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ysabetwordsmithThis story was written for the Asexy Valentines Fest, partly inspired by aceofannwn. It also fills the "game night" square on my card for the ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trope_bingo fest. This fest features fundamental motifs that will be familiar to most readers. It encourages writers to analyze storylines and characters, then reinterpret them in new ways.
Fandom: The Avengers
Characters: Phil Coulson, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanova, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, Nick Fury, JARVIS
Medium: Fiction
Warnings: No standard warnings apply.
Summary: Phil Coulson is SHIELD's best handler for a reason: he can deal with the broken people that nobody else can manage but desperately need anyway. So he comes up with an unusual teambuilding idea to shore up the Avengers.
Notes: Asexual character. Aromantic character. Asexual relationship. Flangst. Dysfunctional dynamics. Mention of past abuse. Incidental self-injury. Non-sexual ageplay. Games. Cuteness. Teambuilding. Personal growth. Howard Stark's A+ parenting. Hurt/comfort. Trust issues. Making up for lost time. Odin's A+ parenting. Teamwork. Family of choice.
Begin with Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10. Skip to Part 13, Part 14.
"Love Is for Children" Part 11
Slowly but surely, the connections formed during game nights began to seep out into the rest of the week. Often Steve and Natasha spoke in Russian, sometimes joined by Clint. Bruce and Natasha made trips to a tea shop together. Clint and Tony tempered their characteristic snark just enough to stop accidentally hurting their own teammates with a careless remark, because they finally grew close enough to feel an echo of the pain themselves.
Tony became just a little more Carter and a little less Stark, a sweet thread of honesty creeping through what had become a perilously thin veneer of showmanship. To Phil, that was a gratifying diminishment of the uglier side of Howard Stark's legacy. Watching Steve as Steve watched Tony, and the tender sorrow in his smile, Phil thought that perhaps Steve saw something of Peggy in Tony after all.
One by one, they began talking about some of the horrible things that had happened: Hawkeye's violation with Loki's staff, Black Widow's desperate gamble to capture instead of kill him, Iron Man's believed-at-the-time-suicidal trip to commit genocide against the Chitauri, Banner's despair over Hulk's inconsolable rage, Steve's shattering grief over losing every human being he'd ever known. If there were nightmares, there was no shortage of friends to sit up with afterwards -- or teddy bears, if things got bad enough for someone to wake up Uncle Phil. They were learning to take care of each other, learning to become something like a family.
Once after game night, when everyone else had gone to bed, Clint and Natka lingered behind with Phil. While the two of them talked, Phil busied himself tidying up the common room.
"I've been thinking," Nakta said. "I want to do it. I want to make it official."
"Are you sure?" Clint said. "It's a big step. I want this too, but not until you're really ready for it."
"I'm sure," Natka said.
"Because this wouldn't be like that stupid fake marriage that Fury made us do in Belgrade that time," Clint said. "This would be permanent."
Phil rubbed a hand over his face. That idea had turned into a disaster that nearly wrecked the assignment. Black Widow had been so disturbed by any kind of sexual connection to Hawkeye -- even just a paper one -- that she slept under the hotel room's only bed for fear of hurting him if her predatory instincts suddenly mistook him for prey. Consequently they'd barely completed the mission and both came home injured. It had taken them weeks to regain their former comfort enough to sleep side-by-side again. Phil had verbally eviscerated the analysts in charge of mission prep, buried Director Fury in vengeful paperwork for a month, and strictly forbidden a repetition of that cover story (much to everyone's secret relief) ever again.
"I want it to be permanent," Natka said. "I want us to be part of each other's lives forever."
"Okay," Clint said, wrapping his arms around her. "Uncle Phil, that thing we talked about back in the beginning, that we weren't sure about? We're sure now."
Phil nodded. "I'll start on the paperwork tomorrow."
Then there was the afternoon Phil walked past the common room and thought he heard something. He paused, listening, outside the door. Phil trusted his instincts to alert him to the tiniest clue out of place. The television sounded faintly through the wall, but that wasn't what he thought he heard. Maybe he shouldn't intrude, but Phil was no more capable of walking away from that door than from any other potential battleground.
Phil slipped inside and found Steve sitting by himself, the flickering light reflecting wetly across his face. Phil didn't think it was a great idea for Steve to watch television alone, because triggers, because whole minefield of triggers with really very little field between the landmines. Steve felt determined to adapt to modern life at any cost. Phil felt there must be a better way that would not blow so many holes in what was left of Steve's heart.
On the viewscreen, images of a war documentary streamed past. Phil grabbed the remote and killed the program with extreme prejudice. Don't do this to yourself, Steve, he thought. This is so not good for you. At least with someone riding shotgun, they had a chance to shut down a troublesome show before Steve took a second hit. Left to his own devices, he tended to freeze up and take the whole barrage.
Steve didn't react to the interruption. He just sat there on the couch with tears trickling down his cheeks. His hands clenched against his hips, balled into fists. He held so still that Phil couldn't even see him breathing. A moment later Phil realized that Steve wasn't breathing; he was actually holding his breath in an effort to remain silent. After a long minute, the air began to escape in an almost inaudible whine.
Phil sat down a cautious handspan away from him. The rigid body fought to remain motionless as the cushions shifted. Steve Rogers was a deeply private man when not forced into the limelight, and he'd pushed away offers of comfort more than once so that he could mourn without anyone watching. Phil would have to proceed very carefully indeed.
Let me take care of you this time, Phil thought, watching Steve's face, impassive but for the silver river of tears. He'd had to call off the SHIELD psych staff early on, because they did more harm than good prying at the poor man. He wouldn't risk them breaking Steve. There were other ways.
"Steve? You know I'm here if you ever feel like talking, or just want me to sit with you and not say anything," Phil said aloud. For the love of God, lean on somebody a little before you fall apart in ways we can't fix. It doesn't even have to be me, just pick somebody, please.
Steve made a muffled noise, as if he'd strangled a sob to death between his super-powered lungs. Ah, yes. That's what Phil heard before.
It wasn't game night, and maybe Phil was about to cross a line that he shouldn't cross, but that wretched sound hurt him more than the memory of Loki's phantom spear through his heart. He could not simply sit there doing nothing. So he placed a hand on Steve's knee. His thumb traced a small circle over the cloth where the neat crease made a raised line. It felt like touching a statue of sun-warmed bronze, Steve was so tense.
"I was fine until I saw some guys that I knew," Steve said abruptly. "There was -- there was this picture from Berlin. I remember that day. My Lord, for me it was less than a year ago! And then the obituaries. They're dead now. Just. Gone. All of them -- everyone."
The next sob got farther, managed to drag itself out into the air before dying of severe crush injuries. "They were so young, Phil. So young. We all were," Steve said. His hoarse voice rasped at Phil's ears. Steve still clung to his control with desperate strength.
Phil did not dare to break the fragile rapport with words, not yet. He simply squeezed Steve's knee, a silent reminder that he didn't have to go through this alone. That if he let go, this time there would be someone to catch him.
Steve finally dissolved into noisy tears. His chest heaved. His whole body shook. He began listing to the side.
Phil caught him and pulled him gently onto his shoulder. "I'm here," he murmured. "I've got you." His hand came up to smooth over the perfect hair.
Steve was heavy, blubbering messily now, and Phil's shirt soaked through in seconds. Phil didn't care. He held on until Steve cried himself to sleep in his lap. Without being asked, JARVIS dimmed the lights.
A sound, small and deliberate, caught Phil's attention. He looked up to see Clint and Natasha standing in the doorway. Phil crooked a finger at them, then touched it to his lips for silence, and pointed at the closet. The two spies nodded. They crossed the room without a whisper of noise, fetched a white fleece blanket, and spread it over Steve.
Then they settled around him, so carefully that he did not stir from his exhausted sleep, even when they enclosed his huge hands in their smaller ones. There was no changing the past for any of them, but they could at least comfort each other through the wake of it.
That was the last time Steve watched television alone.
One morning Bruce came into the communal kitchen looking for the freshly delivered bagels that JARVIS had just announced. He found Tony making coffee for himself and Phil, both hands plastered with band-aids. "What did you do to yourself this time?" Bruce demanded. "And why is this the first I'm finding out about it? I thought we had an agreement."
Phil said nothing, waiting to see how Tony would handle this. Tony looked at Phil, found no help there, and looked nervously at Bruce. Bruce crossed his arms.
Steve strolled into the kitchen to grab a box of bagels and a carton of cream cheese. "What agreement?" he asked. "And do we have lox for these? I'm hungry."
"We do indeed," Phil said, passing Steve one of the packages. Steve opened all his bagels and began layering lox thickly onto the top halves.
"Tony promised not to cover up lab injuries without letting somebody else make sure they aren't serious; I promised not to experiment on myself without somebody else present in case it goes wrong," Bruce said. "I'm waiting for an explanation, Tony."
"I was welding the greaves for my new suit, and the nozzle on my blowtorch clogged a bit. Threw some sparks farther than usual, and I wound up with tiny blisters all over the back of my hands," Tony said as he poured the coffee. With casual familiarity, he prepared one to Phil's liking and passed it over the table to him. "Steve? Coffee?"
Steve nodded, mouth full of bagel. Tony got out the heavy cream and the vanilla extract to fix Steve's cup. He was teaching Steve how to cram extra calories into familiar things. Phil silently approved of this.
"That still doesn't explain why you're covered in Mickey, Donald, and Goofy," Bruce said to Tony.
"This I gotta hear -- ooo! Bagels!" Clint said as he dropped down from the ceiling. Phil had given up trying to discourage him from crawling through the air ducts, and instead demanded that Tony reinforce them to Clint's specs.
Natasha followed Clint into the kitchen, each of them snagging a bagel from the second box. "I confess to a certain amount of curiosity myself," she said.
"Yeah, well, it would've been too awkward trying to do the band-aids myself with both hands messed up. You were still asleep, Bruce. So I, um, cameupandaskedPhiltohelp," Tony mumbled in a rush. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "He was in the common room at the time ..."
"I did offer to get plain band-aids out of the first-aid kit in the kitchen," Phil said mildly. He insisted on having a kit in every major room, because several of the Avengers were accident-prone and enemies had attacked the tower in the past. After the game night tradition got started, he'd restocked the common room kit with cartoon band-aids. But this was still the first time any of the team had willingly requested help for anything less than a serious injury, outside of game night. When Tony actually sought him on purpose, Phil felt that he'd finally earned the skittish man's trust.
"Nah, these are fine," Tony said.
"I think they're cute. We never had anything like that when I was growing up," Steve said.
"I'm good with 'em too," Clint said.
"Though it is a pity there are no princesses," Natasha said.
Phil made a mental note to buy more kiddie band-aids and distribute them throughout the tower.
* * *
Notes:
There are ways to maximize calories and nutrition. This is helpful for certain health problems, for people with a fast metabolism, or in times of intense physical activity.
[To be continued in Part 12 ...]
aceofannwn. It also fills the "game night" square on my card for the trope_bingo fest. This fest features fundamental motifs that will be familiar to most readers. It encourages writers to analyze storylines and characters, then reinterpret them in new ways. Fandom: The Avengers
Characters: Phil Coulson, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanova, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, Nick Fury, JARVIS
Medium: Fiction
Warnings: No standard warnings apply.
Summary: Phil Coulson is SHIELD's best handler for a reason: he can deal with the broken people that nobody else can manage but desperately need anyway. So he comes up with an unusual teambuilding idea to shore up the Avengers.
Notes: Asexual character. Aromantic character. Asexual relationship. Flangst. Dysfunctional dynamics. Mention of past abuse. Incidental self-injury. Non-sexual ageplay. Games. Cuteness. Teambuilding. Personal growth. Howard Stark's A+ parenting. Hurt/comfort. Trust issues. Making up for lost time. Odin's A+ parenting. Teamwork. Family of choice.
Begin with Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10. Skip to Part 13, Part 14.
"Love Is for Children" Part 11
Slowly but surely, the connections formed during game nights began to seep out into the rest of the week. Often Steve and Natasha spoke in Russian, sometimes joined by Clint. Bruce and Natasha made trips to a tea shop together. Clint and Tony tempered their characteristic snark just enough to stop accidentally hurting their own teammates with a careless remark, because they finally grew close enough to feel an echo of the pain themselves.
Tony became just a little more Carter and a little less Stark, a sweet thread of honesty creeping through what had become a perilously thin veneer of showmanship. To Phil, that was a gratifying diminishment of the uglier side of Howard Stark's legacy. Watching Steve as Steve watched Tony, and the tender sorrow in his smile, Phil thought that perhaps Steve saw something of Peggy in Tony after all.
One by one, they began talking about some of the horrible things that had happened: Hawkeye's violation with Loki's staff, Black Widow's desperate gamble to capture instead of kill him, Iron Man's believed-at-the-time-suicidal trip to commit genocide against the Chitauri, Banner's despair over Hulk's inconsolable rage, Steve's shattering grief over losing every human being he'd ever known. If there were nightmares, there was no shortage of friends to sit up with afterwards -- or teddy bears, if things got bad enough for someone to wake up Uncle Phil. They were learning to take care of each other, learning to become something like a family.
Once after game night, when everyone else had gone to bed, Clint and Natka lingered behind with Phil. While the two of them talked, Phil busied himself tidying up the common room.
"I've been thinking," Nakta said. "I want to do it. I want to make it official."
"Are you sure?" Clint said. "It's a big step. I want this too, but not until you're really ready for it."
"I'm sure," Natka said.
"Because this wouldn't be like that stupid fake marriage that Fury made us do in Belgrade that time," Clint said. "This would be permanent."
Phil rubbed a hand over his face. That idea had turned into a disaster that nearly wrecked the assignment. Black Widow had been so disturbed by any kind of sexual connection to Hawkeye -- even just a paper one -- that she slept under the hotel room's only bed for fear of hurting him if her predatory instincts suddenly mistook him for prey. Consequently they'd barely completed the mission and both came home injured. It had taken them weeks to regain their former comfort enough to sleep side-by-side again. Phil had verbally eviscerated the analysts in charge of mission prep, buried Director Fury in vengeful paperwork for a month, and strictly forbidden a repetition of that cover story (much to everyone's secret relief) ever again.
"I want it to be permanent," Natka said. "I want us to be part of each other's lives forever."
"Okay," Clint said, wrapping his arms around her. "Uncle Phil, that thing we talked about back in the beginning, that we weren't sure about? We're sure now."
Phil nodded. "I'll start on the paperwork tomorrow."
Then there was the afternoon Phil walked past the common room and thought he heard something. He paused, listening, outside the door. Phil trusted his instincts to alert him to the tiniest clue out of place. The television sounded faintly through the wall, but that wasn't what he thought he heard. Maybe he shouldn't intrude, but Phil was no more capable of walking away from that door than from any other potential battleground.
Phil slipped inside and found Steve sitting by himself, the flickering light reflecting wetly across his face. Phil didn't think it was a great idea for Steve to watch television alone, because triggers, because whole minefield of triggers with really very little field between the landmines. Steve felt determined to adapt to modern life at any cost. Phil felt there must be a better way that would not blow so many holes in what was left of Steve's heart.
On the viewscreen, images of a war documentary streamed past. Phil grabbed the remote and killed the program with extreme prejudice. Don't do this to yourself, Steve, he thought. This is so not good for you. At least with someone riding shotgun, they had a chance to shut down a troublesome show before Steve took a second hit. Left to his own devices, he tended to freeze up and take the whole barrage.
Steve didn't react to the interruption. He just sat there on the couch with tears trickling down his cheeks. His hands clenched against his hips, balled into fists. He held so still that Phil couldn't even see him breathing. A moment later Phil realized that Steve wasn't breathing; he was actually holding his breath in an effort to remain silent. After a long minute, the air began to escape in an almost inaudible whine.
Phil sat down a cautious handspan away from him. The rigid body fought to remain motionless as the cushions shifted. Steve Rogers was a deeply private man when not forced into the limelight, and he'd pushed away offers of comfort more than once so that he could mourn without anyone watching. Phil would have to proceed very carefully indeed.
Let me take care of you this time, Phil thought, watching Steve's face, impassive but for the silver river of tears. He'd had to call off the SHIELD psych staff early on, because they did more harm than good prying at the poor man. He wouldn't risk them breaking Steve. There were other ways.
"Steve? You know I'm here if you ever feel like talking, or just want me to sit with you and not say anything," Phil said aloud. For the love of God, lean on somebody a little before you fall apart in ways we can't fix. It doesn't even have to be me, just pick somebody, please.
Steve made a muffled noise, as if he'd strangled a sob to death between his super-powered lungs. Ah, yes. That's what Phil heard before.
It wasn't game night, and maybe Phil was about to cross a line that he shouldn't cross, but that wretched sound hurt him more than the memory of Loki's phantom spear through his heart. He could not simply sit there doing nothing. So he placed a hand on Steve's knee. His thumb traced a small circle over the cloth where the neat crease made a raised line. It felt like touching a statue of sun-warmed bronze, Steve was so tense.
"I was fine until I saw some guys that I knew," Steve said abruptly. "There was -- there was this picture from Berlin. I remember that day. My Lord, for me it was less than a year ago! And then the obituaries. They're dead now. Just. Gone. All of them -- everyone."
The next sob got farther, managed to drag itself out into the air before dying of severe crush injuries. "They were so young, Phil. So young. We all were," Steve said. His hoarse voice rasped at Phil's ears. Steve still clung to his control with desperate strength.
Phil did not dare to break the fragile rapport with words, not yet. He simply squeezed Steve's knee, a silent reminder that he didn't have to go through this alone. That if he let go, this time there would be someone to catch him.
Steve finally dissolved into noisy tears. His chest heaved. His whole body shook. He began listing to the side.
Phil caught him and pulled him gently onto his shoulder. "I'm here," he murmured. "I've got you." His hand came up to smooth over the perfect hair.
Steve was heavy, blubbering messily now, and Phil's shirt soaked through in seconds. Phil didn't care. He held on until Steve cried himself to sleep in his lap. Without being asked, JARVIS dimmed the lights.
A sound, small and deliberate, caught Phil's attention. He looked up to see Clint and Natasha standing in the doorway. Phil crooked a finger at them, then touched it to his lips for silence, and pointed at the closet. The two spies nodded. They crossed the room without a whisper of noise, fetched a white fleece blanket, and spread it over Steve.
Then they settled around him, so carefully that he did not stir from his exhausted sleep, even when they enclosed his huge hands in their smaller ones. There was no changing the past for any of them, but they could at least comfort each other through the wake of it.
That was the last time Steve watched television alone.
One morning Bruce came into the communal kitchen looking for the freshly delivered bagels that JARVIS had just announced. He found Tony making coffee for himself and Phil, both hands plastered with band-aids. "What did you do to yourself this time?" Bruce demanded. "And why is this the first I'm finding out about it? I thought we had an agreement."
Phil said nothing, waiting to see how Tony would handle this. Tony looked at Phil, found no help there, and looked nervously at Bruce. Bruce crossed his arms.
Steve strolled into the kitchen to grab a box of bagels and a carton of cream cheese. "What agreement?" he asked. "And do we have lox for these? I'm hungry."
"We do indeed," Phil said, passing Steve one of the packages. Steve opened all his bagels and began layering lox thickly onto the top halves.
"Tony promised not to cover up lab injuries without letting somebody else make sure they aren't serious; I promised not to experiment on myself without somebody else present in case it goes wrong," Bruce said. "I'm waiting for an explanation, Tony."
"I was welding the greaves for my new suit, and the nozzle on my blowtorch clogged a bit. Threw some sparks farther than usual, and I wound up with tiny blisters all over the back of my hands," Tony said as he poured the coffee. With casual familiarity, he prepared one to Phil's liking and passed it over the table to him. "Steve? Coffee?"
Steve nodded, mouth full of bagel. Tony got out the heavy cream and the vanilla extract to fix Steve's cup. He was teaching Steve how to cram extra calories into familiar things. Phil silently approved of this.
"That still doesn't explain why you're covered in Mickey, Donald, and Goofy," Bruce said to Tony.
"This I gotta hear -- ooo! Bagels!" Clint said as he dropped down from the ceiling. Phil had given up trying to discourage him from crawling through the air ducts, and instead demanded that Tony reinforce them to Clint's specs.
Natasha followed Clint into the kitchen, each of them snagging a bagel from the second box. "I confess to a certain amount of curiosity myself," she said.
"Yeah, well, it would've been too awkward trying to do the band-aids myself with both hands messed up. You were still asleep, Bruce. So I, um, cameupandaskedPhiltohelp," Tony mumbled in a rush. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "He was in the common room at the time ..."
"I did offer to get plain band-aids out of the first-aid kit in the kitchen," Phil said mildly. He insisted on having a kit in every major room, because several of the Avengers were accident-prone and enemies had attacked the tower in the past. After the game night tradition got started, he'd restocked the common room kit with cartoon band-aids. But this was still the first time any of the team had willingly requested help for anything less than a serious injury, outside of game night. When Tony actually sought him on purpose, Phil felt that he'd finally earned the skittish man's trust.
"Nah, these are fine," Tony said.
"I think they're cute. We never had anything like that when I was growing up," Steve said.
"I'm good with 'em too," Clint said.
"Though it is a pity there are no princesses," Natasha said.
Phil made a mental note to buy more kiddie band-aids and distribute them throughout the tower.
* * *
Notes:
There are ways to maximize calories and nutrition. This is helpful for certain health problems, for people with a fast metabolism, or in times of intense physical activity.
[To be continued in Part 12 ...]
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-24 07:23 am (UTC)Thank you!
Date: 2013-02-24 07:51 am (UTC)Avengers family
Date: 2014-09-28 01:07 pm (UTC)Re: Avengers family
Date: 2014-09-29 04:47 am (UTC)The band-aids were one of the first things that were really whimsical and yet caught on outside of game night, when the positive effects begin to lap out into other parts of their lives.
>> there cool especially when everything you had growing up was plain also things like alphabet spaghetti and coco pops. <<
Yeah, a lot of the Avengers missed out on kiddie things. But Clint had some of the cheap things, which is why he still loves stuff like oversweetened breakfast cereal.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-04-03 03:38 pm (UTC)Well...
Date: 2016-04-03 05:25 pm (UTC)Also, it takes time to build a user profile including such things as trigger warnings and WRAP instructions. JARVIS could tell that Steve was upset, but at that stage, hadn't known how to prevent or at least buffer it (i.e. Steve's PTSD means he shouldn't watch television alone and shouldn't watch some shows at all) or that it was medically appropriate and authorized to shut off the equipment. JARVIS does have some safety protocols but the baselines are pretty lenient like "if the kitchen catches fire, turn on the fire control systems." Things like what happened to Steve are personal settings, not global ones. If he'd turned self-destructive then that would have activated certain safety protocols, but a silent meltdown wouldn't at that stage.
But watch in the later stories. As JARVIS gets to know the Avengers, he becomes much more interactive and even a bit assertive at times. He starts making suggestions and gets to where he will take over equipment without human prompting. He begins to treat them as family not just regular users. Part of that comes from familiarity and part from the Avengers changing their user profile settings. (Again, see "Hairpins" for a detailed discussion of how JARVIS and Phil handle theirs.) Another important factor is simply that the Avengers usually respond with appreciation and encouragement when JARVIS takes a more forward approach, whereas other users tend to react negatively. This is touched on in later stories as well.
Re: Well...
Date: 2016-04-03 07:01 pm (UTC)Re: Well...
Date: 2016-04-03 07:37 pm (UTC)Yay!
>> Stupid culture with its stupid constant evil AI narratives. I acknowledge evil AI as a possible thing, but I think we need to think about other possibilities. People will live down to your expectations. <<
This is another running thread in Love Is For Children. If you look at literary examples, almost all of the AIs derive from war/security bots. JARVIS was built as a butler. Yes, he has a security aspect too, but he is primarily a servant, not a soldier. This influences how he approaches both problem-solving and caregiving. The main reason that AIs turn violent in entertainment is because of human error. That is, if you abuse people, they tend to hit you back eventually. If you are careless about raising them, then they may pick up bad habits you wish they would not.
JARVIS was raised with love. Even though Tony was abused and neglected by his parents, and carries through much of that bad tape in how he treats his botfamily, they still adore each other and having a caring relationship in spite of the flaws. That makes all the difference in the world.
Re: Well...
Date: 2017-03-17 01:29 am (UTC)Re: Well...
Date: 2017-03-17 01:39 am (UTC)I don't care if the baby AI in the hot-looking body is rubbing "herself" all over you, it is still YOUR responsibility as the GROWNUP to keep your zipper up and say no.
And they call us savages.