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#replace that motherfucker with. and then she would not be there to bother the kids any more.

ocpdzim · 1 year

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what you’ve got to understand about working conditions in education (and also other care-oriented careers) is that if they’re shit, two things are true at once:

that does not ever excuse being cruel to a kid, no matter what

until those conditions are fixed, education will continue to suck absolute shit

this is because when working conditions for teachers are really bad, many of the good teachers who recognize when they are reaching a point where they can no longer be the sort of teacher the kids deserve due to burnout WILL quit. they will do the responsible thing and go away for their own sake and the sake of the kids. and you end up stuck w a combination of new teachers who are trying their best but won’t last long, burnt out teachers who are trying their best but have nothing left to give and therefore aren’t very effective at actually teaching, and cockroach shitheads who take out their misery on the kids.

we have all had terrible experiences with bad teachers, many of them flat out traumatic, but for fuck’s sake please try to look at the systemic underpinnings of the problem for one minute. spitefully declaring that teachers don’t deserve good working conditions or even the right to complain about bad working conditions because ms. whoever in 5th grade was a bitch is only going to create more of her. if you want good teachers then we need an education system they can survive in

#i get so irritated w the post where like.#95% of it is a good post and then at the end op is like WAAAHHH teachers are complaining about burnout on my post about a bad teacher #like yeah no shit. if the field of education wasnt so hostile to everyone who works in it maybe they could have found a better teacher to #replace that motherfucker with. and then she would not be there to bother the kids any more.#as someone who Has had traumatic experiences w bad teachers.#its scary enough walking into a field i know is pretty much built to chew new teachers up and spit us out #hoping to be able to survive it long enough to do some good and be the kind of teacher i needed as a kid #without people acting as though it is some sort of crime for teachers to want. like. basic human dignity at work and enough money to survive #even people who are nominally pro-workers rights #you guys have no fucking idea how bad the situation is in schools right now #the reason bad teachers didnt get fired perhaps USED to be tenure #but nowadays its the fact that its rare for a school to be fully staffed *at all* bc so many teachers quit or died #so they'll hire and keep absolutely fucking anyone simply because the alternative is No Teacher. and an empty classroom #full of kids who wont learn anything except that the system doesnt even care about them enough to put a teacher in the room.#i have gotten job offers ON SIGHT from principals who know nothing about me and im literally not even legally qualified to teach yet #like before even telling them my name lmao #and im sure everyone else in town who expresses any interest in teaching whatsoever gets the same.

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rowretro · 3 months

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𝕆𝕙 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪

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WARNINGS: Blood, violence, mentions of sexual things, like wyr games if ykwim

✧tag list✧: @strawbsj @nikipedia07 @enhypensccstarlight @nikisdubblchococake

✧CHAPTER 1✧

Y/n watched as the kids hugged their parents before running to the school bus, to go to their school. Sighing, she went downstairs, smiling as she heard her little pet bunny hop to the door part of the cage, wanting to be set free. "Suzi~" she cooed, opening the cage as she stroked the bunny's head, softly booping it's pink nose.

The girl lifted the bunny by it's ears and left it in the bigger cage that was in her backyard, not wanting to take the risk of letting the bunny in her house, knowing full well the tiny menace will chew threw the wires and get electrocuted. She glanced at the small greenhouse she kept just for her butterflies. Her late mother was a lepidopterist, since her murder, y/n was given this extremely expensive build in the back of her apartment.

Locking all the doors, she hopped onto her motorbike and rode to school. Upon arriving at the school, she didn't even bother entering the building, because there he was, getting into yet another fight. Riki harshly punched male in the same spot multiple times, the male striking back, aiming for Riki's face, but he ducked. She wore her earphones, and purposefully pushed past him. Riki glared at the girl, already pissed, Sungchan used this chance to finally punch Riki.

He pulled on Riki's hair and kneed him in his stomach before running off. "MOTHERFUCKER GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE YOU PUSSY!" Riki yelled, running after him. God how bad he wanted to kill y/n. The girl smirked to herself as she slumped in her seat, in the back of the classroom, doodling on her notebook. She was only a few minutes late, her head down on the table, one earphone in, as she tried to nap.

It wasn't that easy to nap when she could hear Yeonjun and Taehyun, just a few rows in front of her, mention her name a few time, disgust evident on her face as she overheard them "Would you rather... be locked in an empty classroom with Mrs Lee, or... have sex with y/n?" Yeonjun asked with a grin as Taehyun snickerred. "Please, she's hot but she's our teacher, plus Y/n is kinda hot... Yeah Ima go with y/n" the male said.

The girl threw a paper ball in their direction, then pretended to be asleep. "Who tf was that?" Yeonjun asked, sounding like he meant business. "It was me." Y/n simply said, glaring holes into his head "w-well uh... Don't do it again!" he said sheepishly, trying to put on a tough act, before turning away and continuing his little immature game. The girl was suddenly yanked off of her seat, a painful tug at her hair.

"You fucking bitch look what you did!" Riki yelled, pointing t the small blood stain on his white shirt "I wouldn't have cared if it was his blood, BUT IT'S MINE, you think I'll let you get away with this?!" Riki asked glaring at her, as she looked back at him, unamused. Riki was never the type to hit women, but with y/n it's like something possesses him, and all he wants is to beat her until she begs for mercy. God he hated that dirty smirk on her lips.

"babyboy I'll count to three, and if you don't let go of my hair, then your pretty face will be met with a chair." she dared as Riki didn't let go "3...2... 2 and a half...1 bitch ur dead." She simply said, pulling onto the chair and swinging it at him, to his luck, a teacher stepped in, grabbing the chair from her. "NISHIMURA RIKI! KIM Y/N! TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE RIGHT NOW!" the women yelled as they both walked there.

The 2 were now stuck in a room, each writting the word "sorry" until 5 pages were full, beside them was Y/n's older brother, Sunoo who had to come off of work early to see his sister's hair a mess, and blood stains on his dear friend Riki. "How many times do I have to tell you? STOP GETTING ME CALLED INTO THIS OFFICE. Y/n, I replaced dad's contact details with mine for your wellbeing, NOT FOR YOU TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF IT AND HAVE ME COME IN EVERYTIME YOU TO SQUABBLE OVER SOMETHING STUPID!" He yelled as the girl groaned.

Yep, this was what everyday in a high school these two went to would be like. Sunoo sighed, using his hands to detangle the girl's hair, as he brushed it out for her, glaring at Riki "And you, Didn't I tell you not to motorbike race with those boys?! so fucking egoistic, do you need to prove every 5 seconds that you're better than them?! I told you so many times, don't mess with them they come from shitty backgrounds and the police won't dare to lock them away, you have sisters right? can't you behave for once?!" Sunoo lectured as he rolled his eyes.

"Ah- you're pulling too hard!" y/n whined as Sunoo flicked her forehead "I won't let you do my nails if you keep getting into trouble like this!" Sunoo added before aggressively, yet gently brushing her hair out. Riki just slept, his head on the blank papers as y/n pulled out her back up phone to scroll through.

✧𝕆𝕙 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪✧

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tojiscumdumpster · 4 months

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CHAPTER ELEVEN- TOJI

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

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Life has really been fucking with me these last six weeks. Work’s hell. The apartment we live in went up by four hundred dollars. And to make matters worse, Megumi and I have been rockier than ever.

That’s the thing that’s bothering me the most.

It’s over simple shit, too.

I try my best to be a laid back parent and only go full on dad mode when needed, but I think the kid has taken advantage of that. All I ask is three things from Megumi:

Don’t get into fights, and if you do, don’t get caught.

School night curfew is eight. Weekends are eleven.

And lastly, tell me your whereabouts.

But what does he do instead? Miss curfew. Leave the house without telling me where he’s going, and now he’s on a two week-suspension from school since he got into a fight.

Grant it the fight was justify because some kids were fucking with him and talking shit about his lack of English, but shit, Megumi.

At least he won.

One side of me was saying that’s my boy, and the other side had to ground him.

Let’s just say he wasn’t too happy with me after that.

I’m surprised he actually listened to me, though. But with him listening, I’ve been getting the silent treatment, no eating meals together, and been avoided like I’m the plague.

Parenting is not a walk in the park, I know that. Especially when you’re a single parent. When times like this hit, I think of my late wife more than ever.

With her death anniversary right around the corner, I can’t help but miss her and wish she was by my side.

I can’t do this shit alone. I was not raised in a loving environment, and considering the fact that my old man was an abusive drunk that used me as his punching bag, I damn sure don’t know what the fuck it feels like to have a father.

A mom? Don’t know either. Old man wasn’t faithful and was sleeping around with different women, so my mom could be dead or alive. Who knows?

My late wife knew all of this, not the severity, but she knew I had a shitty family. Yet she managed to see something good in a motherfucker like me, to the point we had a kid together.

A kid that fucking hates me. And I’m the only one to blame.

God, maybe I should listen to Kong for once. I’m forty-two. Shit, maybe it is time to settle down and look for a housewife. Someone who’s willing to help raise a fifteen-year-old boy.

No, what the fuck am I saying? Since when do I listen to that fucker?

Never. I trust him, though. Hell, do I really have a choice since he helped me take care of Megumi when I was going through my episodes in the early years of my wife’s death?

But my kid is my responsibility. Getting a woman involved isn’t going to help my relationship with Megumi. That’s some shit I need to fix myself.

Kong and I have one unorthodox ass relationship, but he’s the only bastard I actually consider a friend, and I know he means well.

He is Megumi’s godfather after all. Besides, the last thing I want to do is to ever make Megumi feel like I’m trying to replace his mom. Far from it.

Maybe loneliness is just catching up to my old ass.m, and the only woman I think of breaking me from my no relationship rule is Y/N.

Y/N fucking L /N.

That woman drives me insane in more ways than one.

After our first date over a month ago, we’ve been talking nonstop. Texting. Calling. Casual dates every now and there when time allows us. If I’m being real, Y/N is the only reason why I haven’t ripped my fucking hair out.

People would usually turn to alcohol to depend on the burning sensation it gives you to get drunk when feeling stressed. But me? Y/N is who I get drunk off of. Her energy is fucking addicting, and the reassurance she gives me… who know I needed so much of it.

Like any other man, I don’t turn to anyone to help with my problems. I’m a prideful motherfucker who has the ego the size of a galaxy. However, I don’t have to be the way around Y/N. I sound sappy as shit, I know.

Guess that’s what happens when you become vulnerable.

The only reason why I haven’t had sex with her yet.

I know myself. When I was younger, I only saw sex as a way to make extra cash when I was struggling after I got disowned by the Zen’in. The older I got, sex became more meaningless to me. I can be balls deep in pussy, no matter how good it is, and have no type of feelings attached. Me making a woman come or them making me come doesn’t mean I’ll start buying them roses and shit.

It wouldn’t be the same with Y/N.

Not saying I’m on the verge of falling in love with her, let alone loving her. But seeing how much we talk, how jealous I fucking get, especially after figuring out she works at the same school as her ex-fiancé, I don’t want any other fucker to even breathe the same air as her.

Not even myself, but I’ll still be selfish enough to do it.

That’s the thing about Y/N. I feel myself growing more selfish when it comes to her. I want her time and energy to only be for me. She’s mine without her knowing and I’m planning on keeping it that way. I can admit that’s probably a dick move, but I can’t find myself falling in love again.

At least, I’m forcing myself not to.

Hearing her moan my name. Seeing her face when she comes. Knowing what it feels to have that sweet, tight, warm fucking pussy clench around my fingers. I’ll become a starved and possessive man the moment she’s like that around my dick.

I’ll catch feelings.

I’ll want her above me, beneath me, all over me twenty-four-seven. I’m not an easy lover. I can admit to that.

But that won’t stop me from…

No, I won’t say that.

It’s strong. Whatever emotion I feel about Y/N, and I can’t help but think it has something to do with her being so damn familiar. The more I talk to her, the more I know who she is. Maybe in another lifetime I’ve loved her before.

Even saying that in my head sounds crazy as shit. The dreams about her aren't helping, either.

“Get a hold of yourself, Fushiguro,” I mutter to myself. I look at the time to see it’s eleven thirty. “She should be on her free hour right now.”

Maybe a phone call wouldn’t hurt.

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“I’m busy,” I grunt.

I couldn’t even call Y/N before Kong called me to fucking be clingy. He claims he only calls me to check on the kid, but Megumi has his own phone.

“Mad because I’m not your girlfriend? Sorry, I had you first, Fushiguro.” I hear him puffing out smoke from his cigarette. “Be grateful you have a fucking friend to check on you, you fucking jackass.”

I chuckle, sarcastically saying, “Awe, I consider myself very lucky.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry, not interested,” I replied. And this is what I mean by unorthodox friendship. “Assuming you got some information for me?” After that Zen’in fuck purchased the club ownership last month, I had Kong do some digging for me.

All the bullshit he was spewing about Naobito forcing everyone in that family who doesn’t have a kid, to have one, and taking interest in finding Megumi, I couldn’t take shit like that lightly.

Not when my kid is potentially involved.

Knowing how those Zen’ins’ get down, they always find a way to get what they want. Even if it results in blood.

“I found some files about that Naoya shitface you told me about… Looks like he’s the real deal,” he says.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he is your cousin. Looks like your old man’s brother had some unwanted kids of his own.”

“Having kids in the family just to leave them dry is a fucking ritual in that shitty ass family.” I get up from bed and go to the kitchen to grab a ginger ale. “What else you find out?”

“Zen'in owns half of the real estate in Tokyo,” he tells me, clicking his tongue. “Those bastards keep growing and growing by the minute. So if what this Naoya is saying is true, I can only imagine Naobito is doing this to have the city fear the name Zen’in, even after he’s six feet under.”

I scoff. “For an ego stroker? So what the fuck does this have to do with my kid?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

Over my dead fucking body if they think they could come even twenty feet near Megumi. I have no problem going back to that violent lifestyle that I’m trying to escape when it comes to protecting my kid.

Actually, I’m hoping that they do because I’ve been itching for a stress relief and permanently getting rid of those Zen’in fucks just might be the way to do it.

Maybe I should pay them a visit on my trip to Japan in a few months.

I run my hand through my hair and sigh. “Alright. Keep me posted.” An incoming call comes through and I see Y/N’s name flashing my screen. “Gotta go.”

“Your girlfriend’s callin-” I disconnected our line before he finished his bullshit to answer Y/N.

“I’m so close to fucking pulling these braids out and choking my boss with them.” Ha, that’s a funny way to say hello.

“I’m trying to wrap my head around why hearing you threaten to kill someone is turning me on?” I tease.

She lets out a soft breath. “I’m sorry, big guy. Work is being a pain in my ass right now.”

“I see that. You cursed twice. That’s something expected from me.”

“Well, it’s kind of inevitable when you’re a high school teacher,” she argues. “And actually, no. I expect four curse words in under a minute from you. So I think my two words will be alright.”

I smile while walking back to my room and close the door behind me. “Talk to me, sweets. What’s going on?”

“Other than finding out that my name was unknowingly submitted to take part in the state’s teachers summit, nothing really.”

“Is it that bad?”

“No. It’s actually a good opportunity to voice your concerns as a teacher to the school board, but quite frankly, I’m tired of going. Only one teacher is selected every year to represent each school in the county and it’s always me.”

“And what is this summit shit? Why do they need teacher representatives?” I hear her smile through the phone when she explains the summit, and I’m pretty sure it’s because of me cursing already. “Probably this isn’t what you want to hear, but I can see why you’re always chosen. You speak your mind well, and I can see the passion you have when it comes to your students.”

“Well, yeah, but every teacher should be that way,” she counters. “And the summit this year is four hours away from us, so they made it a weekend convention. A weekend, Toji?”

I arch my brow. “And who submitted your name?” Her silence tells me my answer. “You sure this fucker isn’t trying to win you back? Abusing his power as your boss to get you to himself for the weekend seems like a man move I probably would’ve done, too.”

“You would?” she incredulously asks.

“When it comes to you? Absolutely. Zero questions asked.” I can almost guarantee the silence from her again is because she’s blushing, something I find fucking adorable about her. “You there, Miss L/N?”

“Toji, I’m at work,” she answers.

“Admitting that your mind is in the gutter?”

“I-uh, no. Just reminding you to get your head out of it.”

I tip my head back and laugh. “Cute. So when’s the summit?”

“In three months.”

“And you can’t pull out?”

“Unfortunately, no. Unless I can prove that it’s due to a medical or family emergency, I’m out of luck.” No doubt in my mind that her ex pulled this shit intentionally. I mean, I get it. If I lost someone like Y/N as my fiancée, I would be going through hell and back until she was mine again.

But too bad for this fucker that isn’t the case anymore, and I don’t tread lightly when it comes to people fucking with what’s mine.

Mine, that’s exactly what Y/N is.

“I’m way too hungry for this crap,” she says, pulling me from my possessive musings.

“And you didn’t eat because?”

“Someone kept me up last night on the phone, so I overslept and couldn’t get a decent breakfast before work this morning.”

I chuckle, remembering our two a.m. conversations that turned into her masturbating while I was talking her through it. “I’m sure that person is sorry.”

“Doubt it.”

I look at the time again to see it’s noon. “What time is your free hour over?”

“One. Why?”

“Grab lunch with me.”

She playfully hums to consider my last minute invitation. “I guess I can squeeze you in.”

“Squeeze me in?” I mock her response while laughing. “Appreciate it, Miss L/N.”

“I’m sure you can find a way to show me your appreciation.”

I smirk. “Forgot you were at work?”

“Whatever, Mr. Fushiguro. Text me the address and I’ll meet you there.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you,” is the last thing I say before disconnecting the call.

Smiling to myself like a fucking lovesick idiot knowing that I’m about to see Y/N has me surprised myself. Like I said earlier, this woman drives me insane.

And I think I’ll grow to not mind it.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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no discussion question this chapter. but would love to hear your thoughts ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

#anime x black!reader #anime x reader #toji x reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji x black reader #toji fushiguro x black reader #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #toji angst #jjk angst

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

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The Logical Epilogue

Epilogue to The Logical Progression

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader Rating: Mature Warnings: Cursing; sexual innuendo; Nathan being Nathan Notes: Honestly was kinda stunned that so many people asked for an epilogue 🥺 Sorry it took so long! Just as a note, the painter mentioned in this piece is entirely fictional Summary: At first, it was exciting.

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Berlin worked.

Berlin worked for a while.

You settled into your new position, your new office. Your new boss, Mark’s replacement, was out in California, and the time difference was a little bit of a bitch, but you made it work.

You made it work for a while.

You saw Nathan most weekends, at first. Most, because he got consumed with his work so often, and so did you, sometimes. Truth be told, you couldn’t always take the time out of your schedule to take the two hour flight from Berlin to Oslo, and then the hour long helicopter ride from the airport to the drop zone near the estate, and then the forty five minute hike from the drop zone to Nathan’s house.

At first, you did.

At first, it was exciting. At first you were optimistic, and in love, and brimming with hope because this was a compromise—and sure, it wasn’t something that the two of you had come up with together; it had been your idea, but he had said yes. Yes to your idea, yes to Berlin, yes to your new title – in his company. You had carved out your own place in his company, gotten to where you were by your own merits. You were happy. He was happy.

It worked at first.

After the first few months, though, the bloom was off the rose.

It started with the travel.

Four hours was a lot one way – and that was four hours if everything was running on time and the weather permitted. It was eight hours all told, round trip. Eight hours every weekend, back and forth, was a bit much. So after a few months, every weekend became every other weekend – and it was still a lot. Of course, any time you mentioned that to Nathan, he was unapologetic at best.

“If you’d just moved in with me like I’d planned, you wouldn’t be tired.”

The first couple of times, you’d laughed. The fifteenth time, it wasn’t so funny anymore. You finally stopped mentioning it to him.

Then, it was the work.

It took you four hours to get to his house. Four. Three flying and an hour of a hike – sometimes through the snow. Silly you, you’d thought the man might stop for more than a kiss and a, “Hey, honey,” when you got there.

At first, the two of you were fucking like rabbits. And then your visits became more infrequent, and even when you were there, Nathan was sometimes too locked in to whatever it was that he was doing to give you the time of day, so much so that you felt like his damn Jackson Pollack: you were around to be looked at occasionally, contemplated, and then left to your own devices.

You’d made the mistake of mentioning that to him, too.

“I’d have more time for you if you were here, honey.”

That had started as a tease, too, but you knew Nathan. Every little joke and jab had a thin layer of saccharine shielding the spike he really wanted to stick you with.

And it stuck.

It didn’t help that your work had felt stagnant since you’d moved. Blue Book was still flourishing; your performance reviews were all positive; the Berlin office was thriving, but… But ever since you moved, you just felt so disconnected.

--

“You’re not coming this weekend?”

Nathan’s voice didn’t manage to lose any of its petulance despite how tinny it sounded through your headphones.

“I can’t, we’re going through tissue sessions for the pitch on Monday,” You told him.

“I haven’t seen you in, like, a month.”

“Oh, you noticed that?” There was a pause on Nathan’s end before he dryly asked, “You driving at something, sweetheart?” “Look Nate, I’ve got work to do,” You retorted, “I’ll call you later and try to make it out next weekend, alright?” Nathan let out a scoffed laugh and hung up. No ‘goodbye’, no ‘sure’, no ‘noon will be fine’. Looking back, that should’ve been a warning. With Nathan, there wouldn’t be a goodbye. There would be a drift. The time between your trips to see him became longer and longer, and your countenance in one another’s company became more and more icy, more static. The trips stopped, the calls stopped, and then a box with the things that you left at Nathan’s place showed up at your door. No note, no letter from him, nothing. His Maya console was right at the bottom. He’d finally ripped it out of the fuckin’ wall. Mommy and Daddy had broken up and you got full custody. --

The decision to leave Blue Book wasn’t a result of the break up. You’d had other job offers before - Nathan knew that-- No. No, you told yourself to take Nathan out of the equation as you handwrote your resignation letter. Handwrote, because you were still under NDA, and you didn’t want the drafts of this to be caught in one of the regular data audits that Blue Book did.

You weren’t leaving to join Google, Apple, or IBM, or any of the other companies that had offered you positions with them over the years. One of the reasons that you had moved up in Blue Book as quickly as you had was your ability to look at a product release and translate the jargon-heavy language into something the average person could understand. You’d done it for a few friends in the tech industry on the side now and again, when they were getting started with their own companies. And as much as you liked Blue Book, you liked the idea of being your own boss more. -- Your last night at Blue Book was no less than a fiasco - you’d been there a long time, so they made an effort, a fuss. They threw a party at a swanky art gallery in Berlin. People had come up to you all evening, asked you what your plans were, if you were excited, what you would miss. You’d told them - you were going to become a freelance writer, focus on technical writing. You already had a number of jobs lined up. You were incredibly excited, but a little nervous. Blue Book had been one big cyber safety net. You’d be alone.

“You hear Bateman was here?” It was a whisper behind you - from one member of the sales team to another, but loud enough for you to hear, loud enough to distract you from the conversation that you’d been in the middle of. There was no way. You hadn’t heard from the man in months - four of them, if you were going to be precise. There was no way he would turn up at your going away party - to do what? Make a fucking splash? All eyes on him? You wondered exactly how much shit you’d get for leaving your own party. You heard the ping of Blue Book’s messaging system on your phone and you pulled it out of your pocket, going cold when you saw the message. N. Bateman: Ferrar room.

No. No, you wouldn’t let him do this. This motherfucker wouldn’t get the chance to just swan back in and sweep you back off of your fucking feet after he was such a shit. -- “So you haven’t plugged Maya in yet.” “...Well between my phone, laptop and the NDA, I’ve kinda already got enough of your spyware in my apartment.”

Nathan chuckled, still wandering around the little back room of the gallery. You’d had to ask an attendant where the Ferrar room even was - but it was full of some of the most vibrant work you’d ever seen. So maybe, for that reason, you’d briefly forgiven Nathan for not even turning to look at you since you’d walked in. And yeah, it had stung, but considering everything that had happened and-- and not happened -- considering the things that the two of you had never said and the fights that you’d never had, and the compromises that he’d never made and every single compromise that you had made, it was no wonder that the man didn’t bother to turn and look at you when there was canvas after canvas after canvas of life in vivid color all around him. “Armel Ferrar,” Nathan said, “French painter, born in Peillon in 1868. Moved to Paris in 1885. Heavily influenced by Seurat and Cézanne -- more Cézanne than Seurat. You can see it in the color use, but… the way he plays with light, that’s all Seurat.” You weren’t looking at the painting that Nathan was looking at. Hell, you weren’t even looking at the paintings. You were just looking at him - at the back of his fucking head. At the back of his fucking head, and the slight tapering that you could see of his beard; at the way his shoulders sloped, and where his hands were tucked into his pockets. Your eyes drifted up his back again, over his neck, his head. The painting he was looking at, whatever painting it was, had bursts of yellow - wheat, maybe, or stars, or the sun, it was difficult for you to tell at that distance. From where you stood, it was as though the man was haloed and framed. Bright and shining and on display, this man that liked to keep to himself and spent his days underground in his office. “Stayed in Paris, too--” He was still talking, of course he was still talking, “Most of his life, or what was left of it. Never married, had one kid outta wedlock… Died in 1891, same year as Seurat. His daughter, Marie-Thérèse, married a military man that moved her to Berlin after the second World War. She brought his paintings with her, that’s how they wound up here.”

Nathan went quiet for a few moments before, “What do you think?” “...I’m wondering why you had me come back here when you very well could’ve given that TED talk to an empty room. Or better yet to any one of the people out there that are utterly fascinated with you. Either would suit, considering how much you love your own voice.” You had already turned yourself to look at a painting, made yourself distracted by the time you answered, because you’d known that that would get a look from him. You were right, too; you saw him turn to look at you out of your periphery. “Can we skip this part?” That bored tone was back. You dug your nails into the palms of your hands, letting your eyes hone in on the vivid splashes of red on the painting in front of you - petunias. “Which part would that be?” You asked. “The part where you tell me what I did wrong and I pretend that you’re right so that I can say sorry and we can get back to what we were doing.”

You laughed. You actually laughed. Not a fake one, not a haughty one, but a real peal of laughter left you in shock. “Wow,” You sighed once it had passed, “I forgot what a dick you are, you know that? I actually kinda managed to forget.” “Look--” “No,” You turned to face him, holding a hand up to stop whatever he was about to say, “If you came to fake some sincere bullshit, or to tell me that everything would’ve worked if we had done things your way--” “They would’ve--” “Shut the fuck up, Bateman,” You snapped, “You don’t know that, alright? You don’t. I don’t care if you have it in your head that it would’ve all been perfect because you said so.”

“You really think my way would’ve been worse?” “Well, we’ll never know,” You shrugged, folding your arms over your chest. Nathan was quiet for a single, blessed moment. Then-- “Why are you leaving Blue Book?” “I don’t wanna sound egotistical here, but I kinda refuse to believe that you didn’t read my resignation letter.” “I did.” “Then you know the answer.” “Were those the only reasons?” You looked over his face for a few moments. “... It wasn’t you,” You shook your head, “I don’t know if you wanted it to be, or didn’t, but it wasn’t you.” “Why the fuck would I want it to be?” “Because you think the universe revolves around your beard.”

He seemed to fight a smile for a moment, and your stomach twisted. You’d seen that look - the way he had to work to pull down the corners of his mouth - in the first video he’d ever sent you, yelling at Maya to remove you as an admin. Maya, which was still sitting in a box in your apartment, because you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of the damn console. You didn’t want to plug it in, but you couldn’t just fucking throw it out. “...So, this new job,” He approached you slowly, and you were careful to hold your ground - not just because backing or turning away felt like weakness, but because stepping backward would mean knocking into the work of a French artist whose life sounded pretty fucking tragic. “Yes?” “You staying in Berlin?” You were quiet for a few moments before you shook your head. “I don’t know. I can do it from anywhere, so I haven’t really decided what my next move is going to be.” “Anywhere?” Nathan repeated. “Whatever you’re thinking, un-think it.” “Can’t unscramble an egg, honey.” “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Bateman, I’m serious. You think I’m just gonna crawl back to you?” “Who the fuck is doing the crawling? I’m here!” He snapped. “Oh, look. Nathan did one thing,” You cooed mockingly, “Nathan put on something other than sweatpants and left his estate--” “It’s a four hour trip--” “Oh, you cannot fucking tell me about the travel, Bateman, don’t you dare. I did that for months and you acted like it was nothing, you acted like I was nothing!”

And then Nathan stopped. Nathan stopped and lowered his chin to his chest for a moment. “You’re not,” He spoke softly - so softly you almost didn’t hear, “You’re not-- You know that. That's your insecurities talking--” “Knowing and feeling are two different things. I’m not a console, I don’t run an OS, I can’t just go in and fix the buggy code that tells me differently,” You had to work to keep your voice steady and get the words out, “What you just did once to get here? I did that for months, Bateman. And that’s after I pulled my whole life up and moved to a new country. That trip, two days a week, every week, and half the time I was there, you acted like I wasn’t. I may as well have not been, so I stopped going.” “You could’ve talked to me.” “...You know what, I’m not even going near that one, because I really don’t want to yell in here,” You managed through gritted teeth, eyes diverted to another painting. Nathan lifted his head then, looking you over before he stepped forward, muttering, “Stop that.” “What?” “That.” He reached out, taking hold of your hands from where they were crossed under your arms. He ‘tsk’ed softly as he uncrossed your arms and unfolded your hands, running his thumbs over the small half-moon dents that your nails had left in your palms. “... Alright, maybe gatecrashing wasn’t my best idea,” He glanced toward the door to the room before his eyes scanned your face. “I don’t think it even breaks your top five.” “Would you care to list that top five now?” “I would not, at the risk of puffing up your beard.” You heard him chuckle, felt his thumbs continue to smooth over your palms. “...You remember that first Rise of AI, when I told you why I’d pulled you up on stage to give that presentation?” He asked. You frowned, turning to look at him again. He was watching you closely over the top of his glasses, eyes knowing and dark. “You wanted to see what I'd do if you threw me in the deep end.” He nodded. “That was Blue Book, something we both knew. This…” He wrapped his hands around your, gave them a gentle squeeze, “This is new for the both of us. We jumped into the deep end and uh…Starting in the kiddy pool might’ve been better.” “Did Nathan Bateman just admit defeat?” “No. No,” His gaze went stern, then, “Because kiddy pool or not, you’re still in the fuckin’ water.” You looked down at where his hands were holding yours still. “I want to try again,” Nathan crowded closer to you, “And I know-- I know that I am an asshole and that I fucked up, and you know what, I’m probably going to fuck up again,” He raised one hand to cup your chin, raising your head to meet his eyes, “But I wanna give it another shot. I just… I just need to know if that’s even an option here.” When the box of your things had arrived at your place, you’d told yourself that it wasn’t. You’d told yourself that Nathan was an asshole, and a shitstain, and a dickwad, and a douchecanoe, and a host of other derogatory names that you’d dreamt up in your most frustrated moments. Because, yeah, he could be those things. But that didn’t change the fact that you still had feelings for him. It didn’t change the fact that you’d made mistakes in that relationship, too. “So?” He prompted you as you looked at one another, “How do you think we’d do in the kiddy pool?” You gave him a small smile and murmured, “Swimmingly.” The force of Nathan’s kiss nearly knocked you off of your feet - your head would’ve hit a Ferrar if his hand hadn’t come up to cup the back and cushion it. (The gallery owner saw the two of you and was horrified.) (But Nathan bought that painting and like five others, so they got over it.)

Tag list: @spider-starry ; @mylittlelonelyappreciation ; @grogu-pascal ; @blueeyesatnight ; @kid-from-new-zealand ; @revolution-starter ; @kindablackenedsuperhero

#The Logical Progression #The Logical Epilogue #Nathan Bateman #Nathan Bateman x Reader #Nathan Bateman x You #Nathan Bateman/Reader #Nathan Bateman/You #Titled that way because i'm an asshole and it's what nathan would've wanted

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wonhaebunny · 4 years

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HEY BUNNY ILY <3 also 📁

HELLO ILY PICHU

okay so,,, hm

when katsuki is out on patrol one day in second year, he comes across a kid who’s like,,, a really big fan of him. she can’t be much older than four or five, but she’s bouncing around grinning wildly as her mother sheepishly explains that she’s loved him since the sports festival. katsuki is confused but oddly touched that this kid watched that entire mess and still liked him, so when she offers him one of her sparkly butterfly stickers, he doesn’t have the heart to turn her down outright. he tries to explain that he has nowhere to put it, and the kid happily tells him that he can put it on his “grenades” (she means his gauntlets). he’s reluctant, knowing that it’s gonna be a weird look and the bakusquad won’t let him live it down anytime soon, but she’s looking up at him with hopeful eyes and brandishing her goddamn sticker like it’s gold. so he says yes.

she squeals, before carefully sticking her glittery butterfly smack dab in the middle of one of the green squares of his right gauntlet. it’ll probably get burned off or scratched off in the wear and tear of his fights, he reasons. it’s just a sticker.

he’s sorely mistaken. he has no idea what the fuck this sticker glue is made of, but it won’t. come. off. it’s been two months. two months of training and patrols, and that motherfucking sparkly sticker is still pristine and untouched on his gauntlet. the bakusquad miraculously haven’t caught on yet, except for eijirou (who gives him a very bemused and somewhat fond look but doesn’t mention it).

that is, until a while later when another kid approaches him on the street while he’s patrolling near a school. this kid is a little older, but he’s just as excited as the first girl as he rambles on about one of katsuki’s recent fights and how cool he is. he then very shyly procures a sticker of a cartoon explosion, all colourful and cute, and tells katsuki how his teacher had given it to him but he’d saved it as it had instantly reminded him of katsuki. he mentions having seen the butterfly sticker on katsuki’s gauntlet, and hesitantly asks if katsuki would accept this one, too. he’s offering the sticker like it’s his life’s work (and honestly, it basically is. stickers are sacred to kids, especially ones from teachers. even katsuki knows that much), so what is he gonna do, say no? he sighs quietly and offers his gauntlet-clad arm, letting the boy shakily press his explosion sticker down on a square adjacent to the butterfly one. he thanks katsuki profusely, and katsuki just ruffles the boy’s hair roughly and stomps off, cheeks slightly red.

the third time a kid approaches him with a sticker, katsuki just thrusts his arm out, not bothering to question it. the kid is shaking, and it would be hypocritical of him to say no at this point. they press their sticker to his gauntlet and toddle away happily. this then happens a fourth time. and a fifth.

around the eighth sticker is when the bakusquad (along with many others) finally notice what’s going on. all the squares on katsuki’s gauntlet are being occupied by various cartoon kid’s stickers, like bingo boxes. eventually he runs out of squares on his right hand and the next stickers are added to his left. he’s resigned to his fate, but the bakusquad like to make a big deal about it everytime a kid approaches him to add to the sticker collection. eventually all the squares get filled and he has to start doubling up. multiple kids approach him at a time, like little cults of sticker-brandishing demons. the stickers overlap, and spread out over the metal outer ridges, too.

by the time he graduates, his gauntlets are a myriad of coloured stickers. some of them are three-dimensional, some of them scented. they’re a little chipped and worn, but the collection keeps growing until there’s almost no green visible. when he’s asked by the support team if he wants his gauntlets replaced, he says no. and in the confines of his bedroom, he’ll sit down with his sticker-adorned gauntlets. he’ll trace his eyes over each one, remember the face of the kid who had pressed it there with tiny, reverent fingers, and he’ll smile.

#folder asks!!#bunny's asks #bunny's headcanons #bunny's drabbles

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kob131 · 3 years

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Roast: Avalon Le Fay and Morgan’s whole set up. Like, civilization wise. Put as much plot related stuff in as you like at least.

Well not enough is actually known about the plot so far so...can't do that.

...But that society. Oh boy.

Arturia's fatal flaw in ruling was that she threw away her humanity and operated off pure logic over illogical beings. Arturia Alter's fatal flaw in her supposed rule would be that she thinks that oppression is somehow compatible with the idea of looking out for your people. Now imagine that someone had BOTH of these flaws, removed any form of morality that either version of Arturia had, made her even more smug than Alter and made both versions look like Parent of The Decade.

That is Lostbelt Morgan in a nutshell. Her society is fucking joke, with the constant threat of her people dying off from a goddamn EXISTENCE TAX that SHE HERSELF is enforcing. Her people also tear each other part for the chance to eat HUMAN FLESH which says a lot about her ability to instill some kind of morality into her people...or complete lack of it. The people fucking hate her guts and only deal with her because she's strong and can stop her own corrupted people from killing them...survival of the fittest, great way of ruling there. Except oopise, she can't even be bothered to do THAT as the Calamities fuck her kingdom up the ass and all she cares about is some prophecy telling her what any dumbass with a third of a brain could tell: you're getting disposed.

But even THIS pales in comparison to her as a person. As a servant, her first action is to declare you both married so she can pressure you into being a slave, orders you to get rid of your Berserkers because apparently her flat ass can replace motherfucking HERACLES, demands complete and total obedience from YOU her LEADER, blames Arturia for daring to be born even as she says 'well I GUESS it's not her fault', STILL has the same flaws as her original self even though she's had 2000 years to get over them and is just an all around self cunt. Oh, and she somehow-SOMEHOW screwed up her own kid even worse than MORDRED. This bitch looked at rock bottom 'parenting' and declared she will REDEFINE it.

Fuck off and I can't wait to see you get country-cucked by Arturia Caster.

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sleepless-in-starbucks · 4 years

Text

The Aftermath

Part two of the Subverted Expectations AU (aka the shy!remy + confident!logan au) (ty @notveryglittery for being able to think of names when I can’t) Part one here

Summary: Never trust a disaster queer to make good choices- aka, Remy runs from the cutie Content: Lots of swearing, reference to a bad relationship, Remy being a disaster queer for a lot of reasons, nb!Remy, agender!Logan, and polygender!Virgil Pairings: Sibling sleepxiety, future romantic losleep (these pairings apply for the whole au) Notes: This one-shot may not be super exciting a read, since I’m focusing more on plot/world building in this one, but I have a lot of one-shots lined up to follow, so... yeah. that’s a thing.

~~

Remy wasn’t sure how many more words were spoken between vim and Logan before vy ran, but vy was pretty sure it wasn’t many. As soon as Logan had flashed that fucking smirk and called vim pretty, vy was well aware that if vy didn’t take preventive measures, vy was going to die right there, on some random lawn with party music blaring in the background.

So, as soon as vy trusted vimself to stand, Remy got up and sprinted away as fast as vir legs would take vim. Vy was pretty sure vy heard Logan call after vim, but vy didn’t care. Vy knew what ne wanted: vir death. Vy refused to let nym take vir life. Remy planned to lose that thing via a caffeine overdose.

Vy spotted vir house soon enough, Remy more than glad for the fact that the party vy had been pulled to was only a few blocks away from vir house. Normally, vy’d have to convince Roman to drive vim home, and given how utterly hopeless of a romantic Roman was, Remy knew that wouldn’t have worked out in vir favor.

Key already in hand, Remy had the door open only a few seconds after vy came to it, quickly slamming it shut and throwing the deadbolt once vy was properly inside. Finished, vy turned and pressed vir back against the door, sliding down it and letting out a relieved breath.

“Alright, motherfucker, I’ve got a bat and I’m not afraid to- Remy?”

Remy looked up at Virgil, raising an eyebrow at them. She was welding a wooden baseball bat, which he was now lowering upon realizing it was only Remy.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to announce your approach.” Remy snarked.

“I figured it was just some drunk kid about to make a mistake.” Virgil responded, letting the top of the bat rest against the carpet as they leaned her weight on it. “Looks like I wasn’t too far off.”

“Hey! I’m not drunk!” Remy exclaimed, offended as vy glared at Virgil (though the action was pointless given Remy’s sunglasses hid vir annoyed gaze). “I’m stupid, not an idiot.”

“And yet you’re slamming doors at eleven o’clock at night!” Virgil yelled back, more exasperated than angry. “Why the hell are you doing that?”

Remy crossed vir arms and slumped further against the door. “I was running away from someone.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Were they trying to hurt you?” He asked, beginning to lift the bat back up.

“Worse- they were trying to KILL me!”

Virgil lowered the bat. “Oh. You saw someone cute.”

“No!” Remy protested, although as soon as vy spoke vy knew vir tone was too adamant for Virgil to believe vim. “I wouldn’t- I don’t run away from cuties, Virge, I run towards them.”

“Bullshit.” Virgil replied. “I know how much of a disaster queer you are. Though normally you just hide off in some corner or another, not run all the way home.”

“Yeah, well, if home’s close-”

“No, that’s not it.” Virgil cut vim off, looking thoughtful. Before they could hazard a guess as to the real answer, however, there was a set of three clean, precise knocks on the front door. Remy froze.

“Ne followed me home.” Remy said, going pale. “Fuck.”

Virgil raised an amused eyebrow. “What did you expect to happen? You were probably in the middle of talking to whoever this is and ne got worried when you suddenly sprinted off.”

“I expected nym to let me flee in embarrassment and be done with it!” Remy exclaimed, ignoring when another set of knocks echoed out. “It would’ve been the polite thing to do, anyways.”

Virgil’s face broke out into a wide grin. “Well ne’s here now…”

Remy’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Virgil’s grin only grew as she called out, loud enough for the person outside the door to hear, “Just a moment!”

“I hate you.” Remy hissed as vy got up and pushed past Virgil, moving to hide in the living room. Vy could’ve tried to remain in front of the door, blocking Virgil, but vy knew the chance that Virgil would just shove vim out of the way and open the door while Remy was still in sight was too high. Virgil just chuckled and pulled open the front door.

Though Remy didn’t dare risk peeking around the corner of the room to watch the exchange, vy knew that it was Logan Virgil opened the door to before their conversation had even begun.

“Good evening, Mx…?”

“Just call me Virgil. Pronouns on the necklace.” Virgil answered, and Remy didn’t need to see him to know they were tapping her pronoun necklace, currently bearing his he-she-they charms. “And you are?”

“Logan Raven, ne-nym-nir pronouns, non-gendered terms.” Logan introduced nymself politely, which Remy considered very rude and misleading given that Logan was only here to further murder Remy.

“Well then, Mx. Raven, how can I help you?”

“I’m looking for someone- I believe vy ran into this house?” Logan said, prompting Remy to shrink further into the living room in a weak attempt to hide vimself even more. “Vy’s a high school senior, goes by Remy?”

Holy shit the fuck why the hell does ne know my name-

“You know vir name?” Virgil asked, also sounding surprised- though not nearly as surprised as Remy felt while vy was having a small crisis of identity over why one of the most popular kids would know vir name.

“Of course. I make it my business to know the name of the prettiest student in school.”

Remy was going to die. This was illegal, vy was pretty sure, to compliment-kill someone while they weren’t even around. Not to mention the fact that it was a lie- had Logan seen nymself? Ne already knew the name of the prettiest student in school because ne had been born with it.

“We’re also in two of the same classes.”

Now, Remy frowned. Two of the same classes? Vy was fairly sure vy’d remember if Mx. Logan Raven was in vir classes-

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

“I like that reason better. Less creepy.” Virgil said, their and Logan’s conversation continuing despite the realizations and breakdowns Remy was having. “And Remy might live here. Can I ask what you want with vim?”

“Just to make sure vy was safe. Suddenly running away from someone is a bit worrying for the other person, after all.” Logan said, and Remy really hoped vy was imagining the hint of genuine worry in nir tone. “Oh, and to give vim this.”

Remy heard a slight rustle that must have been Logan pulling something out of nir pocket before silence as ne (presumably) handed whatever it was over to Virgil.

“Is this… a business card?” Virgil asked, sounding confused.

“I normally hand them out to bigots who claim it’s too hard to use my pronouns.” Logan explained. “But I wrote my cell phone number on the back of this one- so Remy can call me, whenever vy wants.”

“I see.” Virgil said. “Would you like to give this to vim personally?”

“No thank you.” Logan responded, and Remy had never been happier to hear those words. “I know how to respect a boundary when I see one. Besides, I will be seeing vim at school tomorrow either way.”

Virgil chuckled in a way that Remy knew meant she was laughing at vir expense. “That you will.”

“It has been a pleasure speaking to you, Virgil. I hope you have a lovely rest of your night.” Logan said respectfully, pausing for a moment before adding, “And you as well, Remy.”

Though Remy was well aware Logan couldn’t actually see vim- ne had likely just guessed that Remy would be listening into the conversation- vy still froze in place, as if by holding still vy could make vimself disappear. Vy remained stock-still until the sound of receding footsteps was replaced by the door closing and Virgil approaching vim.

“So,” Virgil said as he came to stand in front of Remy, offering vim a small rectangle that Remy assumed was Logan’s ‘business card’, “that’s the kid who’s trying to kill you? Because ne doesn’t really seem like a killer.”

Remy snatched the card away from Virgil vy replied, “Then your first impression of nym wasn’t a very good one.”

Virgil laughed while Remy studied the card. The front of it was simplistic, the cardstock tinted a dark blue while black letters spelled out ‘Logan R.’, nir pronouns written beneath nir name. Flipping it over, Remy found the promised number- written out in a neat, blocky font, with a heart added to the end of it. The heart was small, and drawn with sharper edges than a heart ought to have, but it was still a heart, and it still brought a blush to Remy’s cheeks.

“I’m going to burn this.” Vy vowed.

“Why?” Virgil asked, tone a mix of amusement and bewilderment. “Ne’s a pretty kid and you both clearly have an interest in each other. This can’t be the worst thing to happen to you.”

“It’s not just that.” Remy said, moving past Virgil so that vy could start pacing the room, still fiddling with the business card in hand. “Logan’s one of the most popular kids in the entire school, Virge- I didn’t even know ne knew I existed!”

“You guys are in classes together.” Virgil pointed out as they moved to sit on the couch, watching Remy pace.

“I sit in the back! I try to pretend the room’s empty! I don’t notice who else is there!” Remy exclaimed. “And even then, why does Logan care? Why would ne notice me?!”

“Because you’re pretty?” Virgil answered mockingly, only getting a half-hearted glare from Remy in return before vy returned to vir frantic pacing. Virgil sighed. “Okay, come on. Something about this has you really bothered, and it’s nothing you’ve said so far. What’s so wrong about having a cool cutie like you?”

Remy glanced at Virgil, briefly stopping vir pace, before starting again, not answering. The silence stretched for a moment before Remy said, abruptly, “Ne’s my soulmate.”

“...So the cool cutie is also your soulmate, thereby allowing you to love nym without even having to worry about society trying to beat you upside the head because of it.” Virgil said, looking at Remy like vy was acting funny. “I still don’t see the problem.”

“Well, problem A, I’m a queer disaster who can’t look at nym without blushing, so honestly, rude of the universe to pair us together.” Remy said, letting out a dry laugh at vir own words. When vy glanced at Virgil, however, she only raised an eyebrow, waiting for the part Remy wasn’t saying. Remy sighed, finally stopping in vir pacing to fall onto an armchair. “Problem B, our family’s view of soulmates isn’t exactly the norm. Most people think that if you’re soulmates, you have to be meant for each other. Logan barely knows me and yet ne’s calling me pretty and giving me nir number and I just-”

“You don’t want nym chasing after nir soulmate and not you?” Virgil finished, and Remy nodded, looking down at the card vy kept folding and unfolding.

“I don’t want to end up like mom and dad.” Remy admitted quietly.

“Mom and dad are fucked up.” Virgil replied, getting a laugh from Remy. “You’d have to mess up pretty badly to end up like them. And I don’t think Logan’s as bad as you’re making nym out to be.”

“Ne’s a murderer, Virge, and I’m nir new victim.” Remy said, waving Logan’s card at Virgil. “Ne’s popular, and confident, and fucking gorgeous as hell, and way too smart to be in my classes, and ne’s focusing all of nir charm on me, just like a murderer-”

“Sounds like someone’s been obsessing.” Virgil interrupted, smirking when Remy flushed. “I’m just saying.”

“This is why I hate you.” Remy said, though there was no heat in vir words, only in vir cheeks. Virgil laughed as Remy got up, heading towards vir room. “I’m going to go to bed and pretend neither you nor Logan exist.”

“You know you have to face nym tomorrow, right?”

“Considering I’m currently in denial, no.” Remy answered as vy headed down the hall, ignoring the rest of Virgil’s laughter as vy entered vir room and shut the door behind vim. Vy leaned against the door for a moment, letting out a sigh as vy once more examined Logan’s card and nir number and that damned little heart.

Vy glanced at the trashcan sitting next to vir dresser. Vy really should just throw it away. The only thing the card was doing was making vim feel flustered for no good reason. Pushing vimself off the door, Remy headed over to vir trash can, holding the card over it…

...before tossing it onto vir dresser instead. After all, it was always important to have a reference to someone’s pronouns on hand. That was why vy was keeping it. Definitely. No other reason.

Remy sighed, pushing vir hands up under vir sunglasses and pressing the palms against vir eyes. Instead of the thoughtless darkness vy had been hoping for, however, blocking out all the light simply sharpened the image of a cocky, smirking Logan in vir mind, which was the opposite of what vy was going for. Remy groaned as vy removed vir hands from vir eyes, going back to turn off the lights before half-stumbling to vir bed.

Vy dropped vir sunglasses unceremoniously on top of vir night table before vy fell on top of vir bed, unconcerned by the fact that vy was sleeping in vir clothes. Remy had more important things to be concerned with, after all- like how vy was going to survive almost an entire school year avoiding Logan. All vy had to do was become invisible. Or drop-out of school. Or punch Logan and make nym hate vim.

Remy’d figure out something. It couldn’t be that hard to avoid the coolest kid in school who was in some of your classes and knew where you lived, right?

Drowning in denial, Remy fell asleep.

#losleep #platonic sleepxiety #sibling sleepxiety #ts logan #ts sleep #ts remy #ts virgil #the cryptid speaks #fanfic #fanfiction #ts sides #sanders sides #subverted expectations #SE au #nb!remy #nb!logan #nb!virgil #those general tags are easier to track than the exacts shdfcbhsjd #anyways i have a LOT of ideas for this au so i hope y'all like it sbhfcdjs

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immortalcoelacanth · 4 years

Text

PTA: Science Team (HLVRAI Fic 1/3)

*pulls dusty story out of garage and drops it into Tumblr*

I have been trying to finish the first chapter for AGES, and I finally got it done! I crave PTA AU content due to the wholesomeness and angst, and I just had to work on one short fic for this fandom. So, welcome to the first chapter out of three!

Word count: 1788

Summary: PTA meetings are a sham and no one hates them more than Gordon, but upon being forced to miss a “mandatory” meeting because of work, Benrey comes up with a brilliant idea to deal with this problem.

Chapter 1: Hostile Arrangements Require Equally Hostile Solutions

“Fuck! Shit! Okay-okay, I’ll just-motherfucker she did what?!”

Cursing was in Gordon’s nature. He often used it as a way to express his angry, dismay, shock, and all sorts of other negative emotions. As such it was not unusual to see pacing about and spitting insults left and right.

What was unusual, however, was the fact that he was cursing in his own home. He had a strict swearing free zone in effect as a way to stop Joshua from picking up on any foul language, including a swear jar that tended to fill up whenever Bubby visited. It was quite fortunate that Joshua was currently being distracted by Benrey as the pair had been playing video games together for the past hour or so.

Or they had been until, in a surprising display of stealth, Benrey crept out of the young boy’s room and slowly approached the frustrated Gordon.

Gordon, who was currently continuing to quietly yell into his cell phone.

“Are you kidding me?! I was scheduled for a meeting on the weekend! I have work tonight! How in the FUCK did she-”

“psssst, hey, hey feetman. you might wanna chill out there and, uh, stuff. turn down the volume.” Benrey cut in while pointing the tv remote at Gordon and clicking the volume button. “don’t wanna be a bad boy and teach joshie any naughty words.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Gordon sighed, no real anger in his voice before redirecting his attention back to the phone call. “No, not you Natasha, it was just Benrey-”

“tell tasha her cookies are baller.”

“Wha-baller? Who the fuck says baller anymore?!”

“c’moooooooon man, be a bro.”

“Natasha I am so sorry-tell her that yourself!”

“i can’t feeman, you know i don’t have a phone.”

“YOU WERE THE ONE WHO STUCK IT IN THE MICROWAVE!”

“i-i was just chagrin’ the battery with those radio waves, man. ads… they never lie.”

Laughter could be heard coming from the phone in response to the conversation going on between the two men. It was enough to snap Gordon out of his somewhat enraged state and refocus on whatever it was that Natasha was telling him. He gestured for Benrey to leave and only succeeded in shooing the ex-guard to the kitchen so he could have some peace.

Not that the peace lasted long based on the muttered cursing and general sounds of Gordon stomping around.

About ten minutes later, the frustrated physicist joined him in the kitchen, quickly making himself a cup of coffee and grumbling under his breath. Welp, looked like this was the perfect moment for some interrogation.

“soooooo, wha was that about?” Benrey asked as he took another bite of the block of cheese he had been digging into. If you asked him, he’d say it tasted pretty gouda.

Damn, he needed to torment Gordon with more puns again.

“Fucking-” Gordon exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his messy hair, too angry to noticed how Benrey reached out and gently pulled at some of the locks, watching them bounce and resume their previously curly shape. “Linda.”

Well, there went his good mood.

Benrey’s eyes immediately narrowed, becoming nothing more than glowing slits in his shadowy face, as a disgruntled frown replaced his previous smile. Even the cheese in his hand seemed to start burning, smoke wafting off it as it began to melt in response to the sheer anger that name invoked in him.

Linda Smith, the scourge of the neighborhood and one of the most uptight, pieces of shit that Benrey had ever encountered. A narcissist with a massive superiority complex, she constantly put down everyone around her who she thought of as being inferior.

Which was just a cover for how much of a racist shitwad she was, plus there were the various comments she made about fags invading the neighborhood.

An obvious insult aimed at not just Gordon and Benrey, but the other “not normal” couples that lived here and there. Poor Joshua had overheard some of the insults on multiple occasions, and she had called the kid a mutt to his face-

“Benrey? You wanna calm down before you poke holes in the ceiling again?”

Fortunately, Gordon’s exasperated voice snapped Benrey out of his enraged state before he accidentally inflicted more damage to the kitchen. A place that had seen many, many small explosions and fires. At this point, he towered over the other man as sharpened, boney spikes poked out of his back and scrapped the ceiling. Plaster fell and dusted the countertop.

“oops, s-sorry dude.” Benrey awkwardly shrugged, flesh dripping from his arms and face in a rather gruesome display, not that Gordon was bothered by this. He was used to how… horrific his partner could become.

Especially when someone mentioned Joshua being hurt or insulted in any way. It was actually quite wholesome thinking about how much Benrey cared about the young boy and how much their friendship had bloomed since they first met.

“I get it.” Gordon sighed. “She’s such a bitch she’d make anyone Hulk out.”

“ten points for the ref there, feetman.”

The physicist somewhat seriously flipped Benrey off, making him laugh, before continuing to rant about the purpose of the now finished phone call.

“I still can’t believe that stupid school listened to her, and I’m not the only one getting fucked over here!” He spat. “I can’t just drop out-”

It was at this moment that the source of Gordon’s rage dawned on Benrey, and the ex-guard spoke up. “wait, the school thingy?”

“You mean meeting?”

“ya.”

Gordon groaned and hid his face in his hands. “The MEETING! Linda fucked up my schedule! I don’t know what she said to the administrator, but they canceled the weekend meeting I was booked for and rescheduled me for tonight. When I have WORK!”

Benrey winced in sympathy and reached out to pat Gordon’s shoulder with his not cheese coated hand. “damn, th-that’s a real cringe move. can’t you get, uh, joshie’s mom to take care of it? s...shea?”

“I can’t,” Gordon muttered, face muffled by his hands. “Shea’s been on a business trip for some conference and she gets back in five days.”

“oooooh, that’s why you’ve had little josh bro for so long?”

Rather than respond, the physicist just continued to groan and hide his face in his hands as he tried to figure out how to fix the mess he had been caught up in.

Joshua’s school had a very… specific structure to how it was run. Standard funding and where it would be directed was determined by the staff, however, sometimes the school would receive donations or raise large amounts of money through fairs and other events.

And it was how this extra funding would be spent that the local community had the chance to weigh in on. Determining if it should be used to get more sports supplies, help fund after school programs, or be used to help make the school more accessible.

The ramp that had been added two years ago was one such example of the potential good that these extra funds had, however there was one problem with this process.

All parents were required to attend a meeting and voice their thoughts. This was a rather new development that had been added after a small group of disgruntled parents, ones who had objected to using the extra funds to improve the school and arguing that it should go towards planning fun trips instead, had tried to sue the school board.

Of course, the case had immediately been thrown out and dismissed, but it had set a dangerous precedent. A precedent that now made it mandatory for all parents to attend one meeting to determine their opinions on where the funding should be used and write it down so they could not claim their voices had not been heard.

Honestly, it was such a stupid arrangement in Gordon’s opinion. Why not just send out an email? Or forms that kids could take home to their parents. It was so… disruptive and annoying, especially for single parents who had to work long hours.

Like him.

His hands tensed, nails nearly dug into his skin before Benrey carefully moved them, holding them. As Gordon looked up, the ex-guard sent him an awkward yet warm smile. An attempt at reassuring him that things would turn out alright.

“hey... you-you gotta chillax feetman, things’ll be okay-”

“How the hell am I supposed to chillax in this situation?!” Gordon barked as he removed his hands from Benrey’s, shoved himself out of his seat, and began pacing around, furiously staring at the floor.

“I’ve been fucked over by some racist bitch! Joshua needs someone there and it has to be someone who has some kind of guardianship over him for that stupid funding bullshit!”

As his partner raged on about the unfairness and overall stupidity of the situation, Benrey decided that it was time to think. To think, and plot, and come up with something that would hopefully calm Gordon down while solving the problem that Linda had caused.

Simply put, Joshua needed someone who had designated guardianship over him to be present during the meeting to act in his best interests. Not surprisingly, Benrey did not have this title due as both he and Gordon had agreed that it would not be the best idea due to both his inhumane nature and the potential destruction he might cause.

But, that did not mean that only Shea and Gordon were listed as the young boy’s guardians. There was one other who had been granted the title in case of an emergency, although his presence had never been needed up until this point, which was probably why Gordon had forgotten about him in his stressed out state.

Dr. Coomer, one of Joshua’s “grandpas”.

And, of course, if one member of the Science Team went somewhere, then the rest had to follow. The Science Team stuck together through thick and thin, no matter the strife or struggle and always left chaos in their wake.

Hostile arrangements required equally hostile solutions, after all.

“this is gonna be baller.” Benrey chuckled, his eyes flashing brightly at the brilliance of his plan. Now all he had to do was get Gordon to agree to it.

“pssst, yo, xen to gaydon.”

There was something about the tone that Benrey’s voice took on that snapped Gordon out of his ranting. How calm and collected he sounded, the coherency and confidence in his words. Somewhat concerned, the physicist turned around and saw the scheming look in the ex-guard’s glowing eyes as his fingers drummed on the table.

“feetman, i got a plan.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I would like to make it clear that no offense is intended towards anyone named Linda, aside from the one racist Linda I know that she was named after who will never, ever read this so my sins will forever remain unknown :>

#my story #fanfiction #hlvrai #hlvrai gordon #hlvrai benrey #pta au #humor #quick warning that a racist and homophobic character is mentioned #and as such her crimes of using slurs are used #chapter one of three

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freezing-kaiju · 4 years

Text

mechaphilosophy in the snack aisle

an AsuRei and KawoShin fic. Fluff and meta stuff.

Summary: While running an errand with Rei, Asuka discovers, to her horror, that she agrees with Rei, Kaworu, and Shinji on something: none of them like mecha anime. Nightmares are discussed, hands are held, Kaworu stands on things he shouldn't.

(au detail: modern au, set during community college, no evangelions, au to be named soon)

September. Saturday afternoon, about three-ish, Asuka didn’t bother to check. One of the handful of friends she’d made at the community college had invited her to a movie night at five. Of course, like everything in life, an escape like this came with a catch. This catch wasn’t the worst, though; if she was picking snacks, then she could pick her favorites.

And like always, Wonder Girl decided to tag along.

That was both a problem and a benefit. Benefit, because Asuka knew there was gonna be someone there she could talk to, someone to start a petty fight with, someone to sneak out a window with if shit got rough, someone to make sure she didn’t touch any booze, and someone to back her up and deck a motherfucker if this turned out to be some shitty prank.

Problem, because she couldn’t for the life of her think of a topic to argue about while they bought snacks.

“Well?” Ayanami asked, as she plucked a microwave popcorn package off a shelf and swept it into the cart.

“Gimme a sec.” Asuka’s eyes scanned over the rows of chips, as if bags would give her an idea that wouldn’t be insipidly tumblr-ask-game-y. And she already knew Rei didn’t know a thing about discourse, be it Doctor Who or Voltron.

Wait. Voltron.

Asuka snapped her fingers, yanking a bag off the shelf in a dramatic flourish and lobbing it in the cart. Stopping and checking is for wusses. The chips landed with a satisfying crunch.

“So!” She felt Ayanami’s creepy stare boring into her neck like a vampire who missed the whole ‘teeth’ memo, and whirled around to meet her gaze. “I’ve got our topic.” Hands on hips, smirk in place, Asuka gave herself a dramatic pause. “Mecha!”

“Mecha,” Ayanami echoed, stare flickering away from Asuka to a glance at some shelf. A couple years ago, that would’ve pissed her off to no end. Now she knew better; that was Wonder Girl’s sign she was thinking. She’d learned a lot over the past years. Her signs of discomfort, of happiness, what not to touch (neck), what not to call her (doppelgänger, fake, tool most of all). She liked to hope Ayanami put the same effort in for her.

“Mecha!” Asuka repeated, then added, “Because it’s stupid, and it’s lame, and I’ve never liked it.”

Ayanami remained silent. The corner of her mouth twitched down; frustration, or fear, either of which was...weird, especially for her.

After what felt like forever (but was probably just a minute), Asuka broke the silence. “Uh...hey? Earth to Wonder Girl? This is where we argue? Did ya forget our whole thing?”

Ayanami blinked, slow and deliberate. “I...agree.”

Those two words felt like a slap to Asuka’s face. “You...you what?!”

“I agree. I... I don’t like mecha.” Ayanami’s stare snapped back to meet Asuka’s, and for some reason there was fear in the depths of her red irises. “I hate mecha.”

The two of them were, in a word, shook. In all twelve years of knowing each other, this was the first time Rei’d ever agreed with Asuka. Well, they’d agreed on some things, but never their Specific Argument Topics. And Rei felt stronger on it than Asuka! Jokes about Wonder Girl finally growing a spine, about how “the robot got sentience,” about how the irony of it all had slipped through Asuka’s fingers, and she grasped for a single word:

“Why?!”

Ayanami lifted a hand in the air, and Asuka tensed. Was Wonder Girl going to punch her? Over a stupid anime opinion? Sure, let’s go, let’s throw down! In the grocery store! Because life is already that goddamn crazy! She could feel herself getting fired up.

...but then, Ayanami’s wrist went limp. Her hand twitched back and forth, a motion that practically short circuited Asuka’s guesses. What was she doing? Was there something seriously fucking amiss?! She directed her glare at the hand, then at the Rei attached to it. “The fuck’s wrong?!”

“I,” Ayanami began, still making the weird hand motion, “Can’t explain why.”

Asuka let out a sigh of relief, and immediately cursed the fact she was holding one in at all. “Well! Nice to see I’ve stumped you for once, then!” She let out a laugh that curdled in her mouth when she glanced back at Ayanami, whose face was a mask (well it was ALWAYS a stupid mask, a stupid blank pretty doll mask) of concentration. “Wait, is it, like... serious?”

Ayanami shook her head ever so slightly, and Asuka found herself wishing for the nine thousandth time that her rival could maybe find the guts to express herself more. It sucked a little, being the only one who could read the book that was Wonder Girl, but hey, take pride in all she can. “Your reasons?” Ayanami asked, more pointedly towards Asuka this time.

“Well!” Asuka put her hands back on her hips and took a few moments to parse her thoughts, rattling off each one whenever it popped into mind. “It’s always some military bullshit, first off! Colorful space military, come join, fight the good fight, all that shady shit. Feels like propaganda for a thing that doesn’t even exist!”

“Japan does have a military,” Ayanami said.

“Do they have mechs, though?!” Asuka shot back.

“Fair, continue.”

“Right! And it’s always kids, or teens! Which, I get it, power fantasy, I love that shit sometimes, but like! That responsibility? On someone like, 14?!”

“That’s the conceit of most shows,” Ayanami pointed. Back and forth, good. Asuka craved these kinds of volleys.

“Yeah, but think about it! Superpowers, magic, both of those are usually, like, accidents? Or self-accepted, or born with? But like, a cool mech was built, designed, approved! Someone at the top of the line had to say, oh yeah, put a kid behind the wheel of that big stomping deathbot! What could go wrong?!”

“Much,” Ayanami conceded.

“And sometimes I...” Asuka paused, practically screaming at herself ‘GENUINE THOUGHTS, ABORT, ABORT, SHUT YOUR FUCK’, but her traitorous mouth kept going, “...get nightmares about like, me being in one, fighting all these other mechs, and the dream always starts out fun and perfect and like I’m doing something, and then--”

“And then?” Rei cut in, and Asuka didn’t know whether she wanted to deck her or collapse in her arms, but the words kept going either way.

“And then the mech gets hit, and I fall over, and everything hurts and I’m bleeding all over and I... and I fucking die, every time, I always die screaming and I always die alone!” Asuka hugged her arms to herself, winding down from her rant. She refused to look at Rei. “I just... It’d suck, to die in one of those. To die alone.”

Rei didn’t respond, and Asuka didn’t look... at least, not until she felt Wonder Girl’s cold, soft fingers, ghosting across the back of her left hand. She let go of her own arms, hands dropping to her side, and Rei’s fingers lightly caressed that hand again, then laced with Asuka’s longer, rougher ones. The grip was loose for just a moment, before Asuka gripped on like a lifeline.

“Like this’ll help,” Asuka scoffed, voice barely above a whisper. “Like I need help. I’m fine! I’m-- Just gimme a moment, I’ll be fine.”

Rei gave a slight nod in response, and Asuka stayed quiet. Shallow breathing gave way to proper rhythm, and Asuka put her smirk back on. Everything’s fine. Can’t lose my grip. Thank fuck I didn’t cry. She refused to let go of Ayanami’s hand, though. “Your turn, Wonder Girl,” she prompted, bravado almost regrown.

“Dehumanization,” Ayanami responded. “In two forms.”

“...huh?” Asuka raised an eyebrow. Maybe Wonder Girl’s stance on it would be interesting after all. Especially given her whole... ’tool’... thing. “What d’you mean?”

“First form.” Ayanami held up her index finger. “Mechs are masks.”

Asuka tilted her head. This she wanted to hear.

Ayanami continued, “A person steps inside a mech enough, they stop being a person. They’re a computer, running the mech. The mech becomes them. Like a superhero, but...” She paused, waved her hand again. “But a hero sees their foes are people. If the two of us were in mechs...” Ayanami averted her gaze. “I wouldn’t know it was you. You’d just be a part of a big robot. Just a target. Easy to kill.”

“... yeah, that’s fucked up!” Asuka laughed nervously. How the fuck did it get this heavy?

Ayanami nodded again and returned her stare to Asuka’s face. Her loose hold on Asuka’s hand tightened, almost imperceptibly, but Asuka felt it. “Apologies. Losing you is my worst-case scenario.”

Asuka felt her whole face erupt into a massive blush. Scheiße! What kind of stupid, pathetic, desperate, sweet, romantic shit is she pulling?! What do I SAY?! “You too!” Asuka blurted out, regretting it instantly. “Idiot!” she added, as if it’d sharpen the admittance into a stab rather than a confession.

It didn’t work; to Asuka’s sheer fury, Wonder Girl cracked the slightest of smiles, and... and blushed.

Rei could blush.

Asuka felt her heartbeat ramp up at just that sight. Desperately, she tried to reign the conversation back into direction. “But about the mecha! Your second reason?!” she asked, though she already had a pretty good idea of what it was.

“Second form: pilots are disposable,” Ayanami said, and Asuka dabbed inside her mind. “Anyone can pilot a mech if the pilot dies. Through replacement, or… cloning. The ‘same person’ could be one in a series. That gets internalized. I… would internalize that.” Her gaze grew distant. Scheiße.

“Hey.” Asuka tugged a little on Rei’s hand, and maneuvered around so Rei was leaning on her.

Rei didn’t respond.

“There aren’t any more of you, dummy,” Asuka said. “You’re Rei Ayanami. The only Rei Ayanami.”

Rei responded only to nudge Asuka. Keep going, got it.

“And...and even if there were more! Even if there were a thousand fucking Reis, you’re the only Wonder Girl.”

No response for a moment, two moments, three… then Rei began to hum. It was soft, tuneless... familiar, though. Rei’s hum. Her special weird way to say she felt safe, or happy, or content. Asuka didn’t really know which. Maybe it was all three. She knew, though, that she could listen to it forever.

Unfortunately...

“May I intrude?”

In an instant, the two rivals ripped away, Asuka with a shriek and a jump aside while Ayanami sidestepped silently. As her fury ratcheted from 1 to 14, Asuka’s gaze whipped over to the intruder on their moment.

Perched atop one of the shelves was the lanky, white-haired weirdo Asuka recognized as Kaworu. He was new in town, but he had made a fucking impression; not many people go door to door to tell everyone they’re new in town without being on some kinda list. He flashed a grin that struck Asuka as a little too wide.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Creep! Dummkopf!” Asuka hurled a string of further insults, finishing with, “And what the fuck are you doing up there anyway?!”

Kaworu’s grin remained. He spread his arms and seesawed his shoulders, like he had never shrugged before and was trying out the concept for the first time. “I climbed. Overheard your discussion and felt like joining.”

“What?” Ayanami asked before Asuka could tell him to go fuck off.

“Mmm. What you mentioned, about... de-human-ing, was it? I find it even more tragic, from the unarmed foe’s perspective. Some powerful creature that,” he made strange air quotes, “‘must be dealt with’ is fighting tooth and nail against something made with the most perfect engineering humanity can figure. It’s...sad? Futile? I’m not sure of the proper word...” Lost in thought, Kaworu slipped off the shelf he was perched on and tumbled to the ground, landing on all fours with a hiss.

Asuka burst out laughing, but it turned into a groan when she heard the frenzied patter of sneakers approaching the aisle. Great. Another person. And with my luck, it’s--

“Kaworu! Kaworu, are you okay?!”

...Shinji. Asuka rolled her eyes towards her currently-out-of-breath former classmate, who was scrambling to help Kaworu up, rambling on about workplace safety or something. Lots of things to call Shinji. Tryhard. Lab partner. Sorta friend. Rebound “crush.” Asuka decided to skip any polite pretense. Not a classroom, not Ayanami’s house, Shinji didn’t need to be her problem. “Hey, moron.”

“O-oh!” He seemed to notice the other two and waved a little. “Hey, Asuka, Rei, nice to see you two?”

“Brother,” Ayanami offered as her greeting for the moment. They had been officially siblings for awhile now, ever since the trial, but as far as Asuka knew they were still on shaky ground with each other. All the better, she didn’t want to deal with Shinji’s bullshit any more than she had to.

“How serendipitous of you to arrive! We were just discussing an intriguing topic,” Kaworu announced, as if he were bringing up the obvious instead of grandfathering Shinji into his interruption. “Mecha? Mecha anime? Are you familiar with it, and what are your thoughts on the topic?”

“Uh...” Shinji’s eyes flicked between them, and shrunk in on himself a little. Asuka… okay, she had to admit, that was kind of a worrying way to take an easy question like that. He shrugged. “I-I’ve seen some Robotech, some Gundam, a little of Tiger and Bunny? Saw all of The Big O and really liked it, but... I stopped watching them, I guess.”

“Why? Ya get scared?” Asuka smirked. She refused to even think “mood” in relation to Shinji.

“Kinda? I mean, I-I--” he stuttered, stumbling over his words as ever, “I just, it stopped being fun? I started... I dunno. Thinking about the pressure I’d be under, if I really was in one of those. Can’t pretend I’m a cool robot pilot once I think of it like a responsibility.”

“And the responsibility could be so cruel,” Kaworu added, leaning on and over Shinji. The moron blushed pomegranate red, and Asuka clapped a hand over her own mouth, trying not to burst out laughing.

“I-I mean yeah, I--”

“Let’s go.” Ayanami nudged Asuka, and she made an effort to tune Shinji out. Not like that was hard. “We’re running late.”

Asuka let out a sigh of relief and grabbed the shopping cart again. “Thank fuck. Let’s get the fuck outta this idiot stand... zone... whatever!”

“We had a good moment,” Ayanami observed, not commenting on the mangled insult. Who knows, maybe someday she’d get Wonder Girl to laugh. “And they ruined it.”

“Ugh! Yeah!”

“That moment. It could happen again.”

Asuka laughed. “In your dreams, Wonder Girl.”

#asurei #reisuka #asuka langley soryu #rei ayanami #neon genesis evangelion #nge #nge horror au #my fics #soryu asuka langley #ayanami rei

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iphoenixrising · 5 years

Text

For 800 Followers! The Wrong Robin

Babe recc’ed me a fic, Liminal Space by Calamityjim and a few profound things hit me in this fic. The author talks about how basically when shit gets broken, it’s broke. The Bats fucked Tim over and it’s not just a forgive-and-forget situation. It’s literally a darker world he’s living in and my fucking heart goes out to him. I write some angsty things about Tim not coming back to the Bats, but I do a few that really aren’t that, so this is inspired by the Tim that can’t go back.

So, for everyone that’s only wanted to do good things but still gets beaten down over and over again. I love you. I love you so so much.

**

Getting pissed really isn’t an option.

Because vigilantes arguing in the middle of a rooftop after an epic takedown is never good PR for the capes and cowls–

(but it isn’t like he’s really one of them anymore, right?)

“Can’t motherfuckin’ believe I’m hearin’ this shit, Pretender.” The Red Hood is standing tall against the night with forearms and fists clenched by his sides, fucking arguing with him like any of it means a damn thing.

“Am I in the Twilight Zone right now or some shit?” Red Robin comes back, sneering and baring his teeth in the semblance of a smile. “Who the fuck even are you?”

“Lookit here, asshole–”

But Red just moves, gets right up in Hood’s grill, whiteouts narrowed in the night, standing right the hell up to the Robin that once-upon-a-time was his (and welp, hadn’t that ship sailed?)

“Why are you even here?” He demands, low and dark, “wasn’t it enough to shove a Batarang in my chest? To almost slit my throat? Wasn’t that the fuck enough for you? And then this shit? You here telling me some pile of crap about how I should come back? Come back to what?”

Hood takes a step back, the tension in his shoulders and forearms loosening, “whoa, waitaminute, just wait–”

“You called me fucking Pretender, didn’t you?” Is even lower, the younger vigilante still as stone, “because that’s what I am, right? No matter what my intentions were, no matter how much of a beating I took all those years. None of that shit means a fucking thing, does it?”

“Look, kid, I don’t know what the hell yer goin’ on ‘bout. B just asked–”

“What? He asked you to tell me to get the fuck out of Gotham? Like I really need anyone to tell me that? Like I don’t already fucking know?”

Now it’s the Red Hood that stills, not even a huff or guffaw through the synths, just the tiniest movement of the helmet moving to track when Red Robin takes a step back.

“Go back and tell B to stop wasting your fucking time, Hood. He’s already got all his Robins.”

And Red knows he’s taking a real risk here, turning away from the vigilante that’s tried taking him out of the game more than once, one that hadn’t had a fucking moment of hesitation. He knows giving his back to Jason Todd could be the last mistake he ever makes.

Still, he’s not the same person he was back when the Battle for the Cowl was going down. He’s not the same person Jason Todd asked to be his Robin. He’s not the same person that died a little the day the tunic was taken right out of his hands.

He’s more pragmatic, less idealistic. He’s a vigilante that’s hit the grey areas and been able to come back–

(and fuck you, Bruce. Fuck you for coming after him when that little thing with Boomerang went down. When he didn’t let that murdering bastard die. When Red realized who he was, and that was not a murderer, when he wasn’t going to be like Boomerang or his future gun-toting Batman self. Fuck YOU, B. Jason got a second chance. Damian got a second chance. But him? Well, he’s the fucking Robin that was never chosen, so jumping all over him was pretty much fine.)

He’s pretty sure the fight between him and the Red Hood would go down very differently if he’d been that broken the last time they had it out. Hood never would have asked for Red to be another Batman’s Robin. He would have gotten the fuck you memo first thing.

But really, what does any of that matter now?

They’ve reached the end of his little Robin ride, so it’s time to cut his losses and move on – just like all of them pretty much wanted.

So he’s going to do just that. He’s going to stand with his team, take every lesson he’s ever learned from the Bats, and keep fucking moving. It’s what he’s been doing for a little more than a year, makes it easy to turn away from Hood, makes him narrow his eyes when a gloved hand catches his elbow unexpectedly just as he’s ready to shoot the grapple and take off into the night. Red Robin finds himself gone far enough from who and what he used to be that he’s already got a plan to put Jason Todd the fuck down this time.

(You’re not getting another chance to fuck me over, Todd. Not again.)

“Hey,” is low through the synths, the hand around his elbow not tight enough to be a hold, not really. “Lemme start again, yeah?”

“There’s no point in starting anything,” Red Robin doesn’t even turn to look over his shoulder, to acknowledge Hood, “everything has been over for a long damn time. Go back and tell them that.”

The grapple fires in the night, a bang, cuts off a “–wait a motherfucking minute!” when he’s pulled into space, pulled out in the dark Gotham night. A flicker of gold from the harness and utility belt, a dance of shadows in the shape of a flapping cape, and the younger vigilante is gone in a literal blink.

Hood shakes his head a little, thrown from the way his replacement brushed him completely off, sprouted old rhetoric from the days when the second Robin was one angry motherfucker.

And as much as he shouldn’t give two shits about the ig’nant fuck, the sight of that kid’s face when he was in the red, gold, and green, that face when he was clutching at his throat, bleedin’ like a stuck pig, looking so fucking devastated, is there in the Red Hood’s mind’s eye when he fires his own grapple and takes off in the opposite direction.

**

Dickie don’t make it any better. Not at all.

“He didn’t want to hear it, B,” the oldest Robin shakes his head sadly, “and maybe we should just let him go. He’s got his own team and a new ident. Maybe he’s just happier where he is.”

Stephanie Brown straightens up, mouth set in a grim line. But at the end of the day, she has nothing to argue, really. Her choices back then had been...questionable, even with the best of intentions. Scarab and faking her own death, piling more on a newly orphaned Robin hadn’t been the answer, hadn’t been the way to test his limits to see what would finally make him break.

It’s a few years too late for these realizations, and even when she wants to shove her face right up in Dick Grayson’s grill and argue–

She can’t.

And fuck, she hates it.

Behind them, Jason Todd is sitting at his workstation, back to the conversation after giving them a clipped, condensed version of events. At first, the two of them were talking low at the Batcomputer after a somewhat easy patrol.

She, Dick, and Dami had come in and started breaking out of the capes for the night before catching some of the conversation –

“Lil’ asshole didn’t stay long ‘nough ta listen, you feel me, B?”

“He wouldn’t even hear you out?”

Between getting out of the body armor and taking a shower, unwinding wrists and ankles, ruffling their Robin as much as possible just to have him “tt” at her and still grin when he turns away from her teasing, she’d come to stand on the outskirts with Dick, waiting to give her nightly report before crashing hardcore.

“Said ya already had all yer Robins. Also said ta tell ya ta stop wasting yer time n’ shit.”

The Dark Knight is silent, cowl back to air out his sweaty hair, arms crossed over his chest. The draw of his brows and deep frown are telling as to what he thinks of this little convo.

She’d been ready to ask who are you talking about? since all the previous Robins were, in fact, more at the Manor these days than even Alfred can remember. It’s rough and tumble sometimes, all of them grating on each other, but it really was what Batman Incorporated probably should have always been.

At least for the Batfamily.

But when she pauses, when the words get stuck in her throat, his masked face from way back when gives her pause, is still associated with old pains and regrets, and Steph has to take a long, deep breath.

That’s when Dick, who’d apparently also put the topic of conversation together, had stepped in to break the news to them.

“Maybe he’s just...moved on.”

She grinds her back teeth together, and can’t say a fucking thing.

**

“Tt,” is about as unconvincing as you can get. Certainly Drake will realize it.

“I asked what you wanted,” Red Robin reminds him, not bothering to look up from the microscope he’s studying.

“As I said,” Robin repeats, “Father has requested you return to Gotham. As I understand there is some yearly tradition he wishes to reinstate.”

“And as I said,” is unruffled, absent; the older vigilante obviously distracted as he jots down notes on a steno pad beside the microscope, “enjoy that. Don’t come back unless you need something important.”

Irritation wells up, but the teenager closes his eyes behind the whiteouts and takes a soft breath, trying to quell the emotion, reminding himself that Drake may be annoying and arrogant, but he was also once a Robin. He has had a few redeeming instances in his crime fighting career.

“This is important to Father, Drake,” Robin replies in an even tone, “he wants all the Bats to participate. Thus this applies to you.”

His predecessor’s muscles go tight in just the under suit, straightens away from the delicate equipment at one of the labs in Titan’s Tower, but still, he doesn’t bother to turn and face the current Robin head-on.

After a few seconds of silence, Red Robin goes back to the microscope. “C’mon, stop fucking around. Go back and tell him I said I was busy for, like, the next ten years or something.”

“That would be inaccurate.”

“Well, tell him I just said no.” Shrug of the shoulders, back to divided attention, and it is quickly starting to get more than just irritating.

“If I am to tell him that, Drake, then he will ask why.”

“Tell him I’m not his responsibility anymore. I mean, wouldn’t it be awkward if I did show up? Nobody needs that, and I have plenty to do here.”

Robin’s crossed arms loosen just a little, his back less rigid, the discussion in the Cave a few days ago still sitting in the back of his mind, making him wonder.

“Very well,” he makes it falsely light on purpose, “and when I return to Gotham with your answer, he will be the one to show up next. Unless you want to deal with that, you will need to provide better reasonings.” And a huff because he has no idea why he’s even still here, “Drake. They are a pain in the ass. This is not news to you. However,” and the pause, how he trails off is the things that finally gets the older vigilante to glance over his shoulder, “they are family. They are your family and mine. It is...troublesome at times, but they are what they are.”

Whatever he said is enough to make the older vigilante stop what he’s doing and lightly brace just his fingertips on the countertop as he stands.

Drake turns and approaches slowly, whiteouts up and face utterly impassive. A few feet between them and his predecessor breaks it out, calm and low when Robin feels like this visage is only another type of mask.

“Family? You think I’m family? That I ever was in the first place?”

Robin’s arms tighten.

“I didn’t want to be Robin forever,” Drake keeps going and Robin can imagine his eyes are cold and calm behind the domino, “I gave it ten years or so. That should have been plenty of time for B to get over Jason’s death. At least enough that he would get control over himself back. But the longer I was in the tunic, the more people that died around me, the more I had to change so I didn’t end up doing the same thing he did. There wasn’t another kid to hang around and keep me from destroying myself, so I had to keep my shit together.”

Robin’s mouth is slightly open, wondering why all this is coming out now? He and Drake have always been little more than rivals. This heartfelt account makes Robin uncomfortable for several reasons–

Primarily because he’s never been interested in his predecessor’s time in the tunic. It had simply never mattered, not when he took over the Robin mantle and strove to make it his rather than Drake’s.

“But when he disappeared, and everything that happened afterwards. All of that made me realize that no matter what I did, or what I tried to do, it was never supposed to have been me in that tunic.” A gloved finger flicks to the R on Robin’s left shoulder. “I wasn’t family, Damian. Not from the moment I put it on for the first time, and not at the end when Dick pulled it out from under me. Family? Family wouldn’t do that.”

And even if it’s difficult, Robin tries to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry.

“The last time I even talked to your dad? Was when the Boomerang thing happened, you know that, right?” And Red Robin goes still enough that Robin wonders if he’s even breathing. “No one died, and even though I didn’t let that happen, I’m the one that didn’t get a second chance. Not like you or Jason. All those years, all the times I pulled him out of the fire, all those years I thought he was my friend, my partner, my family. All of it meant nothing in the end.”

And Drake takes one step closer, just one, arms still crossed over his chest, head tilted down, but Robin feels like his chest is so tight, like he can’t even get a breath.

“So,” and Drake’s voice is softer now, gentle almost, “he won’t be showing up. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s probably time for you to go back to Gotham. Batman...needs a Robin.”

And if his vision blurs behind the whiteouts suspiciously as Drake walks away from him, through the open doors of the lab, no one would be the wiser.

#angst #hurt/no comfort #dc comics #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #stephanie brown #dick grayson #damian wayne #my fic #my drabbles #800 followers

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miragecounseling · 4 years

Note

OH YEAH the "rise and fucking shine, motherfucker" is the one I chose. For whoever you want! ☀️✨

jekhjkhg i love this one ty

---

Vax wiped the sweat from her brow and pushed the loose strands of hair out of her eyes. She reached back and undid her ponytail, letting her long dark burgundy hair spill over her shoulders.

The sun was setting and soon the night’s creatures would be out to play. She gathered the wood she had been chopping and began walking back to the small cabin she’d been staying in.

She walked in silence, keeping alert for any trouble that may be lurking in the shadows of the forest. With her cabin in sight, she let her guard down a bit and picked up her pace, eager to start a fire so she could get some sleep in a warm cabin.

The door was heavy and creaked with every push and pull. Vax knew most would find it an annoyance and attempt to oil the hinges, but she liked it. It made her feel safer knowing that no one would be able to sneak in unnoticed. Not that there was much room to hide in the cabin. It was modest: a single room containing a firepit, bed far too small for her large Norn frame, table and chairs, and a bookcase with a collection that was more dust than books. There was a place to relieve herself and clean herself outside, but she preferred to heat water over the fire and wash herself with rags instead.

Vax set a few small logs into the firebox to feed the small fire that remained from before she left. It slowly roared to life and she sat close, enjoying the warmth caressing her face.

The tiredness that had been creeping up on her all day overwhelmed her suddenly. Her eyes felt heavy and she lifted herself off of the floor and into bed, not even bothering to change her clothes.

She pulled the thick quilt over her tired body and let her eyes flutter close, the crackling of the fire rocking her to sleep.

---

Morning came in what seemed like minutes, though it had actually been about five hours. And for Vax that was considered sleeping in. She stretched her arms above her head and sighed as she sat up.

Her stomach rumbled as she changed out of yesterday’s clothes. She normally preferred to wear her full armor, but it wasn’t very practical for daily tasks like chopping wood and cooking so her lighter leather set would have to do. She slung her quiver over her shoulder and grabbed her shortbow.

‘Hopefully game will be easy to find this time of day,’ she thought to herself before heading out, the creaks of the door making a small smile appear on her lips for a moment.

She huffed and replaced it with a grimace quickly, ‘Vaxthys you’re such a monster... The norn girl who lost it and hasn’t smiled at another soul in years, but smiles at doors.’

A loud crash followed by deep, unruly laughter stopped Vax in her tracks. She lowered herself to the ground and pulled an arrow out, ready to pounce if need be. She peered over the bushes and saw a large woman and man. Norn, like her. She was supposed to be alone, who travels through these woods unless to escape?

A small head with unkempt orange hair poked out from a tent. The child smiled at the two norn in front of him, a large toothy grin spread across his face.

“Stefan! You’re up so early, boy!” the man shouted with a smile as he ruffled the boys hair, “Ray, are you sure we’ve brought our son and not some well behaved human noble boy?”

The woman shook her head and chuckled while she continued to cook.

“Dad! I’m almost 11 now, I’m practically an adult!” the kid said, hands on his hips in what she assumed he thought looked like a dominant pose, “Adults have to wake up early! It’s like you always say to the cattle..”

He paused to shovel some food in his mouth and his father looked at him bemusedly, one brow cocked.

“Rise and shine, motherfuckers!” he shouted, food spilling out of his mouth.

There was a moment of silence before the loudest laughter Vax had heard... possibly ever. Even she had a hard time holding back a chuckle. The woman wiped his face off while biting her lip in a feeble attempt to hold back the laughter.

“You’re a quick learner, Stefan!” the man shook his head and sat next to the boy, the smile never leaving his face.

Vax lowered her bow and stowed the arrow before backing away silently. A sadness she hadn’t felt in years settled into the pit of her stomach- an ache... a yearning? She shook her head in an attempt to push the thoughts out.

She stood up and continue on her hunt for breakfast, letting the family’s laughter echo in her head.

#readmores are messing up w asks so i hope this one works lol #vax #my writing #morgrenth

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leporellian · 4 years

Text

how i got into opera (unabridged)

i realize i’ve never mentioned how i got into opera before and it’s like. it was a whole ass Odyssey and i really feel like confessing my sins today.

‘so how do you find a special interest’ watch this.

RIGHT so i actually was exposed to opera all the damn time as a baby because my grandmother thought, for some dumbass reason, that opera calms babies down. which she was apparently right so i’m not gonna debate that shit but has she ever been to an opera. literally every damn minute of the ring cycle could traumatize a baby. literally what the fuck. but that’s not where this story begins because i don’t remember ANY of that shit.

anyway so as a kid i was always on that bullshit with THESE fucking things

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these were supposed to make your baby smart or something but they didn’t work because i have the processing speed of the fuckin Pony Express. but they were good. (except for the beethoven one, which terrified me. fuck beethoven.) they were like, soothing images/puppets/toys with a backdrop of classical music scored on a marimba, which was like CRACK COCAINE to an autistic kid like myself so i watched these until i was in 4th grade despite the box saying ‘for ages under 3′ which really shows you how ineffectual these were at actually making kids smart. now this was like, the opera gateway drug, because it buttered me up into liking opera/classical music, which is a CAPITAL Sin.

so by this point i already like classical music. unless it’s by beethoven because he freaked me the F u c k out. which is where...

PURRPALS FOR THE DS comes in

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this game was literally a shameless nintendogs clone that was made to sell purina cat food. it was absolutely fucking bizarre. however i was a seven year old with a nintendo Dee Ess and toxoplasmosis gondii practically running in their Bloodstream i was on this shit like a hare in heat. but the important part of the gameplay was this guitar hero clone where you had to stage a fucking cat acapella group

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it was easy as shit, being a badly designed game made for selling

PURINA

CAT

LITTER,

so i would immediately go to the hard levels, which were as follows.

- THE MAGIC FLUTE - RIGOLETTO - LA HABANERA - TORADOR

first of all these motherfuckers took one song from the magic flute and one song from rigoletto and said it was the WHOLE OPERA but THEY COULDN’T EVEN FIND A FOURTH OPERA SO THEY WENT WITH CARMEN TWICE. what WACKADOO Chicanery. also why the FUCK was rigoletto there it’s really the third wheel of this whole affair. anyway so since i played this shit regularly enough i was able to remember the song names, which, i had no idea what the fuck they were about but as a kid you never know what the fuck anything is about so i really was not bothered. i think i thought the magic flute was a ballet in the same cinematic universe as the Nut Crack Ker or something

anyway.

CHAPTER FOUR: THE FRESH BEAT BAND

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I HATED THIS SHOW WITH EVERY CORE OF MY BEING. i don’t know WHY but i felt such extreme secondhand embarrassment when i saw this show at the ripe old age of seven that when the school’s music teacher, which was the same one that loudly declared her loyalty to Mitt Romney in class one day (which is a different but no less entertaining story) showed a clip of this to us it was the first time i realized nothing was stopping me from walking out of the school. (which i didn’t. because i was a pussy. but fuck this show.) there was some dumb ass episode where all of the characters were doing different music styles or whatever- i really wasn’t paying attention i was on the computer in the same room of the television looking up how much my littlest pet shop toys were worth on ebay- and then they start singing

LA FUCKIN HABANERA.

“i know that song!” i said, which sounds like joyful recognition, but in my head i was thinking something more akin to “WHAT THE FUCK THAT BITCH IS STEALING THE SONG FROM PURRPALS ON THE DS. LEARN YOUR COPYRIGHTS YOU HOE.” my parents immediately went ‘nah it has to have a different name’, which is when my ENTP really came out. i don’t believe in meyers-briggs but i got entp on the test and it basically means ‘stubborn little bastard who will start an argument with Literally Anyone” which is Kin Me Id. anyway i started being all ‘no i KNOW because PURRPALS on the DS told me’ so my parents were like ‘fine let’s just make the kid be quiet’ and looked it up on itunes. No Shit, i was right, because i knew my

PURRPALS

LORE.

so anyway my parents knew my grandmother was crazy batshit for opera, which my grandmother actually used to hate opera but then a friend of hers who liked opera killed herself and then she decided to listen and went ‘nah this is actually kinda a bop’, which again a whole nother story, so they immediately tell her that i know about opera. which i DIDN’T i just knew about PURRPALS on the DS. so now my grandmother decides “aight i’m taking the grandkid to carmen at the LYRIC OPERA HOUSE”.

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i was seven and i didn’t know what ANY of those words MEANT. but my parents made me wear a dress and a purse so i figured it was an Occasion. (i filled the purse with nothing but goldfish crackers. they weren’t even in a ziploc baggie inside the bag i just dumped like half a carton of them directly into the purse.)

so anyway i liked watching carmen but it wasn;t like it was anything special to me at the time. like you could have replaced it with Madagascar 2: Escape 2 Africa and it would have the same effect.

UNTIL ACT FOUR.

my grandmother was never exactly aware of my reading abilities until i was maybe like, 13. she didn’t think i was actually understanding anything in the little program thing they give you. but i realized, right as act 3 finished, that carmen was going to be stabbed in the next act

ON STAGE

and i lost my shit.

“that doesn’t even make sense!” i told my grandmother as we left the building. (i thankfully didn’t make a scene but i was shaking like an abused grayhound, or some shit.) “don jose is a bad guy carmen would have stabbed him first.” (thankfully there’s a production where that actually happens. so some day i will sue them because they plagiarized from my filibuster in the lyric ladies’ bathroom about carmen when i was seven.)

“there are operas with happy endings!” she said. i wasn’t sure i believed her because i watched that one bugs bunny episode where they do wagner.

so anyway, like 7 months later my grandmother tells my parents she’ll take me to see the magic flute, also at the lyric, because it’s a child friendly opera, which, it’s

AN OPERA ABOUT FREEMASONRY CULTS AND RACISM AND SEXISM WITH TWO OR MORE ATTEMPTED SUICIDES AND A HITMAN PLOT

but by this point nobody really cared and this time i was sure i wouldn’t freak because i had trained myself into not crying at movies, because my parents didn’t allow me to watch movies that made me cry so i exploited a loophole, which again, another story. i knew about the magic flute vaguely because it was in Purrpals on the DS.

now that i knew what the magic flute was- vaguely, my grandmother told me nothing about it except that it was an opera- i asked my grandmother what rigoletto was. “oh it’s the same thing as the hunchback of notre dame!”

i still don’t know what the fuck she meant by this.

anyway i loved the magic flute- which had the same music as that baby einstein tape all those years ago so it immediately felt familiar- and as soon as i got home i went and decided that i was going to know everything to know about it.

and that’s how i got into opera.

#rambles #opera tag

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sleepdepwritings · 4 years

Text

Presented for archival purposes only, the first part of a story I wrote many years ago and will not be continuing no way it’s very bad.

A Save the Spiders Gig

by Cody L Ralston

Chapter 1

The vampires stormed the stage while we were in the middle of "Walking is Still Honest," which was not fucking cool.

First of all, it's my favorite song by my favorite band. You don't go with the stage name "Against Steve" unless you love Laura Jane Grace. Second, Ted steps back and lets me sing lead on that song, and I fucking shred at it. I shriek that motherfucker, alright?

And third, y'know. Vampires.

The gig was a bonfire/kegger/minor riot some local kids had arranged in the badlands outside of town. We were set up on a platform we'd jerry-rigged from some old wooden pallets and milk crates, wailing sloppily at two or three dozen drunken, pill-popping, weed-smoking punk kids and a handful of older crusties who thought we were "true punk" because we sucked. Everyone in that crowd was screaming, slamming, arguing, fighting, and a few on the outskirts of the firelight may have been screwing right there in the dust.

In all the chaos, it was easy to miss things that would otherwise have set off warning signals. Like flying bottles. Or jagged-toothed undead monsters leaping for my throat.

The first vampire, a young man with a mop of dark hair, came at me just as I made a flamboyant motion with my bass that ended with the body of the instrument coming up hard into his jaw. I choked on the line I'd been singing and made to apologize before I noticed that two other people had leaped onstage, and that all three of them were baring huge sharp teeth at me and my band. All three had dirty, claw-like nails to match, and their skin and eyes had a pale blue tinge that put me immediately in mind of dead things.

"Shit! Vampires! Shit!" I yelled, right into the microphone. The audience probably thought I'd gotten high and forgot the lyrics, but Kassie, Ted, and Dave dropped the song immediately and made to defend themselves.

"Steve! Catch!" Dave yelled, throwing one of his drumsticks toward me. I dived for it, but one of the vamps tackled me, cracking the pallets as our combined weights slammed down on them. I clawed and scrambled for the drumstick, but the vampire had me pinned by the legs and lunged for my neck at the same time.

There was a solid "THONK" and a whine of feedback. The vampire rolled off of me, hissing at Kassie, who had just clubbed him over the head with her guitar without bothering to unplug it from the amp. Holding it by the neck like a golf club, she hammered another blow into the vampire's temple while I got my feet under me and grabbed at the stick.

Wheeling around with the stick clutched in both hands, I brought all my weight down on the dazed vampire, driving the length of wood right into the center of his chest. The stick splintered and broke when it hit his sternum, but one splinter must have made it through the rotted bone to his heart. He shrieked with pain and rage, convulsing, tearing at the ground with his clawed hands and tossing his head back. I fell back, Then, suddenly, his cries died off, his body went slack, and his flesh began to slough off, dissolving into a putrid, green-black goo that bubbled and stank.

Kassie reached out one heavily-tattooed hand to me and helped me up off my knees. I winced- her grip had driven some of the splinters deeper into my hand.

A few yards away, Ted was holding one of the other vampires off with a mic stand. He had butted the foot of the stand into the hollow of the bald, emaciated creature's throat, and was pushing with all his might to keep the frenzied thing at arm's length. The vampire howled and lunged, forcing him back.

"Guys, I need help!" Ted screamed, panic rising in his voice. "He's really dumb but he's really strong!"

I looked around for the nearest weapon and found nothing but the splinters of the pallet at my feet. Cursing through clenched teeth, I grabbed an arm-length piece of splintered board and lunged at the vampire's back, leading with the sharp(ish) tip.

Said tip sank several inches into the creature, right between his shoulderblades. Unfortunately, while the board stopped at several inches, I didn't. My momentum carried me forward into the now dying vampire, who in turn slammed forward into Ted. We all hit the ground with a muffled "Shit!"

For a terrfying instant the wailing, snapping, clawing thing was trapped between us. Then, finally, it stilled, melting into corpse-goo all over my fucking shirt. Ted's shirt too, I guess.

Breathing hard, we got up, shaking and covered in rotten sludge. Ted sputtered and wiped some of the stinking shit out of his beard. Kassie, ever appropriate, was pointing and giggling at us.

"You guys actually made vampire-slaying look pathetic!" She snorted. I glared and looked to the back of the stage.

"Where's Dave?!" I yelled. Our drummer and the third vampire had disappeared from sight, which was a hell of a trick considering dave is six foot two without his massive green warhawk.

"Oh, right here." Called a voice from my left. I whirled around to see Dave step into the firelight nearly twenty yards away from the rest of us. How the hell did he get over there so fast?

"One of the fuckers tried to run. Don't worry, I got him." Dave hopped up onto the stage, and I noticed he was gripping a ride cymbal in his left hand. He took his place behind his kit and replaced the cymbal. One edge was bent sharply and stained black. Dave looked to me, smiling beatifically.

"Shall we?" He asked casually.

I turned back to the partygoers spread out in front of us. All of them had stopped to stare at the fight. A few were gaping dully, some were murmuring questions to each other,and a few near the front looked like they were about to start screaming. For my part, I stared back at them, wide-eyed and soaked in what I was pretty sure was someone's liquified intestines.

Ted, natural showman, was the one who finally acted.

"Guess our friends jumped their cue a bit, huh?" He laughed into the nearest mic. "Hope you enjoyed out little skit there. He's some Misfits covers for you. ONETWOTHREEFOUR!"

***

We fumbled our way through "Astro Zombies" and "Last Carress," then ran for Ted's van, parked with the cluster of other vehicles beyond the fire. We huddled around the far side to discuss what had just happened.

"What the fuck Dave?!" I hissed. Dave drew back, looking indignant.

"What? What did I do? Some vampires just attacked us, why would you blame me?"

"What the FUCK, Dave?" Kassie and Ted spoke simultaneously.

"Dave" is not Dave's real name. We all took stage names when we formed our band, Save the Spiders. Theodore "Ted Kennedy" Paige is four lead singer, Kassandra "Kassie Kriminal" Jones our guitarist, Steven "Against Steve!" McCool (me, nice to meet you) our bassist, and Dave G. Abortion is our drummer.

I don't know Dave's real name. I don't know if he has a real name. What I do know about Dave is this- he is tall, tan, has dark eyes and typically Navajo features, and the night I met him I saw him transform into a ten-foot-tall insectoid monster and bite off a man's arm. The man survived. Don't worry though, because after a lot of explaining and screaming and vomiting, I helped Dave hunt him down and finish him off before he could eat a couple of toddlers.

Oh, and he's a decent drummer. Kind of a showboat though.

Since that night, we had all had further encounters with monsters and magic, and almost all had been attracted by Dave and his mysterious powers.

So we stood there, scowling, daring him to keep denying that this was somehow his stupid fault. Eventually, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Look, there are LOTS of vampires who don't like me. It'd be hard to narrow it down to one group and one reason."

"What, didn't you recognize any of them? You got real up close with the one guy." Kassie said. Dave shrugged.

"They were all fairly fresh. Probably servants to whoever had the real grudge. I expect there'll be more coming."

Ted groaned.

"Why are we always in the crossfire with you? Why can't they kill you in your sleep and leave us out of this?"

"Why, because you're my best friends and stalwart companions, and killing you would hurt me more than any wound, of course!" Dave grinned and tossed an arm around Ted's shoulders. Ted jerked away from him.

I shucked my ruined shirt and tossed it onto the rocky ground. I ran my hands through my shaggy blonde hair, trying to think up a plan of action.

"Okay, so. Dave, you need to ask around and figure out who's in town that might want you dead-"

"Long. List. Dude."

"What the fuck ever! Go through it! And we need to set up some kind of defense system at the house. I don't want to be eaten on a futon, I'll disappoint my parents." I glanced in the direction of the party, which had gotten back into swing. "And we can't take any gigs until we've got this sorted out. We don't want to get normals involved in this shit."

"Good thinking, by the way, Ted." Kassie interjected. "Passing the vamp attack off as part of the show. Think they bought it?"

"Yeah, yeah. Everyone there was off their skull on booze and speed. Half of them won't remember it happened at all, and I'm sure no one is going to leave here convinced they saw real vampires."

"I know I saw real vampires."

The voice came from behind us, between the cars. Everyone jumped and raised their hands in vague, ineffectual defensive motions.

A young man, probably around nineteen, stepped forward hesitantly. He was black, on the short side, with a swimmer's build and close-cropped hair. He wore a faded denim jacket, blue jeans, and a Ramones t-shirt, all rumpled and a bit ratty. His eyes were cast down shyly. While I should have been concentrating on what he was saying, I couldn't help thinking to myself that he also had a really cute face.

"Those were real vampires." He said, louder this time.

"Kid, you do NOT want to go around saying that." Kassie said, quirking a pierced eyebrow. "Normals will want to lock you up and vampires- if they existed, which they don't, nuh-uh, no way- would want to kill you. If they existed. Which-"

"I KNOW they exist." The kid looked up to meet our eyes, indignant now. "I know they exist because I've seen them before. They took some of my friends. I think they ATE them. And I came here tonight because someone told me you guys have handled creepy stuff like this before. I came here for your help." His eyes flicked down again, and his lower lip (his really quite full and soft-looking lower lip, I noted, like a fucking idiot) quivered. "They're after me, too. They know I know."

The band exchanged looks. If this guy had contact with the vampires, he probably knew who they were and maybe where they were holed up. And if they were after him, we had a duty as non-assholes to help him.

And, well... For all Ted's bitching, we all knew we were nursing a big stupid hero complex.

I held my hand out to him.

"My name is Steve McCool. And we're going to help you however we can, alright?"

He looked at me with relief in his shining eyes. He shook my hand, his own clammy and sweating.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I'm Jamie, Jamie DeVries."

"Well Jamie, this is Kassie, Ted, and Dave. Hop in the van. We're going to pack up and then we can take you to our place and you can give us some details on these bastards." I turned to the others.

"Alright guys, let's haul ass and get back to the squat."

#Fiction #Fantasy #Bad #Stupid stupid stupid

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

Appetence [1/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn't expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #cemetery #haunting #relics

Canon-Compliance: Alternate Universe; Jason still died but was not found by Talia when he was resurrected. All other events mostly follow the same chronology as New Earth continuity, with mentions made to events in New 52

Author’s Note(s): My attention span was really terrible today and I couldn't focus on either of my two other fics even though the next chapters of both are completely planned out. So I'm posting the start of the third (and final) story that I'm doing for the JayTimWeek/Month challenge. Also, I'm really excited about this one. I spent more time planning this than either of the other two and I can't wait to hear what you guys think!I've got work stuff to do tomorrow so there may not be anything updated until Friday.

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

The Bat-Signal cuts through the dark and hazy clouds lingering above Gotham City, and for a split-second, Jason Todd has the urge to drop everything and race for the roof of the GCPD Headquarters. It’s hard to ignore the nervous jump of excitement in his stomach, the phantom sensation of a domino mask on his face and the heavy drag of a cape at his shoulders.

Which makes no sense, since it’s been at least five years since I even wore that shit.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, the smoke mixing with the familiar summer smog, Jason turns his back on Gotham’s literal beacon of hope and steels himself against nocturnal threats of his own. The city is for the caped crew—because apparently, the Bat has a posse now, he thinks with only a hint of a bitter sneer—and Jason has been fighting in a different arena for quite some time now.

He takes a final drag of the cigarette, and then grinds it beneath his boots, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. It’s a weathered and worn thing that reminds him of one Willis Todd wore in one of the few memories Jason has of him that doesn’t involve alcohol or fists. He thinks it’s less pretentious looking than a trench coat and probably gives off fewer ‘creepy motherfucker’ vibes like the sartorial choices of certain other people. It’s also less likely to snag on things when he needs to make a quick exit while digging up graves.

Yeah, it’s a thing in his line of work.

Gotham Cemetery is a sprawling necropolis, as dark and forbidding now as it was the night he dug himself out of his own grave. Half a decade of Gotham-style tender, loving negligence has left the somber green hills overgrown and the majority of the old tombstones fallen or rotting.

You’d think in a city with the highest homicide rate in the country, the mayor would spring for better maintenance. Then again, it’s Gotham. The dead don’t pay taxes, so fuck ‘em.

Which…enough said.

Gotham and the world think Jason Todd-Wayne is dead and has been for five years now; in a way, it’s the truth. He’s no longer anything like the boy that was beaten to death by a psychotic clown, no longer the shrimp who fastidiously dyed his hair black and jumped into someone else’s cape and pixie boots just so he didn’t have to be his own screwup self anymore. He outgrew wanting to be Dick a long time ago, outgrew wanting to be Bruce, too, and embraced a whole new other set of skills to put him apart from them.

Most occultists and even homo magi need to put conscious effort and intent into calling up or even seeing a spirit. Ever since Jason died and then mysteriously got better, the dead appear to him as blatantly and a solid as the living.

John told him he was a fool to come back here.

“Someone with your gifts, they’ll drive you bloody mad,” his mentor warned him when he left London. “And I ain’t talking about the dead ones, neither.”

“You’re just saying that because Batman wouldn’t hold your hand that one time,” Jason retorted, shrugging off the concern. He is Gotham born and bred, his blood is in those streets, and he has always wanted to come home, even if it wasn’t necessarily to a stately manor or its inhabitants.

He clenches his fists.

Inhabitants that wasted no time in replacing him after he died. Jason was rotting away in fucking Arkham, and Bruce was shoving another kid into the tights.

If it didn’t involve seeing him, I would hunt him down and break his jaw.

He surveys the graveyard proper. The everyday observer considers cemeteries to be places of peace and eternal rest; quiet, if a little bit spooky. To Jason, they’re as gruesome as any major battlefield.

Spirits pack the way before him; some of them look relatively normal if dated by their clothes; many others are disfigured and bloody from whatever killed them, whether natural or unnatural. They clamor and crowd, eternally shouting to be heard, or screaming as they relive their deaths in their own personal purgatories.

In the beginning, that din almost drove Jason insane. Bruce’s teachings kept him rational as long as it could in the months after he woke up, and then John’s training helped him temper his own awareness further. By now, he can function almost normally, automatically filtering the voices out as he goes about his daily business; it’s only in places like this, where the dead outnumber the living, where it’s harder.

Jason reaches up, adjusting the noise filters in his ears—mechanical devices that need regular winding but are still more reliable than anything running on electricity of batteries. They’re like steampunk hearing aids, only instead of magnifying sound, they drown out the constant moan of the ghosts when he can’t do it himself. Just one of many methods of protection he’s learned over the years. Some are physical, like the prayer beads wrapped around his wrist or the bottle of holy water in his pocket; others—spells and symbols and mantras—are carved all over his body in tattoos and blood writing. Anything to keep the otherworld away.

“Personal space is a key to a medium’s sanity,” John told him once. “That and a good bottle of single malt scotch.”

Jason ignores the moss-covered path that winds through the larger and more prominent mausoleums. He deliberately doesn’t search out the one in the distance bearing the Wayne crest—

(Still remembers the feel of his fingernails splitting against the wood of the coffin, choking on clumps of soil and insects.)

—and instead seeks a small structure much farther away. It’s in the furthest part of the cemetery, the shabby section almost hidden by overgrown willows. Half of the name above the doorway is obscured by vines, but it’s easy for him to make out the name etched into the stone with bold letters.

HAYWOOD.

According to the public record, Sheila Haywood’s body was returned to Gotham at the same time as Jason Todd’s. Bruce paid for her funeral and internment, which was just as well since she had no other family, and then she was promptly forgotten about.

By everyone except Jason, it seems.

It took some doing and a few weeks tracking down everyone that had worked at the same refugee camp as his mother, but he’d finally managed to collect what possessions she left behind. A colleague of hers had put them aside when there appeared to be nothing of actual monetary value in them.

A gold coin, small bone carvings of stylized animals, dainty trinkets of garnets, amber and lapis lazuli, a compact mirror, some seashells, a decorative fan, quartz paperweight, and a brightly colored feather. There was a picture of Willis in there, too, young and almost Jason’s double. No picture of Jason, though, but he hadn’t expected it.

He kept the picture but left the rest in the small wooden box, which he now removes from his messenger bag and sets down in front of the stone bearing his mother’s name. He follows that with various tools and ingredients. Black candles arranged in a star shape around the box, a chalice, a jar of detritus—teff seeds, driftwood and soil, all from the place where she died—that he sprinkles around in a circle, a handful of smooth obsidian stones to mark a pentagram joining the candles, the dagger John gave him for his last birthday, vials of oil and holy water.

Murmuring a few protection oaths, he shrugs off his jacket, leaving his arms bare, and then digs out a pack of matches to light the candles; flickering shadows dance across the mausoleum walls. He takes up the chalice to combine the water and oil, and then reaches for the dagger.

Hate this part.

Training to ignore pain doesn’t mean it goes away, and he grits his teeth a little as he draws his blade across his forearm, not deep enough to nick anything vital, but enough that the blood runs easily into the chalice. Without bothering to bandage the wound, Jason holds up the chalice in front of him and centers himself.

“Phantasma inrequietum, te voco,” he intones. “Eloguiorum mei audi: Sheila Haywood, te nominas!“ The stagnant air in the mausoleum starts to pick up. “In nominee creatricis, te impero, hic locum decede.” Hand over the top of the chalice, he swirls the liquid within, and then tips it into the open keepsake box. “Per sanguinem hominis et per sanguinem filii tui, non remane et apage! ”He strikes a match and lobs it into the box, not even flinching as the whole thing flares into flame; he intends to watch it until it burns to nothing.

“That’s not going to work, you know.”

“Jesus fuck!” Jason explodes, whirling to the right and glaring at the interrupter. “What did I say about sneaking up on me? Or just—showing up around me in general?”

The apparition in front of him doesn’t look impressed.

Sheila is still beautiful—or, at least, the side of her body that isn’t covered with third-degree burns and sections of pulverized bone—and still sharp. Cold, untouchable and self-interested.

But unlike the way she was before, she’s all-too present in Jason’s life now.

“Goddamn it,” he snarls, and against every lesson John has ever given him, lashes out and knocks the candles and detritus hard enough to send it skidding across the floor. “What the hell. I’ve done everything. You had last rites, your body was cremated, I just torched the things that had any value to you, why the hell won’t you just move on?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” Sheila replies, as always.

Jason scowls. “And of course, you can’t just tell me.”

She gazes at him balefully, and he runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Sheila, we’ve been over this. You can’t stay here. One, you know spirits that stick around past their time go Dark Side, and I really don’t want to have to exorcise your spectral ass. Two, it’s fucking creepy for a twenty-year-old guy to be followed around by his mother wherever he goes. What the hell is keeping you here? What more do you want from me?”

“Your forgiveness,” she tells him patiently.

“I already forgave you. Years ago.”

“You still call me Sheila.”

“That’s your name.”

“I’m your mother.”

“Who sold me out and got me murdered.”

“See? You haven’t forgiven me.”

“I have. I’m just stating a fact, Jesus…”

“Apparently the cosmic balance doesn’t agree enough to let me move on,” the ghost says dryly. “And to think, I used to be an atheist.”

“This is total bullshit,” Jason snaps, grabbing his jacket and stalking out of the mausoleum in frustration.

Three years of this mediumship crap, and neither he nor John have ever been able to figure out why the ghost of Jason’s dead mother won’t stop haunting him. Wards and sutras that keep even the nastiest spirits away from Jason don’t even phase her, and she’s inexplicably coherent.

And persistent.

As Jason stalks back through the cemetery, he can sense her in his periphery, gliding along beside him, unconcerned with his irritation.

“Can you just…stay away from me? Like you did in the beginning?” he grumbles.

“You were just learning how to communicate without going insane. I wasn’t about to disrupt that.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I try.”

“Look, I’ve had enough of the ghost-stalker thing for today. I went out of my way for this, you know. I didn’t even want to come back here. And now I’m back to the fucking drawing board.”

“It may not have been a waste of a trip,” she replies and vanishes.

“Oh, you can fuck off when it’s convenient for you,” he grumbles, though he already senses what she was speaking of.

Several yards away, a small boy, maybe eight, is clinging forlornly to an angel headstone. Translucent tears stream down his cheeks, but every now and again his face shifts, like a television caught between two channels, and his mouth widens into an unnatural smile.

Jason could have gone the rest of his life without seeing that smile again.

Still, he sighs and heads toward the kid.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice low and maintaining a safe distance from the boy, whose head whips up to stare at Jason in sudden fear.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice thick with tears.

“I’m Jason. You okay, kid?”

“I can’t find my mom,” the boy murmurs, wiping at his face. “I keep going looking, but I forget the way home. And then…I always end up back here.”

He sounds on the verge of tears again; it’s something Jason can understand.

With the puzzling exception of Sheila, who appears to come and go as she pleases, most ghosts are stuck in certain patterns and paths when they die, frozen in an infinite loop until they break themselves out of it or until some arbitrary higher power decides they’ve suffered enough. And for some reason, Jason can break them out of it.

“You could always try again,” he suggests. “I think you’ll manage it this time.”

The boy shudders. “There’s scary people here.”

No arguing with that.

“I know. I see them, too.” Jason glances at the headstone, scanning the name and dates. “Your name’s Cole?”

“Yeah.”

“If you’re missing, there are probably people looking for you. They might have posted something online about it. I’ll check it out, but it could take a bit.” He holds up his phone, glad to see it’s at full charge and bars; that’s hit or miss around so many ghosts. “Can you hang around here until I’m done?”

The boy nods, silent, face flicking back and forth between sadness and the unnatural smile.

Fucking Joker…

Jason does a quick search of the kid’s name, pulling up obituaries in the Gotham Gazette in the past year. It doesn’t take long for an article to pop up concerning the Joker’s latest escape and a list of the dead.

He narrows his eyes, startling the kid.

“It’s fine,” he lies. “The internet is just really slow.”

“Or our phone is really bad,” Cole tells him with the blunt honesty of a kid that grew up constantly surrounded by functional technology.

“Everyone’s a critic…”

Another quick search for the parents, phone lists and social media, and he’s got an address. Crime Alley, of course. He brings it up on his map and enables a view of the street, holding the phone out to the boy. “Is this your house?”

Relief settles and settles over his face. “Yeah.”

“What if I helped you find your way home?”

Cole makes a suspicious face. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.”

“Which is really smart. But you see, I’m not really a stranger.”

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a secret.” Jason bends down, conspiratorial, and Cole’s eyes gleam the way any kid gets when hearing a secret. “When I was a little older than you…I was Robin.”

The boy gapes. “Like…Batman and Robin?”

“Exactly.”

“No way!”

“Way,” Jason smirks, crossing his arms. “And I’ll tell you all about it on the way to your house. Including the time that I stole the wheels off the Batmobile.”

“No way!”

Despite his scandalized disbelief, the kid is obviously hooked.

Jason’s heart clenches a bit at the open curiosity on Cole’s face, the reality hitting him that this boy will never have a chance to do anything mischievous or fun ever again.

From one dead boy to another, this sucks…

As he leads him out of the cemetery, Jason starts to tell the little ghost about his life. He edits out the less pleasant bits, like dying and returning to life half brain dead with the ability to see and hear ghosts.

He figures a good story is the least he can do for the boy.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #jaytimbingo2019 #fanfic #jaytim fic #jason todd #tim drake #prompt: supernatural #romance #drama #mystery #angst #cemetery #haunting #relics

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

Text

Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 15

15. can’t buy happiness

Chapter Summary: Elektra’s record deal brings a windfall of cash into the lives of the band members, and as a former runaway, Lola’s not sure what to do with her newfound, legitimate salary. tommy moves in, the band meets doc, and they make it clear that lola’s staying on as part of the team. vince and lola have a moment that turns into a night which ends up interrupted by tommy but it all works out.

Warnings: drug use, drinking, implied/referenced nsfw, some violence, it’s 7am and this is super all over the place im so sorry omg. also this ABSOLUTELY follows the movie and not the book/real life

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @antisocialfictionhoe @obsessivesky @trpwthme @lovehelpmewrite @colsons-crue @marvelismylifffe @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz @freddiessmallnipples @crazysaladchopshop @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies @dramatique-moi @missqueeniewrites @calspixie @aryssav @catsoo12 @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22 @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax @nicholeh7

{masterlist}

With the record deal comes cash, more of it than Lola had ever really considered in her life, and she suddenly feels like a kid again; uncertain, worried, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The others aren't like that, obviously, taking the opportunity to party as hard as they physically can between gigs, but most of her money goes into rent, bills, and fuelling her various drug and alcohol problems. Anything she couldn't afford, or anything she wanted that wasn't some sort of consumable, she usually stole or found on the street. Before Nikki, before the group home, she'd never had money of her own, any she would earn would be taken from her and "put into a college fund, so she could grow up and make dad proud" at least, that's what her mom told her. She had no idea where any of that money was now.

The point is, the band now had a payroll, and she was at the top of it, being paid an exorbitant amount for basically doing the same thing she'd been doing for the past few months. She kept most of it in a secure location in cash, having never been properly taught about basic adult tasks, like opening a bank account, but it worked for her, for now.

But, in all honesty, living with Nikki and Vince meant she actually didn't want for much. Clothes around the apartment were mostly communal property, apart from pants, which due to Lola's hips and thighs, and Nikki's height, meant they were the only items that weren't interchangeable between the three of them. Not long after, Nikki asks Tommy to move in, cites that they can afford half decent mattresses, and it would mean he could move out of his parents' house; he couldn't agree fast enough.

"Is it- you know, is it weird?" Lola overhears Tommy talking with Vince during practice, the two taking a smoke break out the front, looking out at the Strip as they leaned against the railing. The window's open and Lola's picking up bottles from around the apartment in preparation for the party that night, but she stops. They don't see her, neither of them looking out at the city, but she's worried that Tommy's going to be scared off before he even moves all of his shit in.

"What do you mean?" Vince asks, and Tommy just makes a vague noise that makes Vince laugh. "Lola? Do you mean 'cos of Lola?"

"Yeah, like isn't it weird, with her and Nikki, and you know," Tommy trails off, a little self consciously. It doesn't seem to bother the blonde, however, who hums for a moment.

"Dude, it's the same as not living here, 'long as you aren't the jealous type, you know?" Vince's grin was clear in his words, and Tommy huffed out a laugh, "go with the flow, you'll live longer." Vince claps him on the shoulder and Lola breathes a sigh of relief she hadn't realised she'd been holding.

Tommy adapts to their terrible, roach infested apartment fast, and for that Lola is grateful. She'd been worried, though she needn't have been.

"Dude, you don't work, why've you gotta leave?" He whines, his face pressed into her chest where she's sitting on his lap on the sofa, her duffel bag on her shoulder. Lola laughed, running her fingers through his hair, pulling back. When he looks up at her, his smile is sharp but there's something strangely soft shining in his eyes.

"So I can lift a quad box on my own," she murmured, and Tommy hummed appreciatively at the mental image, his hands sliding over the shiny material of her tights on her thighs. "I can already haul you dumbasses around and make it look easy," she smirked, "I need a challenge."

Tommy takes that as a challenge unto himself, and seems to make it hid personal mission in life to ride around on Lola's shoulders whenever the opportunity presented itself. His favourite was after gigs, at the bar, drunk and elated and on top of the world. Lola's a good base for stunts like this, and, not that she'll admit it out loud, enamoured enough with Tommy that she doesn't complain. Sometimes some of the other groupies at the bar, pretty waifish girls who cling to the band, give her dirty, confused looks, but she doesn't care. For the moment, she's thankful for her broad shoulders, thick thighs, and stocky build; Tommy tends to squirm, even if he doesn't mean to, but Lola finds it easy to keep him balanced.

There's parties at their house almost every night now; if it's not a party, it's practice, and they're in the recording studio every few days working on recording their first album. And Lola's there for all of it.

There's a hierarchy amongst the groupies of the Strip; girls who dated band members were at the top of the list, followed by girls who would see every show they could, followed by the more casual groupies, and Lola's always been in a sort of weird, grey area as she works with the bands, she's more in a league of her own. But there's no denying that with Motley Crue's success, and the nature of her relationship with them, Lola's found herself at the top of the hierarchy without even trying.

Beyond, she also gets along well with Zutaut; he respects her work ethic, and has a surprising penchant for partying, or at least, he seems to spend a fair amount of time at the parties the band held at their apartment. Lola blooms at parties. She's a hostess when she wants to be, not proud of the grubby, cramped apartment, but proud of herself, her boys, and the people they have in attendance. Mostly.

"Lola, baby," Vince catches her hand as she's making her way to the kitchen to grab a new drink for herself, and David Lee Roth, who'd taken up residence on their sofa for the night, her smile is bright, and she lets herself get pulled back to the table where the rest of the band had gathered, "you want a bump?" He asks, nudging Nikki who was cutting up lines of coke on a cymbal as they spoke. Lola hummed, deliberated for half a moment before she sat herself in Vince's lap, taking the cymbal as it was offered.

"Always," she grinned, making short work of the coke. She passes the cymbal back, trying to get back to her original task after giving him a quick kiss.

"You're always rushin' off," he mused, and Lola gave a small smile, getting to her feet.

"'cos I've got people to entertain, ass to kiss, I see you lot every day," her smile turns a little pleased, a little catty, "excuse me if I don't turn down a request from Diamond Dave."

As it turns out, she doesn't have time to even get back to the Van Halen singer before some random asshole tries to score a hit from the band, before Mick shoves him out of the way. The man, who's relatively wasted already, crashes into the wall, into the nice, ornate mirror that Lola had fished out of a dumpster a few months ago, knocking it off the wall and shattering it over Dave's head. He seems unperturbed, merely picking glass from his hair, but the rest of Motley Crue are on their feet in moments.

"Chill out, asshole, it's cool," the guy slurs, stumbling to his feet as Nikki's already yelling at him. Lola carefully puts both drinks she'd collected onto their table, slotting herself in to stand between Vince and Tommy, her expression cold; the hostess in her had left, only to be replaced with the security detail in her.

"Cool?" Nikki snarled, "that is David Lee Roth; how about you show a little respect or get the fuck out." He demanded, practically towering over the other man, who seemed high or drunk enough to not be intimidated.

"Make me, motherfucker," the man snapped, shoving Nikki, who went stumbling back. Lola's ready to vault the table, or at the very least, step around Vince, but she doesn't seem to need to, as a stocky man who looks out of place steps up and punches the other man in the face, pinning him with a foot on his neck, holding the man's hand behind his back. Lola feels a rush of respect towards this newcomer. He smiles at the bewildered faces of the band members, his eyes bright.

"You fellas are gonna need a manager." He grins, much to the confusion of the others, before he nods at the glass covered musician on the sofa, nodding in familiarity, "hey, Dave."

"What's everybody looking at?" He mutters in response, and the tension breaks, the rest of the party goers laugh and go back to their own conversations. Lola ferries Dave his drink and he thanks her with a half smile, but her mind's too focused on getting the rowdy drunkard from her house.

"Oh, good, you met Doc," Zutaut tells them with his trademark, nervous enthusiasm, shouldering his way through the crowd to the scene of the commotion.

"I can take it from here," Lola gestures to the man on the floor, and Doc raises an eyebrow at her. He gives her a quick look over and hands over the other man's raised hand, stepping back.

"He works with James Brown, Kiss, you name it," Zutaut's still smiling, clapping Doc on the shoulder, despite the way Mick's expression is souring.

"Fuckin' hate Kiss."

Lola yanks the man to his feet, misses most of the rest of their exchange as she holds both his arms behind his back with one hand, holding his collar with the other as she pushes him to the door. He's yelling, slurring, hollering at her for having the gall to try and kick him out. He wriggles, tries his hardest to break her grip, even as she's shoving him out of their window onto the landing outside.

"If you don't shut the fuck up," Lola grunted, expression twisted into something resembling disgust as she had her hands on the man's ass, pushing roughly as he refused to go willingly through the window, "I'm gonna knock you the fuck out, and drag you down the stairs myself, you'll wake up in a dumpster and I'll be-" with a final shove, he was finally through. Landing face first, he scrambles to his feet, trying to get back in, but Lola's already climbed out after him, "laughing." She breathes after the exertion of getting him out, "I'll be laughing."

"Fuck you." He slurs, stumbling. It's all too easy for Lola to simply grab one of his wrists and start to drag him down the stairs. He's too focused on not falling down the stairs at the pace she's setting to try and attack or break free. He's still mumbling curses, but he's already seemed to have forgotten why he was angry by the time she's got him back on the footpath outside of the building. Turning him to face her, she holds him by the shoulders, looking him very seriously in the eye.

"If you come back here, I'm gonna cut you with part of that mirror you broke," she tells him, voice level and matter-of-fact. He blinks, frowns, hiccups. She has a whole rant planned out in her head, but it would be wasted on him. Instead, she spins him around three times to disorientate him, and sends him off down the sidewalk. He's got no fight left in him, thankfully, and he seems happy to trail away.

Lola groans and heads back to the party.

"I spent years trying to find a good, gold-edged mirror," she groans once she's back inside apartment, draping herself over Nikki where he's sat back at the table, resting her chin on top of his head. She's interrupting a conversation with Doc, but she can't bring herself to care.

"And this is -?" Doc gestures to a now pouting Lola. She's leaning heavily against him, her arms wrapped loosely around him. One of Nikki's hands finds hers, without even breaking eye contact with Doc, and he wraps his fingers around her wrist.

"Lola Gone; she's our security detail." Nikki's voice doesn't leave room for argument, but Lola's expression is smug when Doc's gaze flicks to it.

"Our roadie, too," Mick chimes in, before taking a sip from his beer, his tone just as resolute as Nikki's.

"Best roadie in LA," Tommy adds, inclining both his head and his drink towards Lola, and her smile softens a little at that.

"Yeah, she's the one I was telling you about over the phone; the assistant," they all hear it when Zutaut leans over to mutter to Doc, and the manager nodded seriously for a moment, considering her. He wasn't frowning, just... contemplative.

"She's pretty integral to this whole thing, man," Vince fills in the dead air, and then all four members of Motley Crue, and Lola herself, were all staring down Zutaut and Doc.

"If she's what's been keeping the wheels turning, show-to-show, I wouldn't dream of getting rid of her," Doc smiles a carefully cultivated, show business smile, and Lola gave him her snake charmer smile in return, all teeth and the promise of a bigger bite. "You'll have to excuse me, Miss Gone, I'm not personally acquainted with your work, but I suppose I should have recognised you; your reputation precedes you." And Lola's not quite sure how to take that. Raising an eyebrow, she watches Doc's lips quirk into the barest smile, and he doesn't elaborate, but he compliments her on how well she was able to deal with the guy who broke the mirror.

Lola leaves them to it after that, grabs her now lukewarm drink and sweetly asks for a seat by Diamond Dave; the groupie who's curled herself up by him takes one look at Lola and moves, taking a seat on Dave's other side, on the arm of the sofa, making room for Lola. Lola gives the girls a sweet smile, holding out her hand for the girl, and when the girl takes it, Lola presses a kiss to the back of her hand, giving her an affectionate squeeze.

"Thank you, babe," Lola tells her, as sincerely as she can manage, before dropping her hand and nudging Dave's shoulder gently, "she's so sweet, isn't she?" She asks him pointedly. He looks up from the photoframe from which he was snorting up coke, passing it to Lola before looking up at the now flustered groupie. "Cute, too," Lola mentions with absolutely no tact, before doing a line, but he's not picky, and the groupie was quickly turning red.

She knows she has a chance if she wants to get in with the both of them, or whoever Dave ends up with, but her heart's not in it. She stays where she is for the moment because he's got some incredibly high quality blow, but her mind keeps playing the band's words over in her head; they may have overstated how valuable to the process overall - technically any roadie could do her job, just less efficiently - but it makes her feel strangely warm. Pleased.

Vince catches her smiling to herself, bopping along to music filtering in from the record player as she weaves in between people, trying to get to the fridge, and he smiles back at her when her gaze meets his. It's fond and kind in equal measure. Zutaut and Doc have dispersed into the crowd, and Tommy and Nikki are excitedly babbling over each other across Vince, and Mick's probably gone to lie down.

But Vince is watching Lola as she's dancing along to David Bowie, and he can't stop smiling.

"You guys like having me around," Lola laughed, low and a little awed, leaning against the railing on the landing outside. Vince holds out his lighter, lights the cigarette that's poised between her lips, and smirks. Before he can even begin to tease her for her terribly worded thought, she waived him off, clarifying, "like I know you guys like me, but like, it's nice to hear, you know?" Her smile was so pleased it almost bordered on smug and she pushed herself off the railing, stepping into his space and wrapping her arms around him. "Integral," she murmured, a teasing edge to her words, "where'd you learn a ten dollar word like that?"

"I could take it back," Vince raised his eyebrows at her, though he's pulling her closer, "go back in there, tell Doc you're a dime-a-dozen." But Lola doesn't seem perturbed by his obvious bluff, in fact, she's smiling like the cat who got the cream.

"But you wouldn't," she practically sang, though her voice was barely louder than a murmur, "you wanna keep me around and I'm not letting you take that back."

There's a moment where his expression softens; he's endeared by her cockiness, a fact of which she is well aware, but he can't help the way he smiles at her sometimes. Or perhaps it's that he knows she turned down a shot with David Lee Roth; it doesn't really matter if it was for anyone else specifically, she's with him here and now.

"Wouldn't want to, even if I could." Sometimes he's a sap, knows exactly what to say, how to push her buttons, but it's never malicious; he likes the way she smiles, the way she kisses him, the way she pulls him close. It's clear she's proud, it manages to bleed through in all her actions though she doesn't say it; she's reverential in the way she treats him, starry-eyed and adoring.

The only problem comes in the shape of Tommy, stumbling into the room, practically incoherent as the party's winding down. It's well past two and Lola and Vince were actually almost asleep.

"Did I-" Tommy hummed for a moment, before yawning loudly, "interrupt?" He was already struggling to pull off his leather pants, his shirt having been lost sometime earlier, as it was want to do.

"Just trying to get to sleep, dude," Vince hummed, tucking his face into the crook of Lola's neck, his chest pressed to her back. Lola yawned, her eyes staying firmly closed. They, however, did not stay this way, as a mostly pantless Tommy managed to bipass his own bed in the struggle with his pants, and fall directly on top of the pair. He lands with an 'oof' with his pants caught on the heel of one foot.

"Sorry."

Lola grumbles and Vince hits him on the back of the head, but Tommy doesn't move from the bed, just sits up and pulls off his pants with one final tug, before laying back down, this time beside them. Silence, very awkward silence, fills the room.

"You're in the wrong bed, Tommy," Vince tells him very pointedly. Tommy sighs and swears, but just shifts a little, as if getting more comfortable.

"How come your sheets are nicer than mine?"

"Because I paid top fuckin' dollar for these sheets the minute I could afford them," Vince informs him with a sigh. Lola hums, but reaches out, resting her hand on his hip, fingertips gently brushing circles against the bare skin of his upper thigh. Even in underwear he was still more decent than either Lola or Vince, who just had the blanket for modesty.

"Dude, you know we were fucking, right?" Lola asks, biting back a laugh. Tommy sighs.

"Yeah," he contemplates for a moment, "I should move, shouldn't I?" But he didn't. Instead, he shuffled back. "Is it weird if I stay?"

"At this point nothing's weird," Vince snickered, "I've seen you do some fucked up shit, man, and I'm too tired for it to be weird." He admitted, and Tommy let out a triumphant laugh.

"Oh, fuck that is too true, man; fuck this band is awesome," the grin is clear in his words, though neither of the other two can quite decipher exactly what he means by that, but then he's pulling the blanket up over himself, letting Lola pull him close.

"I mean, it's a bit weird, but that's mainly because you're still wearing socks," Lola tells him, and automatically Tommy starts wriggling, trying to pull at his socks, "now- oof, god why is your ass so bony? - you're making it weird, dude, leave it." Lola half laughs, pulling him back to her, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade, as Tommy tries to apologise for his socks, "just shut up and be the little spoon."

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #Vince Neil #Tommy Lee #vince neil imagine #tommy lee imagine #Motley Crue #motley crue imagine #The Dirt #the dirt imagine #platinum fic #the angry lizard writes

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sirjustice171-blog · 4 years

Text

Wow dude

No fuel Generator kinda makes ya bald when placed down as should be placed up like on ceilings or on roof tops and that's the short coming dude.

Making an e-bicycle using the e-power saw pictured in the links below, be pro-active dude not always going 4 ready made

Keyneth orain innovation

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=2597715893778308&set=gm.2945032372254356&type=3&theater

Shop online at wish in the below link, buy ya machines cheap here at affordable rates

https://www.wish.com/search/grinder

Most other countries cars with brown leather seats are Ugandan made, u just take a small piece of spare-part like alternator, fuel pump or bolt and nuts, place in sewer water, dough, saw dust, chaff, cereal, fruit etc and in the dark hurl cold water upon the above using a syringe or spit saliva and boom such gadgets are formed, those countries aint bothered cause if they do so, what is home made and in store will be displayed like with Innoson motors and that will rob them their dignities and 2, they aren’t bothered cause they got an online source they withdraw from, so aint a pinch to them. Like in the link below dude

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=cars+with+brown+leather+seats&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjivLz7y63pAhUh5OAKHZnuA6oQsAR6BAgLEAE&biw=1024&bih=635

The water at Bar kalare, got that side effect of making people insane or taming people cause its the exact sport where Samson wrestled with the Simba as the lion, so they blood and the rotten flesh got spirit that mixed with the soil to form that effect same with the Lot wife saga where she looked behind and turned into salt at the present downtown Go-down in Wichita, Ks, Christ has 4seen the location prior in his Sheep and goat parable that made he arrested at night at the Gethsemane Gardens presently now Kisumu City lolwe estate

A new technology to bar casket from being stolen as well as corpse and its attires, better the later be stolen than the former cause perpetuate more character of survival in lazy youths and those who got Mr Big man syndrome as the later is eaten and the attires rather cheap that cant fund their weird acts. Like with armored thick glass u place on grave tops to replace the cement slabs but not to be seed on top as conspicuous in Africa, then use the new technology to gage battery power to view the inside of the grave, it can be a binocular technology employed or the mouth of a camera as the eye placed inside with connecting socket placed outside so with ya camera and with ya like 12 DC battery manage to see if the grave was exhumed as the casket still intact. When the eye of the camera placed inside, as well a bulb to illuminate the same place inside like led flash light with many eyes as bulbs as it has longer life span not to disappoint ya that its just dark so the inside cant be viewed lest its exhumed again which its expensive and not of good posture like in the links below dude, kebi daub it has bread my hair song technology,or it can be open from above like the song below but the glass painted with left round circles like 3 of 15 cm in radius to view the same and cement proof the grave aint yet exhumed as the coffin is intact dude

https://www.autobutler.co.uk/how-to/cheap-car-batteries

https://www.google.com/search?q=makomen+resignation+kenyan+news&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwi9m5HCzq3pAhUU8IUKHVloDyAQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=makomen+resignation+kenyan+news&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1CzE1i_JWDLJ2gAcAB4AIABjQKIAZEVkgEEMi0xMpgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1n&sclient=img&ei=5za6Xv2LGJTglwTZ0L2AAg&bih=635&biw=1024&client=ms-google-coop

https://www.google.com/search?q=led+security+lighting+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiJo_fr0K3pAhWygHMKHRhJB7gQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=led+security+lighting+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoCCAA6BAgAEEM6BAgAEBg6BAgAEB5Q4R1Y6Ttg-D1oAHAAeACAAc0DiAGEIJIBCDItMTAuMi4ymAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWc&sclient=img&ei=Vzm6XsmbOLKBzgOYkp3ACw&bih=635&biw=1024&client=ms-google-coop#imgrc=IaN3XZgEWESXvM

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flABZXwddMg

Mukomeni has read all kebi post and resigned, as he has given solid reasons that Kenya aint rich than the nations u compare it to, and if u r forcing then say how Kenya is rich with ya own explanation like his. Give it up dude

https://www.google.com/search?q=makomen+resignation+kenyan+news&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwi9m5HCzq3pAhUU8IUKHVloDyAQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=makomen+resignation+kenyan+news&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1CzE1i_JWDLJ2gAcAB4AIABjQKIAZEVkgEEMi0xMpgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1n&sclient=img&ei=5za6Xv2LGJTglwTZ0L2AAg&bih=635&biw=1024&client=ms-google-coop

I hate seeing this cheap or expensive and with few rather be with many and affordable under plan and that’s me. My friends i have to submit to u, to be forced to say something of a handicap to ya this morning friends, i would that i could be with u in person so that i could tell ya face to face what am forced to say to ya in writing, oh how i wish u could understand me, hell fire is real and their is no game about it or bet on it dude. Truth and no kidding dude, so streamline yaself to these truths bro. Rather expensive, u got it but a heavy load on u of repayment. It doesn’t hurt ya seeing people with such as it pinch them as well to cement this truth “The rich also cries“

K-jones knows well the song he has been give so want to catch the negro as well if they will say so as if they say so then with theirs the well articulate ones like with 2pac, Minaj Gyptian song, John Legend as well were given to liberate the mind of people from such want to be known syndrome and place our minds at per or equilibrium.

Politicians are thieves to be rich as dirty games of taking loans, giving wrong people certificate at a fee and campaigning 4 them to give u a big percentage of their home take monthly and that’s why Kenyan Mps hikes their pay to qualify 4 big loan amounts but with me an engineer, i can be rich without looking or beg 4 mercy from people to give me that post b4 i do the dirty game above to steel to be rich. So spare me as money is what we want and i can make it myself or give me that post and u learn a lesson of a lifetime as usiku wa kuamukia, the next morning as explained in other tumblr a/c following this 1.

When laughter engulfs ya after a short windfall, just smiles on ya face, its too bad dude, kinda, people see ya as belittling others while not, maybe ya mind is changed 4 another being of that character, buy liquor store in ya house and take like in 1 mouth drink b4 u leave ya house and maybe as lunchtimes to eradicate that feeling bro, or let crime find ya and taken to jail as being jailed alone removes it, it usually attracts jailing dude, no kidding bro!!!

motherfucker, u will control ya wotaz as well as America and sanctions u will impose on ya own citizens or will tantamount to war, Africa has just hidden her machinery but have it in mind i have finished oil totally with supplied electricity, cooking gas and those jobs as explained in my tumblr a/c sirjustice166. Get it clear, gone were the days u controlled us with silly phrases like of jealousy we still thevelop, now say it again, as well as foreign decoder as pay tv with local ones.

come to my presence with ya dire stupidity, if that money specified on sirjustice158 tumblr a/c is withdrawn by me cause at dat time i will be in a possession of a gun.

Now talk anyhow Mr Russia of big booty women knowing nothing but my dick, we still develop, u stupid and silly see my tumblr a/c sirjustice158 i have sent to every country 1 of the footballer in in national team either in Facebook or Instagram, check their walls. we still thevelop talking rudely, motherfucker, Bulchit they sell after stealing from houses in USA or Eu bring them to tropics using underneath drones reaping huge super-normal profits, write on every gadget in USA chain-stores like Walmart and Dillon made in USA or inscribe stericks/stars like on spoons, kitchen wears, thongs or panties and chairs that find their way to Africa destroying local business or production

Dry-cell powered generator in the link below where kebi got the idea from b4 posting it in his Facebook, beware dude

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=drycel+powered+generator&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiBmqCJuK7pAhWOGBQKHcfQAOoQsAR6BAgHEAE&biw=1280&bih=910

The not painted surface on the armored glass explained above can even be 1 b4 such tablet in the link below is placed on it to cover it, as the city can have grave checking day to check the written above if still the casket and the body intact, many people do it, if found then u r compensated b4 the stone is returned to cover the transparent part again. Worker and vineyard parable to cement de truth

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1689444621195624&set=gm.2662540390647819&type=3&theater

Buy Trinidad and Tobago smartphone in the link below

https://www.google.com/search?client=firefox-b-d&q=bmobile+from+which+country

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=bmobile+smartphone+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjF2-vWuq7pAhUMahQKHYxkBgAQsAR6BAgIEAE&biw=1280&bih=910

Kplc Kenya fuel less generator in the link below

https://opera.news/ng/en/technology/96aaa8268868e252f14262262c88720d?news_entry_id=t19f22e83200509en_ng

https://opera.news/ng/en/technology/06128fd06aae222bbded040ba58c8cff?news_entry_id=s4e70b4bf200318en_ng

Buy rickshaw stop many words, be a man of few words

https://www.google.com/search?q=kenya+made+electric+car+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjvxq76vK7pAhVFKxoKHa2aAyIQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=kenya+made+electric+car+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoECAAQQzoCCAA6BggAEAgQHjoECAAQGFCg9x1YhMUeYKHKHmgBcAB4AIABqwKIAaUvkgEGMC41LjIymAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWc&sclient=img&ei=taq6Xq-YDcXWaK21jpAC&bih=910&biw=1280&client=firefox-b-d#imgrc=PxnsBRliAcvKtM

https://globalsinotech.en.alibaba.com/product/62186398057-805841529/SINOTECH_2019_cheap_electric_rickshaw_4_passenger_solar_electric_tricycle_India_bajaj_tuk_tuk_for_sale_in_kenya_made_in_china.html

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