ataviisms

[ataviisms]

Happy birthday!!!!

thanks!!!!

[ataviisms]

Boar birthday!!! Happy birthday!!!

thank you!!!!

[ataviisms]

happy birthday, my dear boar. i'm very happy you're in my life because you make everything brighter. i love you so much and i'm glad we're friends.

thank youuuu. one day i'll find you and hug you.

[ataviisms]

it's midnight, which means it's officially the day of my birth

[ataviisms]

the flinch is immediate: a twitch of clawed fingers, a slight jerk back of his head. maybe he should have expected this kind of venom from sofia. but he hadn't. he'd been foolish enough to think that everything would be as it was before; that they could pick up the pieces of her attempted empire and put it all back together. he'd forgotten how arkham changes a person. and sofia had been there longer than most.

" nobody is. " waylon replies flatly, quiet. he lowers his head and keeps his red eyes fixed on the floor. there's no pride in him; there never really was. he's here only to beg her forgiveness, to plead for another chance to work for her. he'll do anything --- anything ---because it's not just his life on the line anymore. it's his daughter's.

he fumbles for words. a plea, an apology. nothing seems good enough to justify how he'd abandoned sofia for a chance at a normal life. a chance at being something other than the criminal and the monster the world had forced him to be for so long. and sofia has to know that he couldn't have saved her, even though he tried.

a moment passes and waylon gives up on searching for something to say. instead, he simply steps aside, revealing the shy child of fur and scales that has been hiding in his shadow this whole time.

" we need your help, sofia... "

Her lips aren't as red as he'd remember. She tries, to apply the lipstick once familiar to her mouth, dabs one layer on then another. But her face has changed color, has gone pale, has lost the luster of life. The red attire she wears is tied around her hips, or else it would fall off the frailness of her body. Her doll eyes, duller than should be allowed, blink. Sofia isn't sure if she's the ghost or if she's looking at one.

❛ ... ❜ For awhile, her face does not move. She stares at Waylon like she's not sure who he is, though of course she does. And it has nothing, nothing, to do with the boldness of his appearance (obviously, he is who he fucking is).

Then, suddenly, there is a flicker of life on her face. She shows her teeth.

❛ We're not looking for a janitor. ❜ It is a derogatory in a way only @ataviisms would understand: because that is what he had done when he left her. Traded in being a king for working at the Gotham museum. Not stealing. Working.

Or so, that's what she heard.

[ataviisms]

@babydxhl said if i'm simply a series of choices, i'm glad they led me here.

he doesn't understand how the world works sometimes. whether it's fate or destiny or luck; he's not sure if he believes in any of those things anyway. but somehow, some way, every poor choice and every occasional good decision brought him here. brought mary here, too. sure, they've had plenty of ups and downs. plenty of highs and lows. mary is often mercurial, and he's more or less along for the ride. but they've made it this far. only because they've been together.

the cold wind bites at his almost impenetrable scales. the water of the harbor is oil-slick black in the winter night, and it reeks with a fishy, chemical smell. mary picks her way gingerly around the garbage and refuse that clutters the shoreline; waylon just steps over it as they walk together.

he hates this city. he'd go back south again if he could --- if mary would come with him, leave this all behind. but he knows she'd never be happy fading away into obscurity in some uninhabited louisiana swamp. and he knows he couldn't leave her alone here in gotham without regretting it for the rest of his life. waylon glances down at her; her eyes are fixed on the glitter of the city skyline across the icy water. there's a thoughtful hum before he finally replies.

" me too. "

notes on an execution --- accepting

[ataviisms]

@babydxhl said you're not one of the bad ones.

not one of the bad ones? it seems like such an absurd statement that waylon can't help the snort of disbelief that escapes him. he isn't evil. he isn't as bad as some of the other criminals that plague this city, maybe. but he's not all good either. people have told him his whole life that he's bad, even before he ever really was. he was born wrong, grew up wrong, did wrong and now he's here.

he doesn't turn to look at mary. he doesn't say anything in return. just keeps his face to the wall, picking away at the crumbling brick surface with a claw like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. hard to believe her when every time he tries to venture above ground he just gets screamed at. or shot at. or both.

" i ain't one of the good ones either, " he rumbles at last, still glowering at the tunnel wall. good, bad. he can't be either; he can't be both. the world won't let him. " everybody always make that clear. "

notes on an execution --- accepting

[ataviisms]

@sherevival said i'm not inside my own body.

this is the most vulnerable cheetah has ever been since she'd returned. curled in on herself, trembling. waylon knows all too well what that feeling is like --- nights kept awake with his own skin crawling, scales growing in, muscle and bone tearing and breaking and becoming something else. he knows what it's like to look in a mirror and see a monster staring back; feeling yourself disconnect completely from what you've become.

his palms itch. he wants to reach out, wants to try to comfort her as best he can. but his past experiences with her tell him it probably wouldn't be welcomed the way he wants it to be. so instead he has to content himself with crouching down next to her, still some distance between them, tail swishing slow and heavy over the ground. he doesn't look at her because he doesn't think that would be welcomed either, but he does turn his head towards her. just a little.

" i'm here if you want--- " comfort. to talk. to cry. anything. the words go unsaid; he only lets out a quiet rumble of sound meant to be as soothing as it can. " if you need me. " barbara.

notes on an execution --- accepting

[ataviisms]

@am4zon said you have to take better care of yourself.

the old water treatment plant is crumbling. it has been for years. faded graffiti on the walls, leaky roof, rusted metal catwalks and stagnant pools. but it's the only home waylon can make for himself now. the only home he can make for the infant daughter currently asleep on the old mattress in what used to be the plant office.

waylon looks tired. being a single father would be difficult enough without being a criminal and a monster on top of it. he's doing the best he can with what he has; stealing infant supplies and formula and food, trying not to leave cleo alone for too long. but it isn't good and it isn't enough. he's worn ragged by it all. and he's running out of options.

" y'all made that hard to do, " he hisses. but the reality is it isn't diana's fault; it isn't bruce's. it's his own. his and cheetah's both. and he hates that diana is here now, something close to pity on her features. waylon paces along the edge of one of the water-filled tunnels that leads out into the city sewers. he needs to eat, he needs to sleep, he needs to get back before his daughter wakes up. the amazon's presence is delaying him from all of it.

his eyes are wary, exhausted. his tail lashes and hits the water; the noise of it makes him wince, afraid it might wake cleo. " ain't you got somewhere better to be? " the question comes in a sharp whisper. " i don't need your pity, diana. let me get on with my life the only way i can. "

notes on an execution --- accepting

[ataviisms]

@sifonie said you have something in your teeth.

the problem with not having lips is that everyone can see all of your teeth; the problem with having so many teeth is that sometimes stuff gets stuck in them. brushing and flossing aren't always easy options either when said teeth are so jagged and sharp.

waylon sweeps his tongue around his mouth, trying to check for any stubborn remnants of his last meal. nothing. he double checks a couple of the more problematic crevices with one of his claws. still nothing. his eyes narrow into red slits, glowering at the blonde in front of him. music meister. someone he's heard of but hasn't had any dealings with. until now, anyway.

" you tryin' to be funny? " he growls threateningly. " that supposed to be a joke? 'cuz it ain't a good one. "

notes on an execution --- accepting

[ataviisms]

@heirofel said it's okay to be afraid.

" i ain't afraid. " this isn't exactly his first run-in with the police. and the cops in metropolis are all teddy bears compared to the ones in gotham. waylon looks from the kid super in front of him, to the closest trembling officer and his gun, and back again. he then sticks his arm back into the hot dog cart to grab another handful, other hand grabbing the mustard bottle. " might wanna tell them that, though. "

notes on an execution --- accepting

[ataviisms]

@s0fias said you're not one of the bad ones.

there's no such thing as innocence in gotham. no such thing as good. the whole city is shades of gray; anyone who lives here does what they have to in order to survive, even if it hurts. even if it's unkind. there are no pure of heart in a place with corruption at its core.

waylon knows that all too well. so does sofia. they've both seen and suffered the injustices of this city. they've both been bitten and have bitten back in turn. they, too, are surviving. but together they're also gonna make gotham pay for what it's done to them. they aren't good people. maybe it's hard to call them bad people too.

" no? " he asks, somewhat surprised by her words. he knows sofia has been hurt; yet she seems to trust him almost entirely for some reason. maybe because the people who have hurt her are all men, and he's barely a person at all. it's hard to say exactly how she thinks of him; harder still to say exactly how he thinks of himself. " 'cuz i ain't a man? " in a way, anyway.

notes on an execution --- accepting

[ataviisms]

Riona would like to call him “Way” to help make research more casual.

Send in a Pet Name / Nickname that your muse might call mine --- accepting

a lot people he's close to call him 'way' for short, and he genuinely loves it. it feels very friendly/affectionate to him and that's a feeling he craves. and it definitely makes things feel a lot more casual.

[ataviisms]

mary when cheerful/silly likes to affectionately call him every weird tabloid moniker she's seen him slapped with that week. lizard boy, sewer man, gotham's underground menace (that one kept her quite amused for a few days last summer), etc. turning it all into an inside joke rather than something horrifically nasty

Send in a Pet Name / Nickname that your muse might call mine --- accepting

when i say that mary is literally the only person who will ever get away with calling him 'lizard boy', i mean it. his aunt called him that his whole life up until he killed her, and it always hurt him immensely. but he knows mary well enough and likes her enough and trusts her enough that it doesn't bother him. he knows she means it playfully, and it's weirdly therapeutic for him to hear it in a more positive, affectionate light. the other tabloid monikers she calls him just make him laugh.

[ataviisms]

💖 boar, i'm literally so incredibly lucky to know you and be friends with you. watching you grow and change not only as a writer but as a person has been such a wonderful thing. you're so incredibly smart and creative and i love seeing whatever you put out. also? you're literally just the coolest.

send 💖 with a positive message in someone’s inbox! --- accepting

morgue if we ever met irl i would kiss you (not in a weird way)

[ataviisms]

bestie, there is no one in the world i'd rather write with than you. wonder woman herself could join the rpc, and it'd still be like, nope, i'd rather write with boar. you pour so much uniqueness into waylon. no one in the world could write him as captivating as you do! i love how your training/education with animals come into play, everything you do is so full of knowledge and feels so intentional. i love the personality you have built for waylon, and how dimensional he is. he is so interesting to play against my characters!

1-800-how’s my portrayal? --- not accepting

bestie, ilu so much. i'm so glad we're still writing together after all this time and i love the dynamics and verses i've built with you, especially with waylon. thank you for allowing me to explore him in new and exciting ways with you. <3

[ataviisms]

for the portrayal meme - my love you know I absolutely adoreeee you. the way you approach waylon is so nuanced and compassionate and funny too, I love when you throw in these little details that note he's truly a Guy Going Through It lmao

but also you're so clear w the themes/dynamics you're wanting to set up AND at playing off what your rp partners are doing and it's always such a delight to read fr like?? all the macbeth parallels Make My Day

I also love that you've got perf flow between internal character musings, scene setting, dialogue and physical movement in your replies it makes it SO fun to write back to ❤️

1-800-how’s my portrayal? --- not accepting

briiiiiiiiii i love you so much. waylon really is just Enduring the Horrors of living in gotham and he's so done with all the weirdness, but at the end of the day he's just a fun guy to hang out with. our threads are some of my absolute favorites to write and reread. we've expounded on mary and waylon's dynamic so much together and they really do deserve their own story. i'm so glad i'm doing a good job breaking up my writing between internal monologue, scene setting, and movements because i always feel like i'm struggling to balance it all lol.