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mirl0-turdusmerula · 1 month

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Been thinking a lot about where Kim would live pre-canon.

A tiny matchbox appartment in the Industrial Harbour.

So yeah, I wrote a ficlet. Slice of life / long ass description of a normal evening and Kim arriving home, making dinner, revising notes and doing Volta do Mar.

1200 words. Full text below the cut.

Midsummer night

The heavenly sound falls out as the motor carriage's engine comes to a stop. Inside the Precinct 57 garage, the Coupris Kineema stands out among the four other non-sports model MCs. Although different models, they all share the same blue paint and bear the corp's halogen white stripe across their side. The five of them also sleep there (guarded), to the Lieutenant's dislike. But he understands. Neither he nor his station can afford to be the object of street junior delinquency.

The Lieutenant steps out—end of the day.

He mutters a goodbye to the security guard and closes the Station's service door behind him. If it weren't for the white rectangular sign bearing the RCM initials and new motto ("Justice, Union, Prudence and Force"), this repurposed industrial warehouse could be mistaken for any of the similar buildings that surround it. The streets are wide and level, but the asphalt leaves almost no room for the sidewalk. He marches home late August evening, dodging vans, containers, and badly parked MCs trailers.

He makes a stop at a little green kiosk in the corner of an intersection, –"Evening, officer"– and buys the usual newspaper, and today too, a pack of 'Astras' (it is Friday). Back straight, steady voice, firm hands.

He finally arrives at his destined warehouse. Once housing an R&D department of the Feld-Electric company, its old-style brick atéliers have been repurposed into apartments.

Black mailboxes sit at the side of the main barred door. One of them, in the third row says: "Kim Kitsuragi". The Officer produces a key from a pocket in his aerostatic jacket's interior lining and unlocks the door. A long and narrow hallway extends before him, with storage rooms opening on either side. At the end of it, there is a not-too-dirty communal bathroom and a spiral metal staircase that leads to the upper floor. The Officer takes a quick detour to the communal bathroom, and his boots make a thump, thump noise as he comes up the stairs. He produces another key. This one is smaller and more intricate and unlocks a reinforced wooden door.

With a soft click he eases himself inside. The matchbook-sized room is orderly, bright, and well-kept. In just 6 by 2'5 meters, Kitsuragi's private life unfolds. Being a repurposed industrial atélier, the construction is sturdy: brick walls, exposed cables and plumbing, and hydraulic tiles floor, in the old-fashioned dideridada style. Opposite to the door, a grand paneled industrial window covers the entire wall, from floor to ceiling, where it bends and becomes a skylight.

Kitsuragi closes the door behind him and locks it. Two turns. Key left in the keyhole. Still on the doormat he takes off his uniform. Black heavy police boots, off. Orange aerostatic pilot jacket, off. Utility belt off. Under-arm holster and pistol off. Everything is neatly left on a shelf and some hooks beside the door.

Kitsuragi's bare feet make straight for the workbench on the left wall. On the shelf above it, is a Wowshi 12-Prefect two-way radio system for station calls. Long-cable headphones are firmly attached to the 4.5 mm port. The sound system is never used without the headphones, and the headphones never leave the room. He dones them, and the long chord follows him around the room. Kitsuragi presses the saved station button, and after a moment of static, he begins to hum half-consciously to the familiar sounds. The room is filled with ecstatic vibrations, totally translucent to the rest of the world.

He starts cooking dinner.

There is not a kitchen per se, but the original atélier's stainless steel sink and worktop, paired with a portable gas stove serves the purpose well. It also serves as a wash basin, in tandem with the mirror cabinet mounted to the wall next to it.

Rattling pots, a flame, boiling water. His foot taps along the beating pulses.

Kitsuragi leads a steaming plate of Samaran fast noodles to his wooden workbench (and only table) and sits in a rolling steel chair that probably came with the tenement. He sits crouched, one leg hugged and the other one hanging, headphones still on his head, although he has stopped the music. He is revising notes from his blue A6 Mnemonic, jotting down more nearly illegible lines, careful not to drop the spicy sauce on it. Filled (and yet to be filled) similar notebooks rest in boxes beside the table.

Above the workbench, a corkboard and some shelves. Pinned in the center, between other notes, is a map of Revachol West. Boroughs, streets, and motorways cut across the web of canals. It's up for display rather than reference. The 8/81 traverses Kim from the base of his column to the top of his skull.

On the shelves, Kim's quaint collection of hobbies: some Wirrâl dice, tiny franconigerian figurines, Jamrock Slam tabloids, some second-hand mechanical manuals, Jacob Irw's Tiptop Tournée racecar miniature, some sci-fci novellas… Most of these bric-à-bas are from the last few years when his higher lieutenant's salary allowed him some stability. With the raise also came a tiny black box that now sits in the corner, bearing a white halogen rectangle. Inside, a mémoire.

He lights an 'Astra Menthol', and absent-mindedly taps the ash onto a tray in between inhalings. The noodles grow cold as Kitsuragi writes and rewrites in his notebook. No crosswords for tonight. He doesn't mind, and his gaze certainly does not fall on the tiny black box.

Sometime later, when the Astra is consumed, the chair rolls back, and Kitsuragi stands and reignites the music. The multi-purpose pre-installed sink becomes the star of the room again. Dishes and then teeth. He does not have a personal shower (he uses the communal one in the morning), but fenilely takes advantage of his private faucet to wash off the usual dirt, sweat, and grime. Blood sometimes.

One last stretch and Kitsuragi sits legs-crossed on the steel-framed bed below the window. He takes off his glasses and headphones. No verres, no smokes, no music, no gloves. He settles down for Volta do Mar.

Y del trueno,

al son violento,

y del viento

al rebramar,

yo me duermo

sosegado

arrullado

por la mar.

(And from thunder, to the violent tone, and from the wind to the roar. I sleep, soothed, lulled, by the sea. )

It is an old boiadero song. Written by a man in the Plains who never saw the sea, now popular among entroponauts who long for the day they see the open sky again.

Outside the window, the summer sun is setting down in the Great Industrial Harbour, and the low rumble of cranes and lorries is slowly fading out. A shimmer in between two eternite rooftops: the sea. The sound of cargoships horns arriving at the port and the screeching of seagulls. Smoke rising from the chimneys fades into lazy clouds. High above, the sound of rotors and the beams of floodlights. Although Kim is not able to see the Coalition airships, he is acutely aware of their presence.

An empty pot on the windowsill. No flowers grow here anymore.

Kim's breathing steadies, his chest rising and falling as the sunlight recedes and the stars appear. Invisible, obscured by the helium streetlights. Next to him, a nightstand and two objects on top: a pair of hyperopia diamond-shaped glasses, and a single-shot Kiejl A9 Armistice. Loaded.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #my writing #man writing is hard #my first ever fiction written in english #tried to draw it but my ability is not there yet #the poem is Canción del Pirata by José de Espronceda

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matrixxsystem · 4 months

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Terrapin Soup Part 8 (1/2)

The town was quiet when Leo and Usagi stepped though the portal. Usagi reached into the pocket of his pant and suddenly looked worried, "I forgot my band.. To tie my ears back- Shit.. I was so worried earlier I didn't even have time to get ready... I-" Leo gently patted his back, "Hey don't sweat it babe, I gotchu. Here, you can use this." He pointed to his mask, taking it off and handing it over. "Wouldn't want em getting caught on anything right?"

"Leo I.. I couldn't, this is yours. It's important to you isn't it?" Leo shrugged a little, "I mean, kinda.. But you're important to me too so..." He pushed the fabric into Usagi's hands, "Really it's fine. If anyone I'm glad you're the other one to have it." Usagi hesitantly took the fabric and once it was in place he put a hand on Leos shoulder and leaned in kissing his cheek. "Thanks.. I'll give it back- Or buy you a new one when we're done here." Leo rolled his eyes, he really didn't care about it that much. Over the years he's had to replace his mask dozens of times. "If you really want, but you should keep it. You look good in blue~" Usagi blushed a little as they walked, leading Leo further towards the west end. Towards the docks where he was informed the culprit would be. "There's an empty warehouse by the docks there that he should be held up in. The ones that way are all run down, and the docks are mainly used by pirates so it's not a place people really hang out. You'll know it when you see it, someone should be posted outside guarding the building too." Leo nodded, taking in the information as they walked through the town, it was a lot more.. Lively then Leo expected after hearing the news. Lots of make-shift stalls and booths posted in a crooked line with a different yokai selling something different, weather it was hot food, cold food, machine parts, clothing, makeup, wigs. Anything he could think of he could probably find there if he looked hard enough. His eyes glanced by a stall that had multiple stripes of fabric hanging with several others folded neatly on the counter.. He stopped for a moment glancing over them before Usagi even noticed. Backtracking a few steps to see what he was looking at, "Leo-" "I want this one." He said to the yokai, picking up a long strip and handing him some change he had in one of the pouches on his belt. He didn't bother to count it out and neither did the man, it looked like more then enough so it didn't seem to matter. He pulled one of his swords off his back carefully piercing two holes in the middle then tying it around his head. Then cutting off the excess and wrapping it around the hilt of his sword, "Whatdya think? This one covers my face markings too so it matches the whole stealth thing you have going~" Usagi rolled his eyes and smiled a bit, the dark grey mask make him look very different indeed. "You're right, blue is your color." There was a moment Leo looked unsure, almost disappointed till Usagi put a hand on his shoulder, "It doesn't matter what you wear, you're still my Leo under all that, and that's what I like most. We need to keep moving though." "R-Right. Right.. Yeah let's keep going"

Thank the pizza supreme this covers most of my face cause it'd be pretty embarrassing for a super cool master ninja to be blushing like an idiot cause his super cool samurai boyfriend said something cute..

-_-_-_-

After a bit more walking the buildings and people started thinning out, under the dim lighting the was only getting darker as they pushed forward it wasn't hard to see why no one bothered coming this way. "There." He pointed to a building on the edge by the docks, there was a single light on hanging over the large barn like doors. There was one lanky yokai smoking to the left side, and another shorter one pacing back and forth to the right. Neither of them looked very dangerous, but then again most mutants had some kind of ability so who's to say they didn't have something like that hiding up their sleeves. "Alright babe, it's your mission so I'll follow your lead. What do you wanna do?" Usagi thought for a moment, Leo held back a chuckle seeing him so deep in thought. It was cute. "Alright, you and I will scope the rest of the area out, you go high and I'll go low. If there's any issue portal over to me. And once we get a head count we'll knock out the guards out front and head in. Inside there should only be one person, he's our only concern. It's a big yokai that's just named 'The Toad' so he'll be easy to spot. We can't let him get into the water or we'll probably never see him again." "Wait, if he's so close to water already why's he not in there?" "This faction of the city is too important to him, its what we call a Red-light district. There's a lot of people from all over who come here to spend money so being the one in charge means being at the top of the payroll while also controlling the prices.. He won't give it up unless his life's at steak. So once we make sure to quietly take out the guards, we'll sneak in and take him out without a fuss. And once he's out we can go back to your place and tell Hyo it's been dealt with yea?" "Okay.. But once he's gone whos gonna run it? Won't someone just as bad if not worse take it over?" "There used to be a small group of locals who ran things, the four biggest businesses sat as a sort of.. Council, to oversee things. The people want it like that again, and as someone who lives close by I feel the same. It was safer with the ones who lived there looking after each other." "Well alright then, sounds like a plan. If you get in trouble just uhh.. Make some kind of call to get my attention, and be safe okay?" Usagi nodded and kissed Leo's cheek again before lifting the mask that'd been loosely wrapped around his neck up past his nose. He went off down a nearby ally and disappeared in the darkness leaving Leo alone for a moment before he made his way to the rooftops of scattered buildings, most run down and clearly abandoned. He peered down into each ally and surveying the area from above, making sure there was no one else. There wasn't anyone around, just lots of empty crates and litter. Usagi did the same on the ground, blending in with the shadows as he made his way towards the building he assumed his target was in. He heard a shift behind him and drew his sword, turning to see his blade at Leos neck. "Ah- B-Babe you might wanna lower that-" Usagi quickly did so, "What are you doing- Did you see anything?" Leo held back a chuckle and shook his head, even when he was inches from being sliced in two he couldn't stop gushing over his boyfriend.. Hopefully that was more of some kinda of phycological defect rather then a queer lapse in judgement... "No no, there's no one around but the two out front. There were tire tracks leading away that aren't that old meaning that whoever else is working for him is already gone. Probably getting something like first aid or food or whatever for him till the heat dies down." "Right. Okay then, and uh.. Sorry about the sword, are you okay?" "Pfft, hey I'm just glad you ask questions and swing later haha- But I'm fine see? No blood."

Usagi smiled a little as Leo tapped his neck and showed his hand proudly, like it was some kind of noteworthy accomplishment his boyfriend didn't slit his throat by mistake. "Though if you did break skin I'd just make you kiss it better~" "Save it for the afterparty love, if we both come back in one piece I'll kiss your wounds better and then some~" Yeah Leo was down bad for this man.. So fucking gay

"..Now that's some proper motivation! Let's kick some ass~" Leo turned his sword making a portal and putting a finger to his forehead like a salute, "I'll see you inside then" He said before stepping though the portal, leaving Usagi to watch as he silently dropped to the roof of the warehouse, then opened another portal under the yokai who'd been leaning against the wall casually keeping watch. He was sucked in before he could even make a sound and dropped far off into the water. Once the other paced back and noticed his buddy missing Leo dropped down letting the smaller yokai break his fall. His shell against the mans head pushing him into the gravel was more then enough to knock him out. He looked over to where Usagi was still standing in the shadows and waved to him excitedly. Like a small child seeing their very best friend after being away for a long time. Cute couldn't begin to describe the slider in this instance, after having single handedly K.O.ed two strangers on a spooky water front...

Part 8.2 Part 1

TS Master Post

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warehouse-staff-blog · 18 days

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こんにちは名古屋店コジャです。

新作シャツが届いておりますよ～。

WAREHOUSE & CO. Lot 3054 WIDE AWAKE STRIPE SHIRTS ＼24.200-(with tax)　※ONE WASHは\550- UP

一見シンプルですが、織り柄ストライプや生地と同色のナットボタンなどによる品の良さも感じられる仕上がり。

シャンブレーシャツのような「ワーク色強め」という感じよりも、高級感あるシャツですねぇ～。

とは言え、「アメカジ」的、洗い晒しでラフにいきたいところ。

173cm, 60kg SIZE：40(ONE WASH)

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1920's original archive Wide awake shirts

Workers' choice!　Wide awake shirts「完全に目覚めた」を意味するブランド名は、ネームから「ワーカーは何を選ぶべきか完全に理解した」と受け取ることができます。

アメリカの100年を越える歴史あるワークウェアブランド「ELBECO 」は、警察、消防、救急サービス、米国郵便、警備、輸送業界向けの高品質の制服で全国的に知られています。特に古着市場ではこれらのシャツを見つけることがあります。

そのELBECO社が1907年にWide awakeブランドを買収しました。このシャツは買収後もWide awakeブランドとして製造、販売されたもので、こちらは水玉(ドット)のウォバッシュシャツなども手掛けていたニューヨークのシャツメーカーでした。

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まだまだ秋物アイテムは少ないですが、次は秋物っ！、という方も是非一度お店へ足を運び御覧になって下さいね〜。

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☞ [営業時間のお知らせ]

平素よりウエアハウス直営店をご利用頂き有難う御座います。ウエアハウス直営店では営業を下記の通り変更しております。

《2024.9.8.現在の営業時間》

◎東京店　【営業時間：平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】無休 ◎阪急メンズ東京店【営業時間：平日 12時～20時　土日祝 11時～20時】無休 ◎名古屋店【営業時間：平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】水曜定休 ◎大阪店　【営業時間：平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】無休 ◎福岡店　【営業時間：平日 12時～19時　土日祝 12時～19時】無休 ◎札幌店　【営業時間： 11時～20時】木曜定休

今後の営業時間等の変更につきましては改めて当ブログにてお知らせ致します。お客様におかれましてはご不便をお掛けいたしますが御ご理解の程、宜しくお願い申し上げます。

☞ 『WAREHOUSE直営店の LINE公式アカウント開設』

WAREHOUSE&CO.直営店からのお得な情報や、エリア限定のクーポンなどを配布しています。

LINE公式アカウント開設にあたり、 2019年3月26日（火）以降、提供しておりましたスマートフォンアプリはご利用できなくなっております。お手数をおかけしますが、今後はLINEアカウントのご利用をお願いします。

ご利用されるエリアのアカウントを「友だち登録」して下さい。 ※WAREHOUSE名古屋店をご利用頂いている��客様は【WAREHOUSE　EAST】をご登録下さい。

※直営店のご利用がなければ【WESTエリア】をご登録下さい。

☞[リペアに関して]

弊社直営店で行っておりますジーンズ等のリペアの受付を休止させて頂いております。 ※ご郵送に関しても同様に休止させて頂いております。再開の日程は未定です。

ご迷惑お掛け致しますが、ご理解下さいます様お願い致します。 ※弊社製品であればボトムスの裾上げは無料にてお受けしております。お預かり期間は各店舗により異なりますのでお問合せ下さい。

☞WAREHOUSE公式インスタグラム

☞WAREHOUSE経年変化研究室

☞“Warehousestaff”でTwitterもしております。

ーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーーー

WAREHOUSE名古屋店

〒460-0011 愛知県名古屋市中区大須3-13-18

TEL：052-261-7889

《2024.9.8.現在の営業時間》

【営業時間：平日 12時～19時、土日祝 12時～19時】水曜定休

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hedgiwithapen · 1 year

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DHD: PTAcule free space. Collective date night? Unusual combinations of battle couples? Formal vote to refuse Icicle’s application even though he promises he won’t be evil and/or creepy this time? (Everybody Lives AU encouraged)

"Remember," Crusher said, the joking tone suddenly gone from his voice, "You promised, no judging."

"None," Barb said, just as seriously, adjusting the gloves on her hands awkwardly. They still felt too tight. Paula's fingers were longer than her own, but the gloves had been a gift, weeks ago. Like the crossbow, Barb had left them in the box. She'd never thought she'd need them.

That was how all of the Crock's gifts were. She was glad to have them now.

"Leave them alone," Paula said. "You won't get used to them if you don't let them be. We have bigger things to worry about right now."

"I know." Barb took a breath. "I...you're sure this is the right place?"

The tall, plate-glass windowed office building towered above them, twinkling with ambient light from the streetlamps, taillights, and other city pollution. Funny, all those years of living in southern California suburbs, and under a dozen months in small-town Nebraska had broken the part of her mind that accepted Skyscrapers as normal. In Blue Valley, only the hospital and the clocktower stood higher than four stories. Twenty was unthinkable.

"You were expecting a warehouse?" Crusher asked. "Maybe dilapidated, a couple rusting shipping crates outside?"

"Something like that," Barb said, still stunned. "This is where...?"

"This is where the last signal from baby Midnight's goggles came from. Either they're here, or someone in here knows where they are. Ready for your first heist?" Paula put a hand, haltingly comforting, on her shoulder. "Let's go get our Pat and the kids," Crusher whooped, shrill, and slammed his bat hard through a window. It shattered. Suddenly all Barb could see was the glass on the pitstop floor, what was left of Stripe...

"Barb, we need to move," Paula said, tugging her along. "Stay close. We'll take care of everything."

Security must have been anticipating something. a line of them were waiting in the hall. Crusher reached for an explosive, sending it sliding down the polished linoleum with a perfect kick. The blast was contained, but Barb still felt the heat of it on her face. She expected a surge of guilt, watching people die.

They'd taken her kids. They'd left Mike's bike mangled on the side of the road. She felt, exactly as promised, no judgement towards Crusher, and no pity.

Paula put the tip of her crossbow bolt below the eye of a survivor.

"Where did your boss put Stripesy and the children?" she asked conversationally.

"I--"

"Think carefully. If you tell us, maybe I'll let Stripesy decide if you live. He's the kind that might show mercy. We aren't. "

"He's on the 15th floor. the kids are in the basement. I don't have access--"

"Who does?" Barb asked, shouldering past Crusher, who let her. He was already using the end of his bat to poke and corpses for security passes.

"Soray."

"Oh, you're going to be Sorry," Paula said, pressing the sharp point close enough it drew blood.

"Wait, no, please, Franklin Soray, he--right there." he gave a feeble twitch. Crusher retrieved the badge. Paula looked at Barb.

"Your call," she said, quiet.

"Leave him," Barb said. She told herself it wasn't about mercy. It was about priorities.

They split up. Paula squeezed both they hands, and then vanished up the elevator shaft Crusher pried open for them. Barb held the crossbow she'd been given tightly. She'd never ventured into the tunnels below Blue Valley, but somehow, she imagined they'd be a lot like the twisting maze of concrete Crusher slammed through like a jaguar through forest undergrowth.

"After, we're going to work on Cardio," he said with a grin unmarred by the splatter of blood on his face when he'd broken at least a guard's nose. Barb hadn't looked at the man long enough to judge if the angle of his neck was natural or not, and again told her heart not to care.

"Sure," she panted. "Absolutely. Where...?"

Another door, this one labeled a stomach clenching "Special Collections/ New Acquisitions" opened under the badge Crusher held. Another corridor of doors stretched out.

Crusher pointed to a scuff on the frame of one door. "Artie left that. C'mon."

Alarms started to blare, but Crusher wasted no time. "Hey ducklings! Gonna have these open real quick. everyone away from the doors, kay?"

"Dad!" Artemis yelped from behind her door. A muffled "Mr Crock?" sounded like Beth from the one behind it.

"Yup," he turned to Barb, offering her the detonator to the explosives she hadn't even seen him rig. "Wanna do the honors?" She very much did.

17 stories up, Paula slunk through the halls, careful of the after-hours lighting. It provided such nice shadows. Two more near silent interrogations led her to a very locked office door, one with the blinds hastily installed on the outsides of the windows. Amateur move, really. Anyone with half a brain would know something was different here, and anyone who knew to be looking for a hostage would find them easily enough.

She opened the door.

"I need more time," Pat's voice croaked from where he was hunched over a desk. Her eyes caught, in the single bulb of lamplight, the sight of bruises, of a chain around his ankle. "It's not done, please--."

"Halftime," she said easily, dropping to the floor and trading lockpicks for her crossbow. "Easy, Patrick."

"Paula?" he said, like it was a question.

"Mm," she agreed. "Barb and Crusher are getting the children. They should be getting them--" The building swayed slightly. Distantly, an alarm sounded. "Now." she looked at the papers he'd been working on Blueprints for something. "We taking these or trashing them?"

"Trashing," Pat said hoarsely. Paula handed him a harness pulled from her backpack, and set to work filling the metal trash can that stood in the office with papers and a lit match.

"We're taking the long way down. Hope you're better with heights these days."

The window took a few blows to break, but crashed to the ground far below. Paula lifted her crossbow from the floor, setting a bolt with a long cable attached and firing. the other end secured, she smiled. Smoke was filling the hall, which would prevent any other security from reaching them in anything resembling enough time for recapture.

"Shall we?" she clipped into the zipline. Pat followed. Far below, the light of the Cosmic staff lit the figures of the rest of the family, booking it for the minivan obtained for the rescue.

#dammit hedgi day 2023 #Stargirl #the PTAcule #Barbara whitmore #Paula crock #Crusher crock

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ausetkmt · 1 year

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Active Clubs: Will2Rise Sells Activewear to Fascist Brawlers – Rolling Stone

This Activewear Brand Wants to Be Lululemon for Fascists

Will2Rise is marketing “militant active wear” to white nationalist Active Clubs, which train members for street combat

Conservatives opposed to shopping at “woke” corporations have launched their own lines of pillows, piss beer, and mobile phone service. Now, unabashed white supremacists are setting up shop in this so-called parallel economy.

Consider the fascist fashion house Will2Rise.

Will2Rise makes sports gear for white nationalists — including muscle-tees, track jackets, “militant active wear pants,” boxing gloves, and hoodies emblazoned with “Cultured Thug.” Leaving no doubt about its politics, the company’s gear is branded with stylized silhouette of a fasces — the ancient Roman symbol (consisting of a bundle of wood with a protruding ax head) later embraced by far-right Italian militants, spawning the term “fascist.”

The company specifically markets to members of Active Clubs, a global network of white supremacists who “tribe and train.” The members of these tight-knit local chapters pursue street-fighter fitness in advance of an anticipated race war, or other violent confrontation. Rather than the Hawaiian shirts and AK-47s that characterize extremists like the Boogaloo Bois, the Active Club aesthetic is gym-wear and mixed martial arts prowess. Will2Rise sells training hoodies and tight-fitting ringer tees labeled, “ACTIVE CLUB.”

Will2Rise is also playing the role of a corporate sponsor for white supremacy events. The company staged a second-annual MMA tournament this August, in a Huntington Beach warehouse decorated with white-power flags. Hosted by the SoCal Active Club, the contests featured fighter representatives from the Tennessee Active Club, Big Sky Active Club, Great Lakes Active Club, Evergreen Active Club, as well as from Patriot Front, another high-profile, white-nationalist group. Many of the fighters sported Will2Rise boxing gloves and other apparel.

Think of the brand as Lululemon for white-power bros. The company touts its commitment to “bringing high-quality goods to Our guys.” Its white-power symbols are often coded. Many items for sale carry the Roman numeral XIV, or 14. For the neo-Nazi set, that’s a reference to the “14 words,” a dark oath about securing “the existence of our people and a future for white children.” A video montage on the slick Will2Rise homepage is more explicit. It flashes the words “white youth revolt,” “white unity,” and the slogan “action today, victory tomorrow.”

The company’s whites-only ethos extends to what Will2Rise dubiously labels its “Ethical Supply Chain” — with products exclusively “made in Eastern Europe, so not a single hand touches the production that is not of like mind.” The copy continues: “We keep Our people employed and keep all funds within our ranks.” The company takes Visa, MasterCard, Paypal, and Stripe.

https://www.rollingstone.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Will2Shop-screenshot-shop.jpg?w=1024

Will2Rise represents an attempt to monetize the Active Club movement by the same folks who founded it. Active Clubs are the brainchild of Robert Rundo, a white nationalist from Orange County, California. Rundo previously led a street-fighting group called the Rise Above Movement, whose brawlers made a practice of roughing up antifa at social justice protests. Federal prosecutors have described RAM as “a combat-ready, militant group” that’s part of a “new nationalist white supremacy and identity movement.”

Rundo was indicted on federal charges of “conspiracy to riot” in 2019 stemming from RAM actions in Huntington Beach, Berkeley, and San Bernardino. The charges were dropped for a time but reinstated in 2021 after an appellate process ruled that the charging statute is constitutional. However, Rundo eluded capture, decamping to Eastern Europe where he continued to organize around his violent brand of white supremacy — including morphing RAM into a decentralized network of Active Clubs.

The Active Club movement is growing exponentially. A new report by the nonprofit Counter Extremism Project, reveals that there are at least 46 active clubs across 34 states in the U.S. The “transnational” network also has chapters in 15 countries, including Canada, and across Europe, with 23 chapters in France alone.

Alexander Ritzmann, who conducted the CEP research, describes the groups as “trying to build a militia” in plain sight. They foreground a broad ideology of “white unity” — both to prevent infighting and to appear less threatening to law enforcement. The exact purpose of the fight-training remains ambiguous, but Ritzmann insists this is on purpose, following the philosophy that a violent white supremist movement needs more “fighters than thinkers.” The endgame, he warns, is for these Active Clubs to be the tip of the fascist spear when the next “Day X” — think: a redux of a Jan. 6 — requires the services of a fighting force: “It’s about building that militia for the day a leader shows up … that needs some sort of army.”

Rundo was also “a driving force in the creation” of the Will2Rise clothing brand, according to the CEP report. The Southern Poverty Law Center recently included Will2Rise among entities it labels “white nationalist hate groups.” The shop serves many purposes: reinforcing the public-facing aesthetics of the Active Club movement, raising money, and aiding in recruitment. According to Ritzmann’s research, the shop gets about 10,000 visits a month, with visits lasting about 15 minutes, “indicating shopping.”

Rundo’s life on the lam in Europe came to a halt this year. The 33-year-old was collared in Romania in March, and his extradition to the United States was announced Aug. 2. He has pleaded not guilty to the conspiracy to riot charges, and is expected to go to trial in December.

Not surprising, Rundo has become a cause célèbre in extremist circles — especially for Will2Rise. A banner at the top of its website demands “Free Rob Rundo.” The company is also selling Shepard Fairey-esque art posters reading “FREE RUNDO,” and is even raffling off a wood carving of its fasces logo, fashioned by supporters at the “Austrian Art Academy.”

Following his vision, the groups Rundo set in motion are continuing to act without him — including by holding the Huntington Beach MMA fights. Extremism experts insist this is in keeping with the leaderless “open franchise” model promoted by Active Clubs, but note that SoCal Active Club has been effectively stewarding the movement in Rundo’s absence.

Will2Rise has not responded to an email request for information on its business, revenue, and profits. The company lists its address as a P.O. box in Virginia. It also features a non-working telephone number with a Georgia area code and one too many digits — ending in 88. That number is often used by white supremacists as a numerical correspondence to the letters HH, short for Heil Hitler.

#will to rise #white supremacist lululemon #active club #white supremacists #white lies #white hate #white nationalists #neo nazi's #ethnic intimidation #white identity terrorism

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sonatine · 1 year

Text

back on The Get Down train with no stops passing all stations thinking about thor and dizzee creating a life together in the village in the 70s

via yours truly

After half a year in traction and another ten years pinned beneath medical debt, because getting clipped by a train is no small goddamn feat, Dizzee hauls himself up and back into the black just in time for the Crisis to hit the village, where he and Thor shared a life for the past fifteen years. Still in a gut trap flophouse that sixteen year old Thor squatted in when his stepdad said no faggot offspring of mine will live under this roof, but now Dizzee and Thor have made it a home with hot water and proper furniture and Sunday evening dinners open to one and all. Boo Boo begs them to fly out to the Caribbean and stay with him for a while, but Thor refuses to leave the home that took him in when he had no one and Dizzee refuses to leave the home that he chose even when he had everyone. They weather the storm together, watching their friends dwindle and the hedge fund predators snatch up vacant apartments barely cold from their owners’ graves and by the time the nineties and the yuppies roll in, their neighborhood no longer resembles the village they knew, but where else would they go? Still on Pier 34, now surrounded by galleries and glass boxes in the sky filled with lackluster art and computers, but their art stays. Thor has his galleries and Dizzee is in his, but their couch always remains open to any new orphan.

ao3 link

and @goldenfiligree

They pull down the boards over the bands of narrow windows that run down the sides of the warehouse, painstakingly taping over individual broken panes to keep out the wind. Strips of warm amber light fan across the floor in the afternoons, church-like. Holy. It’s colder, so he lives in a scarf and lined wool mittens lopped off above the palm. He gets used to painting in the daytime, in the scant hours before sunset when the light streams in, liquid gold in their little kingdom. Thor builds shelves for their supplies, scavenges wood planks from an abandoned lot and talks the guy at the hardware store into letting him use their saw. He comes home with an inch-wide stripe of pink sunburn across his forehead and curls of sawdust clinging to his hair. Dizzee spends long hours on the pier, knees tucked up to his chest, stuffed into two coats, woolen scarf pulled up over his nose, gloves, hats, staring out at the water. His family used to tease him for endless days of staring out at nothing, living inside his head, motionless like a doll waiting to be wound up. The beginnings of an idea pinballing around his synapses, a spark of new life in the universe. It begins all at once, out of nothing, exploding outwards, expanding. Pure chance.

ao3 link

#the get down #dizzee x thor #dizzee kipling #thor (the get down)

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atlantalinestripings · 10 months

Text

Since 1994, our crews have provided the quality installation of warehouse floor striping and parking lot striping. With 30 years of experience, we offer safety, quality and communication.

#Parking lot striping #Line striping #Line painting #Parking lot painting #Warehouse floor striping

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dumdumsun · 1 year

Text

Wax and Wane

A/N: Enjoy!

Warnings: violence, mentions of violence and death

Word Count: 6421

—————————————

Chapter Three: The Mall Rats

All was silent in Hawkins. At least, it was where life inhabited it. In the abandoned Brimborn Steelworks warehouse, the silence was a sinister, unforgiving silence. The only thing to break this silence was the faint sound of rattling from the staircase. It was there for a moment, and then it was gone, and the silence returned.

Billy Hargrove emerged from the depths of his own personal hell with a scream. He lunged himself into the night and fell to the ground. A snarl and a hiss called out to him, called for him, but he scrambled to his feet and rushed to his car. As soon as he reached it, he dove in and sped off.

The logical part of him begs to go home, to find solace in his miserable house with his miserable father. But he had already left and that meant turning back around for his home. And he couldn’t go back.

Luckily, he had reached a payphone. Hope in his heart, he jumped out of his car and bolted into the semi-safety of the booth. The dialpad beeped as he punched in the golden three numbers for rescue. His heart thumped against his chest as the line rang twice and then clicked.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

But how could he explain the horrors he had just been through? The creature that dragged and pulled him into the warehouse, the diseased rats that congregated before him, the creature that forced its way into his body. How could he explain what happened to him?

“Is someone there?” The voice distorted. “Hello?”

The line went dead and the light above him dimmed to nothing, leaving him with no sound except for his own panting. Shakily, Billy left the booth and into a new world. The headlights of his car shone upon the path before him, but it was seemingly all the same. It was like what he’d always known, but it was darker and colder and if he squinted, he would have noticed the particles floating through the air.

At the sound of footsteps, he turned his head to see a group of people silhouetted in the distance. “What do you want?” He asked, but the people only continued their march towards him. “Hey! I said, what do you want?!”

He dared a few steps closer.

“I said, what do you want?!” He screamed above the red thunderclap that echoed with the footsteps. The leader of the group walked further towards Billy until he was able to recognize who stood before him. And the revelation disturbed him so bad that he could feel his heart in his feet.

It was him.

-------------------------------------------------

Karen Wheeler had been packing her bag for the pool when the house phone rang. Planting a smile on her face, she strode over to it and picked it up. “Hello, this is the Wheelers.” She sweetly answered. A familiar voice spoke over the phone and she nodded at whatever they said. “Yeah, just a sec.”

From the basement, Mike and Doc looked up at the sound of their mother’s voice.

“Mike! Phone!”

“Okay!” He called back irritably. He turned back to his sister, who was wearing a shit-eating grin. For the past few minutes, he had been begging his sister for advice, but all she advised was for him to be truthful with Eleven. And then the more he begged, the more she changed the subject. “Doc, please.”

“Mike, it’s not that hard. Just tell her that Hop and you had a talk, tell her that you two decided you wouldn’t come over for today. It’s literally so easy.” She gently explained, picking up her black and red skates. She was just about to walk past him, but they both stopped when they noticed what the other was wearing.

Mike wore a button-up as nearly-usual. It was yellow with orange and white vertical stripes, the shirt tucked into a pair of grey drawstring shorts. Doc had finally freed herself of her Mike-inspired attire months ago. Or so she thought. She wore a yellow blouse with an orange and white plaid pattern, her own shirt tucked into a pair of high-waisted shorts. Giving each other a once-over, they both decided that it would be wise not to be seen together for the day.

“You’ve got this!” Doc encourage as she skipped up the stairs. Mike shut his eyes and bravely walked closer and closer until he was face-to-face with his home phone. His sister’s words rang in his head. Tell the truth, tell her the truth, tell the truth.

He picked up the phone. “Hello?” He barely suppressed the squeak in his voice. El could be heard sighing on the other end of the line.

“It’s nine-thirty-two. Where are you?”

“Sorry, I- I was just about to call. I, um…” He swallowed. “...can’t see you today.”

So far, so good.

“What… Why not?”

“It’s my Nana. She’s very sick.”

A lie.

“But Hop said that your Nana was okay, that it was a false alarm.”

Silently cursing, Mike continued to dig his hole.

“Yeah. That’s… what… we thought it was at first, but then she took a real turn for the worse.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. We think she might…”

He shouldn’t do it.

“...die.”

From upstairs, Doc covered her mouth to suppress her laughter as Karen gasped into the phone. “What…?”

Eavesdropping discovered, Karen looked up at her partner-in-crime of a daughter with wide eyes as her son shouted from the basement, “Mom! Get off the phone! How many times?!”

“Did Nana call?!”

“No, Mom! Just get! Off! The! Phone!”

Worriedly scoffing, Karen hung up the phone. Doc shook her head and placed a hand on her mother’s arm comfortingly. “Don’t worry, Mom. He’s just lying to his girlfriend.” She whispered and picked up the phone again to listen to the rest of the conversation.

“Sorry about that.” Mike shakily spoke after recovering from his shame and embarrassment and irritation.

“Was that your mom?”

“Yeah. She’s so upset, she’s making no sense. Because we have to go to the nursing home. To see Nana.”

“You can come over after?”

“No!” He quickly corrected his tone. “I mean, I- I just think… I need to be alone today. With my… feelings?”

“Do you lie?”

“What?! No. Friends don’t lie.” Mike lowered the phone from his ear and pretended to be called on by Karen. “What, Mom? My mom’s calling me. Better go. Talk to you tomorrow. Miss you already. Bye!”

Doc rolled her eyes at Mike’s rushed speaking as the line went dead. She hung up the phone and walked to the basement, opening the door. “Idiot!” She called down to him and closed the door.

“(Y/N), don’t call your brother an idiot.” Karen scolded.

“Well, he is! He shouldn’t be lying to his girlfriend!”

“Shut up, Doc!” Mike shouted up at her through the door.

Karen shook her head at her children as she went back to her bag. She took note that Doc was in much better spirits than she was before, so she decided to question her. “What were you so upset about last night?”

Doc paused. She had almost forgotten about that. “Me and Will are on a break.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright.” She picked up her skates and leaned against the table beside her mother. She thumbed the red laces as she glanced at Karen from the corner of her eye. “Mom? Have I changed? Since November?”

Karen tilted her head with a smile. “You’re still my sweet little girl.”

Doc groaned when her mother tried to caress her face. “Mom.”

But Karen only chuckled. “But honestly, (Y/N), you both are changing. You’re getting older, you’re maturing in different ways,” She paused to adoringly shake her head at her daughter’s second groan. “I know how deeply you care for Will, and I know a little growing won’t change that.”

“Really…?” Doc hopefully smiled.

“Of course. This whole thing is gonna blow over and you two’ll be fine.”

Instantly, Karen was pulled into a hug by her daughter. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, honey.” She set a hand on her back, but it didn’t last long, for Doc was pulling away and speeding towards the front door. “Be careful out there, (Y/N)! A-And have fun!”

At The Hawkins Post, Nancy went about her daily task of pouring a cup of coffee for one of her superiors. The chatter of the men in the room with her muffled more and more the longer she stared at her notepad that sat on the counter.

DORIS DRISCOLL

4819 CORNWALLIS RD

DISEASE…

RATS

The potential of the story gnawed at her ambition. It wouldn’t seem like much to anyone, but to her it was everything. This could be her big break, her chance to prove to her superiors that she could do more than fetch sandwiches and pour coffee.

Nancy snapped back when she heard the pitter patter of the coffee spilling over the mug. “Oh, shit, shit.” She quietly muttered and hurriedly went to get a napkin.

“Whoopsie-daisy!” Bruce guffawed and she turned to him. “Careful there, Nancy Drew. Careful.”

Nancy gave him a tight-lipped smile and turned back to clean up her mess as Bruce continued to taunt her.

“Pouring coffee’s a tough gig, girl.”

It took everything in her not to whirl around and give him a piece of her mind; anyone else would’ve received the treatment, but unfortunately, standing up for herself would cost her the job she held. And if she was going to get this story out, she’d need to keep this job.

Her smile when entering her boss’s office was much more gentle and genuine. He had always been the least bigoted man in the room and she appreciated when he would stop Bruce from humiliating her any more than he already did, if possible.

“And here you are, two cream, two sugars.” She sweetly spoke as she set the mug on his desk.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He immediately picked up the mug, hardly even looking up from his work. Nancy tried not to roll her eyes at the pet name.

“Of course,” She nodded. “Tom?”

“Hm?”

“I really hate to ask this, but do you think the other girls could run and grab lunch today?”

“They’re needed at their desks.”

“I know, I just, um… I really need to go to the doctor. I’ve been having some…” She leaned forward, happy to use her sex to her advantage. “... girl problems.”

Tom nearly choked on his coffee, coughing nervously as he nodded in approval. With that, she rushed to the darkroom, always ignoring the sign as she burst the door open. Jonathan whipped around to face her. “Oh, come on! The light!”

“Let’s go.”

With nothing in the world to stop his girlfriend, Jonathan huffed and grabbed his things, hurriedly following her out of the building. “Look, I just… I just don’t know if this is such a good idea anymore.”

“Really? Because I feel like it’s the best idea I’ve had all summer.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, what harm is there in asking?”

Nancy frowned as they approached his car. “The harm in asking is that Tom will say no.” She looked her boyfriend in the eyes once they were on their respective sides of the car. “We ask for forgiveness, not permission. And if the story’s as good as I think it’s gonna be, then Tom won’t care. In fact, he’ll thank us.”

“Or the old lady is nuts and the story blows up in our face and Tom fires us.”

“And… then we’ll never have to work at this shithole again.”

Jonathan watched her get in the car before sighing and doing the same.

-------------------------------------------------

“Have a nice day.” The monotonous voice of the Scoops Ahoy employee droned to the customers as she held out two ice cream cones to them. She was almost positively certain that if she spent one more second at this godforsaken ice cream parlor, her head would explode. She didn’t even bother with a smile as the next customer strode up to her with a giddy smile.

“Hi.” Dustin happily greeted.

“Hi.”

“I’m Dustin.”

“I’m Robin.”

“Pleasure to meet you. Uh, is- is he here?”

“Is who here?”

The breakroom door flew open. Steve stared at Dustin with a dropped jaw, sheer excitement in his eyes as he threw his arms up in the air. “Henderson.” He laughed along with his favorite child, excitedly hopping his way over to him. “Henderson! He’s back! He’s back!”

“I’m back! You got the job!”

“I got the job!”

Steve imitated a fanfare before he and Dustin engaged in their specialized handshake that consisted of hand slaps, fistbumps, and a lightsaber fight that ended in Steve’s imaginary guts falling out of his stomach. The two erupted into giggles and chuckles as they grinned at each other, and Dustin felt a warmth spread in his chest that he was searching for since he returned. This was the welcome he deserved.

“How many children are you friends with?” Robin questioned. Steve’s smile diminished as he motioned to her while raising his brows at Dustin.

It wasn’t long before he decided to whip up for his friend the best Welcome Home sundae boat he could master, leading him to a booth for the both of them to catch up. Steve was still reeling from the revelation of Suzie, Dustin having just given him an earful about her as he dug into his dessert.

“No, no. No way. Hotter than Phoebe Cates? No.”

Dustin hummed as he hurriedly swallowed down the ice cream in his mouth. “Brilliant, too. And she doesn’t even care that my real pearls are still coming in. She says kissing is better without teeth.”

Steve slowly nodded with an open-mouth smile on his face. “Wow… Yeah, um, that’s great. Proud of you, man. That’s ro- That’s kinda romantic. That’s like… Wow.”

Dustin bashfully shrugged with a hum before gesturing to his boat of sweetness. “So, do you really just get to eat as much of this as you want?”

“Yeah. I mean, sure. It’s not really a good idea for me, though. You know, I gotta keep in shape for the ladies.”

“Yeah, and how’s that working for you?”

“Ignore her.” He tried to steer Dustin’s attention away from Robin’s two cents.

“She seems cool.”

“She’s not. So, uh, where are the other knuckleheads?”

Dustin’s face hardened at the mention of his friends. “They ditched me yesterday.”

“No.” Steve’s face dropped.

“My first day back. Can you believe that shit?”

“Whoa, seriously?”

“I swear to god.” The boy shoveled more ice cream into his mouth. “They’re gonna regret it, though, big time, when they don’t get to share in my glory.”

“Glory?” Steve softly chuckled. “What glory?”

Dustin’s smile returned as he scooted closer. “So, last night, we’re trying to get in contact with Suzie…”

Steve hummed suggestively, a bit disturbed at the fact that his child friend had a girlfriend when he didn’t.

“And uh…” The boy looked around to check for prying eyes before whispering something indistinctive.

“What?”

He repeated himself, a bit louder, but still too quiet.

“Just speak louder.”

“I intercepted a secret Russian communication!” He nearly shouted, gaining everyone’s attention around them. Steve hurriedly shushed him.

“Jeez, shh. Yeah, okay, that’s what I thought you said. What- What does that mean?”

“It means, Steve, we could be heroes. True American heroes.”

“Huh.”

“Mmhm?”

“American heroes…”

“Just think,” Dustin pitched the idea further to his friend. “You could have all the ladies you want and more.”

“More?”

“More.”

“I like more.”

“Mmhm.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch, I just need your help.”

“With what?”

He turned to his backpack and unzipped it, pulling out Romanov’s Russian - English, English - Russian Dictionary. “Translation.”

At the Hargrove-Mayfield residence, Max and Doc were skating in the street just in front of the house. Only they were not on their respective wheels. Max wobbled around on skates while Doc teetered on the skateboard. It was something they had begun doing together, teaching each other how to skate. They used it as not only girl time, but a sort of therapy session. Currently, Doc was relaying the events of the previous night between her and Will to her friend.

“Then he agreed, and then so I left.” She quietly cursed as she tripped over the board yet again. “I haven’t seen or spoken to him since.”

“I actually think it’s really mature of you guys to take a break,” Max held her arms out to the side to stabilize herself. “You’re like an old married couple sometimes.”

Doc sighed. “Well, I’m pretty sure old couples don’t take breaks…” She carefully stepped onto the board again. “I’m just scared that this’ll end in an actual breakup, you know? I already miss him, as cheesy as it sounds.”

Max worriedly stared at her friend as she wobbly used the brakes to stop herself in front of her. “(Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there… anything you need to talk to me about?”

Doc narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Uh… I just told you about Will.”

“No, I mean about you.” She watched as Doc glided down the street a bit before stopping and coming back. “Not Will. Not your relationship. You. It’s just… you went through a lot last year and I feel like you-”

“Max.” Doc halted the board to cut her friend a look. “There is nothing wrong with me. Okay?”

The redhead sighed and relented. “Okay.”

Doc stepped off of the board and checked her watch. “Uh… Hey, I gotta get going. Me and Brenda and Sheriece got invited to a birthday party for next week and we wanna pick out clothes for it.”

Max scrunched up her face as she sat on the curb and untied the laces. “Don’t you make clothes?”

“I like to indulge in what others have to make from time to time.”

“Whatever, weirdo.” She chuckled before handing the skates back and returning her feet to her sneakers. “I guess I’ll see you.”

“Yeah,” Doc quickly switched her own sneakers for her skates, clutching them in her hand as she sped off. “See ya, zoomer!”

Max playfully rolled her eyes before hopping to her feet and taking her turn on her board. The next fifteen or so minutes were spent attempting a kickflip. Max had done one just that morning and wanted to replicate it. Though, it seemed fruitless when her final attempt ended in her board slipping from under her feet and drifting down the street. Max cursed and was just about to run after it when a pair of sneakers stomped down on the nose to flip it up into the hands of Eleven, her face hard and stern.

Max immediately straightened.

El was silent as she strode up to the redhead, stretching the skateboard out to her. “Hi.”

“Hi…?” Max furrowed her brows, never having received a greeting from Eleven. The two had never quite warmed up to each other since before they even met, since El assumed that Max was a threat to her blooming romance with Mike. Perhaps this was El’s first step at making amends and becoming her friend.

“Is Doc here?”

Or not.

“No,” Max deflated. “She had somewhere to be.”

El nodded, awkwardly stuffing her hands into her pockets. She had hoped to find her sister and ask for advice, but she supposed that since she had no other girl to go to, Max would do. “Can… we talk?”

Meanwhile, Heather Holloway was cranking up the car radio as she listened to the high-pitched squealing of her sister and her friends talking in the backseats. She was tasked to drive them to Starcourt before her shift at the pool. She would have argued further with her parents if the mall wasn’t already on the way to her job, but of course she couldn’t turn down Doc’s offer to make her yet another stunning dress with no charge.

“So, girls, what colors are we thinking?” Sheriece prompted. “I’m thinking a nice periwinkle for me.”

“Oh, that would look so cute! It would go so well with your skin!” Brenda gasped with a grin. “For me, I’m thinking… hot pink!”

“Surprise, surprise…”

“What? It’s my signature color.” She shrugged. “And I’m assuming (Y/N) here will go for… let me guess… yellow?”

When the two turned to their friend, they found her thoughtfully staring out the car window. Their attempts at catching her attention were pointless, for she was too far gone in her head. She knew her friends were excited to go shopping, and she supposed she was, too. But her mind ran with the words provided to her recently.

Was she really maturing, like her mother said? Or was Max correct in insinuating that something was wrong with her? She didn’t want anything to be wrong with her. She thought she had known herself after meeting El and learning there were more people like her. Then she thought she had herself figured out once she found out the truth of her mother and the further extent of her powers. But just like always, there was something else to fix about herself.

Not only that, but if there were something wrong with her, then it was driving Will away from her, and she couldn’t have that. She loved Will, she always has, and she couldn’t live with the thought of losing him because she always had an issue to work out. She knew she wasn’t alone, she knew she was loved, so what else could she possibly have to learn about herself?

Doc was jerked out of her thoughts by Brenda shaking her shoulder. With parting words to Heather, the three climbed out of the car and scurried into the awaiting arms of Starcourt. The journey throughout the mall happened in short blurs for her. She was physically there with her friends, but she was in a spiral of ‘what if’s and ‘why not’s that she couldn’t seem to escape from on her own.

“(Y/N)!”

She rapidly blinked and turned to see Sheriece staring at her with worried eyes. “Dang, girl, what’s the matter with you? We’ve been calling your name.”

“Yeah, what’s wrong? You can tell us anything.” Brenda gently smiled.

Doc hadn’t even realized they had stepped onto the escalator. With a deep breath, she turned to her friends. “Girls, I need to talk to you about something.”

-------------------------------------------------

“And then he said he- he missed me. And then he just hung up.”

Max paced the floor of her bedroom as El sat on her bed and relayed the conversation between her and Mike to her. Max whipped her head over to the girl with a fire in her eyes.

“He’s a piece of shit.”

“What?”

“Mike doesn’t have jack shit to do today, and his Nana obviously isn’t sick.” She stopped her pace to stand in front of El with wide eyes and a knowing smile. “I guarantee you, him and Lucas are playing Atari right now.”

El shook her head in disbelief. “But friends don’t lie.”

“Yeah, well, boyfriends lie. All. The. Time.”

In the basement of the Wheeler home, Mike was pacing similar to Max as Lucas sat on the armchair and listened to him rant.

“She knows I’m lying. She knows I’m lying!”

“I don’t even understand,” Lucas shrugged. “Why lie?”

“Hopper. He- He threatened me.”

“Did he say he’d kill you?”

“What?” Mike frowned incredulously. “No.”

“So, then what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is if I don’t do what he says, then he’ll stop me from seeing El. Like, permanently.” He emphasized as Lucas buried his face into his hands. “You don’t understand, Lucas. He’s crazy. He’s lost his mind.”

Practically ignoring the conversation, Will spoke up from the D&D table, “Hey, guys, I’m almost set up here.”

But Mike ignored him as well. “I had no choice, Lucas! I really had no choice!”

“I just wished you’d consulted me,” Lucas picked his face up. “Because the way you handled this… you’re in deep shit.”

Max sat beside El on the bed. “You’re going to stop calling him. You’re going to ignore his calls. As far as you’re concerned, he doesn’t exist.”

“Doesn’t exist?” El leaned forward.

“He treated you like garbage. You’re gonna treat him like garbage. Give him a taste of his own medicine.”

She nodded with furrowed brows. “Give him the medicine.”

Max nodded with a smile. “And if he doesn’t fix this, if he doesn’t explain himself…” Her next words had El widening her eyes in shock.

“Dump his ass.”

Mike plopped down on the couch with an exasperated groan. Lucas shook his head at him. “I’m not gonna lie, it’s gonna be bad.”

Mike groaned louder.

“But… you can fix this.”

“Yeah, by talking to her.” Will spoke up once again, this time earning his friends’ attention. “Nothing is really gonna make sense to her unless you just tell the truth. Why not just tell her what Hopper told you? It’s not hard at all.”

“You sound exactly like Doc.” Mike rolled his eyes, causing Will to stiffen.

“Wait,” Lucas shook his head. “You mean to tell me that your own sister gave you actual good advice and you still managed to screw it up?”

Mike sputtered. “I-I planned on telling her the truth, but I… I panicked!”

“You panicked?”

“Yes, I panicked!”

Lucas sighed and stood to his feet. “Alright, alright. You can still fix this. It’s just one little mistake. I’ve made hundreds. Thousands! Max has dumped me five times! But what have I done? Huh? Have I despaired? No. I’ve marched back into battle, and I’ve won her back every. Single. Freaking. Time.”

Mike blinked. “How?”

“I’ll show you.” Lucas began walking away, Mike hurriedly following him. “Come on.”

“Come on.” Max stood from her bed, pulling El to her feet.

“Where are we going?”

“To have some fun.” She led her out of her room. “There’s more to life than stupid boys, you know.”

Within the basement, Will watched Lucas and Mike bound up the stairs. “Wait, guys!” He called out. “I’m still here!”

The only response he got was the basement door being thrown open.

“Guys?!”

The Hawkins public pool was abustle as per usual, the people of the town enjoying yet another shining, sunny day of the summer. Heather sat high atop her chair when she saw inappropriate activity occurring. Her whistle sounded in a high-pitch ringing before she picked up her megaphone.

“Hey!” She called out to a boy in the pool. “No dunking, Curtis! No. Dunking.”

“God,” One of the Maple Street Mothers drawled. “Even her voice annoys me.”

“Nails on a chalkboard.” Another agreed.

“Don’t worry, ladies,” The third spoke as she rubbed sunscreen into her skin. “Ten more minutes ‘til showtime. Liz, will you get my back?” She held up the bottle to the mother beside her.

On her other side, Karen didn’t give her usual input. Her heart hammered against her ribcage harder the closer Billy’s shift approached. Her eyes searched everywhere for a sign of him. She didn’t know if she wanted to seek him out or cut her pool day short and high-tail it back home. When she did find him, he was hurrying into the pool shed.

After asking one of the mothers to look after Holly, she followed Billy’s trail until she stood behind him in one of the storage rooms. “Billy?” She called out, watching as he silently set a bottle of some sort of chemical back onto the shelf. Unbeknownst to her, Billy was in a horrible state.

Every inch of his body was doused in sweat, his blond curls sticking to his forehead and dripping droplets of sweat into his eyes, but he didn’t react to the sting of each and every one of them. The words leaving Karen’s lips traveled in through one ear and exited out of the other in a blurred muffle.

“I… I understand if you’re angry with me.”

Why would he be angry with her?

“I just… I wanted to explain…”

He exhaled sharply. He didn’t care anymore.

“...why I didn’t come last night.”

He began tuning her out as he murmured to himself.

“It’s not you, it’s just… I have a family.”

His heartbeat echoed in his ears.

“And I can’t do anything that will hurt them.”

His face hardened as his breath picked up. She needed to leave.

“You can understand that, right?”

She needed to leave now.

“But I shouldn’t have said that-”

In his mind, he angrily whipped around to her, grabbing a fistful of her curls and ramming her head into the shelves beside her, knocking her unconscious. Her body had fallen with a thud, she had gone silent, and the creature within him was satisfied.

“Billy.”

Blinking and breathing rapidly, he was brought back into reality. Karen was still behind him, still speaking. “Billy… Please, will you talk to me?”

Within less than a second, he turned away with his eyes swimming with emotion. The words that escaped him didn’t match the way he was looking at her. “Stay away from me, Karen.” He warned before pushing past her.

The entire way to his chair was an agonizing trek. Unlike himself, he ignored the flirtatious stares directed his way as soon as he stepped back outside. He stumbled and panted as he used his hand to try and block the blazing sun from his eyes and skin. He could hardly process the splashing water, the cheerful voices.

“Looking good, Billy.”

He barely caught Heather’s words to him, quickly turning to her as she walked past him. She looked back at him in confusion before he turned back around, immediately greeted by the mothers.

“Afternoon, Billy.”

He didn’t respond to them. He was so close. He couldn’t think properly, he didn’t feel himself, he didn’t know where he was going half of the time, but he knew he needed to be at that chair. It was his routine, it’s what he was used to. It was all he could go by.

Billy groaned as he pulled himself up the small ladder and hoisted his body into his chair, breathing heavily as he lowered himself down in the seat. He felt so empty, yet he could feel bile rushing to his throat as the fiery sun beat down on him, its angry glare dizzying his vision even more.

-------------------------------------------------

Erica Sinclair plunked the sample spoon of mint chocolate chip ice cream out of Robin’s hand, her posse sucking on their own behind her. She placed it in her mouth and hummed in delight at the sweet taste before placing it in the cup of used spoons in front of her. “Can I try the peppermint stick?”

“Haven’t you already tried the peppermint stick?” Robin raised her brows.

“Yes,” The young girl sassed. “And I’d like to try it again.”

With a silent sigh, Robin turned to the closed glass doors separating the public from the breakroom. “Steve!”

“Poyezdka v Kitay zvuchit khorosho, yesli deystvovat' ostorozhno. Nedelya dlinnaya.”

Within the breakroom, Dustin paused his tape recorder and looked up at Steve, who was snacking on a banana as he paced in front of him. “So, what do you think?”

“It sounded familiar.” He shoved another chunk into his mouth.

“What?”

“The music.” He clarified, wiping at his mouth. “The music right there at the end.”

“Why are you listening to the music, Steve?! Listen to the Russian! We’re translating Russian!”

“I’m trying to listen to the Russian, but there’s music-”

The door to the room opened with Robin stomping in. “Alright, babysitting time is over. You need to get in there.”

The two silenced themselves as Steve hurriedly backed away until he stood beside Dustin. Robin walked over to her whiteboard that once kept score of the amount of times Steve managed to woo a female patron, versus how many times he was turned down (one side weighed extremely heavier than the other). Instead of that, though, the Russian alphabet had taken its place, setting her off slightly.

“Hey, my board!” She frowned and turned to them. “That was important data, shitbirds.”

“I guarantee you, what we’re doing is way more important than your data.” Dustin waved his hand about, Steve nodding in agreement.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And how do you know these Russians are up to no good, anyways?”

Heart dropping, Dustin turned to Steve. “How does she know about the Russians?” He whispered.

“I don’t know.” Steve mumbled through banana.

“You told her about-”

“It wasn’t me.”

Robin interrupted their bickering. “Hello, I can hear you. Actually, I can hear everything. You are both extremely loud. You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country, on tape, and you’re trying to translate, but haven’t figured out a word because you didn’t realize Russians use an entirely different alphabet than we do. Sound about right?”

The two shared a look before turning back to her. At the exact same time, she and Steve went to grab the recorder, but he got to it first. “Oh- Whoa! What do you think you’re doing?”

“I wanna hear it.”

“Why?” They questioned her in unison.

“‘Cause maybe I can help. I’m fluent in four languages, you know.”

“Russian?” Dustin questioned, Robin leaning down to look at him.

“Ou-yay are-yay umb-day.”

“Oh-ho-ho!”

“Holy shit!”

“That was Pig Latin, dingus.” She extinguished their excitement, Steve hitting Dustin with his banana peel as if he hadn’t also fallen for her trickery. “But I can speak Spanish and French and Italian, and I’ve been in band for twelve years.” She sat across from Dustin, looking up at Steve. “My ears are little geniuses, trust me.”

“Uh…” Steve nervously chuckled.

“Come on, it’s your turn to sling ice cream, my turn to translate. I don’t even want credit. I’m just bored.” She leaned forward and stretched her hand out for the recorder. Steve and Dustin shared a look, asking each other if they trusted a practical stranger with this information.

Exhaling through his nose, Steve switched the recorder for the ice cream scooper.

Meanwhile, Jonathan and Nancy pulled into the driveway of the Driscoll residence. They knocked on the front door and waited patiently before an elderly woman slowly opened the door, looking slightly reserved. “Yes?”

“Mrs Driscoll?” Nancy smiled.

“Yes?”

“Hi, um, I’m Nancy.” She greeted, the woman slowly nodding. “Nancy Wheeler. We spoke briefly on the phone last night.”

“We’re from The Hawkins Post.” Jonathan clarified.

Mrs Driscoll lit up with a smile immediately. “Oh! Oh, yes! Oh, my goodness. Oh… You look too young for reporters.”

The two plastered on smiles. “We get that a lot.” Jonathan nodded, earning a chuckle from the woman before she opened her door wider for them to come in.

“Follow me.”

As instructed, the two walked in behind her, Nancy softly smiling at the nice furniture around the house. “Oh, it’s… it’s lovely. Um, do you live here all alone?”

“Yes.” Mrs Driscoll nodded as she led them throughout her home, Nancy taking out her notepad to write down any useful information. “Jack, my husband, he passed away, what is it now… ten years ago.”

“Oh, um…” Nancy glanced at Jonathan. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I kinda like the quiet.” She came to a stop in front of a door and turned to the two. “At least, I did.”

The hinges of the door sang when she pulled it open, revealing a staircase that led to her basement. “This way.” She casually spoke and began down the stairs, Jonathan and Nancy exchanging a look before following her down. “It’s right over there.” She pointed once they reached the end of the stairs. Nancy paused for a second before walking further into the basement.

Three or four bags of fertilizer had multiple holes in them, the fertilizer splayed on the floor in front and around them. Nancy slowly knelt in front of one bag and lifted it to inspect it.

“You see those little teeth marks, don’t ya?”

Before Nancy could answer Mrs Driscoll, a flash startled her. She silently turned her head to Jonathan, who apologetically shrugged, camera in his hands. “And…” She set down the bag with a headshake. “These bags, um… you’re sure they were full before?”

“I’m old, honey, not senile.” Mrs Driscoll frowned almost offendedly. “Bought them over at Blackburn’s Supplies just last Tuesday. Now you tell me, why would rats want to eat a poor old woman’s fertilizer?”

“Are you sure they did?” Nancy tried again, receiving an actual offended look. “Maybe they just gnawed the bag? I mean… eating fertilizer seems-”

“Crazy. Believe me, I know, honey.” Mrs Driscoll nodded as Nancy stood to her feet and joined Jonathan’s side. “But… something’s not right with these rats.”

“What does that mean, exactly… ‘not right’?”

“Rabies, my guess.�� She shrugged, Nancy looking down at her notepad in disappointment. “That’s when I said to myself, ‘Doris, you gotta call the paper. Because if those diseased rats are runnin’ loose, the people, they oughta know’. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Nancy opened her mouth to answer, but she and Jonathan flinched at the sound of crashing from the other side of the room.

“Oh, yes, I forgot to mention! Come on over here.” Mrs Driscoll grinned and beckoned them to the other side of the room. When they reached her side, she folded her arms in front of her with a proud smile. “I caught one of the little bastards.”

Atop her dryer sat a sheet-covered cage, the sounds of chittering and squealing sounding from it as whatever was inside continued to crash against the metal. The two teens could only stare in horror at the monstrous noises coming from the sheet.

At Starcourt Mall, a busload of people were just dropped off at the front. Among these people were Max and Eleven, the latter staring up at the wondrous building before her in awe. “So, what do you think?” Max smiled, but her expression faltered when she noticed how uncomfortable El seemed. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Too many people.” El turned to her. “Against the rules.”

“Seriously?” Max raised her brows. “You have superpowers.”

El let a small smile play against her features as she glanced up at the mall once again.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

—————————————

Taglist: @yurtletheturtlehenderson @sapphicsyn @alexa-j-f @inthemourninglight @that-one-multifandom-chick @ariyabella @lonelywitchv2 @bilesxbilinskixlahey @frogserotonin @mymomsdisappointment @hewwofriends @billieissad @get0ut0fmyr00m @143kae @satsuri3su @thegirlwhowishedeveryonelived @unordinary-simp @raquel12 @roman0ffsheart @jjjennyxii @hereiamhereigo @wizardsgrace @meowiemari

#stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #st #st fic #st x reader #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #will byers #eleven #jane hopper #max mayfield #lost and found #break and mend #wax and wane

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carolineparkingls · 2 years

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tristansarchive · 2 years

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NSFW-ISH FLASHFIC! PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Summary: Jeremiah's a workaholic and it doesn't get any better when it comes to a life of crime. His twin's always coming up with new ways to handle it — some got better results than others.

❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖❖|❖

Taking a slow, deep breath in order to calm himself for what felt like the fifth time that very same day, Jeremiah found himself itching to massage his temples but stubbornly refrained from it — wouldn't do to show how utterly done he was. - "Recapitulating, as you've seemed to pay little attention."

He meets the eye of every one of the idiots his twin swears by to be the most reliable of his cult, ones that showed the least problems following orders; they evaluate his figure with thinly veiled distrust — can't quite trust him farther than they can throw him but it's not as if he really cares, couldn't ever feel threatened by the same people that polished Jerome's white leather boots with their tongues. Ecco's just a few steps behind him too, playing with one of the throwing knives he had given her — a birthday gift, she had requested new weapons after all — while resting against one of the walls, stepping over the ancient, crumbling wallpaper.

Not able to resist it, he tilts his head and throws the most condescending grin he can muster at them, a test to his usual passive-aggressiveness but they were not helping their cases by keeping him in this place for longer.

In front of him, the map of the city stays spread and stuck to the wooden table by rainbow-colored pins he had organized across the districts, threads of orange and purple linking each. He points at the one currently stabbing the smiley face drawn by the docks, visualizing the warehouse he had in mind. - "Keeping a low profile is of utmost importance for the time being, and so I've arranged routes for two separate groups to leave as soon as Jerome—"

A cell phone goes off right then, interrupting him, and he's just about this close to reaching for his holstered pistol and shooting whoever had the audacity, when he recognizes the familiar, awful tune — with which he was tortured often — that had been programmed into his own device for one very specific menace in his life. Talking about the devil.

I save dick by giving it CPR

Put my mouth on it like CPR

Let's make porn and watch it on VCR 🎶

Shamelessly, he raises a finger at the dead-silent crowd and feels for the pocket in his striped coat's lining, wrapping his fingers around the ringing phone and pulling it out and open to his face, unlocking the screen with a quick press of the password — only to shake his head in exasperation at the contact name that had also been changed.

He debates whether he should or not answer the call, knowing how long they could end up taking by experience — a bafflingly cliché trait of theirs, that equally inconvenienced and soothed — but as much as he wouldn't particularly mind hearing Jerome's latest opinion on whatever cartoon he was watching that morning, he still had much to do; it wouldn't take long for the GCPD, even as half witted as they were, to figure why their followers had stopped acting like headless chickens and if there's something Jeremiah refused to let happen, was to be predicted.

So he presses mouth thin in slight discontentment and sets the notifications to vibrate, aware of the consequences of this action. There was no reasoning with his twin, he knew very well, but it was for the benefit of them both — perhaps Jerome wouldn't see it that way, but that was just fine by him; some bridges he'll have to cross instead of bombing, he supposes.

Clapping his gloved hands together loudly enough to bring his nosy guests — none of them doing a good job of appearing uninterested — back to their current predicament, he stifled a smirk at the yelp coming from behind him. Such a gossiper, that woman. - "As I was saying, the signal agreed upon at the last meeting will serve as the cue to each group retrieving the..."

❖|❖

You have 10 unread messages on voicemail.

Jeremiah could only stare in disbelief, not having been quite prepared for what he was seeing.

Of course, he wasn't new to Jerome's incessant complaining and naive he was not — a few strong worded messages were fully expected from his twin, specially since he found catharsis on poking at Jeremiah's guilt over their years apart. But he had fed the belief that even the ginger's predisposition to ranting had its limits, those which he had clearly underestimated.

It makes his grip on the device a little tighter, fills him with a sort of anticipation. In a way, it's a treat — he had left their bed while Gotham's sky had still been a dark indigo, no stars to be seen; dropping extra ammunition in the current hideouts and installing a couple fail-safes were precautions that they had discussed during dinner and he wouldn't have felt secure in their progress otherwise, not when he remembered about his twin's last failure and where it lead them. Which had the unfortunate effect of rendering him sleepless — and then unable to wait for a 'good morning' kiss, a look at Jerome's endearingly drooly face had been all he got.

It's embarrassing, that he can almost hear Jerome's irritated comment on his disappearance act just by looking at the number but still miss his voice, all of the baggage that came with the hoarse quality to it — but he had learned to enjoy what it did to him.

Seated in one of the chairs Ecco had promptly fetched for him, he takes off his hat with a sigh and holds it to his lap as he presses the device against his ear, glancing at the cultists still assessing the map alongside his proxy — not quite comfortable enough to put his twin's probable tantrums on speakers. Those were for his ears only(specially if it's targeted at him).

The first of them goes just as he imagined.

"Miah, ya fuckin' asshole... couldn'tcha wait 'til I was done with ya? Leaving at who the fuck knows when in the night- I'm tackling yer ass when ya show up, smartypants."

It takes a surprising amount of restraint to not snort loudly at him because he had clearly just woken up when it was sent and if possible, his speech poured thicker than usual; he hums in what he figures is the agreement he would've replied with to appease him and lets his eyes fall shut, savoring the background noise of the TV and something being cooked while his twin cusses him away.

He realizes, midst the transition from the first to the next message, that he hadn't eaten anything since waking up. Aside from coffee, of course.

"Ya should know my helpful followers always tell me when yer calling up for meetings. I could go in there~"

Hmmm, in hindsight he genuinely wishes his twin had. Truth be told, Jeremiah couldn't have explained in simpler terms what the escaping-abducting cycle route implied for the upcoming scheme and yet, still at the very ending, he received the odd blank stare here and there. With Jerome, he was sure they would've wrecked their minds to try and understand whatever their messiah threw at them instead of expecting him to do all of their jobs for them — but he digresses.

The third message, though. Took him a minute.

"Been watching one of those old movies with the rich fellas dressed all snobby, reminded me of ya." - there's a clacking sound that becomes clearer when he pauses, then comes a dramatic sigh. - "Yer so annoying about this kinda stuff but I'm not gonna lie- it's got charm. It's like some vintage clown chiq with all the over the top suits in crazy colors and makeup, I wanna see ya on a stage."

It brings Jeremiah back to a conversation they had, back in the Wilde State — and right after he had told his twin of what he had planned for Gotham. He remembers the words he had used in that recording he had left for detective Gordon: "Jerome's dead. Long live me."

He had recited it — like a chant, a reminder — and it had been bitter, angry, liberating, wonderful. He wanted to have as much power as Jerome achieved, be the star of a show that had relegated him to the bleachers but it also hurt something awful that he'd to do it alone.

But as things turned out to be, every now and then it clicks in his overworking mind that after so long — he'll be two again, have Jerome with him and when the curtains fall at the climax of their spectacle to reveal who's been behind the newest surge of vindicating chaos, the smoking gun will be on his hand, his dear twin right by his side; laughing at a terrified audience, observing with curious eyes as he does it all in his name. And if this city survives them, they'll exchange roles, repeat their steps for as long as they fancy— again and so forth.

It's enough to have him feeling like there's no space within his ribcage for the expanding of his lungs, his heart taking over every inch. Love for him had always been like this — and not so coincidentally, towards the same person — but while he recognized the aching and overwhelming euphoria, he never quite got used to it for better or worse. It took over his senses every time, turned him into an entire new creature or maybe unlocked another side of him.

Shaken, he decided he needed to listen more and Jerome didn't disappoint in the next.

"Aren't ya getting bored? I mean nothing against my own people but... none of them like ya. But I do, Miah~"

His lips twitched, a smile taking over without his permission as he rolled his eyes. He had a point, after all.

"Well, I'm! so! bored! I'll forgive ya for leaving me if ya show up right now and kiss me. It's my favorite pastime, ya know? Smooching yer sugar plum lips."

Jeremiah doesn't make it a habit of physically showing his true feelings. Ask Ecco, and she'll tell that in all of the years they've known each other — an impressive amount, by the way — he very rarely expressed too strong of an emotion in front of her, going so far as to project a lack thereof and ever since he went through his... change, he had been able to perfect it into an art and signature of sorts. He's not the emotional type, so to say.

"Ah, I bet these aren't helping ya concentrate... Oops! My bad, dolly."

But whenever Jerome brings out that cheeky, flirtatious attitude accompanied by his endless repertoire of sappy and quite insulting petnames — Jeremiah can sense his face getting warmer and he fights the indignity of averting his eyes to the ground, refusing to be bashful of all things. He knows exactly what his twin's doing, what this is meant to evoke and what's worse: he can't shut him up.

"But ya know me, I just can't resist ya. That's why I came back for ya, ain't that right? 'Cause I love yer kisses so bad, Miah."

Whispering lovingly to him through the phone, he sounds needy, tempting. It's unfair, that a few words from him can make his mind spin, blurry by the edges. 'Love' sounds so right in Jerome's tongue, as if he owns it by the very letters — he could never get tired of hearing him say it.

He loves him. It's intoxicating and biological. Every cell in his body does so, intrinsically. Sometimes it feels like it could consume him. If it hasn't already.

"Are ya blushing? I'd love to see it. Yer such a cutie, only sometimes though. When yer not a fucking pain in my ass." - Jeremiah can almost pinpoint the second the implications register before his twin gasps in delight at the opportunity to mortify him. - "Not that I mind, can make my ass sore all ya want, baby broski. And when yer trying so hard to not blurt out some creepy, loving shit while at it? I wanna squeeze ya by the prick, so damn adorable-"

"Boss?"

The higher pitched voice's close enough to gain his attention, causing him to almost jump in his seat and reflexively try to muffle the maniacal giggling coming out of his phone, firmly pressed to his chest while staring wide-eyed at who had called him— oh, Ecco.

Exhaling in relief, he allows his posture to relax and shoulders to fall minutely before immediately narrowing his eyes at her, irritation clear in every line etched to his frowning brow. - "Can't you see I'm busy?" - he tried to go for an unamused tone but it sounded a lot more murderous than he wished for.

If he focused on the noises coming from the device in his hand, he could almost hear the recurring whining resembling the various terms Jerome called him by. Ecco's gaze momentarily fell to his chest and he knew it wasn't just him.

Ecco giggles nervously. - "We're all finished, bossie! Tough nutjobs to crack, those! But you can always count on my skills, got'em on the palm of this hand!" - she swishes her right hand, wiggling her fingers with an excited smile. Jeremiah huffs, looking around and noticing that she had indeed done an impressive job of finishing their little rendezvous — there wasn't a single slacker in sight, presumably because they were already taking care of relaying instructions to the rest of their members.

Pleased, he nods in approval and rewards her the smallest of grins. She practically beams. - "Then I came to tell that we could get goin' and you were redder than my daddy when we told him we were outta beer— and squirming too! You getting sick? Got your pills in the car, if you need them!"

To his utter horror, he found himself unable to recompose from such a violent attack to his ego fast enough to reply with anything better than a rushed 'Thank you.' while standing up straight from his rickety chair and marching out the small apartment's door, (elegantly)making a run for the decaying bulding's ornamented elevator and taking its cabin for himself before Ecco could join him.

Had any of those imbeciles witnessed it as well, by chance? It's not for the matters of caring about their opinions, pfff— as Jerome had said, they reported everything to him, annoyingly so. And that would definitely set a precedent for many more voicemails to come, at the most inopportune times.

He turns at the flash of green and white he captures in his peripheral vision and finds a dirty, rusting mirror on the wall; even ruined as it currently is, the picture being painted is unmistakable. He can't unsee how the pale — porcelain-esque, Jerome had teased — skin gives away to a faint red, it clashes with the aubergine over the lips and bright blue of his eyes, though it does match his scarlet tie. It's just when he brings his hands closer — NOT to hide his complexion in them — that he's reminded of what he's holding in both of them: his white fedora and phone. The very source of his troubles, still playing his messages.

Hesitantly, he presses it against his ear once more.

"—gotcha all syrupy sweet on me, sunshine this and dearest that! And all I could think about was 'if I had known sucking yer cock in the morning like my life depended on it made ya less bitchy all those years ago I would've been saving a ton in mints'. But, Miah, waking ya up stealing yer breath's... fuck, it's delicious— I love to feel ya struggling against me~"

Jeremiah leaves the inconspicuous place, fashionable hat covering his ardent cheeks and coat luckily hiding any other… issues, he might be suffering from on his way to the goddamn car, fully intending to break a few traffic laws.

Beginning with texting while driving.

'Coming.'

A reply comes seconds later.

'Oh, you will be.'

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