them over his arms, and positioned himself as he aligned his cock with Sonny’s loose, sloppy hole. Leaning forward, Barba slipped inside of the younger man. It had been an easy task as there had not been a bit of resistance of any sort. 

Face to face with the man that had been his colleague, his friend, his mentor, and now rapist, Sonny found that not even this new form of violation could rouse him from his state of profound apathetic paralysis. 

His head bobbed limply as Barba pumped into him like some kind of loose-limbed fuck doll.

Loose. Sloppy. Easy.

Those were the words echoing his mind as he was raped. 

Even so, those were not the words Barba utilized as he used his cock to repeatedly violate Sonny.

“Such a lovely boy,” Barba murmured, pressing a wet kiss at the edge of Sonny’s mouth. “So good for me. You’re so good for me.”

The weight and pressure of Barba’s body on his was uncomfortable and Sonny huffed softly with every thrust of Barba’s hips. His own soft member was caught between them, unpleasantly rubbing against the twisted fabric of the other man's clothing. And still so sore from the stretch of having the snake up his ass, Sonny barely registered the sensation of the cock rhythmically thudding into him other than he knew that it hurt.

Hunched over Sonny, Barba continued to murmur sweet sentiments of endearment. And even with his mind in ragged pieces, Sonny knew that in some way his former mentor had broken too. Earlier, Barba had promised he wasn’t going to be ‘intimate’ with him in this way. Clearly, that had gone out the window along with Barba’s ability to control himself. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised, the other man had, after all, spent hours on the edge of arousal all evening. But what surprised Sonny was how he was being brutalized. Using long languid strokes, Barba’s actions were a far cry from the dominant and rough jackhammering described by the various rape victims Sonny had interviewed while he had been a detective. If anything, Barba’s current actions were more akin to the actions of someone making love.

“Sonny,” Barba gasped. “Oh, fuck, Sonny! Oh!”

His hips suddenly juttered, his cock pulsated, and Barba climaxed. 

Heaving a dramatic moan, Barba sunk down onto his elbows and rested his torso against Sonny’s. 

Even through the fabric of the older man’s shirt, Sonny could feel the racing beat of Barba’s heart as the pair of them lay there, unmoving. Eventually, though, Barba’s deflating cock slipped from Sonny’s hole, and a small sluice of jizz dribbled out along with it.

With the presence of fluids, Sonny thought, the DNA evidence will corroborate the charge of rape in the first degree. 

Rolling off of Sonny, Barba lay there nestled up against him for a while as if they were lovers and not perpetrator and victim.  

“Sonny,” he eventually said, sitting up and tucking himself back into his soiled clothing, “are you going to move or I am going to have to drag you into the bathroom?”

Having not spoken for the duration of the rape, Sonny didn’t see any reason why he ought to utter a single word now that it was over. Instead, he closed his eyes and, summoning up a bit of strength from the tattered remains of his soul, rolled over on his side and away from Barba.  With his knees pressed together, he covered his genitals with one hand while he tried to pull up the soiled bedding behind him with the other.

Surprisingly, the syllables that next fell from Barba’s mouth were tinged with pity.

“I have to get you cleaned up,” Barba explained as if he were some kind, benevolent individual looking after a friend who had made a poor decision, “before I get you home.”

Home? Sonny wondered. Why bother? Does he want to rape me in my own bed?

Standing up from the bed, Barba stood over and surveyed the scene.

“Fuck,” he muttered before turning and heading towards the bathroom.

A few moments later, Sonny could hear the twist of a knob and the spray of a shower starting. Glancing over at the clock, he realized that it was practically morning. Whatever Barba was planning on doing with him, they were running out of time.

Footfalls alerted him to Barba’s emergence from the hotel room bathroom. Consequently, Sonny stifled a fearful sob and haphazardly dragged what he could of the bedcovers over his head.

The footsteps kept coming though until they came around to the side of the bed he was facing before they stopped.

“Come,” Barba said, his voice permeating the fabric barrier, “let’s get you clean.”

Weakly, Sonny murmured inarticulate sentiments of dissent as he was pulled from the covers. Still, he offered no resistance as Barba hauled him to his feet and half-dragged/half-carried Sonny into the bathroom. He didn’t really walk, his bare feet grazing the carpet fibers only enough to support some of his weight. Still, every step sent shooting pain skyrocketing through his ass. Once in the small room, Sonny allowed himself to be lowered carefully onto the tiled floor of the shower. Steam had already filled the room by the time the warm spray was striking his skin. 

What followed next could’ve been described as an act of compassion, had Barba not spent the night sexually torturing him. Taking a small plastic bottle of pills off the bathroom counter, Barba turned the label towards Sonny so he could read it: Tylenol. His former mentor opened the bottle and shook a few white capsules into the palm of his hand before lowering them down so Sonny could reach them. Sonny didn’t even move, he just open his mouth and let Barba drop the pills on his tongue. Keeping his mouth open for a few seconds, Sonny then swallowed the pain relievers down with a mouthful of warm shower water.

He imagined his eyes might’ve looked glassy and glazed over as he watch Barba shed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. And as Barba knelt on the floor, next to the shower, Sonny was stunned as the former ADA began to gently cleanse every inch of Sonny’s skin with the soft and soapy washcloth. Barba was getting soaked in the process, but he didn’t seem to mind.

With soothing strokes and touches, Barba removed the evidence of the night’s events. Gone was the slick and sticky film of excess lube. Gone was the sweat from strained muscles. And gone were the many tears that had fallen over the past hours. Barba even washed Sonny’s hair, massaging shampoo through Sonny’s prematurely graying dark-blonde locks. Lastly, Barba cleansed Sonny’s genitals and ass, delicately washing and rinsing away evidence of his crime.

Sonny looked to see if there would be bright red smears of blood on the washcloth as Barba pulled it away. He was unexpectedly dismayed to see none. Being raped had been painful and he was sure he’d have torn at some point. 

Maybe it was an indication of Barba’s skill that he hadn’t.

Wrapped in a fluffy white hotel towel, Sonny found himself sitting on the curved seat of the toilet. Unlike the shower floor, the hollow of the seat allowed him to sit with far less pain. And for that he was grateful. 

Tangled in a web of what he could only describe as a numb stupor, Sonny remained still and silent as he let Barba dry him off and even comb his hair. He still couldn’t bring himself to move, though he did avert his eyes, as the other man removed his clothes and stepped into the shower to rinse off. When Barba was clean he left the bathroom to change into a fresh set of clothes.

Alone in the bathroom, Sonny allowed himself to relax, but only briefly. Seeing as he was already on the toilet, he emptied his bladder. He knew that if he tried to stand on his own, he’d lose his balance and he didn’t relish the thought of pissing on himself while falling down to the bathroom floor. Besides, the sound of the stream of urine hitting the water below was preferable to the occasional drip of Barba’s cum leaking out of his fluttering hole. 

When Barba re-entered the small bathroom, draped over his arms was what remained of Sonny’s clothes. Setting them on the counter, Barba leaned over to flush the toilet.

Sonny flinched.

“Hey,” Barba said kindly, “you’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to get you dressed. Okay?”

You’ve already hurt me, Sonny thought but couldn’t bring himself to say it. 

Pulling a folded white shirt from the top of the pile of clothes, Barba said, “This is mine so I hope it fits. It might be a little short but you don’t have to wear it for long and no one should notice the length if you wear your suit jacket over it.”

Eying the white short-sleeve undershirt, Sonny let Barba thread his hands and arms through the sleeves. When Barba brought the shirt up and over his head, Sonny shrugged it on as the towel that had been around his shoulders puddled around his waist. It was demeaning, being dressed like a toddler. But Sonny had been through so much already, that it barely even registered. 

Next, Barba slid on Sonny’s socks, careful to align the seams along the toes so they didn’t bunch up uncomfortably. And, handing Sonny a bunch of squares of toilet paper, Barba said, “Wipe yourself as best you can as I get your underwear and pants back on. Okay?”

Numbly, Sonny nodded as he took the folded tissue and did as he was told.

Only when his pants and underwear were slipped up around his ankles and out from underneath his feet did Barba have him stand up.

“Hold onto me if you need to steady yourself,” Barba directed as he hitched up the garments around Sonny’s hips. 

As Barba buttoned Sonny’s pants and looped his belt through the buckle, Sonny turned and glanced over his shoulder. For some odd reason he couldn’t fathom, he was concerned that the towel had fallen into the bowl.

“Don’t worry about that,” Barba said, turning him back around. “I’ll take care of it later. I left your jacket and shoes in the other room. We need to get those back on you and then it’s time to go.”

“Go?” Sonny muttered the first fully formed word he had managed to utter in many hours.

“Yes, Sonny,” he replied, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet and keys. “We’re going downstairs to the lobby where I’m going to call a cab to take you back to your apartment.”

Reaching out to grip Barba’s arm, a pang in the crux of Sonny’s elbow reminded him that it wasn’t only his ass that had been damaged that night. 

Apparently seeing the look of pain on the other man’s face, Barba steadied Sonny by holding onto his non-injured arm. 

“Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” he asked tentatively, though his eyes were scanning Sonny’s features wildly. “You might need to have that arm checked out.”

Sonny shook his head.

No. The medical staff will see the striations and bruising on my wrists from the restraints. I can't let anyone know I've been hurt or who I've let hurt me.

“I’m fine, Rafael,” he finally said. “Take me home.”

A/N: The epilogue for this story (Chapter 7) wouldn't fit in this post. Since I'm not sure anyone is going to read this whole thing on Tumblr, I won't post it unless requested to do so.

#svu #fanfic #rafael barba #barisi #sonny carisi #law and order svu #dark fic #dead dove do not eat #18+ content

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Happy STS, Elli!

How do your characters relate to the social norms of the culture(s) in which they live? Do they fit seamlessly into high society? Are they part of an economically struggling class? Are they outcasts, or misfits, or do they shift between different ‘versions’ of themselves to match the people around them?

How do your characters feel about their places within or outside of society? Are they satisfied with how others view them? Do they hide parts of themselves to seem more acceptable, or for some other reason? Do they resent the norms imposed upon them, or long to fit into social roles from which they’re excluded? Do they just not care that much?

-verkja

Happy STS!

Ho boy, let's see for all of them - at whatever point I decide I like to answer this with :p

Upper class: Cedric, Josephine

While Josephine is a noble and rich, Cedric is just rich. Not everyone sees him as equal (funny thing, it's not unlikely Josephine's parents know him, and they'd dislike him immensely) but he has made enough acquaintances that it doesn't matter.

Josephine hates the noble part, and doesn't care that much about the rich part, but she surely prefers having money to having no money.

Middle class: Valadan, Damien, Laurent, Riordan

The Ebonhearts grew up straight middle class, and even when everything went to shit, that kind of still fits. At the end of Glass Shards, they both have a nice home and a nice job, so it fits again. If we ignore all the shit going down, they're happy with their place - well there's still this small detail that Damien lives in constant fear of someone recognizing him, getting him arrested and killed, but you can be a criminal and middle class, you know.

Laurent works as an accountant, when he isn't fencing stolen goods and using his connections for shady business. He takes care to be just at the right spot - not well known or important enough to draw too many eyes, but well known and important enough to have those connections.

Riordan's family is not quite as well off, but stable enough, and extremely happy.

Lower class: Merridy, Finnian, Eilis

At the very end of Glass Shards, Merridy has a real home again for the first time in ages. She picks up her dream job, and makes decent enough money to support her and Damien, but for the majority of the story, she's technically homeless.

Finnian is a wandering healer making barely enough money to make it through the winter, with no home or support network. He hates it, but he also figues he deserves it.

Eilis is a bit better off than him. She lives in a hut in the forest she found abandoned, mostly self sufficient between foraging, hunting, self grown crops and some small livestock. Everything she owns was hard earned and she does not have the means to deal with unforeseen circumstances (like finding a half dead man). For reasons, she would not want to change anything, though I guess having a bit more money so she doesn't have to worry about starving in winter when something goes wrong would be nice.

Kalani society really doesn't match the question, so uh.

There's Breannan, who's very well known as a mentor, and also because of his past, which he likes less. As time passes, he'll be more known for things he did, than things that were done to him, and he's content with that.

Caldyn tries his best not to be a hero, living basically like an outcast when he wouldn't have to. That's partly because of his magic and trauma, but also because he just likes it better.

Lily and Leon are very much vibin, very good at what they do and with plenty of friends. They wouldn't want to change a thing.

#salad-ask #verkja #sts ask

[exhausted-pigeon]

@spinnerofink I was trying to answer your ask but Tumblr ate it, so this the next best thing (don't worry, I didn't have to re write the answer)

So there we go!

For you let's ramble on the Brujay time travel fic (that may or may not become a brujaykhoa, for reasons)

Also I apologize for any typos, weird tenses, etc, this isn't meant to be a clean piece.

So the basic idea started with me being salty with a fic I was reading, it was a Tim time travel fic and I was like: Jason would work better with this idea (not offense to the original writer, just personal taste) and well things spiraled.

So the idea is that a 30+ years old Jason from after a zombie apocalypse (sort of inspired by DCdeceased but not really has I haven't read it yet), ends up around 25 years in the past, when the first dinamic duo is still going strong and his younger counter part is just 9 years old.

I have the barest idea for a plot, just Jason comes back in time and while he does the classic preventing future tragedies thing, he also take over crime alley has it's protector, and becomes something of a mentor for many future heros because he doesn't want any more dead kids.

The Brujay part comes in because Bruce will hear about this new vigilante in "his" city and start obsessing has he does, he will try to control Jason and impose his morals (no killing etc). But this Jason has much more experience over Bruce and doesn't bow down to his wims, this would degenerate in to fights that have Jason show off his training and kick Batman and Robin asses (look UtRH Jason nearly beat Bruce several times, a older and more experienced Jason against a younger Bruce? Not even a chance, he knows all their moves and he is a tricky motherfucker, he would win). Bruce would notice that he has very familiar moves and start investigating where this mysterious man would have come from (also he would be horny on main, look Bruce has a type and Jason smashes all the buttons). This could include Minhkhoa getting involved, I haven't decided yet.

But for the most part we would be following Jason.

(Also this isn't very important for the plot but it's important for me, but this version of Jason is a trans guy, just so you know)

One of the first scene I visualised for this fic was Jason reunion with Catherine.

Jason would be investigating his old apartment to get an idea on the situation, his original plan is probably to try to help his younger self from a distance maybe get in to contact later, but doesn't want to put them in danger by contacting them. That plan goes out of the window when he see his mother shitty dealer (you know the one from cheer) getting an "extra" payment (aka sexual favours). He burst in to the room and beat the shit out of the man before throwing him out of the door (or maybe the window?).

And then the fight is done, the adrenaline is gone, and the only one left are him, his younger version, and a very alive, very scared Catherine. Now Jason is very quietly panicking in his head, and he just defaults to his victim training and his old habits of taking care of his mother, calming her and baby Jay down and cleaning up the place, making dinner with what there is in the house. Catherine and Jay would be very skittish, but have an instinctive trust, something very unusual for them, and after a while Catherine would notice something that lets her connect the dots, a mole or a very distinctive scar on adult Jason that combined with how he is acting let her recognise her adult son.

That moment would be very emotional, Jason would have spent the time before (either a few days or just hours depending on what I'm doing) pretty much suppressing all his emotions on finally having his mom back, and at that point they would brust forward turning this tank of a man in a weeping mess.

That or Jason breaks down after beating the shit out if the dealer and Catherine recognise him then.

I'm undecided between this two options for that.

But part that stays the same is Catherine holding Jason face in her hands and whispering "Jay" with a voice bursting with emotions, and big scary Jason on his knees looking up to his mom with a trembling lip and tears in his eyes before hugging her and sobbing his heart out in her arms.

Catherine and Jay would be his first contacts in the local community to help him set himself up.

Between settings himself up in the neighborhood and and more general time travel stuff Jason would contact Willis and bust him out of prison.

And I'm going with my own interpretation of Willis (link), so he would be useful to Jason to keep things up when he has things to do outside of Gotham or he need back up. There would be a whole subplot with the two of them reconnecting and Willis actually sharing his past with his family for first time after beginning faced with what with his adult son that had killed in part because of the secret he keep. (Lots of comparison/parallels between him and Bruce of the original timeline)

Also Willis when seeing adult Jason commenting "ah I see you took after your mother" meaning Lady Shiva, because outside his height and build he has nothing of Cain. But Jason never knew who is actual bio parents where in the other timeline.

One of the priorities that Jason has outside of Gotham is finding Cass, by this time she had already ran away from Cain and is now homeless.

In the other timeline Jason and Cass had become pretty close, has the oldest of the family to survive and after a while the only ones. Bruce, Dick, and Tim were the first to die, the rest following in the years after.

They learned to work together His methods are now better to this new situation and she recognised the pratcality of it but she never gave up on her ideas and never killed again. It made her a less effective fighter so she shifted her focus in other areas, evacuation, etc.

Jason deeply admired her in that future, they learned to share space with eachother, and bonded on their experiences living on the streets and the interest that they had in common (they never talked about the family they both lost, when the grief hit too much they would just sit together in silence remembering).

He was gutted by her death. She always seemed invincible, but in the end one mistake was enough.

He had long before promised her that he would stop her if she was infected, and after a mission gone wrong he is the one to track down her zombie, putting it down and burning the remains, keeping the promise.

Now in this different past he uses what she had told him of his life on the streets to track her down and taking her with him back to Gotham, he was not able to save her in that terrible future, and he may not be able to give her her childhood back now, but he can give her a family.

On the more "heroic" scale Jason get in contact with several of his old contacts to get stuff done on a larger scale to prevent various catastrophies.

Two of the people that he got in touch with were his exs, Talia and Slade. (Yes I'm problematicTM, I don't care)

Meeting Talia was jarring, she was so painfully young, so different from the woman he remembered, so idealist, she was still studying to become a medic, but still the steel in her spine was the same.

Slade in so many ways was both easier and harder to deal with, he hadn't yet lost his children, and he was somehow even more of a bastard from the future timeline version. Still with some generous use of blackmail and future information on how to save his family they hashed an agreement.

During this he may meet a young Tera, and meeting this painfully young angry version of a girl that he know would have died in just a few years brought back memories of when he was a furious young man. Idk how but I want Jason to become her mentor and having to dodge her very unwanted flirtations, because that's Tera and that's the shitty coping mechanism of her choice (and Jason understand the urge). Idk this part of the story would require more work, at the moment it's mostly just vibes.

Going back to the Brujay during all of this we would occasionally jump back to Bruce pov, and while Jason doesn't think much about this timeline Bruce (outside how to avoid him if he would interfere with his plans), Bruce is absolutely obsessing over this mysterious new opponent.

Also Dick is dealing with the worst sexuality crisis after dealing with Jason, and he absolutely hate that Bruce has a very obvious new crush on this man, he already has to deal with the drama with Selina, Harvey, and Minhkhoa. Poor boy wants to rip his hair out because of Bruce inability of keeping it in his pants.

--------------------------------

So this is about it. There are some more bits and pieces that I didn't know where to fit that's the general idea. Hopefully it wa enjoyable.

Tagging @captainclovis because you were also interested in this idea

#my writing #fic ideas #dc #jason todd #bruce wayne #tera markov #dick grayson #catherine todd #willis todd #brujay #batcest

[toadeyes-miqote]

Umm Zero... He's my mentor.

( Hylnyan be hanging with him for a day or two. After Pandemonium she deserves this. The only change was the lack of Estinien in this scene. She even bought a new outfit though not for this reason. The rains have ceased but now The Emissary pops in roulette and it do be cloudy here.)

“Umm Zero…. He’s my mentor. Wisdom does not always come from reading dusty old tomes. Think what you will of him but his eyes see much.” The Miqo’te strode forward arms wide as she embraced the pale hair Hyur.

It was good to see her in high spirits after how they had to threaten to bundle her back to Ishgard to convalesce under the watchful eyes of Lord Edmont and Aymeric.

Moving a little way from the others, he could sense she had much to say by the ferocity of the thumping her tail gave him. He doubts her concerns were about Zenos’ former weapon. He gave her a warm smile to signal that he was ready. “Should your Sharlayan ears and eyes contact you before this. They might have drawn your attention to a recent report about an incident in the Aitlascope. Whether you rather read their report or the one I filed with Tataru or hear it from my own mouth is up to you.” She patted his hands lightly.

“For you to harbour such concerns. I would be a fool not to hear it.” “The resolved incident involves The-- Elidibus and souls of the dead Ancients. I had to take a trip back to Elpis past and aid them in containing their creatures’ outbreak.” She was looking for the right words to use. And being careful about it. Thancred suspected why

“Go on.” “I met Lahabrea.” “…” “Lahabrea of the past. Like Elidibus and Emet. I saw the path they would end up taking.” “…” “But my main concern is if you had came into contact with an auracite know as The Heart of Sabik?” He rummage through his thoughts, he’s aware that she knows he does not speak much about his time under Lahabrea’s control. For her to bring it up like this. “My memories of the time are somewhat jumbled and hazy. There were days I could not account for.” He doubt he could get the answers she needs by his own ability to remember.

“One of the researchers of the Aitlascope had had memories of an Ancient, the one who put out the distress call awaken in him. Should he asks to meet you and you wish for me to accompany you. Let me know. The Heart of Sabik is in the hands of a shard of Lahabrea’s son.”

“… I understand your concerns and will keep your words in mind. Who else have you spoken to about this?” “Only G’raha and technically Fourchenault.” “I should hear you out.” He squeezed her hand in assurance as they headed for a spot to rest. No sense rushing when her mind isn’t at ease. By now he knew better than to brush aside her concerns.

--------------------------------

Extra

"I see island life had been treating you well." "I been behaving yes. I have a package for you." She passed him a box of biscuits, it had a couple of letters tied to it. The neat little handwriting was greatly familiar to him. "My thanks." "My house in Shirogane is ready to receive you as the guest of honor, unless you prefer visiting the island or my apartment. My mate will prepare a feast for you." "That will be something to look forward to indeed.... Your m.... Your mate?! He has return??!!" How did you find him?!!" ".... I didn't, Meteion dumped him at my feet and would only say that Bahamut had been uncoiled and there were great wishes of happiness for me. Certain parties agree that retrieving him was payment enough." "That is good news. I look forward to visiting then. "

------------------------------

TL;:DR - The lady ain't good with words, she works more by instincts due to her hunter upbringing. There are only a few people who are able to piece together her lack of words. so far Thancred is the main person who could, the other ones would be Yugiri and Lucia, amusingly the aides are good reading this.

Wefies now at own page

"

Might upgrade to daylight version. but its seems cloudy all the time.

Might shift this part back to Pandemonium later

Yes there was a line of thought that occurred, if Heart of Sabik was already influencing the desire of Lahabrea for a long time after the conclusion of Pandemonium.

Are Thancred (during Lahacred), Gaius and Nero affected by it?

Thancred if he either comes into contact with it during Lahacred. The need to do good and be better? Or that he kept thinking he not good enough? Post ARR behaviour? Washed off riding in the Flow? Or into Heavensward-Stormblood as well? Wash off during the trip to The First? HW Thancred was this?

Gaius if he's near enough during the installation of the Heart Was that what ignited his Shadow hunting?

Same with Nero Does it increase his obsession with Cid O_O

I would think it worn off for the first two, if Alma (Ivalice raid fuzzy now) be the reference. Nero be interesting though if it did affect him that way.

-----------

I will LOL if Zero's mother turned out to be WoL's 13th shard

#book 6 - Endwalker #6.4 spoilers #Where Erichthonios now? #Mouldy Lahabread drama #Pandemonium summary #Therapy of the Fathers #Of Big Fat Tacos #Thancred appreciation #Jenova is coming #my fics #Tracking Hylnyan

[luxmaeastra]

"Do you have a mate?"

Such an innocent, gentle question. He could see the Silba she'd been in the beginning. That earnestness, the joy he was finally seeing now. The moments when she forgot the world was watching as she smiled at Lumas. At the way he seemed to finally take a breath.

That hurt more, more than the wars and the deaths. Cassandra hadn't just robbed his brother of innocence but of the mentors and family he should have to sustain him.

He wondered how his mother died here. Was it quick, was it alone? Had Lumas brought the blade down? He wouldn't blame him for it - he ceased to be his mother too a long time ago.

He turned back to his neice. To the gold and ruby dagger Silba had given her. Carnyth had made copies of all the weapons from the Highborn Families. Silbas had taken her father's replica blades. She'd commissioned 12 for her granddaughters. One last one for her daughter. She had other identical blades like Sarai's did she have other daughters living? Or dead?

He sighed and looked out to the wild expanse beyond them. The Ascensions had begun, those who were strong enough would become Asteri. Those who couldn't survive it would die. Then the Trials could begin, a war ended for a deadlier one to begin.

"I did. She died before my Calling...From everything I've heard of her from her family I would have loved her."

He rubbed at his wrist, at his skin picking at it.

"I would have been honored to raise any children she gave me. I - Lumas, Phesera and I worried for him. He was a kid when he came here ans we saw them periodically. If I had known, if we'd been able to get here in time -"

He sighed and looked back to where Lumas was beaming leaning down to kiss Silba on the temple. It was such an intimate gesture, but it looked - it didn't look as practiced as it should have been. Not in this happy, relived state.

"You should have grown up with family and were robbed of it. I hope our mother died slow and horribly. It had taken Lumas a week to reach us when our father died. I was ten and Phesa was seven. Our mother rejected him, but then she was a weak, spiteful thing. I hope he made it painful and slow."

Viapany sighed and turned away the anger bleeding away as he looked out over the horizon.

"But I know he probably didn't. He was a child when this damn world went to war. However much he changed I know he didn't hurt her, he probably mourned her and tried to save her. He always cared too much for his own good."

//FOR SARAI!!!!!//

It was strange, finally seeing this side of a family she didn’t even know was there. Learning and hearing things about a world and a group of beings she barely knew, finally hearing the truth behind who she was. It killed her to be away from Viren for so long, yet he had been the one who had insisted she go and learn more about her family.

For so long she had been educated and tutored under Cassandra, the earlier days had been so rough and the punishments for her wild and rebellious ways had been something she pushed to the back of her mind. Saetan always was the firm hand. Gradually she was sculpted into the version of herself which was acceptable for the court she grew up in, into the Lady she was expected to be.

Her fingers traced the outline of the dagger, to finally have her mother letting her in as well felt…nice. To know why she was pushed away, that it wasn’t as she was told by Saetan. How many lies had she lived on for so long?

Sarai looked toward him as he spoke, listening as he finally answered her question. A mate who died before…her heart clenched. “I’m sorry, I know some don’t like to talk about that loss.” She remembered those nights when she fought Viren wouldn’t return from the wars, she couldn’t imagine living with it every day and night.

Her gaze flickered to her parents. “My understanding and knowledge of my parents is limited, I was taken away from them young and raised by Cassandra,” she admitted. “Papa never spoke about the family he had, or your mother.” Then the bit of information she didn’t expect came, her father always cared too much?

She laughed as she looked down. “A fatal flaw people call it, I didn’t know I got that from my father.”

#Muse | Sarai

[artandstarstuff]

The latest owl house ep destroyed me. Have a sketch comic. Please click for better quality.

#the owl house #toh hollow mind #toh season 2 #toh fanart #the owl house hunter #hollow mind #toh season two #toh #the owl house darius #the owl house fanart #the owl house spoilers #toh spoilers #toh comic #the golden guard #please forgive the quality I couldn’t be bothered to ink #something something having to take care of a version of your dead mentor #who was probably someone who protected you in an extremely horrible place #to the people who came here for dnd things sorry but not sorry #notstarstuff #don’t fucking tag as ship 🔪

[miss-nadias]

hot fucking take:

I'm sick and tired of this trend of killing off or erasing Aunt May in MCU "irondad" fics, an annoying ass trope found on AO3 almost as bad as the Skip Westcott revival (do not get me fucking started.)

As if May is an obstacle and not a character. As if getting rid of her is something that is in any way necessary for any genre. You can have fluff and humour with Aunt May involved, you can have angst and hurt/comfort without killing off Aunt May. What crime has she committed? What has she done to deserve this erasure? Why must her death serve as the backbone of these stories? What has May Parker done to deserve this sort of treatment from the fanbase?

Why is this woman, who lovingly took in her orphaned nephew she had no biological relation to, gave him a home and treated him like her own son, long after the death of her husband, be seen as a obstacle, in need of casting aside? The woman who 15 year old Peter was afraid to tell about his identity, not because he feared her becoming angry or forcing him to give up the mask, but because he knew she would be anxious and worried for his safety. And when the truth comes out, and the fallout is over with, what does May Parker do? She happily lets Peter continue as Spider-Man, actively supporting him and cheering him on while still keeping his safety in mind.

Even when his identity becomes public, when it interrupts into their private life and becomes an inconvenience, then a threat to their safety, especially her safety. She never once complains about her situation to Peter, never once blames him for it and continues to care and support him in every way, because she loves Peter and would never want him to feel like a burden, would never want him to have to choose between his innate desire to help people and keeping her happy.

But no, everyone wants 'Dead Aunt May' or 'Abusive Aunt May' fics. Also, I want to thank you all for trivializing abuse and using it as a minor narrative device meant only to separate Peter from his only living relative so he can be completely involved with Tony and no one else. Oh yeah he has nightmares sometimes, sometimes he feels sadz and Tony has to comfort him because his only character trait now is being Peter's dad, just like May is now 'generic abusive relative' who will never be seen, heard from, or mentioned again once Peter is safely in the loving arms of St. Tony.

(This isn't a bash against Tony himself, but this do no wrong, perfect father to Peter despite having no children or child relatives of his own at this point, version of his character common in Irondad fics)

May always did whatever she could that she believed would help him achieve his goals in life. She was a friend, a mentor, a parental figure long before Tony came into the picture, and she has years more experience. It's funny how everyone is fine with killing off May so Tony can comfort Peter, but you'll be hard pressed to find works with the roles reversed. Nobody would dare to imagine Peter could survive emotionally without the man who is not even his biological father.

(despite the millions of au fics that insist otherwise, an obvious fixation that is problematic to say the least. Makes you wonder what they have against adopted children... 🤔) You are removing a good, loving and supportive female character and Peter's only family because you think she gets in the way of your dad and son feels and it's fucking annoying. Here's a writing "challenge" for you guys: Start including and respecting female characters.

I fucking love Tony Stark, I adore Peter Parker and I fucking loved the relationship they had, and I'm pissed the MCU chose to erase all of that, to cave to the dudebro, comic "accuracy"-obsessed fanboys' demands that they destroy everything that made his character unique and make him the specific idealized Spider-Man they all have in their heads, the same version of Spider-Man we see in every single "good" adaption because god forbid someone have a unique fucking spin on the character.

That would mean having to open their minds to a variety of different character interpretations and personal arcs throughout Peter's various depictions in media. Who in their right mind would want that??? Nah, let's have the same exact version of a comic book character from the early 60s, with the exact same personality, the exact same relationships, the exact same friends and family, the exact same character arcs, over and over and fucking over again.

But the treatment Aunt May (and by extension other female characters throughout media) gets by fic writers is honestly atrocious and needs to be called out. Writers in general even. Why must Aunt May be the helpless old lady, the sacrificial lamb that Peter has to give up so he can "grow" as a character, aka become colder and harder? Why does the woman who raised him from a small child, who loved and cared for him even as a widow in grieving, left to fend for the both of them after Ben's departure.

Into the Spider-Verse happily subverts this painfully-common trope with older but still lively, more than competent and capable of self-defense Aunt May, who Peter trusts enough to keep his suits on her property, who doesn't stammer and become bewildered at the concept of alternate universes, uses her house as a safe home for him and the other Spider-Men (and Women), is friends with renowned scientist Olivia, or 'Liv' Octavius, who annoyedly whacks dangerous enemies with her broom and tells them to 'take it outside'.

But this wonderful interpretation is unfortunately a rare exception. In most every other interpretation, Aunt May is forgotten or wasted, regarded as unimportant or in need of getting rid of, erased, killed, and/or used as a tool to prop up weak plotlines and force "character development".

This is sadly the norm for comics and movies most days, populated by majority-male, majority-white writers, artists, directors, actors etc. Progress is being made, but not at any rapid pace. We've come to expect bad writing and characterization, expect dated, racist and misogynistic tropes.

But why does this problem still pervade even in fan works? Where there's no fear of executive meddling, no lack of diversity of gender, race, progressive mindsets and creative styles within the community? Why do we still ignore or abuse female characters? Why must they be shafted to the side, mischaracterized, or used as doomed narrative devices to temporarily propell weak storylines that apparently can't move forward on their own?

The treatment Aunt May gets in most Spider-Man media is pathetic, but her treatment by the fanbase is honestly appalling.

Put some fucking respect on May Parker's name. This woman deserves so much better than what she gets.

Nadia out.

#ao3 #marvel #spiderman #mcu #irondad #stop fridging women 2k22

[becausethathappens]

Was reading your Rhink discourse re: "we could never date." (Just speculatin' here) Link mentioned on an EB that Christy and he saw a Christian relationship mentor when they were dating and he was perfectionistic about doing everything right. Kind of wonder if this created very rigid and narrow definitions of various relationship types?

gosh, i wanted to reply to this before, but i had too much to say and i'm still not sure where to start, but HARD AGREE.

like okay, i know we're partway here because they're both beautiful people who fit together so snugly both physically and emotionally and would have riotously athletic sex, yes. of course.

but also i think we all just see the truth of the fact that they clearly had religion involved in their day-to-day existence at a near-intravenous level. they’ve vocally moved past binary thinking about a lot of topics. it’s interesting to a lot of people the ones they remain almost deliberately uncurious about. i don’t even have to write it here and you can guess a couple. almost like they know a pandora’s box when they see one. almost like we all recognize the reticence from personal experience.

i think you’re dead-on, basically. and as a lapsed catholic, the movie license to wed is putting it lightly. that stuff really exists. people really treat relationships, marriage, children, etc. as circles on a scantron you have to fill in with the right lead to get a pass from saint peter. from my own direct experience: if you do not meet certain guidelines, you can’t get married or raise children in a church. (i mean, we’re worse in some ways, since we weren’t supposed to use birth control. unrelated, my great aunt is youngest of thirteen. 🙃) i can only imagine their version of those kinds of rules and expectations were even more rigid and unforgiving. ours was more of a social pressure and could be thrown to the side with confession.

their version is more demanding, clearly. they let it dictate their friendships, their relationships, everything. but on the flipside, what’s the point in reflecting on that behavior being wrong or a mistake if you’d just repeat it? wouldn’t dating someone nowadays mean they wouldn’t have to match those same unreal expectations and standards? they act like if they were to start dating tomorrow, they’d have to go by buies creek pre-willenium rules or something. would they anticipate doing all that with another woman, today? no. 

in the anniversary origins behind the scenes they did, link seemed shocked when they drilled down and rhett admitted he wasn’t a fan of the several recurring jokes. link knew enough to tease him, that he gets grumbly about them, but hearing him say he genuinely got frustrated creatively over it had link shook. one might wonder, how could link, the person he’s making these jokes to and with, most of the time, not know rhett had grown tired of it? well, because link finds it funny. so he maintains the bit routine for link. he knows link wants the comfort and familiarity, both himself and on behalf of a portion of the audience. so, what’s he going to do? not make link happy? jeopardize their norms for his own preference? retire something they’ve both committed to for no good reason? of course not.

now take that level of energy and patience and apply it to literally any “deal-breaker” element of link’s day-to-day. rhett makes these types of concessions non-stop. that’s what partners do. just because it’s about comedy doesn’t mean the same can’t be true of other areas. that’s why in depth interviews with them feel like couples therapy. they clearly don’t talk much about the why behind the way that they are for the same reason you don’t pull loose threads on a beloved sweater. and we all know the care they put into keeping their literal wardrobe just as immaculate.

realistically, if rhett were going to quit link, he would’ve done so in middle school, or high school, or college, or after work, or marriage, or kids. there have been plenty of average excuses to tap out, but he has never taken them. it is just never going to happen. he needs to stop thinking in such extremes because even if they were the reality, rhett would bend long before he’d ever break.

still, link will say things like “we could never date” as though we don’t know that. yeah no kidding, you were married at first sight. but by all means, go ahead and make a little faux courtship list of demands and watch rhett meet them anyway. 🙈

#why is this so long #soft gmm thoughts #we could never date #i have to post this so i can stop thinking about it #answers #rhink nonsense #.txt

[heniareth]

I was really curious about what your opinions on the DAO companions are :) I know we have talked about some, but I'd love to hear more and about the others as well :D I hope it's ok to pose this as an ask :)

Sure! That sounds like a ton of fun. This might be a long one tho. Mind you, this is not the finished version of the answer. I'd like to link stuff and add a cut, but rn that's not possible. I'll update it when I can.

Edit: I have updated it ^^

Let's go alphabetically bc why not.

Alistair:

Sweet guy. So sweet. There was a moment when I was hard pressed chosing between him and Zevran (alas, Zevran won). Also, he's weirdly tall according to the wiki? How did I not notice that before?

Let's get a bit more serious now, Alistair is a great guy. The only reason he's not the hero of the story is because he doesn't want to. He has all the qualities of a leader: he's good at dealing with conflict (as evident with the conversation with the mage at the beginning. He gets where he wants to get without antagonizing the mage, but without allowing him to trample all over him). He's a solid tactitian and knows how to make allies (he suggests to use the Grey Warden treaties, after all). I bet if he was in the leadership position, he'd even not bicker with Morrigan. His moral code is pretty tight; some might say too tight, but I think it's less about the moral code and more about learning to judge people by their actions, not by the labels they fit into (Morrigan is a proud apostate and therefore bad. Wynne is a humble circle mage and therefore good). He also has a bit of a black-and-white way of seeing the world. I empathize a lot with Alistair, especially with his experience with the Chantry and his subsequent reluctance to deal with it. I really wish I had gotten to know more about concrete experiences he had during his training as templar, but he seems reluctant to talk about it (gee, I wonder why).

Since I've only played the game once, I haven't really picked up on Arl Eamon's abuse towards him, which apparently exists (Isolde, however... I mean, even if he were Eamon's illegitimate son, he's a kid, ma'am, he didn't exactly get to chose his parents. So that's so not okay). Alistair's way of speaking about them both, however, is either sign that he has not come within a hundred miles of acknowledging how much it hurt him, or that he's already gone through the whole process and has decided to forgive them. The latter shows a very strong character; yes, he relies on the approval and leadership of others, he has his issues, but he's already started working on them.

That being said, irl Alistair would be like a little brother to me. I'd tease him relentlessly (all in good fun and I promise to stop if it makes him uncomfortable, but he's just so teasable). I still wish the videogame gave him the chance to take important decisions for himself. But that, of course, would somewhat defeat the point of the game.

Leliana:

Another sweet, sweet person. Her singing voice is amazing. Her belief in the Maker inspires me (I'm a religious person and seeing religious characters represented in a positive light is Very Cool. It's also sometimes a source of discomfort, because the Church has done a lot of very messed up stuff and positive representation can sometimes veer into apologetics for things that should not be excused, but that's a whole other can of worms. The bottom line is that religious characters sometimes work for me and other times don't and Leliana works for me very much bc she's an outsider inside the Chantry).

Leliana is best friend material, tbh. I'd love to get to know her irl, discuss theology and philosophy and maybe even politics? She makes mistakes and has prejudices, but, tbh, so do I. And I do get the feeling that she tries her best to learn. From the times she intervenes in a conversation between the Warden and an NPC, she shows herself to be compassionate and open to the needs of others. What I get from her character is that she genuinely wants to help, which is something that I adore of her. I suspect that she sometimes has a hard time deciding wether she's a good person or not. She has killed and seduced and worked for a morally dubious person, and she doesn't show the same nonchalance about it as Zevran (though they both do discuss their line of work in very... professional terms). This is, however, more of a headcanon than actual factual canon.

I also very much enjoy her girly side, like her interest in shoes and dresses. She's one badass woman who also looses her cool about the latest fashions in Val Royeaux. I like that. Between her and Alistair, a non human noble Warden has as good a help to navigate the Fereldan court as they're going to get. Leliana is also, I can't forget that, clever and insightful. It'd be easy to write her off as the innocent chantry girl, but she's so much more than that. Her kindness is paired with foresight, I think. She knows that taking on the trouble to help now can go a long way in the future. I just have a lot of respect for her.

Loghain:

This one's gonna be short bc I didn't recruit him. He's an amazing villain and would probably be a great Warden as well. He reminds me of Denerhor from LOTR; once a hero/stewart of his people, ambition and desperation have driven them both down a terrible path. I have also only little idea about his past. People say he lost a lot, and I believe it wholeheartedly; it doesn't excuse the fact that he plunged the country into a civil war in the middle of a Blight. I don't have a lot of sympathy for short-sighted politicians. I wish he hadn't made himself regent. That's what I take away from his character.

Edit: One thing I forgot to mention that really impressed me was his death. I had Alistair duel him (that was a rough duel), and then it kinda just jumped to a cutscene of my Warden nodding and Alistair executing him. That didn't sit well with me. I didn't want to kill Loghain, and less so in front of Anora. But what impressed me was that Loghain just accepted it. That takes a whole lot of guts. Compare that to Howe's death, and how he screams out that he deserved (more, probably, or anything but death) and it's crystal clear who the more noble of the two is. Loghain strikes me as very lawful neutral, and any neutral alignment has the particularity that it can be dragged towards good or bad, sometimes without the characters noticing it (which is interesting from a DnD perspective; neutral is often concieved of as just as stable as good or evil, but that may not be true. But that's a different post). Anyway, Loghain's death was impactful.

Morrigan:

I could kick myself for not maxing out her approval in the first play-through. I got to enjoy a bit of her friendship by the end of it and boy was even that little bit worth it. Friendship with Morrigan is something that is hard-won. It's all the more precious because of that.

Morrigan is full of paradoxes, I think. She's incredibly wise in some ways, yet also very short-sighted (”just kill them, don't solve their problems”. Morrigan, dear, I'm not going to gain a lot of allies if I kill everybody who poses a problem to me). She is so intelligent, but emotionally... not so. She knows so much about some things, and very little about the next. She's incredibly wilful and knows what she wants, but follows Flemeth's orders all the time through. She hungers for power and independence, yet craves closeness, but won't allow herself to have it. She asks you to prove yourself to her and is extremely critical of your actions, I think, because she's afraid. She bites the hand that feeds her because it might hit her next.

Like with Eamon, I haven't managed to catch the undercurrent of abuse that seems to permeate Flemeth's relationship with Morrigan. Except there are signs, because there must be something Morrigan is scared of and who has instilled all that rage in her, and that's Flemeth. Also, she clearly hates/does not care about her and wants her dead (unless killing Flemeth was part of Flemeth's plan as well? Hm.)

Morrigan is that one person who you are nice to, continuously, because nobody else is. And suddenly she becomes less cold. And then friendly. And suddenly you're asking yourself why everybody hates her, because she's a really good friend! I just wish the other companions came to a similar conclusion, especially Alistair and Wynne.

Oghren:

They did this man dirty. He has such great lines and I'm convinced he was a great person before Branka disappeared. He has that dwarven warrior spirit, and while he looks like Gimli, some of his most impactful lines remind me of Dwalin or even Thorin Oakenshield himself. He could be so noble had he gotten some character development, damnit!

Oghren as he is written is somewhat disgusting. I hate the lechering comments and the drunkenness. And still, I don't hate him because of those amazing lines he has when he's actually sober. It's frustrating and I'll give him that character development myself if the game won't. I strongly associate the song Whiskey Lullaby with him, bc that's how he would have ended up if the Warden hadn't taken him along (warning: the song talks about suicide and alcoholism). Like I said, they could have done such cool things with his character. As he is written now... it's just sad. Moments of lucidity drowned in alcohol and creepy jokes. As you can see, I don't blame the character for either. The alcoholism happens all too often irl. The creepy jokes... I put that one on the writers' tab.

I actually think Oghren could have been a great mentor figure (I know, I shock myself as well sometimes). Next to the Grey Wardens, the ones who know most about fighting darkspawn are the dwarves because they have to deal with them constantly. Especially a warrior caste dwarf like Oghren could have brought a lot of that invaluable knowledge to the team, especially since there are no Grey Wardens in Ferelden but two extremely green recruits. Next, you get the chance to give Oghren the command of the teammates you leave behind in the battle of Denerim with the reason that he has lead men into battle before. Where did that suddenly come from? Oghren should have been right up there telling my Warden that they were doing this wrong, that they needed more food (and booze) and a confident leader to keep the armies they've called together going. Oghren should have been able to tell my civilian city elf who got recruited into the Grey Wardens a six months ago how one leads an army. How one presents oneself to inspire confidence, how one doesn't crack under the pressure, how one gets the leaders of said armies (some who hate each others guts i.e. Dalish elves and humans) to work together. And, last but not least, Oghren could have had a great story about grief. This is a man who has lost most of what made him (and what he hasn't lost he's spilling down the drain with every mug of ale). This is a man who, if you take him into the Deep Roads, has to see what his wife did to his family, how his wife got absolutely obsessed, and can be forced to kill said wife or watch her die. All Wardens loose their home and families at the start of the story. It would really have rounded the whole narrative out if the Warden and Oghren could have recognised their grief in each other and hashed it out somehow. Such as it is, Oghren is a depressed drunkard and there is nothing we can do about that. I find that frustrating.

Rascal (a.k.a. Dog):

Best boy. 100/10. I wish we had gotten to see the reaction of the different origins to the mabari (because elves probably have a whole different experience with them from mages or humans. And dwarves just... I think they straight up have none? XD). Other than that, no complaints. The name Rascal was the one I gave my dog because you have to be a right rascal to survive what he did and play the pranks he plays. Smartest breed in the world indeed.

Shale:

Shale is one of those characters that I recruited rather late in the game, so I haven't had the chance to explore their personality and worldview, really. I didn't even get to take them to the Deep Roads (this will be ammended in playthrough nr. 2). As such, I don't have particularly strong opinions on them (or her? The wiki refers to Shale as 'it', but that sounds weird). But, because I know so little about Shale, I have a lot of questions. First, what were they like before they were a golem? Shayle, as she was called then, was the best warrior of her time if I remember correctly. Why did she become a golem? Was it to be able to eternally protect her people? Was the sarcasm the golem Shale exhibits also part of the dwarven warrior Shayle or did that come later (if for thirty years you have nobody to talk to but yourself, you better be entertaining. And I can imagine how it could make somebody terribly jaded as well).

Next, how attached is Shale to their golem form, exactly? According to the banter, they infinitely prefer it to a squishy fleshy form. If that is the case, however, why go to Tevinter to try and become a squishy dwarf again? It's not like that process could be reversed if they wanted to become a golem again; if Shale survives to the end of the game, the Anvil of the Void is destroyed and Caridin is dead. Was the whole spiel about their indestructible form a façade? It might have been, but not because Shale actually disliked their form. I think it would have more to do with the loss of their memories and with the very invasive experiments and alterations of Shale's body made by the mage Wilhelm. The loss of memories means that Shale is unable to remember life as a fleshy creature. They might be deflecting by pretending that they didn't care for that experience anyway because of the superiority of their golem form. The modifications made to their form by Wilhelm would have alienated them from their body. In light of this, it's significant that Shale asks the Warden to decorate their form with crystals.

All of this is, of course, pure speculation. I may have easily missed or forgotten details that would disprove the above thoughts. All in all, I like Shale and I hope we meet them again in DA4 (given that it's mostly set in Tevinter). It's a liking from a respectful distance, because Shale is tall and made out of rock and also way more experienced than I will ever be (they are literally the oldest member of the Warden's little Blight fighting squad).

Sten:

Sten is another person I'd keep a respectful distance from physically. That seems to be the what he would prefer, at least. I've enjoyed his character a lot, especially because he seems pretty clear-cut at first, but slowly lets the nuance of his person show (gruff and stoic, but then he has an eye for art, a sweet tooth and he likes cute animals). It's also very interesting that there's no moment when you learn "the truth" about him the way you do with Zevran or Leliana. There's no big reveal about his life under the Qun before coming to Ferelden. He says he was sent to monitor the Blight, but honestly? If neither Ferelden nor Orlais knew there was a Blight, how could the Qunari know? I think he's lying, and he takes his secrets back with him when he leaves Ferelden. And yet I think I know him enough to say that a Warden who has become friends with him has nothing to fear from Sten.

One thing I find very interesting about Sten is how he thinks. His conversation about how women can't be soldiers has been analysed a lot on this page I think. He seems to be arguing based on a different paradigma than the one the Warden has. He also seems to have a very clear-cut view of the world. What is fascinating to me is that, when arguing with the Warden and learning about their culture, he is not necessarily becoming more lax about his worldview. I think it's more likely that he is expanding his paradigma, the structure of thought through which he understands the world. I don't think that he is now convinced that women can be warriors as well. I think he rather understands that, in Ferelden, the relationship between occupation and gender is different than under the Qun. Which of the two he thinks is more right or more agreeable, I have no idea. I'm also not very interested in that. But I find it fascinating how he always seems to be looking on quietly, gathering data, classifying it and trying to fit it into his understanding of how the world works. I wouldn't be surprised at all if his original party was a scouting party to see how vulnerable Ferelden was at that moment to outside forces. One thing I don't understand with all of this is why he urges the Warden to meet the Blight head on. No smart soldier would suggest that, except if they are foolishly proud (and Sten doesn't seem like that kind of guy tbh). I get that the Warden takes way longer to gather allies than expected because they first have to solve all of their allies' problems. But surely Sten sees the need to have allies? Is he just that impatient? Does he have a death wish (à la, I lost my sword and am without honour, better to die sooner than later and in glorious battle)? Was he his group's previous commander and is he now having trouble following somebody else's orders? Or maybe it's his way to make sure the Warden knows what they are doing? To push them into becoming the self-assured commander their allies will need once they're all gathered? I really don't know. I like the last option best, however.

For me, Sten is my fellow, more experienced soldier. Like Alistair, he can potentially be the Warden's brother in arms, but he's definitely the older brother here. He probably doesn't take kindly to tearful confessions of how hard everything is, but I feel like he's otherwise a solid rock to lean on. I feel like the Warden can trust him to do what is necessary and count on him no matter what, especially after they get his sword back. His devotion from that point on is honestly so powerful.

Wynne:

Wynne was such a support for my Warden (except with the whole conversation about love vs. duty and that she may have to choose between Zevran and ending the Blight and that she should therefore break up with him. Wynne had a point. Astala was so not willing to sacrifice her relationship with Zevran. But the whole conversation came at a point where she was already so disillusioned that she blew up in Wynne's face (”can i please just have one (1) nice thing????”)). But all in all, Wynne is great.

She has a lot of flaws. She was very marked by her life in the Cricle and, for all her age, she has little experience living outside of it. She is also a conformist despite her strong moral core. In a way, her ability to find peace with her lot in life impresses me deeply because it speaks to a lot of strength of character. Sadly, however, strength can be ill applied and used to suppress. I think she has convinced herself that the Chantry is right under (almost) all circumstances to be able to rationalize the life that mages live. She's had her son taken away from her as a baby and an apprentice killed. Her reaction seems to have been to convince herself that this was right, or for the greater good (and now I'm thinking about the Guardian's question at the temple of Andraste's Ashes; are you wise or do you just repeat what others have told you? The answer is not as clear-cut as it might be). This is why she is so irritated by Zevran and Morrigan. By aligning herself with the Chantry, she is, in her eyes, good. Zevran and Morrigan are not; they do not conform to Chantry morality and they defend themselves tooth and nails against somebody who would try and convert them. This is something Wynne never allowed herself to do; she always did the "right" thing and it has cost her so much. I'm not saying she was right (it would probably have done her some good to rebel from time to time, and to trust her own gut instinct more), but in light of this, it hardly surprises me that she's so judgamental. She has to be, or she would be forced to confront all the evil she has not fought against all those years and all the hurt that has been caused to her by the very institution she protects (and thank God she only tries to argue and can appreciate it when people have found a good life outside of her comfort zone. If she tried to convince by force or, for example, drag her former apprentice back to the Circle... boy oh boy that would get ugly). If you think about it, Wynne really is a good example for what happens if you live by a philosophy of always choosing the lesser evil.

Something that I keep forgetting over her grandmotherly and dignified character is how damn powerful she is. She has escaped the carnage at Ostagar; HOW!? She protected those mage apprentices in the Circle tower for God knows how long. In the battle of Denerim, she wades through an army and comes out alive on the other side. The wiki lists her age at 40, I think, but that doesn't make a lick of sense unless 75 years of age are the Fereldan equivalent to 100. This lady, about whom people make grandmother jokes, did all that. It's impressive.

Zevran:

You know, I would really love to know what Wynne thinks about the events at Kirkwall in DA2. It might be a disaster for her, or it might pave the way for one last bit of character development. She certainly didn't want to return to the Circle after fighting the Blight. That may be an indicator of some change in her stance on the Circle of Magi.

Edit: I forgot that she is what the Circle considers a literal abomination! Holy cow, how could I forget that?? Anyway, her conversation about what being an abomination means is so... heartbreaking, actually. It's so tentative. So careful. "Am I an abomination? Am I the same thing that has killed my students? The same thing as Uldred? Am I lost and damned? Did I invite this spirit in? Is this my fault?" Like wow, Wynne is going through something huge right there. I love it. I have to continue playing the game to see what it ends up as, but it's fascinating and such a huge thing that she allows the Warden in on that.

Ah, Zevran, my beloved (he has stolen my heart so much it's not even funny anymore). He's funny, he's charming, he's so so loyal and it breaks my heart. Zevran is the one about whom I've read most meta: these three wonderful posts for instance, as well as this one about his possible lack of scars, and this one about his lack of freedom. All of these have influenced my opinion of him and they are great reads.

I have talked about Zevran with you before, so I'll just skip to the new stuff. I have come to conclusion that Zevran is an artist at heart. This is totally not biased by the fact that I also do art, but hear me out. One of his preferred gifts are bars of silver and gold. While those have the obvious utility of basically functioning as money (they can be sold to any silversmith or goldsmith and their value is pretty stable through time and in different countries), there's also this from his codex: "Zevran shows an affinity for the finer things in life—hardly surprising for an Antivan Crow—but his appreciation can be more poetic than he lets on. A simple bar of refined silver or gold, uncomplicated by a craftsman's hammer, is elegantly valuable." Tell me that is not an artist's eye that sees that gold and sees the beauty in it. Then, there's also the meta about Zevran the Seducer which I linked above and link here again. It talks specifically about how he lets himself enjoy the target and be seen in his enjoyment. Tell me that is not an artist's eye that beholds the beauty of something he is set out to destroy. Even his talk about his assassinations show this. He talks about it as an art, the way somebody would talk about the brutal intervention in stone that produces a sculpture. Yes, it's a rationalization of the act of killing and yes killing is still wrong. But he doesn't go on about it on a moral tangent the way Alistair or Wynne would (”this person was bad, killing them was necessary”) or even through the argument of survival like Morrigan would (”it was either them or me and it sure as Hell wasn't going to be me”). He talks about the pleasure of a job well done, of the satisfaction of striking the precise point and executing a plan to the perfection so as to minimize chances of discovery and to make a clean death possible. And pleasure in seeing and in doing, this I firmly believe, is absolutely fundamental for an artist.

My favourite part about my Warden and Zevran as a pairing is that Zevran precisely brings out that ability to take your pleasures as they come and to really savour them. Fighting the Blight is tough; it's so important to find good things amidst the chaos to stay sane. If Astala saves Zevran from himself by offering him a place to stay and a purpose, Zevran saves Astala from herself by keeping her from running herself into the ground trying to save the world.

There are some things I don't like about Zev. The incessant flirting, for example, sometimes makes me uncomfortable (it becomes enjoyable for me once the Warden and him are in a relationship, but before that? Nah, no thanks). I wish he would also leave the other female characters alone (and there's so many more shameless comments of his aimed at Morrigan, Leliana or Wynne than at Alistair or maybe even Sten).

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And that's my take on the Origins companions (this was rather long. Whew ^^' I hope it was still readable and that you enjoyed it!!) Thank you so much for the ask!! It's been a joy thinking about this. I was worrying at first that the less prominent companions like Sten or Shale wouldn't get as much content but... well XD

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