livestudioaudience | Lovelocked & Airlicked: the Airlocked kink meme

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kink meme

Lovelocked & Airlicked: the Airlocked kink meme

shamelessly ripped from the Dangan Roleplay Kink Meme

GUIDELINES/RULES:

1. All requests- smut, fluff, gen or otherwise (alternate murders, anyone?)- are welcome so long as it's about Airlocked.
2. Fic and art fills are all good.
3. This is for all rounds of Airlocked. Intermingled cast requests ("what if so-so and so-so from this and that round met?" and this includes "IC" requests from the canon Airlocked fandom all over the galaxy) are acceptable.
4. Stay anon because it's funner that way.
5. There's going to be enough dicks to go around we don't need you to be one too.
6. Use proper trigger/content warnings for sensitive and/or offensive subjects, just like you would in Airlocked proper.
7. This is a judge free zone, however, I only ask that you be mindful of character ages, esp. in regards to the younger characters.
8. If you do not want your character to be involved with the smut or things that make you uncomfortable please contact me. This is ultimately just for fun and I would hate for it to become upsetting for anyone.
9. Respect player wishes if they ask to not have their character be in smut or anything out of their comfort zone.

Have fun, darlings! If any rules are violated please don't hesitate to to alert one of the mods.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The season 1 trio is turned into their D&D characters.

The scream awakens Bolton with a jolt.

He registers the thing in bed with him before anything. A golden lizard thing in robes, curled up with its tail around its legs, hands pressed over its muzzle. He'll be forever grateful for the fact that he froze rather than recoiling, because the next second it looks at him and squeaks, "Bolton?"

It's not Jamie's voice anymore. But he knows the sound of his name on Jamie's lips. "J?" His own voice comes out way too high-pitched, and he starts to lift a hand to his throat. It's dark-scaled, smooth like a snake. "What the fuck?"

J's breath is coming too fast, and Bolton scoots across the bed to hold him, studiously ignoring the alien sensation of a whipcord tail swaying behind him. "Easy, J." He holds his boyfriend's head to his chest, runs an unfamiliar hand over unfamiliar scales, misses Jamie's long hair. But it's still him. That's what matters. "Just breathe. This is..."

This is...

What is this?

After, when Jamie's recovered somewhat, they huddle together to check the cameras. The PIPs are still on their wrists, but now they look even more out-of-place; they're both wearing old-fashioned clothes, like medieval...well, fuck it, he should think of it like it is. They're both wearing their Dungeon and Dragons characters' outfits, down to the stupid little wizard's hat perched on Jamie's dragonborn head, and the wild red poppy tucked into his own hair by the base of his left horn. His horn. Fuck, that sure is a thing that's happening! And to top it all off, his favorite boxers have vanished.

"It...it can't be a motive. They still look normal." It's still early, but some of the Champions are morning birds, and Jamie's found Natsuhi sitting in the cafeteria. "And it's not even Tuesday. CECE, what's going on?"

I'm sorry, Jamie. I don't know why you and Bolton look different today.

Bolton can think of a few reasons EP might target him for something, but not Jamie. Besides, this isn't exactly the kind of retribution he'd expect. What else could be responsible for this, though? Unconsciously, his spaded tail taps against the sheets as he thinks. If...if his suspicions about this place are true...a glitch of some kind? Swapping them for a different character model, something already associated with them in some stupid database somewhere, or however that works. He should rewatch Tron soon.

If EP didn't mean for this to happen, then they won't let it stand for long. "Maybe it'll wear off. We can skip office hours for today, let's just wait here and see."

Jamie snorts quietly, curling his claws experimentally. "This doesn't make sense. I know they're not happy, but...that's what the secrets were about. What does being Seaven the Sorcerer have to do with anything?"

"I don't know." However this happened, it's not just their clothes; Bolton catches sight of a leather pack by the bed and pulls it up, dumping its contents. There's rope, rations, lockpicks, and several little throwing knives. "Look at this, this is my adventurer's gear. It seems like everything...do you know where we put our character sheets?"

"No..." Jamie's voice trails off, and Bolton knows. He knows exactly how long it's been since either of them touched those. He even knows, or at least suspects, that J knows the location of Father Fisticuffs' sheet better than Seaven's. But neither of them mentions it, even if Jamie's eyes flick briefly to his trunk before he starts to dig in the folds of his robe. "I've got all my stuff too. Look, my arcane focus - " He pulls out a red crystal orb and holds it to catch the light. "Do you think I could actually cast spells? Some of them can, even with the PIPs."

Bolton shrugs, forcing himself to ignore the feeling of long hair on his shoulders. "You should try a cantrip! Then you'll still have all your spell slots for later, if - "

The tinny sound of a scream from Jamie's PIP cuts him off. Jamie looks at him with wide reptilian eyes, and then starts to fumble with it, claws tapping on the screen to switch from one camera to another. "No no no no, it's not even Friday!"

"Maybe it isn't that." A cold weight settles in Bolton's gut; he can never help but remember the excitement he'd felt those first few weeks, at least after Chitanda, when a dead Champion was more J's ticket home than a lost friend to him. He'd been willing to sacrifice them all. Now...he can't think of one it wouldn't hurt to lose. He wraps his arm around Jamie's shoulders, leaning his head against his lover's as well as he can with horns sprouting from his damn head. "Maybe one of them changed too. Some of them could've played D&D back home..."

Jamie's claw runs across the screen, and the view changes to Jane standing in the doorway of the art room, hands clamped over her mouth as she stares at the prone shape in the corner. Bolton's first thought is Xander, but it's larger than him. The clothes are unrecognizable, soaked through with something that looks black and putrid now, but part of what's rising from the mess looks like the long thin white of a wingbone. There are feathers scattered across the room, and smears of what could almost look like black paint, and pieces and scraps...

The screen's torn away as Jamie retches, stumbling on unfamiliar feet towards their bathroom. Bolton should follow, but his own claws are dug deep into the mattress, and his hands are shaking so that it's difficult to extricate himself right away.

It has been a long, long time since either of them played Dungeons and Dragons.

WHAT THE FUCK AT THE END THO

10/10 well done

They spend the next six hours sitting in the other diner, player's handbooks spread out over one of the booth tables. Jamie's hands are still shaking, and both of them turned away Jane's attempt to get food and drink in them, but they haven't been alone. Not at all - Xander and Lightning are both crammed into the seat across from them right now, reading some expanded material from some edition or another, for all that neither seems to really get the appeal of the game.

They hadn't been able to explain anything. They had not been able to compose themselves before going to meet the Champions clamoring for answers at their door. But now, after all this time, the sight of Jamie and Bolton so shaken stopped most of the surviving Champions short. No one understood what had happened, CECE said that there could be no cleanup without a new murder and a new trial, and J...Bolton had been the only thing holding J upright. Xander had stepped forward to take his elbow, and only then did he realize how badly he was shaking himself.

They couldn't explain what was wrong. No one understood what had happened, or what was in the art room. But they knew that the Overseers needed help, and Jane was the one who ran to retrieve the books that Chitanda had exclaimed over so long ago.

Most of the Champions are here now, even Thomasin, who's meticulously jotting down a note on something she's found in an index. "I...know naught of any of this," she says, her voice hesitant. "We have tales of witches, but they do not..."

She goes quiet, and Bolton smiles softly at her before returning to his reading. Magic spells and demonic transformations; the poor child shouldn't have to deal with any of this. It must be bringing back awful memories. "It's okay, Thomasin. Just having you here helps. Not everyone can be old nerds like us."

But she frowns and shakes her head firmly. "There is naught in these books of the magic I know of. But...Good - Jamie is a Sorcerer, and no Cleric, yes? This is why he cannot cast the Resurrect spell?"

"That's right." That was the first thing they'd checked, and J had castigated himself viciously for not choosing another class, so badly that Bolton had to hold his wrists until he calmed down again. But who could have predicted they'd need a cleric so badly? Besides, it's a seventh-level spell, and they'd never progressed enough in the game to level up that far. He couldn't have learned it before now no matter what.

"And he hath a..." Thomasin peers at what she's written. "A crystal focus?"

"Y-yeah." The conversation's gotten Jamie's attention, and he looks up from the book he was staring at. "It's right here."

"This sayeth that...if in need, a Sorcerer may sacrifice his crystal in order to disregard the spell table, and use more power than is his normal due. It says not what the limits may be."

Thomasin flips through the book to another section, and Togami shifts to peer over her shoulder. "It appears to be a valid strategy," he says after a moment. "It would allow you to cast a seventh-level spell, regardless of your current prepared ones. The rules do not specify that it must be a spell belonging to your class. They didn't put very much thought into it, but I can understand why. Doing that would limit your ability to cast any spells in the future - doubtless, that is why it is only in this expansion. Is this long-dead bird creature really so - "

But Jamie has vanished out the diner door, and Bolton is hurrying after him.

At this point, neither of them knows what the hell the rules are anymore. They aren't supposed to let anyone know about their own former Champion status - but they also aren't supposed to turn into dragonborns and tieflings either, and the laws of time and space would seem to forbid their dead friend's year-old corpse materializing out of nowhere. And yet.

Jamie scrabbles to a stop down the hall from the art room, tail lashing. "Wait, wait, how do I do it? What do I do? Do I have to...B, I don't know if I can go in there again, what if it doesn't work?"

"You did the lights, didn't you?" They'd thought to test that, at least, before pouring so much time into researching a way to game the rules of D&D. Jamie had waved a hand, and suddenly little fairy lights spun into being around him, shining red and violet on his scales. It would have been beautiful, under different circumstances.

"That was a cantrip, B! This is - I don't know what this is, it wasn't even in the book we were using?"

"'Twas the sorcerer's book," Thomasin adds, breathlessly catching up with them. "But there were many spells for the resurrection of the dead, you simply could not use them."

"She's right." Bolton takes Jamie's shoulders and looks into his slit-pupiled eyes. "It's Dungeons and Dragons, J. There's lots of ways to bring back PCs. I will be right here with you, and if this doesn't work, we'll find something else. You can make another arcane focus, and we'll try again."

"You must but dash your stone upon the ground, meaning it to break, and cast the spell you wish. I know not how that is done. Yet you cast the other already, it cannot be so different."

Jamie leans forward until his face is buried in the crook of Bolton's neck. "I don't know if I can keep doing this. Just...keep trying and failing. I've - " He makes a hitched noise that's almost a laugh. "I've been doing that so much already. But if I don't try, I couldn't..."

They stand like that for a long while. Eventually, with the other Champions watching from an uncertain distance, they shuffle into the art room, still holding each other. It's worse to see in person than on a screen, and Jamie slams his red crystal into the floor before either of them can think very long about it. There's a blinding light, but it's the heat of it that surprises Bolton most. It feels like Jamie's scales are on fire, but he makes no sound at all; his brow is furrowed in concentration, a faint glow trailing from his eyes. He looks so different, but Bolton stares at him, suddenly wanting to keep this picture in his memory as long as he's able, until his demon's eyes start to burn and he's forced to shut them.

The light dies as an avian screech rises. " - SHIT SHIT SHIT, GRIFFIN!" Bolton pulls Jamie out of the way just in time to avoid being clipped by a flailing wing. Easels and paint fly, and then everything goes still as the Aarakocra tries to press his whole body into a corner of the room, dark eyes wide, panting in the strange way of birds. "Griffin?" It's not a familiar voice at all, and Bolton can't remember Max ever sounding so frightened in all the time he knew him. But he knows the way one talon rises to skim over the feathers on his head, trying to run through hair that isn't there. "Hey, where are you, dude, something has gone super wrong?"

"M?" Jamie lurches forward, then halts as the birdman's big wings twitch. "Max, it's...it's me, it's Jamie!"

It's hard to tell where exactly he's looking with those barn owl eyes, but Max stares at one or both of them for a long moment. "...Jay? B?"

And then they all fly at each other, a mess of scales and horns and trying to figure out how to hug with two enormous wings in the mix. The Champions watch from the doorway, until Xander starts to herd everyone away. He doesn't know the exact reason for all these tears, but he suspects that they should be given privacy nonetheless.