#but honestly thank god im not fourteen anymore

[poolboyat-thevampiremansion]

on romanticizing the rot

growing up not popular but not unpopular does funny things to your psyche. it makes you do things like falsely romanticize the toxic reality of being fourteen years old out on the town drinking liquor you bought from strangers and hanging out with people four five six years older than you. 

at fourteen i wanted nothing more than to be one of those girls, who went out every weekend and got shit-faced with fair-weather friends who'd leave you out in the cold if they had to. but that can’t be true. they couldn’t’ve been that toxic to each other, right? not like they were to me. it must bond you, in some way. 

when i first got drunk at seventeen i think me and my friends’ brains connected. our neural pathways will always be linked and we are bonded for life. and there’s nothing like the friendliness of drunk girls: the compliments in bar bathrooms, the unbridled and unwavering support they show, the intent interest with which they listen to you, the genuine and bright way they compliment you, say you're so pretty oh my god I love your skirt you’re gorgeous you're literally a goddess he aint shit dont call him you deserve better i want to worship the ground you walk on

i guess the problem comes when drunk girls get sober. the unity of a drunken haze disappears into a cloud of smoke much like the one they were exhaling the previous night. 

theres something deep and powerful in partying. in throwing your life away. in substances and succumbing to them. there must be. that’s why we keep romanticizing them, right? that’s why I wanted nothing more than to have that at fourteen, have that fun, dangerous, thrilling feeling of being alive. of being young and doing things you're not supposed to. I didn’t even think of the immense danger these girls put themselves in. 

seeing my old friend solidified this. revealed the toxicity that they must’ve had to adopt to survive. she told me how she wishes things didn't go the way they did in junior high, told me about the one who was behind most of the drama and everything that contributed to those three years being some of the worst of my life. conversation in smoking areas are special like that. they tear down your walls and get you to reveal yourself. talking over a shared cigarette is a bonding experience and talking with her after years of uncertainty on where we stand all melted away and we talked as if we never stopped. i love her, truly. she lived through the decay, found herself after it. i went through the self discovery process, too. realized, and really, knew all along, that the ideas and experiences i was craving and romanticizing were not worth throwing my childhood away. 

at eighteen i still crave the decay despite of this.

i experience bits of it, now. i feel it when im walking home at 5 am. its nearly palpable when im sharing a smoke on a park bench, tipsy, and the scene is right out of a coming of age movie. at least i hope it is, but i fear it might not be, might be a horror movie or a documentary on my downfall. i still want to live through that chaos. i crave it on rainy evenings biking home from work. i crave it when the musics loud and i pass by a group of teens having fun and somehow feel left out despite being in the same club. when i see people entering bars when im on my way home from having a drink in the park with my friends. i see it in university students getting black out drunk weekly. microdosing alcoholism at the excuse of making the most of your youth. its part of the college experience! its normal! come out with us and drink so much you wont remember half of the night the next day and do it all again a week from now!

the small town syndrome. when theres not much else to do except go to parks and drink with your friends. when your whole country is on the brink of alcoholism and its normal for preteens to start drinking and smoking. its hard not to romanticize it, right? 

i still crave the decay. i still romanticize the rot. i yearn to live through it, vividly, violently.

[definitelyseven]

deal | two

summary: when your step-mom unexpectedly offers you a deal you can’t resist, you decide to give her a taste of her own medicine by seducing her potential suitor, Im Jaebum. 

one (m) | two | three (m) | four (m) | five | six (m) | seven | eight (m) | nine | ten | eleven  | twelve (m) | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | sixteen | seventeen - final |

You quietly watched as Jaebum interacted with his son at the dinner table. He was a cute little boy - smart and well-mannered. You wouldn’t believe he was only three years old. 

“Appa, I’m done,” Minguk said handing Jaebum his fork. He takes the fork from his hands and wipes his mouth for him. He whines to get off his high chair so he can play in the playroom. 

“You can play after your bath,” Jaebum says sternly. He turns to your step-mom, Eunbi, “Will you help him with his bath?” This catches her off-guard, making you chuckle. You had to admit, it was nice to see her be submissive for once. 

“Oh, sure...” she said getting up and taking Minguk to the bathroom. 

It was just you and him now. 

“Help me with the dishes?” he asked rhetorically whilst grabbing the empty plates and heading to the kitchen. You followed behind with the rest of the plates. You wondered why a rich man like him didn’t have any housekeepers. He did everything himself; something you wished your father knew how to do. 

The both of you were standing side by side in front of the kitchen sink. He handed you the cleaned dishes to wipe down. It was painfully quiet between you two as you thought about topics to talk about. 

“Have we met?” you blurted out. You had to know if he remembered you - maybe it was inappropriate now that he was with your step-mom, but she didn’t have to know. 

“Um, no...no I don’t think so,” he said nonchalantly while handing you another dish to wipe down. “Why?”

“You just look like someone I know,” you said giving him a subtle smile. It went quiet again after your question. You cleared your throat, attempting to start another conversation, “How did you and Eunbi meet?”

“We’re childhood friends.”

“Oh. And the both of you just started dating now?” you asked, slightly turning your body to face him.

“I was with Minguk’s mother since high school. She died while giving birth.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. She had a heart condition but insisted on having Minguk. We were prepared,” he said as he hands you another dish to wipe down. You watched him carefully, his eyes teary from the thought of his dead lover. “Eunbi said your father died around the same time.”

You didn’t respond. How dare she talk about your father to another man? Your father hasn’t even been gone for that long and she’s already thinking about marrying another man. Jaebum was the same - three years and he already moved on. 

“You both moved on quick,” you said turning your attention back to cleaning the dishes. 

“It’s not like that,” he clarified, but you kept quiet. You hear him sigh quietly. “So, who do I remind you of?” he asked trying to change the topic. 

“No one.��

“Seemed pretty important if you asked about it. A boyfriend maybe?” he asked with a smirk. 

“N-no, I’m single.”

“Good to know,” he said turning to smile at you. He leans in close to your body - his chest pressed on the left side of your arm, his right arm linked around your waist, leaning on the kitchen counter. You gulped, nervous. His scent reminded you of that day at the gym. You didn’t mistaken him for someone else. It was him and here he was standing dangerously close to you. “You missed a spot,” he said reaching for the plate on the dish rack, his face close to yours. 

You cleared your throat, moving away from him, “Right...” As you pondered about what just happened, you hear Minguk call for Jaebum from behind. He must be done with his bath. 

“Hey there,” Jaebum said picking him up into his arms. “How was your bath?”

“Eunbi doesn’t know how to give baths,” Minguk said honestly, making you laugh. Oh how you loved kids - they don’t know how to lie. “She got water all over herself.” You reached to touch Minguk’s hand in which he grabs it, holding onto your pointer finger. You could learn to love this kid. 

Eunbi comes into the kitchen, hair slightly damped in a see-through white shirt. You rolled your eyes at her. What was she trying to do? Seduce him with his kid around? Disgusting. 

You tell Jaebum that you could finish up the dishes so he can play with Minguk in the playroom. Eunbi puts on her fake smile and tells him, she’ll join them in a moment. After he leaves, she makes her way to you.

“You think it’s funny?” she said frustrated.

“Yes, actually I do. I think it’s fucking hilarious watching you pretend to be a mother when you know nothing about being one.”

“Listen,” she said letting out a frustrated sigh. “I am paying you to be here. Do better and don’t think I’ll be nice to you because of your father.”

“Don’t fucking think for a second that I’ll play nice especially when you didn’t tell me he has a son” you spatted. “If I have to suffer seeing you every day, then you better believe I’ll give you a hard time. And one more thing, don’t you fucking dare talk about my father ever again,” you glared at her. “Now be a good mother and clean up this mess,” you said walking pass her and out of the kitchen. The audacity she had talking about your father. You weren’t that little girl that could be pushed around anymore. You learned how to stick up for yourself the moment your father died; the moment she stole everything from you. 

--

The next morning you made your way downstairs to the indoor gym. The one thing that was nice about moving into Jaebum’s house was how accessible everything was; indoor and outdoor pool, fully-equipped gym, music and dance studios, game room, theater, wine cellar - everything you could possibly need to fulfill your desired hobbies. You entered the indoor gym and the first thing you see is Jaebum who was running on the treadmill. You didn’t expect to see him here so early in the morning. His eyes met yours through the mirror making him stop the treadmill. “Good morning.”

“Morning. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. I can come back if you want to be alone,” you tell him.

“Don’t be silly,” he said patting your arm, “Work out with me.”

The last time you worked out with him, you ended up having sex with him. You honestly wouldn’t mind if that happened again. Jaebum jumps into the boxing ring and gestures you to enter with him by offering you his hand. 

“I’ve never boxed before.”

“I can teach you,” he said throwing you a pair of gloves before sliding on a punching mitt. “Hit me,” he instructed. As obedient as a dog, you swing your right arm to hit the mitt. “Come on, you can do better!” You swung to hit the mitt again. He dodges your hit causing you to launch forward, falling almost face down. “Get up and hit me again,” he instigates. You swing your arms left and right, left and right, but he continuously dodges it. He was provoking you on purpose. 

Using all your strength, you threw another punch at him but he dodges again. This time you were unable to catch yourself, falling face down. You groaned in pain.

“You alright?” Jaebum asked offering you his hand to help you up. You take his hand and use all your strength to pull him down onto the mat. You quickly climbed on top of him, straddling him.

You smirked, “Yeah, I’m alright. You?” As you were preparing to throw a punch at him, he grabs onto your arm tightly and flips you over. You groaned at the impact of the mat against your back. 

“Still doing okay?” he asked again, this time getting on top of you. You tried to squirm away, but the weight of his body holds you down. 

“Get off me,” you complained, struggling to get up. 

He chuckles, “I quite like this position. Don’t you?”

Sweat dripping down the side of his face, his bangs dangling in front of his eyes. God, he was gorgeous. His white tank hung loosely over his body, making his arms look more defined and his shoulders broader than you had remembered. The weight of his body pressed against yours reminded you of that day he had you at the gym. You bit your lip at the thought of his skin on yours. 

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, brushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead and then lightly chucking under chin.

And just like the first time you met, you batted your eyes innocently and said, “Don’t do what?” You were sure he’d remember you by now. There was no way he didn’t. 

He chuckles once again, “You’re trying to get me in trouble.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you whispered leaning forward. You were playing with fire. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this, but this was fun. This was exciting. The feeling of being caught and doing something gave you adrenaline, gave you courage - it made you braver. 

His hand traces up your leg to your thigh, gently stroking it. You held your breath the moment he laid his hands on you. His touches sending waves all over your body, down to your core. You gulped, nervous. Jaebum’s hand dances up your waist to your stomach before stopping just before your breasts. He was so gentle, so careful. It was like the both of you forgot Eunbi was just upstairs. 

He leans down close to your face and for a split second it looked like he wanted to kiss you. You’d happily oblige, but a loud cry came from the audio baby monitor. Minguk was up. And as if it broke Jaebum out of a trance, he quickly got off you to grab the baby monitor. 

“Thanks for working out with me,” he said before leaving to check on Minguk. 

You sighed in defeat. So close yet so far, you thought. 

[themisadventuresofmomtiri]

Children of the Cosmos, Chapter 3

Hey, lookie what it is! An update! Finally! You can also read it on Ao3. Enjoy!

There is no lamp to give them light. The only light in the wagon is the irregular pulsing of Varian’s hair, faint and patchy and a far, far cry from its normal vibrancy. Thin threads of gold have started to appear, glowing and fading in uneven flickers. The magic he’d accidentally taken from Rapunzel was shining through, slowly burning him from the inside out.

Her child, her only son, is fading before her very eyes.

Fae should never have children.

“Rowena?”

She looks up, pulled out of her thoughts and grounded back in reality. Quirin is on the other side of the wagon, mere feet from her with only their fading son between them. She can see clearly how the last few days have aged him. Perhaps she shows it just as clearly, despite her immortality. They have many more years to live in the next few minutes, and the only thing standing between Varian and death is how long they’re able to bear it.

She takes a deep breath, offers him a small smile, and straightens her back.

“Hand me a few pieces of quartz and we’ll get started.”

Rapunzel jolted awake, heart pounding and a soundless scream already dying in her throat. Pascal let out a small noise of surprise as her sudden movement caused him to tumble. She glanced around, the lingering terror inciting paranoia until her mind was finally able to process that she was right where she’d been last night: in her sleeping sack, set up around the dying embers of last night’s fire. Kiera and Catalina had cuddled up to her over the course of the night, and both were disturbed by Rapunzel’s sudden awakening.

Catalina slurred out something incomprehensible, and Rapunzel shushed her.

“It’s okay, go back to sleep.”

Neither girl was apparently willing to argue, and Catalina dropped right off without so much as another sound. Kiera snuggled into her sleeping sack, but thankfully fell back asleep. Rapunzel took a deep breath of morning air and carefully shifted into a slightly more comfortable seated position. The world had already started to take on the gray hue of pre-dawn. Everything was quiet and still. Not even the birds had started singing yet.

The nightmare that had woken her was already obscured in her memory, just faint impressions of dread and terror and a blank, all consuming darkness. She’s suffered regular nightmares for nearly a year when she was little, and they’d been so severe that Mom had taken to lacing every scrap of fabric Rapunzel owned with dried lavender and slipping bits of amethyst carved with protective runes into her pillows. Which had done the trick, and over the next year and a half Mom had slowly removed the amethyst pieces and de-laced the lavender until Rapunzel could sleep through the night free of nightmares without magical assistance. Varian had been too young then help her, but she suspected that the reason her nightmares had made themselves scarce was because he was old enough and his magic strong enough to reach out while they slept.

Thinking of Varian brought back the memory of what she’d heard last night. Rapunzel shivered, though the chill of the early morning had nothing to do with it. The wagon was suspiciously still---and suspiciously dark. Not even one of the small lamps was lit, and Rapunzel couldn’t see any sign of Varian’s glow. Something horrid and leaden formed in her stomach; what if something went wrong? Mom had said binding someone’s magic was dangerous, maybe even life-threatening. What if Varian didn’t---

No. No, she wasn’t going to think like that. Varian was going to be fine. Whatever Mom and Dad had done last night, it was going to work and Varian was going recover. Everything was going to go back to normal and in time this whole thing will just be a bad memory.

A creak of wood caught her attention, and Rapunzel looked up to see her father stepping out of the wagon. He looked completely wrecked, as if he hadn’t slept a wink at all last night. Who knows, he probably hadn’t. Rapunzel stood up, mindful of her still-sleeping sisters.

“Dad,” she whispered, hesitant as she wrung her hands.

“He’s okay,” Dad replied, and it was a strange mix of dread and relief that washed over her. “The fever just broke, and both he and your mother are resting.”

She navigated out of the sleeping pile, steps becoming quicker the second she was clear of her sisters. “Did you have to…is he?”

Dad’s shoulders dropped as he took a deep breath. “We had to bind his magic, yes. He pulled through, thank god.”

“It’s not…permanent, is it?”

Dad hesitated, as if the answer was something he had to decide Rapunzel had a right to know.

“No binding is permanent, Rapunzel. But…they can be difficult to undo. And sometimes even more dangerous then.”

“So it might as well be?”

Dad sighed. “That’s not what I’m saying. Your mother and I plan to undo the binding once Varian is strong enough to handle it. The only sticking point is that we need a certain couple of tools to make sure the resulting surge of power doesn’t end up hurting him. The Moon’s never done things by halves.”

“What do you need?”

“Let your mother and I worry about that,” he advised, resting a hand on her shoulder and offering her a small smile that was meant to reassure. “For now, let’s focus on getting ready for the day. I doubt either Varian or Rowena will be awake for breakfast, but they may be hungry come lunch.”

“Da’,” a sleepy voice broke through the morning air. They turned to see Catalina and Kiera in the process of waking up, blinking and rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

“’s’som’in’wron’,” Kiera asked before a yawn split her face.

“Varian’s fever broke over the night,” Dad announced, and after a second, both girls were suddenly wide awake.

“Does that mean he’s gonna be okay,” Catalina asked, already jumping up from her sleeping sack and running over to them, Kiera hot on her heels.

“With some rest, yes.”

“Can we see him,” Kiera asked.

“When he wakes up, if your mother agrees,” he replied. “For now, let’s do her a favor and get the morning chores handled.”

Not even Kiera groaned at the idea of doing chores; ordinarily, she tended to do everything she possibly could to weasel her way out of them. Catalina didn’t seem to mind the work much, and Rapunzel honestly just loved any excuse to be active in some way. Varian was the only one who could convince Kiera to do her chores without complaining, and that was because he hated doing them, too. Any chores involving Philippa, the absolutely massive draft horse who had been pulling their wagon for as long as Rapunzel could remember, were his least favorite. Varian swore up and down the mare had it out for him, though Philippa had never done anything more than some teasing nips and a few well-timed swats to the face with her tail.

Rapunzel never thought she’d ever want to hear them complaining about scrubbing the wagon’s floorboards, or picking up the dungpiles left by Phillippa so Dad could sell them to farmers as fertilizer as badly as she did now. Anything resembling normal would be a blessing.

The fact that Varian’s fever had finally broken had drastically improved Catalina and Kiera’s attitude, even though they didn’t know about the binding. Throughout the morning, they chattered about pretty much anything and nothing at all, making stupid jokes and actually laughing again. And, true to his word,the sun was already high in the sky by the time the wagon’s door creaked open. Mom only looked marginally less wrecked than Dad had, though her usual bun was an absolute disaster the likes of which Rapunzel had never seen.

“Mom,” Kiera shouted, scrambling up to her feet from where she’d been sitting while helping Dad untangle a particularly knotted section of fishing line. “Is Varian awake? Can we see ‘im?”

Rowena chuckled as Kiera all but slammed into her, managing to mitigated the worst of the collision. “Good morning to you, too, darling.”

“Dad said he’s gonna be okay, so can we see him?”

“He’s still asleep, cygnet,” Rowena replied. “Your poor brother had a rough go of things last night; he needs to rest.”

Kiera stamped a foot and huffed in frustration, but didn’t utter any more complaints. After the momentary frustration faded, Kiera bit her lip.

“He…he really is gonna be okay, right?”

Rowena sighed, a knowing smile on her face. “Yes, sweetheart. His fever’s broken, and his breathing is almost entirely back to normal.”

“Did you have to do that binding thing?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she replied after a beat, guiding Kiera back to the campfire. “Took every ounce of quartz at my disposal, admittedly, but that was expected.

“So Varian can’t do magic anymore,” Catalina asked

“Not until we’re able to reverse the binding.”

“How long’s that gonna take?”

Rowena exhaled, sharing a look with Quirin. A look Rapunzel didn’t like one bit. Anytime that particular look came around, it always meant something bad. Or, at the very least, something they weren’t going to like much. The last time she’d seen that look, they spent three months in a magical museum/archive with a high-strung archivist who apparently owed Mom an awful lot while Mom and Dad had been busy negotiating a series of purchases and trades with people they apparently deemed too dangerous to risk bringing their kids along. Calliope had been an…interesting babysitter. And maybe Rapunzel could have made the whole ordeal a little easier on her, but she’d been fourteen and totally convinced that she didn’t need a babysitter.

“With some rest, Varian should be back to full health in a few weeks,” Rowena began, the ‘but’ heavy in her tone.

“But…?”

“But, in order to undo the binding without hurting him, your father and I are going to need a couple of items we don’t have right now.”

“So where do we find ‘em,” Kiera asked.

“We, as in your father and I, will be locating them,” Rowena replied. “You four will be staying with the innkeeper and his wife while we’re gone.”

“What?!”

“This is not a matter which is up for discussion,” she added, both her tone and her expression offering no room for debate. “These items are dangerous to get a hold of, and I refuse to place you four in harm’s way if there is another option.”

“But we wanna help,” Kiera retorted.

“You can help by staying together and keeping an eye on Varian,” Quirin cut in. “This will only take a few weeks, if all goes well.”

“And if it doesn’t,” Catalina asked. “You said it’ll be dangerous…”

“We’ll manage,” he assured her, gently ruffling Catalina’s hair. “Just as we always have.”

Kiera slumped back into her seat, arms folded across her chest and the absolute picture of petulance. She’d been part of the family long enough to know when she’d been beat.

“Where will you guys be going, then,” Rapunzel asked.

The pair shared a look before Quirin replied.

“Rowena will be traveling to the Unknown, and I’ll be making the trek back to the ruins of Lumeria.”

“Wait, you’re not sticking together?”

Quirin shrugged. “Rowena is the only one who can reach the Unknown. I don’t have any Fae blood; the gates would never open for me.”

“And I’m sure Hector has yet to abandon the ruins,” Rowena added. “He might let Quirin explain before attacking; me, he’d fight immediately on principle.”

“Hector,” Catalina asked, tilting her head in confusion.

“Another former member of the Brotherhood,” Quirin explained. “We trained together when we were young.”

“How come we’ve never met ‘im,” Kiera asked.

“Because his vows to Lumeria were poorly worded, and as a result he’s been unable to tear himself away from the old kingdom,” Rowena replied. “There’s a reason I’ve always warned you four to be mindful of your words. Fae can’t break their promises.”

“Why would a friend of Dad’s fight you on principle,” Rapunzel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mom?”

The weak, but so very familiar, voice cut off any response Rowena might have otherwise given, and every head turned to see Varian, shaky but standing in the doorway of the wagon. Rapunzel inhaled sharply; while Varian certainly looked like he was on the mend from a serious illness, it was immediately obvious what exactly had to be done in order to get him there. His hair was no longer moon-white, the strands now a stark black save for the streak of teal that replaced the former moon-gray shade. He still looked pale and sickly, but he looked…more human? Like every trace of magic he’d had since birth had been systematically removed from every fibre of his body. He almost looked like a completely different person.

Catalina had reacted a bit louder, her gasp sharp and audible and followed by the sound of her hands covering her mouth in shock. Kiera’s reaction was even less subtle.

 “Why is his hair black?”

“M’ hair’s wha’,” Varian asked, rubbing at his eyes.

Rowena helped him down from the wagon, and Varian leaned into her as she guided him over to the fire.

“A side-effect of the binding,” Quirin explained, grabbing a spare blanket from the laundry and draping it over Varian’s shoulders.

He took a seat next to his son, and Varian leaned into him, shivering under the blanket despite the growing heat of the day. Ruddiger perched himself next to Varian, offering sympathetic pats to the boy’s arm. Catalina got up from her seat and made her way across the circle, sitting down on the other side of her brother. She hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How are you feeling, Varian?”

“Better,” he admitted. “A lot weaker than normal, though.”

“Your fever broke last night, thankfully,” Quirin added, pressing the back of his hand to Varian’s forehead as if he wasn’t entirely certain the fever hadn’t re-asserted itself. “But between the illness and the absence of your magic, I’m not surprised you’ve noticed some weakness. You should still be in bed.”

“I’ve been in bed for over a week, Dad,” he protested. “And isn’t fresh air supposed to help people get better?”

Quirin glanced over at his wife, who merely shrugged. He sighed.

“I expect you to listen to Uriah and Hermione while your mother and I are away. No sneaking out of bed, no matter how well you feel.”

Varian blinked, looking up at his father. “You and Mom are leaving? Why?”

“We need a few things to undo the binding once you’re well enough,” Rowena explained. “It will only take a few weeks at the most, by which time you should be recovered enough to handle it.”

“Oh. When are you leaving?”

“Either tomorrow or the day after, depending on how well you are to make to the trip to the inn.”

“Do we really need a babysitter,” he whined. “Can’t we just stay here and promise to listen to Rapunzel?”

Quirin chuckled. “It wouldn’t be fair to put all of the responsibility on your sister’s shoulders. Besides, you four will be safer at the inn than on your own. Bandits and highwaymen are becoming more active the warmer the weather gets. It’s for our own peace of mind as much as it is for your safety.”

“Then won’t you and Mom be in danger, too,” Kiera asked.

“Your father and I can handle ourselves,” Rowena assured her, taking a seat next to Kiera and giving her a small side hug.

“So can we!”

“Ordinarily I’d agree, but your brother needs to rest. Better safe than sorry.”

Kiera huffed, but didn’t issue any more protests. At least at the inn, they’d be more or less left to their own devices so long as they didn’t bother any of the patrons. It would be a few weeks of being bored out of their minds while their parents went on their epic quests. How bad could it really be?

[tori-beanie]

Here we are again with part four! Y’all get it right? Idea by FanartFunart. Check em out.

This is the longest part yet! I hope you all enjoy it!!!

https://fanartfunart.tumblr.com/post/184661279405/filed-under-aus-i-do-not-plan-on-actually-doing

Soulmarked Part Four

Whirlwind

~~MORE~~

Logan was in eleventh grade now, a junior in high school. It was nearly Christmas break, so he had turned fifteen a bit more than a month ago. That meant it had been ten years, and the boy only had one of his four marks colored. Virgil… Virgil was a good soulmate. Logan helped to keep him grounded, and since he had joined public school, Logan also helped him with homework. However, he was still missing three of his soulmates. He had to meet them sometime, but Logan was impatient. He wanted answers and he wanted them as soon as possible. The boy was lost in thought, not noticing as he once again rain into a boy. He had to stop doing that. However he looked down at the freshman in confusion before looking down and seeing a red line fill in on his arm. It was the one closest to his wrist.

However as he rubbed his nose, he looked over the freshman. Logan recognized him as being part of the drama club. He was actually supposed to be the lead for this year’s play, Newsies. Ironically the reason Logan knew him? He was part of tech crew with Virgil. His first soulmate did the makeup, and Logan worked with the lighting. However he had never really interacted with Roman, hence why his soulmark was only appearing now. He offered a hand just has he had done to Virgil, the corners of his mouth moving up in one of his rare ‘smiles’.

“Hello. Roman O’Ryan correct? My name is Logan Foley. This is our first proper meeting. I believe you are one of my soulmates. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Patton Foster was fourteen, and still had only grey, black and white. Where was his soulmate. Where was the one person he was supposed to spend his life with? He just felt alone. Patton tried to stay happy and bubbly, but he had nobody. His colors were still being kept from him! What did green look like again? What was purple? What was red or yellow or blue? Patton couldn’t remember anymore! He let out a soft whimper as he sat in the bathroom before shaking his head. No, he had to stay positive! His soulmate would come to him one day. He couldn’t lose hope. He had to stay positive…

Patton struggled a lot with things. He had to pay close attention to labels, as he couldn’t tell things like flavors just by glancing and seeing if the wrapper was a certain color. Art was a struggle, as he had to be very careful when choosing colors. His teachers went easy on him, as it seemed he was the only colorless person in the freshman class. He had to do an assignment on Blue in his psychology class, and ended up getting all the right facts, but accidentally drawing everything in brown because he wasn’t being careful enough. The teacher didn’t subtract points, but being laughed at wasn’t fun. Patton could only hope that his soulmate would show up soon. He didn’t want to be alone, to be without colors forever. He wanted to see the world, to see how bright things could be in their proper shades. Yes. That was his wish.

The first thing Roman registered was that his nose hurt. The second was that this big was vaguely familiar. And finally, that his ears were popping. Huh. The Junior was holding out a hand, and as Roman finally register his words, he reached forward and gripped it tightly. However instead of shaking it like a normal person, Roman dropped to a knee and kissed the back of his hand. Logan seemed to be rather confused. However the dramatic boy just kept that grin on his face as he stood.

“Logan? Ah yes, a name fit for a tenuous such as yourself! And you already know of me! I see I’m rather popular then? Ah no need to fear! I promise I will offer you as much time as you need with yours truly!”

Roman was proud of his speech, even if Logan seemed a bit confused. However be just nodded, taking his hand back. However he wasn’t allowed to get a word in edgewise before Roman continued to speak.

“Oh I was on my way to meet Declan! He’s another one of my soulmates! Come along fair sir, and you can meet him as well! He is rather amazing, even if he isn’t as grand as me!”

Yes, Roman was doing his best to keep Logan interested, grabbing his hand and dragging him through the hallway. He was just excited, and tended to not really listen to reason when he was like this. Logan didn’t seem to be objecting, just allowing himself to be dragged along behind Roman. Yes, this would definitely be an interesting day.

Roman dragged Logan through the school until they reached an almost never used study area. Logan didn’t come here often, liking to study his material at home and simply email a teacher if he had questions. However Roman yanked him to a table containing one other person. Oh, so there was yellow… Yes, it really was interesting.

De gasped as a burst of light appeared above Romans tattoo, and made its way to color part of Declan’s face. Dark blue filled in an open book, making the solid black of the pages able to be read now. ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’ The phrase was written in the book, and Logan looked to be interested in it. What seemed like a ribbon bookmark stretched up to his cheek, small blue stars above his eye and on his jawline coming to appear along with the book. It was rather beautiful. De finally looked up from his shoulder, looking Logan in the eye. That same dark blue… It really was a beautiful color.

“Declan Shea. Nice to meet you.”

“Logan Foley. And I assure you, the pleasure is mine.”

When De looked, he saw a black stripe on Logan’s arm fade to a rather pleasant looking yellow. His was the closest to Logan’s elbow, next to a purple colored one. That meant Logan had met another one of them too. Yes, Declan wanted to know more. He needed to know more. He needed to meet Purple. Maybe they would color another part of his body. Yes, De certainly hoped so.

He had been with Roman for years, keeping him safe and entertained. However when it came to Drama, Declan didn’t want to be on the stage. He wanted to be away from the eyes, but help at the same time. He was an assistant director. De was mostly in charge of props and making sure everyone was still doing their jobs. Honestly it was a wonder that he hadn’t met Logan yet. But he was usually in the lighting booth. And De never liked to go out of his way. Lights were doing fine so he never saw a point. Now he wished he had though. That was then though. And this was now. And in this now, he would take as long as he could to lead Logan. Who he was, what he liked… Anything he would be willing to share. And hopefully afterwords, he could meet Purple.

Virgil had spent the day at home. He had gotten sick the night before. And texted Logan to let him know. His soulmate was going to get his homework for him and meet him back at Virgil’s home later.

But he was late.

Logan was nothing if not punctual. Where was he? Had something happened? Had he gotten hurt? Lost? Hurt and lost!? Virgil took a shuddering breath. He needed to calm down. Logan had been helping him with his anxious thoughts, but they still got pretty bad when he was alone. However as he was calming himself down, Logan knocked a precise five times before letting himself in. But immediately Virgil noticed something different. He was very perceptive.

“Red and yellow? You met more of them? How were they?”

Virgil was clearly nervous, as he didn’t know if his soulmates were going to care about him. Logan only grinned, filling him in on how he met the pair before adding on.

“They want to meet you. I didn’t tell them much, but when you’re ready Virgil, they would like to be able to see you themselves. You don’t need to now. Take all the time you need.”

Thank god Logan was so calm. He had been scared about being forced into a room with them so soon, but Logan had planned ahead. This was why he was a great soulmate.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll meet them. But like not now. Not soon. I don’t think I could do that…”

Logan nodded before handing over Virgil’s homework. They would work on it as a distraction and talk later. Logan would help him through this, just as he would help with anything else. Patience and determination.

General Tags: @your-friendly-neighborhood-enby @heathers-dorkness-0923 @midnight--fox

Soulmarked Tags: @fanartfunart @logan-sanders-is-my-binch @dragonsworn05 @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @astraheart04

[done-mer-moved]

i Also don't know ur OCs but: 1, 4, 5, 8, 15, 22, 23, 24, 25, 33, 42, 50, 54, 56, 61, 73, and 78 please? -drunkmiraak

[[LKdghlkj sorry this took so long!! I got super sick so it sat half-done in my drafts for 84 years. @drunkmiraak]]

Oh boy oh boy oh boy!

So, while I’ve got half a billion OCs by technicality, my main idiot is Azaryne Redoran who takes the role of the Vestige in the ESO story I write with @sinnaroll by the name of Soulbound. (Ima also just casually pass on these questions for her to answer in reply for D'tannen, who is the other main character in this thingy so you can get to know him too!)

Thank you so much for asking!! Here we gooooo~!

1. What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

Az’s main nickname is the self-explanatory name shortening from “Azaryne” to “Az”. But D'tannen has kinda stuck on jabbing him with “pretty boy” to the point where it’s basically a nickname lol 

Also, in-game plot reasons dictate that the Five Companions also know him by “Vestige”, much to his dismay. It’s what the Scrolls named him by, so the Prophet tends to slip and refer to him that way, and the others kinda do too by proxy for a while. However, after Az makes it clear that he’s really uncomfortable with it, Lyris and Sai specifically make a point not to call him that.

4. What is a noticeable physical attribute of your OC?

So I memed twice earlier before I got to these questions lasdgkh gomen, but my goofier answers are Dorito Shape and Resting Trouble Face

But more seriously, one of his major notable physical features is that he’s pretty much covered in tattoos from his neck down past his waist and starting down his legs. They’re being redesigned from scratch right now because I can’t ever allow myself to have characters that can be adequately represented in game i guess lmfao but here’s the in-game tattoos with some photo-editing for an earlier visual draft on where they might cut off—

It’s a total personal headcanon but I decided that since the in-game body marking style was pretty clearly influenced by Maori-style kiriituhi, that Az’s tattoos are also highly significant in a similar way. Each piece symbolizes or connects to either his ancestry, or his own life and skills and milestones. His designs weren’t finished, but have the indication of where they were meant to continue as he hit new points in his life. Unfortunately, since his life was cut so short, that’s as far as they ever get.

On a lighter note, he also has pretty big ears?? Lmao

5. What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

He likes clothes that are comfortable but flattering. He knows what his assets are and enjoys looking well-dressed – a bit of a remnant from his previous life as a noble. 

He tends to favor sleeveless tops and cool-colored fabrics with neutral accents. He particularly likes blues of all shades, and some purples. He’ll also occasionally wear red. On his travels he wears leather armor that fits within these features, and notably has a Khajiiti-style jack because he liked the aesthetic of it when he saw the style in a tailor’s display. 

When he’s dressing up, he’ll wear more flowing robe-like attire. He had more reason to do so while he was alive, and at the time it was usually specifically Dunmeri cultural clothing. Over the course of Soulbound, he only dresses up the once so far for a date with Sinna. That takes place in Orsinium, so it’s Orcish formal wear. 

Even if the situation’s not a fancy one, though, he’ll usually still wear kohl eyeshadow, which D’tannen gives him shit for, of course lol.

8. How does your OC talk/what does your OC’s voice sound like?

Az’s voice is light, crisp, warm and friendly. It’s between tenor and baritone in range, and the expected Dunmeri accent. He’s well spoken, and you can tell he’s well educated, but his phrasing isn’t snobbish or condescending, and there’s a firm sort of sincerity to his speech, even when he’s being playful.

15. What was your OC’s childhood like?

Az’s childhood was a little complicated in that it came with a great deal of privilege, but also a great deal of expectation. He was noble-born— the eldest son of House Redoran’s Archmaster— so before he was even old enough to have an awareness of the world, his parents had already decided many things about his future. 

In spite of both this and the constant pressure of the Redoran philosophy that “a light, careless life is not worth living”, Az had an untamable spirit that continuously tried his parents’ patience. As a child, his impulsivity, tendency to bend the rules, and headstrong defiance on points he fundamentally disagreed with led to frequent discipline, and a particularly strained relationship with his father.

Over time, he begrudgingly learned to play by the rules, but would still disappear from time to time for brief moments of freedom. 

He had two younger siblings— Eralane and Meril, and they had very close and loving relationships with each other. Az always did his bes to see right by them, so they felt safe in knowing that he would always have their backs. They didn’t ever keep much from him, as a result, and Meril specifically often looked up to him as a role model.

By the time he was fourteen, he’d been arranged into a political betrothal to solidify clan relations within the House, and it was decided that the two would be married in 16 years when they were both fully grown adults. Neither he nor his intended fiancée were really comfortable with this, but even as young as they were, they knew it was a sticky situation far bigger than just the two of them. So, they quickly established that, future aside, they didn’t feel entitled to each other’s feelings. They would both rather have a straightforward, honest friendship than try to force things between them. 

Because of this, there was no tension when other chemistries developed in later years. Instead, they continued to ignore their inevitable marriage, and turned their performative date nights into formally-dressed vent and gossip sessions. Using the expectations put upon them to their advantage as they got older, they also happily became each other’s alibi when either of them needed time away with other people.

22. Who is/are your OC’s closest friend(s)?

Since arriving back on Tamriel, he’s been shuffling company a lot on his journeys. He’s also pretty introverted, despite being fairly socially adept. He doesn’t have any real connections from his previous life anymore, but has met many people and made casual friends and positive acquaintances with a solid chunk of new ones.

In terms of more serious friendships, D’tannen is honestly the closest, which is kind of incredible honestly laksdhg. But, they travel with each other day in and day out, so there’s a tight bond there that’s developing fast.

He’s also particularly attached to Irvane, who was his first friend since coming back to Nirn.

23. Who are the people your OC surrounds him/herself with?

Along the same lines as I just said above, he’s never in one place for very long right now, so he is constantly around new people. His kind heart and need for hands-on activity means he tends to gravitate toward people he can help in some way or another. His empathy and sense of honor do most of the weeding. He’d rather be around someone who has shown good intentions, even if they are rough around the edges, than someone who rests on the laurels of past deeds and judges others against themselves.

24. Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates?

It’s pretty damn hard to make this list, at least if you have any sort of good bone in your body. He’s really very empathetic and patient, and will forgive so quickly once he feels amends have been made that it’s honestly gotten him into trouble.

But, even with that said, he’s got some strong resentments for some strong reasons… Notably: Mannimarco and his Worm Cult, ol’ Molag Bal himself, and pretty much anyone who allies with them… Malacus is another name that quickly finds its way on the list under “kill unflinchingly” as he becomes closer with D’tannen.  

25. If your OC has a soulmate, who is it?

oh my god im so sorry this joke is just right here its too easy to grab i can’t help myself – 

Doesn’t a soulmate require… a soul…? 

33. What subjects interested your OC?

He’s always done whittling as a hobby, so he’s currently kinda advancing on that in woodcarving. Since he was also trained in maintaining and repairing his own weapons and armor in life, that’s carried over into an interest in actually crafting weapons on his own. He does wind up making his own bow way later on, and even spends a bit of time with the Morkul Orcs in the Orsinium arc learning to do some metalwork.

42. What makes your OC happy?

He’s very attached to his dog Blackjack, and the mutt can always seem to pick him up when he’s otherwise faltering. He loves whittling and tends to carve little objects to occupy his mind. Complicatedly, D’tannen makes him happy as well, lol. 

He also tends to have moments where he finds happiness in specific things, but the emotion related feels strange or misplaced. When this happens, it’s usually because whatever he’s experiencing— a particular sight or smell or flavor— is something that ties directly to a positive memory he’s lost from his life before. A sort of unwitting-nostalgia that’s hard to pinpoint or replicate.

As a general rule, he’s pretty easily contented. He lives very much in the moment, which combined with his adaptability and natural optimism, means that he’s usually able to find some small spark of cheer for himself anywhere he goes. He’s always wanted the freedom of life as an adventurer, so if circumstances were different, this would honestly be an ideal life for him. However, it’s pretty dampened by the stress of current events, along with the nagging restless and hollow feeling of having lost his soul.

50. What secrets does your OC have?

This is a bit of a tricky one. He’s not a super open person, but he also doesn’t like to lie to cover things up. However, there are many things about his life at present that he finds he has to dance around giving knowledge of. In some ways, the very nature of his current existence is something he keeps tucked away. It’s not very easy to explain to anyone, so he’s grateful that for the majority of the people he interacts with, direct questions never really come up.

In the second act of Soulbound, however, after he becomes very close with Sinna, Sinna asks him directly for his story. He dodges it for quite some time before finally giving him the details, but he’s kind of nervous at that point to state it. He doesn’t know how Sinna might react. But, he lays it out on the table anyway: He’s not truly alive. He’s what remained of himself after he was sacrificed by cultists to Molag Bal. His soul was stolen, and he has only vague pieces of memories from when he lived. And now, he’s been prophesied to assist in stopping a daedric invasion. 

Sinna’s response was heartfelt. But, nobody could blame him for the fact that all he could manage for a brief moment after listening was “Wild….”

54. Does your OC think with his/her head or heart?

Heart… His upbringing tried its best to instill an ability to detach for the sake of duty, but honestly, he’s never been able to. Even when he knows there’s no way he can avoid a difficult situation, and is able to approach it tactically, emotion will be gnawing at him all the while, and he’ll be completely staunch on the things he believes the most if those interfere with the “logical” course of action.

56. What are some of your OC’s strengths?

He’s honestly got a wide range of skills in a lot of ways. He’s a highly skilled archer, and has a very well-rounded set of combat and survival skills that have been hardwired into him since a very young age. He’s also got a great sense of aesthetics, which he likes to express in woodworking and whittling when he can. He’s intelligent, but a lot of his skill specifically in emotional/social intelligence comes from his powerful empathy, and how dramatic swings of circumstances in his life have given him many perspectives to draw from, even subconsciously through the massive amnesia he struggles with. He’s incredibly adaptable. He’s intensely loyal, courageous, and firmly optimistic even through the worst circumstances. He’s got an incredibly strong character to him, and it tends to be both charming and inspiring, even when he doesn’t recognize that he’s producing these effects himself.

61. What is the general impression your OC gives other people?

Honest. Empathetic and selfless. Good-natured, down to earth, and a bit wild-spirited. Patient, incredibly forgiving. Helpful. Playfully charming. A protector. A defender of good.

73. What is your OC’s favorite form of entertainment?

He likes art, stories, nature, animals, and adventure. Crafting from time to time as well.

78. What is your OC’s favorite time of day?

Late morning. The point in the day when you’re up and awake and setting off. The whole day lies in wait before you, and you’re ready to meet it

[budapestalloveragain]

hiiii so both marlon @hernywinters​ & synthea @joohoneyinmytea​ tagged me in the “people i wanna get to know better” tag !! the questions are the same + some extras so im just gonna combine (sorry lmao marlon u tagged me like 30 years ago but u know i uhhhh sporadically disappear from the internet lol oops) (also marlon i stole ur format thx)

ONE / name / alias. april TWO  /  birthday. 11 october THREE  /  zodiac sign. libra FOUR  /  height. 5′3 (maybe a little less but who’s counting) FIVE  /  hobbies. listening to music, dancing, ultimate frisbee SIX  /  favourite colour. red  SEVEN /  favourite books. harry potter, rick riordan + jodi picoult (some but not all of them >> my fav is nineteen minutes) EIGHT  /  last song listened to. violeta by iz*one (a bOP my god i love them) NINE  /  last film watched. the farewell (again lol) TEN  /  inspiration for muse. hmmm i don’t really know... i really like amandarachlee on youtube lol & i guess just music sometime? i just kinda journal random shit when i feel like it and usually the music puts me in the mood ELEVEN  /  dream job. honestly. i have no idea oops :// hopefully we’ll get there soon lmao TWELVE /  meaning behind your url. nat says it to clint during the avengers and i’ve never stopped being salty about everything that happened after that movie :P (mainly aou but like. fuck endgame for that one too) THIRTEEN / top three ships. clintasha (but lowkey at this point im kinda into winterhawk too lol), evak (skam) & uhhhhh idk huh i don’t really watch that many things anymore oops but whatever justin & brian from queer as folk is called !! i love them FOURTEEN / lipstick or chapstick. chapstick for practical reasons but like... red lipstick makes me feel Some Sort Of Way FIFTEEN / currently reading. the secret history (lmao i’ve been “reading” it for like a month oops but i really am gonna finish it before i go back to school !! i promise)

thanks marlon & synthea for tagging me !!! im gonna tag rose @00hjs arya @staytion-nine & @saintmaximoff (...hazel?) but no pressure it’s totally up to you <333 

[batfamscreaming]

Unconsolable (Roadtrip Vigilante continuation #1)

Gordon knows he’s never going to clear out Gotham completely. He knows you can’t put an end to all crime. He knows it’s a never-ending battle.

 For some reason, people don’t seem to talk about that with the police force. How of course there’s always gonna be crime. It’s not the fucking end of the world. When Pompeii went out, covered in ash, they had graffiti on the walls, and he’s sure when Gotham finally crumbles into dust, it’ll look much the same as Pompeii did.

 But every night, he lights a cig, blows it out into the air, and goes to work anyway.

 They’ll say the food programs should stop when people who are spending their money on drugs use it, and that disability access should be made inaccessible because some asshole might fake their way into it, but no one says cops shouldn’t do their job just because it’ll be a never-ending one.

 Funny how that is, sometimes.

-- 

Babs loves her computer. It’s a way for her to connect with the world in a way she’s had trouble doing now that she’s in a chair.

Gordon knows he’s a lucky motherfucker. He could’ve lost his daughter that day. He could’ve not been able to pay the medical bills. He could’ve not been able to buy his girl a good wheelchair. Not been able to afford a therapist. Not been able to guarantee Babs a job later in life. If she ever wanted disability benefits she wouldn’t be able to get them from the government--unless he hides all the money in his own bank and writes her down as non-dependant on his taxes. So instead he’s gotta save up a fund for her, and he has the savings and salary to do that . He can make sure she’s got a fighting chance if something happens. He took out fucking life insurance years ago, when his wife left him. After he lost his son. It’s all going to his daughter when he dies.

He’s not losing his daughter first.

So he never fucking tells Babs to get off the computer. He hears some of the other parents at the precinct or in the bars talking about how much time their kids spend on the computer and how awful it is, and Gordon’s just glad computers are easier for Babs to deal with than buildings without elevators or ramps.

There’s a lot of coffee shops she can’t get into, now.

There’s dentist offices she can’t get into, now.

So if Bab’s idea of a good time is getting on forums online and talking to strangers, then. Well.

At least she’s anonymous, and those strangers live too far away to ever come and ring the doorbell.

He… he’s honestly not good at looking on the bright side, though. He doesn’t see a lot of bright sides in Gotham. He doesn’t like Gotham, actually.

He kind of hates the place. Hates the rain and how his khakis always damp when he sits down, and there’s never any dry seats at the bus stops. Hates the gloom and how he doesn’t blame all those Gotham kids being on their computers all day with weather like this, with a city like this, with the cigarette butts left in the cracks of sidewalks where not even weeds will grow (and as he thinks it, he flicks ash off the end of his own cig, and misses the flowers that grew out of cracks in Chicago.)

(this city murdered one of his kids and tried to murder the other. It’s dumb luck Barbara’s alive. It’s dumb luck the worst damage is her spine.)

(He doesn’t walk a beat anymore. Not since his promotion, and he’s fucking glad for it. The less time spent on Gotham streets, the better.)

(...)

(but no one says a police officer should stop his job just because it seems overwhelming.)

He doesn’t like to watch the news anymore. He hasn’t for a long time. The politicians are all antichrists and the madmen are misunderstood angels, and the fine line between the two generally just means there’s a political madman with a good reputation that might actually be the antichrist. Gordon knows there’s a God out there, but he’s an alien it seems, and spews lasers from his eyes; same way there’s an underwater city somewhere, but they aren’t part of the UN and they are pissed about it. There’s a whole other world of aliens and martians and women who crush boulders between their fists and mechanical men, but not in Gotham.

There’s only one thing in Gotham, and it’s never been a god.

--

Understandably, Gordon is a bit confused when he sees the report on his desk.

“What the fuck’s a ‘Batman’?”

The guy across from him, Bullock, just lights up his cig-- cigar, not cigarette--and grins like he’s finally heard something funny.

(When Gordon first joined the force, he caught Bullock taking bribes. The only reason Gordon trusts him now is because when Bullock saw a reason to stop taking bribes, he stopped hard , and took some kind of glee in being an honest cop again.)

“Ain’t been watchin’ the news lately, Jim?”

“God no.”

“Hah! You’ve been missin’ out this last year!”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s that got to do with this?”

“Some masked vigilantes runnin’ round the plains got spotted in Gotham last night. Batman an’ Robin. Sure you never heard of ‘em?”

“Positive.”

“You’re missin’ out. Freak’s dragging a kid around with ‘im.”

While Bullock speaks, Gordon glances up to see Bullock’s face twisting into the toothiest grin around his cigar. It looks more like a grimace, when you know him. Some kinda sick amusement. That’s their version of gallows humor here, Gordon supposes, but his own face remains pretty well blank.

He’s saving his disgust for something more shocking.

“Won’t be our problem for long,” Bullock continues, blowing out a heavy cloud of smoke and closing his eyes. “They move on as soon as they’re spotted. By the time they run it on th’ news tonight, they’ll be gone. Might as well trash whoever they brought in or th’ D.A. will throw a fit. Th’ faster they get out, the better.”

Gordon sighs and pushes his glasses up onto his forehead and rubs his face.

He doesn’t understand what ‘whoever they brought in’ means, but he trusts Bullock.

He puts that report aside for later and moves onto the next one.

--

That night, Gordon flicks on the TV in his living room and watches it while the stair lift buzzes behind him--it’s just Babs coming down slowly on the hydraulics they’d gotten installed. It wasn’t a tall staircase, but that meant nothing when you were recovering from months in the hospital with a gunshot wound in your abdomen, your lower body newly paralyzed, and you didn’t want to stay on the ground floor where you’d once been attacked.

The lift hisses while carrying her chair down, but not enough to cover the sound of the news.

“...man and Robin were spotted last night in Gotham City up in Park Row, where the duo stood on the rooftops for long enough for a passerby to get this snapshot before they bounded away! Two store robberies were also allegedly thwarted by the duo last night, though there’s no report if any arrests have been made at this time.”

The police were going over witness reports and the security footage, of course there were no arrests.

“A social media sensation for over a year, Batman and Robin were spotted around cities from the midwest to Northern California, rumors of their deaths followed a vicious backlash after the realization that ‘Robin’ appears to be a young child of between the ages of eleven to fourteen. The Justice League has not responded to requests for comment at this-- ”

The hydraulics stop humming, and Babs wheels her way over to her dad, laptop on her legs and her hair up in a pony tail.

She leans over to kiss his cheek, and Gordon gives his daughter a side-hug in return, and they both grunt with the squeeze.

“You taking it easy tonight?” she asks, leaning back in her chair and nodding towards the TV.

“Eh,” Gordon says, shrugging and looking back at the screen. There was a grainy nighttime picture of the two. And yeah. That was a kid standing there, tall beside a kneeling, dark figure on the rooftop. “Takin’ it easy, maybe, but not relaxing too much.”

“Well, yeah,” Babs says, snorting. “You’re watching GNN.”

“I shoulda watched the election.”

“You shoulda watched the election.”

“Any new good shows I can watch besides the election?”

“Good one’s you’ll like? ” his whiz-kid asks, and he grunts and shrugs in reply. “Netflix has a good documentary out on the prison industrial complex.”

Gordon groans and let his head fall onto the arm of the couch. Babs laughs.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s try you out on Grace and Frankie.”

--

The next cycle of late-night news, Robin and Batman still aren’t gone.

Two days. Okay. They can deal with that.

There weren’t pictures this time--not of the duo--but Gordon knows they were still in the city last night. He knows for sure, and he’s--unsettled, a little bit.

He came to the station the next morning like any other day, opened up his office, and found a gangly pile of limbs behind his desk, under the window.

The gangsters were all still alive, thank god (whatever crimes they’d committed, he was sure it was understandable he’d rather they be tied up alive on his rug than tied up dead on his rug.) They were gagged and bound, and had little pieces of paper stapled to the ropes with lists of crimes and names and injuries.

All of them were wanted criminals. Most of the crimes listed on the papers were already known.

And fuck.

All Gordon could think about while the precinct went into a small civil riot around him was about the man he’d found tied up at his desk five years before, shaking and with a signed confession in his pocket, and how Gordon hadn’t known if he should call for help, or if it was a joke, or if his colleagues would murder him on the spot when they arrived there.

He wasn’t joking about the murder. He didn’t like it when people joked about killer cops and killing other cops. And their families. And anyone else who crossed their path.

(His son’s body hadn’t been recovered. His son lay dead somewhere in the cold dark of Gotham’s water.)

At least he didn’t have a whole precinct to suspect anymore.

By the first shout he’d made when he opened the door, Montoya and Allen were already there, hands on holsters, getting Jim behind them, and inspecting the scene. A moment later Harvey pulled him even further back, scowling and cigar burning acidic in the air.

“The fuck’s going on in here?” Harv asked.

The rest of the day felt lost in a haze of thick smoke.

(Five years ago, Tony Zucco was shaking and tears-all-down-his-face at Gordon’s desk, tied hands-and-feet, piss-stained, and all he would tell them about what happened before they put him away was that he’d met a Man.

Gordon’d dreamed of silhouettes for weeks.

Like the bullseye targets they used. That kind of simple male bathroom-icon shape. A dark figure standing off in the distance over all the murders of the day, like a foreboding god on the horizon.)

--

He went home. Bought a coffee at a café on his way back. Not his usual pitstop. Bought his daughter a coffee too. Frozen. Chocolate.

Gordon’s coffee was hot. It burned when it went down his throat, but it warmed his fingers and his gut until he almost felt human, despite the pouring rain.

He just tried to keep what Harvey said in his mind as he thought about those young thugs found tied up in his office.

They never stay in one place too long .

--

...Batman and Robin didn’t leave.

There were no more blurry photos of them standing over Park Row, and there were no more criminals in Gordon’s office as he walked in to find the window open and the curtains swaying in the early morning chill.

This time they were left outside on the corner.

Someone from the night shift had come out to go for a smoke, then run back inside in a panic; something about hostages tied up outside. She hadn’t had another word for the line of people lying out on the sidewalks, certain they were going to die.

Hostages.

( “It was Batman ,” one of them said. Gordon was on the other side of the glass. Listening to the interrogation. This one was young. Not many offences. By Gotham standard, the handful of breaking-and-entering robberies wasn’t much, but this last time, it’d been at knifepoint--“ I-I thought he was supposed to be gone by now .”)

By day three, their cells were filling up in holding far faster than any of them were used to, and they were running out of space. If things didn’t stop soon, they’d have to release some of the lower-level offenders just to try to make enough room, and without enough thought, that kind of action could spark outrage or break what fragile trust Gordon managed to build with the community. The GNN kept talking, kept repeating takes between election commercials and reports on the Batman Lookalike, because they’d all decided that this couldn’t be the real Batman and Robin, who never stayed in one place. It had to be an imposter duo inspired by heroism and child neglect.

(Regardless of whether or not it was a copycat Batman, Gordon just kept thinking about years ago, and Tony Zucco on his floor talking about how he’d almost been killed. Two days ago, and a line of hostages lying outside their precinct.)

In the end it didn’t really matter who was who, because Gordon’s cells were still filling up. They’d started posting an officer outside the precinct just to find the new drops as fast as they could before hypothermia set in, and when new ones weren’t falling from the fucking sky they’d be found on the roof, now, so--

So Gordon made a journey he always dreaded going on.

Gordon went to the D.A.

They needed trial dates, and they needed trial dates fast.

--

Harvey Dent was, overall, a… good guy.

…

Gordon was doing his best to be generous. Because it was apparent to him that Harvey Dent did really believe he was doing the right thing, and that he was taking the right path to do it.

But it was also apparent to Gordon that they did not see Eye to Eye on some things.

But, fortunately, neither he nor Harvey liked to drink.

It was the funniest things that could bond people. Like a family history of alcoholism.

(They didn’t bond too deep over that.)

Gordon got up to Harvey’s floor, got offered coffee from a private coffee machine in the waiting room right outside the office, and damn it he’d had a long day so he accepted that fucking coffee.

“Harvey,” he said, drinking. “We need trial dates.”

Gordon’s thinking Harvey Dent, the man with the biggest hateboner against crime in Gotham, would be thrilled to have quicker trial dates. But Harvey Dent, a man who has barbells in his office for when he just wants to lift weights when he’s tired of being an attorney , just frowns over the rim of his coffee cup and says, “No fucking shit.”

“A batty man’s already gathering all the evidence,” Gordon says, feeling the headache already coming on. But Harvey’s young, even though a lawyer shouldn’t really need it spelled out for him. “So unless you’re spending your late nights in a cape yourself, it’s time to do the late nights.”

He can’t deny that he’s a little bit watching for a response, but to be fair: Harvey Dent has the largest hateboner for crime in Gotham, and lifts weights when he’s bored .

Gordon doesn’t know where young folks these days got the energy.

Harvey just stiffens, glares, and starts, “I would never-- ”

Gordon drinks his coffee, pretty sure Harvey had at least thought about it since seeing the news. Two copycats is two too many.

“Yeah, yeah, you wouldn’t have brought a kid,” he says.

Harvey’s hackles go down.

--

Trial dates aren’t just a Gotham problem. In fact, they’re something of a US-wide problem. The constitution sets trial dates as at least 160 days after arrest, just so people can’t rot in jail for years without ever being proven guilty. Except that’s exactly what’s happening, and with the sudden felon influx, the jails are even more bloated with people who’ve never even been convicted. They were already running out of cells, and now they’re just crammin’ ‘em in like sardines.

People like Dent’s careers are based on keeping people in or out out of jail.

People like Gordon’s are made on arrests.

Gordon’s sitting on a kettle of jaded and crooked cops trying to get extra bucks between writing up real tickets, and Dent’s got a boiling pot of the young, idealistic, and easily-bribed, and they simply don’t have enough judges and lawyers to go through the crimes in Gotham. There’s too many bodies and too few people to process them. Dent’s lawyers don’t want to take cases they’ll obviously lose and take a hit on their careers. Gordon doesn’t want control over his precincts taken away by sheer inability to handle the flood. Neither of them want misdemeanors trapped in jail with felons and made to sit for three or more years before a trial.

So.

So they have to hash some shit out, between them. Commissioner of Police and Gotham County District Attorney.

They don’t have enough public defenders--lawyers who are paid to just fucking defend cases and don’t have to worry about losing so much since they’re already on payroll. They need to rotate prosecutors on the shaky cases that look like losses to not ruin anybody. They need more Judges to oversee cases. They need to lower bail and parole costs so they might get some bail and parole money, since Gotham celebrities are more interested in paying individual cops as they’re caught--not in paying the department. Hopefully bail’ll open up some space, too. They invest in ankle tags for the least violent confirmed offenders; the misdemeanor cases that are too old for juvie. Dent says he’ll talk with the judges about trying to find community service punishments for the tagged ones.

The ‘Batman and Robin’ criminals aren’t offered the option of bail, but that’s mostly for their own protection.

It's… expensive. Not as bad as it could be, but both he and Dent are trying to manage their budgets, and they're trying to petition the mayor for funds, but the mayor is in the mob’s pocket so the mayor is the only one who doesn't have to give a shit about money right now--

They get the first of the Batman and Robin criminals on trial. A mobster.

Gordon doesn't know who they're trying to send a message to, but someone tries to shoot Dent right there.

Right in the courtroom.

--

…

Jim Gordon waits on a rooftop. It's lit by a cigarette and a flood lamp. Overall, it's pretty well lit.

Beside him is a can of yellow spray paint. Washable. The rain will take it off in a day or so.

But right now, there's no rain, and Gordon is waiting and smoking.

He'd drawn the symbol on the roof an hour ago. The paint’s dried by now, but he still walks over it carefully when he gets up to stretch his legs; treats it like it's still wet. The flood lamp lights it up well. If someone's flinging themselves over rooftops at this time of night anywhere near the precinct, they'll see it.

It's cold, though. It's cold, and the floodlight is bright, but doesn't offer much warmth, even when Gordon stands right next to it. The wind’s going at his coat and his beard has frosted tips on it by midnight.

And Harvey Dent is in the hospital.

…

Gordon hears the footsteps before anything else, and turns to find a man-shaped shadow behind him.

…

The longer he looks, the funnier the outfit looks under the floodlight. But Gordon’s not laughing.

“This yours?” the man who is trying to look like Batman grumbles, pointing down to the painted bat.

“Yeah,” Gordon says, and let's his cig fall to the ground, and then steps on it. “I was hopin’ you'd notice it, actually.”

“Is there something you need, Commissioner?” the wannabe hero says, and if Gordon didn't know better, he'd say the guy almost sounded something like eager.

“Yeah,” Gordon says, and lights another cig, and prepares to go for his gun at the first sign of violence. “I'm gonna need you to get the fuck out of my city.”

--

It isn't Jim Gordon’s fault.

He never knew Gotham’s favorite son had finally, finally come home.

Jim’s own son never would.

Years and years ago: his infant son, James Jr., thrown off a bridge by someone who was supposed to be Jim’s senior officer.

This city ate his son. It tried to eat his daughter.

James Gordon hates Gotham more than any man on Earth could hate a place, but he still lives in it.

He wants to think Gotham can get better, but first he has to get some sort of order established.

Batman is fucking up any sense of order this city ever had.

[k-liight]

The Terrible Teens ch1

   Yup, I'm back again with yet another Bob's Burgers fanfiction that I may or may not finish XD. I'm gonna try to though. Even though I still need to work on Moving Parts. XD as the title may imply, the Belcher kids are teenagers in this story, so they're going to do teenager things. they're going to swear (mostly on Louise's part). they're going to talk about sex (but they're not going to actually do it, don't worry). and they're probably going to be doing some illegal underage drinking (which is not something I condone, so if I do include it it will be for plot purposes only). so just beware of all that XD. I hope you enjoy this story!

  Louise Belcher awoke to the sound of distant groaning. Groggily, she slowly opened her eyes and stared the alarm clock. 6:00 am. What the fuck. She didn't have to get up until 7:00. She tried holding the pillow over her ears to muffle the sound, but she could still hear it. She knew exactly who it was making that noise; after all, there was only one person who groaned like that--Tina.     "Ugh, what the fuck is she doing up so early?" Grumbling, the foul-mouthed fourteen-year-old stumbled out of bed and made her way to her sister's room. The light was already on, and Louise found Tina hunched over at her desk, still groaning.     "Tina, what the hell?" Louise simply said. Tina jumped and swiveled her rolly-chair around to face Louise, sending some papers flying around in the process.     "Ahh! Oh, Louise, uhh, good morning," Tina sheepishly greeted.     "No, not good morning, I got woken up an hour earlier than I needed to because of your groaning! The hell is your problem, anyway?" She took a few steps closer to Tina, who simply started groaning again in response.     "Tina, stop it already!" Louise scolded.     "I'm trying to finish this scholarship essay and it's due today at 3:00 but I'm nowhere near finished so I thought I'd get up early to finish it but I have no idea what to write and now I'm never gonna get it done and I'm never gonna get into college what am I gonna do?!" Tina rambled out a long, panicked response, then took a deep breath and slammed her head against the desk, groaning some more.     "Well that sucks," Louise deadpanned. "Could you try to worry about college a little more quietly? I wanna try to get another hour of sleep."     "Okay," Tina moaned. Louise shook her head and went back in to the comforting seclusion of her own room, snuggling back up under the covers.

    When her alarm clock screeched at her an hour later, she reached her arm out from a heap of blankets and angrily slammed it. She never liked getting up for school anyway. And since Tina and Gene were in high school and Louise was stuck at Wagstaff by herself, she hated it even more. She hated not being able to pick on her siblings in the hallways. The time she spent at home with them just wasn't enough for her mischievous heart. Oh well, at least now she had a girlfriend to hang out with.     Louise flung herself out of bed and trekked over to the kitchen, where Bob and Linda were eating peacefully together at the table and Tina was pacing back and forth while munching on a bagel.     "Good morning, Louise!" Linda chirped. Bob turned his head a few times to look around the kitchen.     "Where's Gene?" he asked.     "He probably slept through his alarm again," Louise answered. "I'll go get him."     She made her way over to Gene's bedroom, and knocked on the door.     "Gene! Wake up!" he yelled. It stayed dead silent on the other side of the door. Louise growled, and knocked again, this time harder.     "Gene, get your fat ass out of bed!" She knew it was probably mean for her to say that, but being mean is what Louise did best. When Gene still gave no response, Louise turned the doorknob, finding it unlocked, and flung it open with so much force that it slammed against the wall.     "GE-ENE~!!" she screeched. All she got in response to that was a single snore. Gene shifted slightly in his bed, obviously still in dreamland. Screw hurricanes, this guy could sleep through the freaking apocalypse! Louise growled again, and trodded back over to the kitchen, shoulders hunched in annoyance.     "Is he coming?" Bob asked.     "He didn't even fucking wake up," Louise grumbled.     "Louise, you gotta stop saying the f-word so much," Linda warned.     "Your mother's right, Louise," Bob added, "it's not necessary."     "Whatever," Louise said, grabbing a couple of pans from the cupboard.     "Whoa whoa whoa, what are you doing with those?" Bob asked.     "I'm still trying to wake Gene up."     "Yeah, but do you have to use my best pans?"     "Louise, you don't need to use those," Linda said, "just shake him awake."     "That only works when you do it, Mom," Louise argued.     "You've got that magic touch," Tina added. Linda sighed.     "Alright, I'll go wake him up. Now put those pans back." Louise silently complied as Linda went over to Gene's room. She took a deep breath, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him back and forth.         "Gene! Wake! Up! You're! Gonna! Be! Late! For! School!" Linda shouted as she shook her son around.     "Huh what?" Gene asked as he finally snapped out of it. He blinked tiredly a few times. "Oh, hi Mom." He flashed her a lazy smile. Linda sighed.     "Gene, I shouldn't have to do this anymore. You're sixteen."     "What can I say, I like seeing my mom when I wake up~."     "Aww, you're so sweet," Linda cooed. They hugged, and Linda kissed her son on the cheek. "Now get up, it's time to get ready for school." Gene grimaced.     "Ugh, Mondays."     "I know, but hey, Mommy made her sausage for breakfast."     "YES!!" Gene yelled excitedly. He pushed his covers off of him and practically flew out of bed into the kitchen. Linda was amazed at how fast he left the room, and by the time she got back to the kitchen, Gene was already scarfing down the sausage.     "Well, he's certainly awake now," Bob stated.     "Jesus, Gene, you're such a pig," Louise said.     "And a cute one, too!" Gene boasted, batting his eyes. "Oink Oink!" Tina chuckled, while Louise rolled her eyes.     "Gene, please don't talk with your mouth full," Bob admonished.     "Sorry Dad," Gene apologized, still with a full mouth.     "Oh my god," Bob mumbled.     "Speaking of cute, I gotta do my make-up," Gene said.     "Ugh, really Gene?" Louise asked. "You're gonna make us all late!"     "I won't take long!" Gene swallowed the rest of his sausage and ran off to the bathroom.     "Yeah, and Rome was built in a day," Louise said sarcastically. She honestly didn't care that her brother was feminine and liked wearing make-up, she just wished it didn't take him so damn long to get ready in the morning. Though, she had to admit, he did do a pretty good job at it.

    Later that morning, Tina and Louise were outside waiting for Gene, leaning up against Tina's car. Louise pulled out her phone and sent a text message to her brother. You done yet? About two seconds later, her phone beeped, and she opened up Gene's reply. almost~! ;) Louise groaned.     "Ugh, come on Gene!" she said aloud. "If only he could get ready as fast as he can text back." To pass the time, Louise started texting Jessica.

    Yo Jessica     hey babe ;)     Did I ever tell you that my brother takes FOREVER to get ready?     oh well that sucks     I'm so bored!     you wouldn't be bored if i were here ;)     You dirty little devil you~.     no im a big devil you're the little devil     FUCK YOU     when where and how hard? haha     You are so lame     yeah but you love me ;3     Eh, I can't deny that one     still bored?     Yup.

    "I'm ready!" Gene suddenly appeared in front of them, all dolled up. Tina and Louise couldn't deny that their brother was very good at fixing himself up. How he could transform from an average joe to a gorgeous model with just a few dabs of make-up and a few strokes of a hairbrush, neither of them would ever know. Not that he wouldn't be attractive anyway. "I wore longer pants today, and I really hope I don't get yelled at for them this time."     Nevermind, he just showed up. See you at school babe.     "Are they mid-thigh length?" Tina asked Gene.     "Uhhhh..." He shifted his eyes, obviously unsure. He hung his arms flat at his sides and looked down to see if his pants reached his fingertips. They were an inch above them.     "...Almost."     "You're probably gonna get yelled at again," Tina said bluntly.     "Who cares if he gets yelled at?" Louise said impatiently. "We're already running late!"     "Well somebody's impatient," Gene said teasingly. "Since when are you worried about getting to school on time?"     "Since I have a girlfriend that I wanna see before class starts."     "Oh yeah, that's right." Gene paused to remember that Louise had just started dating her friend Jessica the other day. He looked down at his not-quite-long-enough pants. "Maybe the principal won't notice me today..."     "I hate to break it to ya, Gene, but everybody notices you," Louise said as the three of them climbed into Tina's car.     "They do? Damn, I must be pretty."      "Actually, I was gonna say that everyone probably thinks you're a weirdo, but there might be a few crazy people that find you attractive."     "Hey!"     "Don't listen to her, Gene, you're beautiful," Tina said as she started her car.     "Thank you, Tina!" Gene swooned, putting his hands to his cheeks.     "You're welcome. Now let's get going before Louise explodes back there."     "It's about damn time!"

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