#holy smokes i guess i haven’t typed that name in a while

[slimeybastard]

will graham losing plmm is devastating and i want you to all know you are Wrong.

[unbridgeabledistances]

I love your last fic so much it got me thinking could you write something about like the gallaghers( +Kev and v and sandy etc) observing Ian and Mickey’s relationship? Like their perspectives of seeing them be soft with each other and just their dynamic? I’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense lol <3

hiiiii anon!<3 okay i want to start off by saying that this got WAY too long, bc i loved this prompt a lot- so much that i think i might make this a multi-part thing on ao3! i started with sandy (since i am in love with her) but i’ll also go through the gallaghers/kev & v soon- lmk if u guys want me to continue, and who u would want me to write next if i do (or if u want me to continue with sandy lol i have lots of thoughts and feelings)

this ended up taking place in s10 when we first meet sandy, fyi:) also tw for brief mentions of abuse (as always, bc of terry 🙄) -- and there is a reference to the line in 10x07 that jokes about mickey and sandy for a brief moment

--

When Sandy heard her phone buzz on that Tuesday afternoon, sitting on the stained and lumpy couch in her shithead uncle’s living room while drinking a beer and arguing with Alek about what type of insurance fraud could make the biggest payout, she had no idea what to expect on the other end of the line. The phone kept ringing, the contact info lighting up the screen: MICKEY.

Mickey? Shit. It had been a long fucking time. Between her own various juvie stints as a kid and Mickey’s time behind bars overlapping just as she got released, Sandy hadn’t seen Mickey since… high school, maybe? Whenever it was, it was back when Mickey was a grimy kid with spikey hair and dirty fingernails, a kid with an obsession with guns and way too much time on his hands, back when they would hang out by the train tracks and drink beer and get way too high and do stupid shit; all in all, back when everything was a hell of a lot simpler. Sandy assumed Mickey had met Royal and been clued in about her shitshow of a life at some point while she’d been gone, and they’d possibly overlapped at a family party or two a few years ago when they both were in town— but other than hearing about the aftershocks of Mickey coming out and driving Terry up a goddamn wall, so much so that Terry broke his parole and was headed straight back to prison hours after his release, Sandy hadn’t seen Mickey in forever.

Which is why this call intrigued her so much— Mickey was supposed to be in prison for at least a couple more years, or at least that’s what his brothers had said, so why the fuck was he using a cell phone right now?

Sandy nodded her head towards the cellphone, cutting Alek off mid-sentence and sliding her thumb across the screen to pick up the call. Before saying anything, she rose off the creaky springs of the couch and speedwalked out to the front porch before answering— whatever the fuck Mickey wanted, she assumed he was calling her because this conversation wasn’t for the ears of any other Milkoviches. She lit a cigarette and leaned against the post of the front stoop, listening to the silence hanging heavy on her phone’s speaker.

“Mickey? You there?”

A low chuckle came from the other end of the line.

“Fuck. Been a long time.” Mickey’s voice sounded the same; punchy and snarky, maybe a little gruffer and raspier after years of cigarette smoke. Sandy waited a moment for Mickey to give more of a reply, or an explanation for his call, but it was clear that Mickey wasn’t going to give one right away— it was like he was testing the waters, like he was deciding if making this call was the right move. Soft static echoed on the phone line.

Sandy totally got it— reemerging from a life of cinderblock cell walls and barbed wire fences fucking sucked, especially when you were a Milkovich and the moment you got out you were faced with a choice, an opportunity: did you want to go back home, or did you want to start fresh, erase your own name, and forget this dysfunctional family ever existed? Sandy knew she felt the same way when she got out. Mickey deciding to call Sandy was a big fucking move, and she realized that— reclaiming your life as a Milkovich on the brink of a new beginning took guts.

“So, I take it you’re out of prison?” Sandy asked after a moment, inhaling another slow puff of her cigarette.

There was that laugh again— Sandy had weirdly missed it. Honestly, Mickey hadn’t ever been too bad to be around— they’d both felt like outsiders in the family, had both always had a strong head on their shoulders and a fucking moral compass, unlike the rest of Terry’s sheep who did his bidding and got swastikas tattooed on their chest. When he was younger Mickey used to follow Terry and his older brothers around like a lost puppy, and he even got those fucking knuckle tats—but later in high school, Sandy remembered seeing something deep snap inside him, bleeding out in “STAY THE FUCK OUT” and “FUCK LOVE” signs taped onto his bedroom walls. At the time she thought it was the fucked-up shit with Terry and Mandy driving him up a wall— but now she realized the constant bombardment of homophobia, coupled with the cuts and bruises blooming on his cheeks and the cigarette burn scars on his arms, must have been signs of Mickey realizing the rude awakening that was inevitably going to come if he wanted to be who he was. Sandy couldn’t even imagine— no one really gave a shit who she fucked, and her cousins didn’t know anything about her sex life—but she couldn’t fathom being Terry’s son, the pride and joy of the Milkovich clan, and needing to outwardly admit those deeper parts of herself.

“Yup, I’m free to join civilization as of this morning. Overcrowding or some shit.” Sandy could hear Mickey also taking a drag of a cigarette on the other end of the line. She smirked to herself. Guess we both didn’t break the Milkovich nicotine addiction.

“So, uh, listen,” Mickey continued, and Sandy immediately knew he was in deep shit if she was the one he was calling to ask for a favor. “I’m in a bit of a… situation. Don’t wanna go into too many specifics, but there might be a massive fucking Mexican cartel after me right now.”

Sandy barked out a laugh before she could help herself. Fucking Mickey. “Oh yeah? Sounds like you’re feeling thrilled to be a free man again.”

Mickey chuckled again. “Fuck you. But hey, d’you think you can bring my shit by to me, so I don’t have to stop by the house and get fucking killed? You don’t gotta rush or whatever, just didn’t wanna show my face quite yet.”

Sandy could feel all the unsaid things wrapped in the way Mickey’s sentence ended. Didn’t want to show his face quite yet because of this cartel bullshit, or because of Terry? She decided it didn’t really matter— Mickey was a good guy, she could spend an hour or so rounding up his shit and bringing it to him if that’s what he needed.

“Got it.” She blew out more smoke, watching it curl and drift over the wasteland of the front yard on a gust of summer air.

Mickey cleared his throat, like he was gearing up to say more. When he spoke, his voice was softer around the edges, more genuine than before.

“I’m, uh. I’m sure you heard everything about me while I was gone. About Terry flipping his shit. Probably not the best idea for me to come around the house quite yet—my brothers n’ I haven’t really talked much since then either.” He paused, inhaling another drag of his cigarette. “I figured you’d get it. And hey, if you can bring the stuff by, I’d love to hear all the badass shit you’ve been up to the past few years.”

Sandy nearly winced—yeah, if by “badass shit” you mean getting forcibly married to a douchebag and then couch surfing for months— but she tried to keep her shit together for Mickey’s sake. She stubbed out her cigarette on the railing of the porch, straightening from where she was leaning.

“I’ve got it Mickey, don’t worry about it. Where are you right now, anyways?”

She could hear the hint of relief bleeding into Mickey’s voice when he replied. “I’m at the Gallagher house? The grey one by the tracks.”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “I was in jail for a couple of years Mickey, not braindead. I know where the Gallagher house is.”

Mickey huffed out a breath, but there wasn’t any sharpness in it. “Excuse me for tryin’ to be helpful, smartass.”

“Why the fuck are you there, anyways?”

“I’m, uh, crashing with my partner for now. Ian?”

Holy shit, Mickey was still fucking Ian Gallagher? Sandy had pieced together that Ian was the reason Mickey came out months after getting married to some Russian bitch, and according to Iggy the whole reason Mickey went to jail in the first place was some love-crazed revenge plot on Ian’s behalf— but since getting locked up Mickey hadn’t kept in touch with anyone, other than a shady-as-fuck message to his brothers after he’d busted out of prison letting everyone know that he was in Mexico, despite getting thrown back into jail in Chicago a couple months later. Sandy didn’t really know the details, and she especially didn’t know anything about Mickey’s love life— but it was wild as fuck that someone as unsettled and ruthless and batshit crazy as Mickey could’ve been with the same person all this time, especially someone as seemingly bland as Ian Gallagher. Huh. Wonder if I’ll get to see Ian.

“Got it. I’ll round up your shit and bring it by the Gallagher house later today. And don’t worry, I won’t let anyone know you called til you’re ready.”

Mickey exhaled on the other end of the line. “There shouldn’t be much, just check the drawers or whatever. “

Sandy knew for a fact that most of Mickey’s lingering possessions had probably been taken, sold, or thrown out by a zealously homophobic Terry by now, but she wasn’t going to say as much to Mickey over the phone.

“I’m on it. See you in a couple hours.”

“Hey, Sandy?” Mickey blew out a long breath, and this time Sandy couldn’t tell if it was because he was still smoking or because he was riding a wave of relief, releasing the floodgates of anxiousness he’d been holding in the whole conversation. “Thanks. I fuckin’ owe you one.”

Sandy smirked. Maybe Mickey being let out of jail early was a good thing, despite how fucked his whole situation seemed— maybe, for once, someone in her family would be fun to be around, wouldn’t set her teeth on edge every two seconds by making a racist comment or forcing her to be something she wasn’t.

“I’ll text you when I’m almost at your love nest.”

She imagined Mickey’s grin as he replied. “Fuck you. See ya soon.”

**

After scraping through every rickety dresser drawer in Terry’s house for nearly an hour, Sandy could barely come up with anything that was reportedly Mickey’s: a couple of tattered shirts, an impressively overused-looking bong, and a single sneaker she’d left behind because she couldn’t find the other one. She threw it all in some shitty burlap rucksack she’d found on one of the bedroom floors, assuming no one would miss it— it dawned on her that maybe her cousins were lying, and some of the other stuff in the house was still Mickey’s, but she’d collected what she could based on the whispered directions Alek and Iggy had given her when Terry was out of the room.

Sandy unlocked her phone, and typed a quick message to Mickey. “Out front.”

Mickey’s reply came quickly, and Sandy noticed the front curtains rustling on the top floor of the Gallagher house.

“Coming down”

The front door creaked open, and Mickey walked out onto the front porch. He looked good; he looked cleaner, sure, but also like a fucking adult—like he’d grown into himself, like he actually carried himself with confidence instead of just pretending to. He nodded his chin up at Sandy in acknowledgement.

“Long time no see.” He smirked, leaning on the banister. “You make a good delivery service. All those hauls we did with Terry must’ve been good training.”

Sandy lazily walked up the front steps, reaching the bag out in front of her for Mickey to take. “Here’s all the shit I could find. It’s not much.”

Mickey jerked his head to the open door behind him. “You wanna come in for a sec?”

Sandy grinned. Why the fuck not. “Sure."

So that was how she found herself perched on what was presumably Ian Gallagher’s bed, watching Mickey ruffle through the burlap bag, his brows furrowed as he realized just how much of his shit was actually gone.

“This everything?”

“As much as I could find.”

They comfortably chatted back and forth about how everyone was— Sandy decided to divulge the fact that Mickey’s brothers were idiots who tried to crawl in bed with her every night, which is something that she had to joke about so she didn’t go fucking insane sleeping under the same roof as them.

“Fuck ‘em, chop their nuts off next time they try it.”

Sandy smirked. Finally, a decent fucking relative. She made some hollow joke about staying with Mickey, alluding to the extra-shitty night decades ago when their cousins had forced them to make out when they were way too high on something.

“Or I could stay here with you. Have fun like we did when we were kids.”

“You know that’s fucked up, right? We’re fucking cousins!”

“Plus he’s taken.” A voice came from around the corner.

Ian Gallagher looked bigger, taller, and more solid than Sandy remembered; he was definitely miles away from the scrawny kid with the bangs who worked at the Kash N Grab that Sandy and her cousins endlessly used to fuck with in middle school. Ian’s shoulders were wide, his body imposing in the tiny room; immediately, Mickey’s aggravated stance softened when Ian walked in, wrapped in a towel from the waist down.

“Oh right, you.” Sandy grinned as Ian hunched over the bed and grabbed his deodorant from the nightstand.

Mickey had turned back to the bag of clothes. “Hey, I had shampoo and shit, is there soap anywhere?”

Sandy rolled her eyes. “You’ve been gone for years, you think your brothers would save that shit for you?” she bit out— and okay, maybe she was a little pissed at Mickey’s brothers for the constant-sexual-assault thing.

Ian just applied his deodorant and leaned in close to Mickey as he passed by the bed towards the doorframe. “You can use mine. We’ll hit Costco later, I’m getting paid.”

It was stupid, but Sandy felt something soft pang in her chest at Ian’s words; it was just now that she was realizing it, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen someone take care of Mickey before, or so… automatically factor Mickey’s needs into a situation. Being a Milkovich was all about scrounging and scraping, and guarding what little you had; a Milkovich would never let someone use their fucking soap just because they cared about them, or not as an immediate reaction anyways.

“Nah, I can’t, man. PO texted me when you were in the shower, he’s got a job for me.”

Ian kept looking at Mickey from where he was leaning in the doorway. “Then give me a list of shit you need, and I’ll pick it up for you,” Ian said in an overly simple tone, like he was mocking the fact that Mickey didn’t realize Ian would run an errand for him.

Sandy smirked. Jesus, Gallagher is whipped.

“Isn’t that cute, little domestic bitches,” Sandy crooned before she could help herself.

Ian stepped into the room again and leaned in towards Mickey, pressing a kiss to Mickey’s cheek while Mickey aggressively tried to uncrumple one of the pile of shirts from the bag.

“Mm, thank you,” Ian said in reply, his voice muffling as he smushed his face closer to Mickey’s.

Mickey instantly smiled smugly as Ian’s lips pressed against his cheek—then he noticed Sandy was staring, so he flipped her off and smiled even wider. What the fuck? Sure, Mickey had flipped Sandy off, but he was practically fucking beaming in a way that Sandy had never seen. God, wonder if I’ll find this shit someday.

Ian detached himself from Mickey and walked out of the room, Mickey’s eyes lingering on his torso. Once Ian had turned the corner Mickey snapped back to attention, fixing his eyes back onto the small mountain of clothes spread on the bed in front of him. Mickey lifted the bong off the bedsheets, and met Sandy’s gaze. 

“You have to go, or d’you wanna hang for a bit? I don’t have to be at work for a couple hours, and it’s gonna suck enough that I should probably be high before I get there.”

Sandy grinned. “Hell yeah, I’m down.”

**

They sat on the rickety back steps of the Gallagher house, silently taking hits and passing the bong back and forth. It had been years since they’d been in the same space, but Sandy and Mickey easily sank into a comfortable silence, passively surrounded by the shrieks of kids playing across the alleyway and the bubbling of water as they inhaled. Mickey blew smoke out of his nose, then sat back so he was leaning against the banister and passed the glass pipe to Sandy.

“So,” Sandy started as she held the lighter to the bong and inhaled deeply. “Ian Gallagher.”

Mickey huffed out a laugh. “Yup. That’s some Romeo and Juliet shit for ya.”

Sandy smirked as she exhaled. “You really fucking love him, huh?”

Mickey eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly as he looked towards her. “Yeah. Guess I do.” He took the bong from Sandy’s outstretched hand. “Took me forever to get shit straight with him, though.”

Ah. So their road to domestic bliss wasn’t as straightforward as it seemed. Sandy’s curiosity was growing.

“Because of shit with Terry?”

Mickey stiffened, coughing a bit as he exhaled smoke, like Sandy’s question caught him off guard. “Shit. Yeah. That too. Let’s just say there were lots of fucking ups and downs, and we both had a lot of shit to unpack.”

Sandy snickered. “You sound like a fucking couples therapist.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “If you wanna see couples therapy, I should tell you about the months me and Ian were sharing a fucking cell. We nearly ripped each other’s heads off. We literally stabbed someone so one of us might get sent to fucking solitary.”

Sandy’s laughter grew. “Are you fucking serious?”

Mickey grinned, and passed the bong back to Sandy again. “Fuck. Yeah. I fucking love him, though. He’s fucking crazy, and I still can’t let him go.” Mickey looked off into the distance across the alleyway, and either the weed was really hitting him right now, or he was being a very sappy motherfucker.

Sandy nudged Mickey’s knee. “You guys are cute together.” Mickey’s eyebrows raised when he heard the word “cute,” and Sandy quickly tried to rephrase. “Not cute, but y’know. Good for each other. You seem happy. Happy is... good.”

Mickey nodded pensively. “How’re you doing, anyways?”

Sandy shrugged noncommittally. “Eh. We can talk about me another time. How the fuck did you and Ian end up sharing a jail cell, anyways?”

Mickey let out a throaty laugh. “I heard Gallagher was getting locked up when I was down south, so I essentially pulled some strings and fucking snitched on the cartel I was working for. Hauled my ass back up here so we could be together.”

Holy fuck. Sandy’s jaw nearly dropped. “Mickey, you’re batshit crazy.” She shoved him squarely in the chest this time. “Are you fucking serious?! You evaded the feds, were living in Mexico, and you came back for Ian Gallagher?”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, placing the bong on the steps. “I can’t explain it, man. I just didn’t wanna be anywhere else, I guess.”

Sandy leaned back onto the banister. “Shit.” She paused for a moment, wondering if she should ask the next question. “Do you… want me to tell anyone you’re back?”

Mickey glanced over at her, his eyes alert. “Nah. Not yet. That okay with you?”

Sandy nodded. “Of course.” Mickey pulled out his phone, checking the time and presumably looking for a distraction from tiptoeing around talking about Terry— but Sandy had to tell him, had to let him know one more thing.

“Hey, Mickey?”

Mickey looked up. “Yeah?”

“I don’t really know the details of what went down with Terry, or whatever— but I just wanted to let you know that… if you ever wanna come home, I’m on your side. No questions asked. And I think a lot of the others are, too.”

The corner of Mickey’s mouth ticked upward. “Thanks.”

Sandy stood, checking her phone and zipping her leather jacket. “Well, I’d probably let you sober up a bit before your big parolee first day of work.”

Mickey raised a middle finger up to her from where he was seated, but then rose to stand.

“Thanks for comin’ by. And hey—you’re free to crash here anytime. There’s a million fucking kids running around all the time, but there’s always a couch or something open if everyone at home’s giving you too much shit.”

Sandy felt something warm growing in her chest. It had been a long fucking time since someone offered to take care of her, just because they could, just because they wanted to— maybe being a Milkovich wasn’t half bad. Maybe there were some good ones.

Sandy nodded in acknowledgement, and turned to walk down the creaky back steps. Wow. If Sandy was sure of one thing right now, it was that Mickey really, really fucking loved Ian Gallagher.

[we-want-mini-mini]

I have this short one shot in mind. It’s essentially abt the entire Batfam gathering up together (and its also the anniversary of Jason’s death but that’s kinda jus a background detail).

Anyways, everyone gathers round the dinning table, eating, laughing, etc etc. And when I mean everyone, I fucking mean all the Batkids, which include but are not limited to:

Dick

Jason

Tim

Damian

Stephanie

Cassandra

Duke

Barbara

Anyways, Alfred and Bruce are obvi there as well, eating, and talking and stuff.

Suddenly, some fucking kid bursts through the fucking window, does a mid-air flip, and lands smack dab in the middle of the dining table, on their hands, which is conveniently holding onto this package.

All hell breaks loose, as various Bats (and birds!) start throwing various items. Then this kid sends out this weird ass pulse, that makes everything freeze in place. Only this kid and move.

The kid slowly floats up, cross legged in the air, moving a batarang, and throwing knife away from their face. They announce, “Hello, the Wayne Family and Friends! Who are also... Gasp, the infamous Bat and Bird themed Vigilantes of Gotham?! Now, to quote John Mulany, “we don’t have time to unpack all of that” which is fine! ...Why are none of you responded—oh sorry! I froze you all in place, my bad.”

The kid snaps their fingers, allowing the Batfam & Co. talk but their still frozen in place. Immediately Damian starts antagonizing the Kid. The Kid responses by literally zipping close Damians mouth like a Looney Toon cartoon.

The Kid sighs but continues on, “C’mon now! Don’t shoot the messenger as they say, whoever they is that is. Anyways, I have a package for one: Jason Peter Todd!”

“Who the hell sent you?” Jason askes.

The Kid shrugs, “No clue, they sent it in anonymously. Though, from what I know, there is a card inside the package so that might offer you some clues.”

“And what exactly are you?” Bruce inquires.

The Kid’s lips stretch out as wide as they can go, their pearly white, jagged teeth on display. Their eyes glow slightly red, as their neck cranes forward at a tilt. Their neck seems to extend a lot further, and their face tilts at an inhuman angle. They open their mouth, with rows of teeth on display for everyone too see.

“Why don’t you find out?” Their once chriper, goofy, kid like voice contorts into a deep, distorted version. Everyone freezes, at the Kid simply stares back at Bruce before their fave goes back to “normal” as they laugh their collective ass off.

“Ahaha... You know, that trick never does fail to make me laugh and all of you freeze in fear—then again, your already frozen but still!”

The Kid continues, their face still stretched out in a smile. A smile a little to sharp and inhuman for them. “But, you should know that’s quite a rude thing to ask! Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?! Then again, they are dead.”

A beat of silence.

“What? Too morbid? Seriously, what a tough crowd! But hey, everyone has their sore spots, so I can’t blame ya. Anyways, I’m guessing all of you have questions. So, fire away!”

They snapped their fingers, making the literally zipper on Damians face disappear.

“Who are you?” Damian seethes.

“I’m Ty Kidd! But call me Kid. Oh and, my pronouns are she/they, thank you very much. I am also a delivery person for—” Kid pulls out a business card, which start to multiple and appear infront of everyone. “—the Multiversal Express Delivery Service, or MEDS for short!”

“And what exactly is MEDS?” Dick asks.

“It’s literally in the name.” Kid deadpans, before another inhuman like smile spreads across their face. “I travel from parallel world to parallel world! Fun fact: there’s a world where you guys are just fictional characters who’ve existed since the 1930s! Isn’t that cool?! One of the many reasons I love my job.”

“Yeah, yeah, fun stuff, but who sent you?”

Kid shrugs, “I dunno. Sender was anonymous. But no worries! At MEDS we ensure that none of our packages include any sort of life threatening object, material, and etc! So, no need to worry about releasing a plague that would decimate this world in a blink of an eye or a nuclear bomb that would wipe this continent out of the map! But, if you do want to send world ending plagues or bombs, you must submit a form and blah blah blah HR bullshit.”

“And... how do know right trust you?” Tim spoke up.

Kid’s face once again spilts in half into a smile, their jagged teeth slightly teasing her lips. Her eyes turned into black silts. “You don’t.” Their voice reasonated throughout everyone’s ears, deep and contorted to the octave.

She pulled back, face once again going “normal”. “But! You can trust MEDS! Trust me when I say, nothing like a bomb, plague or that sort of item is inside this package. Anyways, I’m on a schedule, so—“

They snapped their fingers, a small device and pen appearing infront of Jason. “—please sign, and I’ll be on my merry way. Don’t worry about the window, I’ll fix it!”

Jason was momentarily stunned wondering what the fuck is happening? Why is their probably a fucking eldritch-demon-person in front of me? What is my life?

Before Jason could even tell what was happening, he picked up the floating pen and signed his name on the little device thingy. When his name was signed, the pen and device poofed! away in a plume is smoke.

The Kid, still smiling that inhuman and unsettling smile, snapped their fingers, fixing the broken window, and putting away all the various knifes and objects that were still floating in the air.

“Thank you for your service! If you ever want to send anything to a parallel universe, just give us a call and we will send it! No matter how desolate the Earth, no matter how frankly strange item, we shall send it! Anyways, happy Death day Jason Todd. Kid Out!” They said with a salute, before disappearing in a plume of smoke.

All hell breaks loose and after some arguing and lowkey existential breakdowns everyone converges to the Cave.

Bruce being paranoia incarnate, makes the package go through numerous tests. All being negative. They can’t even identify what it is.

After some more arguing, Jason slips by everyone, and tears open the box. Everyone tries to stop him, but it’s already to late, he opened it.

Now, no one can see what’s inside since Jason is blocking them with his gigantic ass figure. Bruce is the first one to realize that Jason freezes up, and goes to him, worried that something happened.

“Jason, whats wro—“ Then Bruce sees what’s in the box and pales. Everyone sees how Bruce freezes, just looking at the box.

Soon, one by one, it revealed: its Jokers decapated head.

Or alternatively, Jason is the last one to see what’s inside (Damian or someone else being the first). Up to you.

Anyways, there’s this card. Jason picks it up, and it reads:

As the Persians say: an eye for an eye. But the world doesn’t go blind. Happy Dead Clown Day, Jason.

—[Insert an intial or some shit]

Cue some time later, and, yes, it’s confirmed, this is Jokers head. You see, Jokers been awfully quiet for two years, as he went missing after an explosion rocked Arkham Asylum. This, is proof that Joker is finally dead.

News breaks that Joker is dead, and it follows Jason reaction to his death.

In my opinion he’d be lowkey angry that it wasn’t him who killed the damn Clown. But, holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. He’s... He’s dead. He’s finally fucking dead.

Cue some more time later, after everything has cooled down. Jason is in Robinson Park, sitting at a bench, when another kid (who kinda looks like Kid but Jason is too busy inner monologuing to care).

The kid speaks up, “You know, before I use to hate the phrase, ‘an eye for an eye’ ‘cause, the world would go blind.”

Jason freezes, and the kid continues. “But, now I get it. An eye for an eye, but the world never goes blind. Simple as that, since, sure, your blind in one eye, but justice was finally served, right Jason?”

The kid turns to him, and smiles. Not a too large, too sharp, too inhuman smile, but a sincere, warm one. “Y-Yeah.” Jason finally manages to choke out.

“It’s a nice day out, you know. It’s real nice. I know, that, at least you get to see more of these nice days.”

“You day that as if you can’t see days like these anymore.” He blurts out.

The kid sighs, with a bitter smile on their face. “Yeah, I can’t see or experience days like these anymore. I haven’t been able too for three years. But hey, an eye for an eye, but the world never goes blind.” As the kid speaks, their voice fades away. In a blink of an eye, the kid disappears, leaving behind daffodil and a note.

The note is an invitation for a funeral.

Jason goes to the Manor, specifically the cave, and conveniently everyone is there. Damian, Stephanie and Cass are sparring. Dick is using the aerial equipment. Bruce and Tim are working on some cases with Barbara helping. Alfred is done, handing out snacks.

Jason immediately shoves the card to Tim, who’s confused and then sees how utterly shaken up and pale he looks.

“Tell me what happened to this kid.”

Everyone immediately turns to Tim, as he types in their name, date and etc.

What they find out, is that, this kid, who died three years ago, died in the last ever attack wide scale attack the Joker committed. They were the only casualty in said attack (surprisingly).

And they were only 13. Like Jason. And the date of the attack... is the same day Jason died all those years ago in Ethiopia.

“I saw them.”

“...what?” Dick said, in an incredulous voice.

“I saw them. At Robinson Park. They even said that exact same phrase in that fucking card: an eye for an eye—“

“—and the world never goes blind.” Everyone says the last part in unison.

Then the Bats get news that rest of Jokers body was sent to the GCPD, addressed to—

-END-

Basically, that’s how the one shot goes. If anyone wants to use the idea:

Jason gets a package while he’s at the Manor. They test said package and nothing comes up. Some start arguing and someone opens the package (which is more dramatic, Jason seeing it first or last?). They see: Jokers decapiated head. Chaos ensues and a metric shit load of testing later, it’s confirmed: thats Jokers head. And Jokers been missing for [insert amount of time]. The Batfam then deal with the fallout of Joker being (finally) dead.

If anyone writes this, please tag me! I want too see ANGST, and FLUFF, and GOOD DAD BRUCE, and, DRAMA, and ALL THE BAT KIDS.

(I can’t delete the fucking pic below me and I refuse to rewrite this entire post. Lowkey it’s kinda ironic too lmao).

[jeeperso]

D&D Quotes Without Context

Ravenloft Edition, Dementlieu Arc part 2

Alright, it's night. Jonni: “The best time for arson!” Jonni, you are up spending some quality time with Vesh. Jonni: “The best time for arson!” "YOU COME INTO MY CITY WITH A PARADE, PUTTING ON A FARCE FOR THE MASSES, YOU FOOL THEM BUT YOU DO NOT FOOL ME. NOW FACE MY JUDGEMENT." They point a bony finger at Vesh and....nothing happens. They point a few more times, expecting something to happen. Vesh sighs. "You done?" “Hey, buddy, I told you, she’s a Princess. Maybe not of a big nation, but a Princess is a Princess.” "...Well I guess she is. Sorry for disturbing you." And the spirit then awkwardly shuffles out. "That reminds me, I will visit Semprini, warn him of this Red Death." “Or, hear me out, we don’t and hire a bard to follow him around and then show us what happened later in moving pictures.” "Come on, you know how well I can fit in with high society, Steve. I can speak Snob." "Steve... He really moved up in the world after he died. I'm proud for him." "Social gatherings...I can be nice and polite, but high society tends to leave me cold. It all seems so...fake." “Yeah. But I usually get to fork some ashholes [sic] trophy wife in the cloak room, and the food can be good.” "Look it's easy, you go to some parties and dinners at some places, see the sights, smile and laugh, and we're golden. "And if anyone gives us any shit, we just grin and take it, and then track them down after the party and light them on fire." "We've come on behalf of a young lady whose parents have been afflicted with a curse..." “We need that lifted before we have to adopt again.” "None of the rest of you better pull an Edmund on us." Gorbash: "Okay Marshal's not allowed to speak for the group without approval. Jonni was already not allowed to speak for the group. God... am I the diplomatic one here? How the hell am I the diplomatic one?" Jonni: “Hey, I can be diplomatic. In a skeevy way, sure, but diplomatic.” Jonni: “Back of the line, new Eddie. Gorb’s in charge unless I have a better idea.” "Some specters showed up while you were out, but Kyra and Simone drove them off....Where's Marshal?" Jonni: “Getting ready for me to kill him when he gets back.” Seoni sighs, "Of course he did." Gorbash: "Yeah, he's joining Jonni in the 'not allowed to make decisions without group permission club'." Jonni: “Wait… Marsh is gone! No one will stop me from killing Semprini!” Gorbash: "I am still here." Jonni: “I’ll bring you his mustache.” Gorbash: "You may continue." Gorbash: "...Gods, I'm the leader... How is the guy who spent a year in a fracking asylum the one people look to for leadership?" OOC: Gorbash is going to be referring to this kind of epic stupidity as Pulling an Edmund for at least as long as it takes us to save Edmund. OOC: I haven’t seen a robot do something that dumb since Optimus’ Primes comic death. And his brain fits on a 3x4 floppy. Gorbash: "I've been to Blutspar. I don't need eyes to see horrors everywhere. Give me the tour." Nyx: "I would like to go some place without horrors for once. I'm guessing that is too high an order around here." Gorebash:

Yeah she had a holy symbol of Asmodeus on her armor. “Oh, hey, we got that douche canoe back home” Jonni says, very loudly. “Demon Prince of tiny dicks.” Jonni: “I don’t go to plays with ‘king’ in the title after the incident. “Course, most of the plays I go to have titles that are parody’s of other plays. They usually involve some kind of food delivery that can’t be paid for.” Gorbash grabs Irost by the collar. "Entire city. Mass suicide. Rivers of blood centuries later. GIANT MAN MADE OF BUGS!" Irost: "....That could possibly be classified as urban improvement..." Irost: "But then we'd miss the ball, and the excitement, and the chance to make names for ourselves." Jonni: “New Eddie is dumber than old Eddie.” Gorbash: "My old crew and I once infiltrated a gods damned apocalypse cult-a-polusa! I damn well know my apocalypses." “We’ll get you a red snapper, it’s okay. The things beyond the veil aren’t going to tear your soul out and wipe their ass with it tonight.” The stall has three barrels around the stall, and a large crate with a sign that says "Stikk hand in fer big serprize." [sic] Gorbash: "This feels like a trap. Hey Jonni, come here!" Jonni: “Want me to light it up?” Upon you saying that the crate grows a mouth and begins inching away. The crate and the three barrels, as well as the sign, all get up and move towards an open manhole. The lead mimic turns and spits at you, "Damn adventurers, this used to be a nice neighborhood." Jonni: “Hey I know where you can find a really dumb guy. I’ll tell you if you bring us his mustache.” "How dare you, we are not vagrants nor tramps. We are guards for a traveling merchant caravan. And adventurers who solve problems and help others." "Right! They're Hobos!" Jonni: “Cool. Cool. So you’re a colossal asshat, your god sucks, and virtually no one I care about will mind if you die. In fact, the nicest member of my party thought about doing it herself.” Jonni: “Hey! One last thing? Go fuck yourself with a cactus you racist piece of devil-worshiping pig fart.” Linxia takes a deep breath. "We will settle this another time I think. But keep in mind;" she reaches out, grabs a caterpillar from a tree, and crushes it in hand. "Vermin always get crushed in the end." Gorbash: "B!+ch, we're Pest Control experts." He is wearing a "I survived the Organ grinder" TY shirt over his armor, and is also covered with popcorn, soda and other stickyness. In one hand he holds a handful of balloons, and in the other a large stuffed purple teddy bear. On his head is a hat with cat ears. Jonni: “We met new people to kill and you’re not allowed to tell me no anymore.” Gorbash returns the favor that Marshal did for him back in Hazlan and tightly hugs his metal friend. Irost would hug him from the other side as well, squeezing tightly. You are stuck fast to Marshal now, he is very sticky. "Uhm, do we need to get out the special scrubbing alcohol to clean you guys off now?" Marshal: "Fire." Jonni casts the “create campfire” cantrip. Irost: "WAIT! Wait we're still-AHHHHHH!" Marshal ties a blindfold around his helmet's eyeholes and sticks a cigarette in just in time. Jonni: “Sorry, reflex.” Marshal: "I've seen things you people wouldn't believe." Jonni: “I’ve fucked things you wouldn’t believe. Anyhow, walk it off. We got crime tonight.” “It’s that or wait for the play that pinged Gorb’s 'end of world' alarm to finish.” "What you did Marshall... Sainthood should be being considered." “If they gave out sainthood for being a moron Semprini would be a living god.” You guys become aware, that there things watching you. Or rather watching Marshal. You see countless tiny stuffed animals of varying types: bears, foxes, rabbits, but with horrific twisted features. Some have obviously human eyes or teeth, others are bulging with strange contents. Gorbash: "How is it, that Marshal is the one with the most Stalkers?" Marshal: "Co-workers on break." Jonni: “They forming a union?” According to Vesh, the boat will be arriving at Midnight with cargo, among which will be the box. It will unload the cargo in the shipping company's warehouse. where it will stay until it is shipped to the D'honaire estate on the night before the ball. The docks are silent. No one on them. The niight is clear, with stars in the sky and a huge moon. So what's your plan? OOC: Fireballs. You see the bizarre scene of a bunch of demonic beanie babies smoking. After about fifteen minutes, the bay is rocked by a massive explosion, as the galleon bursts into flames. "Jonni!" Jonni: “Gods I wish that was me.” OOC: Great things happen when Kreuz has a Paladin Moment. OOC1: This other crew is going to find we aren't harder to deal with than most adventurers, we fight smarter, not harder. OOC2: Also, we are more mentally unstable and prone to dickery. OOC: To be fair, the rules don’t say I have rocket feet. The power gamer in me says no, but the nerd in me says “ROCKET BOOTS!”

[popculturebuffet]

Donald Duck Birthday Special!: 12 Donald Shorts!

Happy Birthday to my faviorite duck! As you can probably guess from my previous Ducktales reviews Donald Duck is my faviorite of the classic disney gang. As an angry but well meaning, sometimes lazy sometimes hardoworing and always out of his depth guy really spoke to me for obvious reasons and my love of him made me check out life and times and well you know the rest.  But weirdly, until last month i’d hardly seen any of his theatrical shorts. I grew up as a “Tom and Jerry” and “Looney Tunes” kid, and with Disney never playing them on disney channel for whatever reason (even with the ones they really CAN’T play there’s dozens they sure as hell can), I just never had any real intrest. But then Louie’s Eleven happened , I was starved for Donsy content and thus rewatched Mr.Duck Steps out, and most of her filmography, skipping the ones where she’s the miserable wife from every sitcom... more on that later, and with one exception. So I wanted to review them.. but quickly reailzed that with 6 minutes for most shorts there’s not a ton to dig into, so I decided after finding out his birthday was next month to take a handful and pile them in here, review them and see what makes my boy so great, what dosen’t, and look at the good the bad and the holy shit did he just point a shot gun at that poor defensless animal of Donald Fauntleroy Duck. We get this party started under the cut. 

For funsies since, unlike most things I cover, every episode has a gif on here i’m going to use the gif keyboard to look up an image for the cartoon.. and if not well.. whatever’s there will have to do. 

1. The Wise Little Hen (1934) A charming little short that I rewatched today to get on the docket, and i’m glad I did. The plot is very simple: A Hen and her 8 chicks are planting, then harvesting corn. For each task they ask Peter Pig, Local dick and the Rusty Spokes of 1934, and Donald Duck, our boy looking very diffrent, for help. Peter just says who me then runs off while Donald fakes a bellyache. Both get their compuance when the Hen and her 8 chicks make a ton of goodies from the corn and decide to eat it all themselves, while donald and peter give themselves an ass kicking. 

I genuinely wish this is how life worked: Your bad, take advantage of people and your reward is not taking their beinfits and snickering but having to kick each other in the tuckuss on loop.. you know instead of the Peter Pigs of the world blaming people for getting maced in the face by stormtroopers. Sigh.  That aside it’s just a fun, charming short with great animation, and a great look for Donald. I do genuinely love his first look, even if it’d later be eased down to perfection. And there’s plenty of fun gags and great music. Overal a solid A short.  

2. Moving Day (1936) As you can see from the GIF this one isn’t strictly donald, we’re still one away from a starring role. After annoying the shit out of Mickey in the classic’s “The Orphans Benefit” and “The Band Concert” , Donald soon became his regular sidekick alongside Goofy. Both would quickly breakout and this short is apparent why as Mickey is a side character in his own labeled short.  The setup is somehow, after 84 years, STILL relevant to modern day. Basically Mickey and Donald are tennants who haven’t for whatever reason, paid their rent and are 6 months behind. And sure they could just be obnoxious squatters doing it onlyf or their art who shriek like banshees the moment their asked to actually pay rent, but thankfully this isn’t RENT, or else I would’ve jumped out of a window by now. No given this is the depression, their likely trying to hold onto their house and meager posessions for as long as they can while work is incredibly scarce... not like.. now.. ha .. ha. ha.... I may take the window up on it’s offer after all.  Anyways, our valiant heroes decide to try and cram everything they can into their friend Goofy’s milk truck while Pete’s busy putting up signs to advertise him trying to sell their shit to make up his back rent. WHich translates to a bit of mickey doing that and most of the short being spent with donald fighting a rug and Goofy being outsmarted by a piano. Both are utterly hilarious and prove why these two became far more popular, and overall the short’s a damn good timea nd our heroes win by still getting a pile of possesions out while their antics destroy the rest so pete gets nothing! Horay! They can sleep at goofy’s place! Now moving on from crushing reality, it’s animal cruelty! 

3. Don Donald (1937) I wasn’t kidding. Yeahhh this was donald’s first full, not attached to Pluto for some reason or an adorable chicken family or his mousy overlord short. Don Donald. Donald’s in mexico, for some reason and wooing a lady, in this case Daisy prototype, Donna Duck as seen in the header image. I like her, they have a diffrent dynamic, both being kind of tempramental and flirty instead of that being just ONE of donald and daisy’s dynamics. Others being muttually supportive and adorable (Ducktales and Quack Pack) or daisy being the wife from according to jim, or last man standing, or my wife and kids, or king of queens, or the george lopez show, or everybody loves raymond, or ... you know what i’m depressed enough from the last two shorts you get it. But you know without Donald being an obnoxious asshole who views every guy his daughter dates like a horny degernate who just wants to get in there and overreacts to everything involving them and makes me pray for death but death wont come.... I may not like classic daisy very much. Moving on.  That being said as you can tell from the donkey abuse donald.. ihs a fucking asshole in this one.. and not the loveable asshole he is in the band concert mind you I mean he’s less brent sienna and more tucker carleson. He laughs at his girlfriends misforutunes and hit shis burro and then tries to trade it in for a car.. which he does. He gets his commupance and all but yeah.. it’s deeply uncomfortable to watch him abuse this animal for half the runtime. Trading it in is one thing, but he’s still an utter dick to it.A short that COULD’VE been fun that instead is just uncomfortable, even given the time it takes place in. 

4. Donald’s Ostrich (1937) Donald works at a distant train station taking care of various cargo that comes in and ends up having to care for an adorable ostrich named hortense. Hyjinks, especially once she swallows Donald’s Radio, insue. This short.. is a MASSIVE step up from don donald. INstead of uncomfortable animal abuse donald just gets frustrated with an ostrich and battered round a bit, and tries to cure her hiccups. My faviorite bit is when hortense arrive, and stands up with a box on her,a nd donald goes under her gives a greatly delivered by Clarence Nash “what’s going on around here” before hortense sits on him. Really funny. And yes Hortsense is a regular ostrich. And yes that paradox has been around this long. But this one’s way funnier, way more charming and really damn adorable and dosen’t remind me of the crushing horrors of real life so yeah. A+. There’s only one short I like as much and it’s coming up. 

5. Modern Inventions (1937) Another one from his first year and another classic. Basically donald deals with various inventions in a “house of the future” type attractions, gets ruffled by them and the robot butler seen above steals his hat with a dry brtiish “your hat sir” while donald adorably pulls one out of thin air in increasingly creative ways. Again plotwise these shorts are simple but by now they figured out what made donald work: getting frustrated sure but with him being a relatable every man and sometimes trickster as seen here with the hats and him pulling that old coin on a string trick. 

He also dresses up like a baby at one point and i’ts weird but oddly funny... but yeah donald is in peak form here and this one is another clear A+, if for the running robot gag alone as donald keeps puttingon new hats and the robot has a truly spectacular design.

 6. Donald’s Better Self (1938)

Now for a weird one.. not the most surreal thing on our list, despite you know a devil version of donald popping out of his mailbox, but it’s damn close because you know, Donald as Satan popping out of his mailbox.  In short Donald is cast as a school aged child.... you know what’s coming. 

And you may say “Well jake they were just experimenting and his age was vauge at first” and to that I say, with no joke Huey Dewey and Louie debuted THIS SAME YEAR. Even given how adaptable older cartoon characters are, and they are it’s part of the charm, and tha’ts fine.. this is a bit over the line. Oh and it gets weirder as donald has the standard cartoon angel and devil arguging over his actions things.. only here the Angel and Devil are donald sized, and again fighting over the soul of a chid in the body of a 30 year old man, literally in some cases, ending with said devil encouraging donald to smoke before he and the angel get into a fistfight. While not an especially GOOD short, you have to admit.. it’s unique.. batshit but unique and worth at least one watch. 

7. Donald’s Penguin (1938)

The second in our trilogy within a series of “Donald gets a pet” shorts, this one start’s out fine, Donald gets an adorable penguin named Tootsie from “Colonel bird” and does cute things like immitate it’s walk or what not while Tootsie is a grumpus. Fun stuff. Then tootsie apparenlty eats Donald’s fish, and donald spanks the poor bird. Now this pissed off some people on Letterboxd but me, while it’s slightly distressing, it was 1938: while spanking was NEVER a great thing, it was acceptable back then and as far as Donald knew Toottsie knew not to eat the fish, Donald had told him no adorably, and did it anyway. So donald goes to get an apology trout, which he just.. has for some reason out of the ice box and uh.. things take a turn from “it was accpetable at the time” to “HOLY SHIT”...  Tootsie decides fuck it and eats the fish and uh... Donald.. how do I put this calmly.. ahemahem okay... DONALD GRABS A FUCKING SHOT GUN AND CHASES HIM AROUND, THEN ONLY BACKS OUT AT THE LAST SECOND, A SHORT FIRES, AND HE MOURNS WHAT HE THINKS IS HIS DEAD PENGUIN. We then get a cute shot at the end but holy shit.While Elmer fudd is one thing since he’s A) the bad guy and B) is indeed trying to kill a wild animal he has a lisence for instead of his fucking pet whose a protected species if those existed back then, this is just... like the donkey abuse, deeply uncomfortable. It’s one thing to spank a pet, even up to the 90′s that was acceptale and still is in some circles, but it’s another to try and murder it over a slight infraction. Just.. jesus christ. I want Tootsie back too, this was objectivley terrifying. Let’s move on. 

8. Mr Duck Steps Out (1940)

Ahhhh yes the short about dancing that brought me to the dance. This one is, without a shred of second guessing, which for my anxious self is a miracle, my faviorite both of this batch and in general.  The short is about Donald trying to go on a date with Daisy at her house, and his nephews inviting themselves along and trying to ruin there uncle’s every attempt at getting romantic with wacky hyjinks. That’s.. basically the plot.. as you can tell these things are very light on plot but here that’s all you need.  A few things to note. 1) The boys are VERY much in their early characterization, i.e., their all assholes instead of “All huey 2k17 but dialed down a notch” or “karmic tricksters working against their uncle’s ego”, though they’d ocassionally dip into this in the 80′s ducktales depending on the episode, especially if webby was around, and shove their face into it and inhale deeply like me with the hidden mountain of cocaine hidden under my basement.   The second is that Daisy has a duck voice, much like Donna did for this short and only this one. It’s not too distracting given she barely speaks, though she has more than enough body language to make up for it, it’s just.. odd.. especailly since it means Clarence Nash, donald’s voice actor, is voicing EVERYONE in the short and doing a terrific job of it.  Even weirder is Disney would later redub a shortned version for Disney Channel in the 2010′s that had their modern voice actors (Donald Aselmo, Tress Macneil and Russi Taylor, god rest her soul) re-dub it and it just feels all kinds of wrong despite the three being excellent va’s. I dunno the cleaner modern audio just feels wonky coming out of the old 40′s short.  But despite it’s oddities the short really has fun, from the iconic little dance donald does at the start...

Serioulsy I freaking love that dance and his outfit. To the little laughs donald gives when telling daisy “HA, I brought my nephews ha” like a 40′s tommy wiseau, to him roaring in a lion skin to the ending which is just pure adorable and nice because Donald actually GETS to win, especially because half of all donald shorts or comics where he’s sympathetic end up with Donald miserable and beaten up and me like this. 

Instead Daisy kisses him all over and over again, until the night goes dancing. 

Overal a fun, fast paced short about Donald trying to get laid and the gold standard of Donald Duck shorts. Two more things before I move on. This was co-written by disney comics legend Carl Barks, and it shows, and i’d be remiss if Id idn’t mention this bit of Daisy, after playfully shoving donald away when he coyly asks for a kiss, giving him a come hither signal with her butt.. which is somehow hot. Don’t ask me how.

And with that mental image we move on. What do we got next?

9. The Spirit of 43 (1943)

Ah yes propaganda! and the first one I couldn’t find a gif for. I watched this one because it’s another Barks one, he worked on several of these and was also the one who suggested not having HDL be assholes all the time as he felt, rightly, it’d get old after a while, and because it has protypes for scrooge and gladstone, and is thus one of the only shorts Scrooge is in and the only classic one... And like Donald’s Better Self it’s fucking weird. It’s all propganda no joke as ONCE AGAIN, yes AGAIN, two figures battle for Donald’s soul, this time a scottish man encouraging him to save and donate and a sleezy huckster encouraging him to spend for himself.. even though spending in bars and what not helps the economy and gives the bartender money to stay open during such trying times, but whatever. Also the huckster aka proto gladstone turns into hitler.. yes really.. and Donald then punches him through a swastika captain america style because donald duck is hardcore. Trust me this is somehow NOT a cocaine induced fever dream I had. Not a great one but like Donald’s Better Self worth at least one watch, in this case in additiont o the insantiy for the historical value of seeing two prototypes for Carl Barks most iconic characters. 

10. Sleepy Time Donald (1947)

As you can tell this one’s way more wholesome and way less of a drug trip. Donald goes sleepwalking and Daisy, realizing it, plays along so he dosen’t wake up and goes thorugh the motions of one of their dates. Very simple, ending with Donald thinking he’s the sleepwalker before she conks him out, and very adorable as while Donald isn’t concious, and has a boot on his head, we see what a standard date for them is like when Daisy is being written well as they strut around the park, he proposes, it’s all really damn cute and if you like these two together, you’ll really enjoy this one. Not much else to say other than it’s really precious and really funny and creative. Kinda hard to follow up Donald duck punching out hitler. 

11. Daddy Donald (1948)

Another quick one and the end of the “donald gets an animal” trilogy. First off, while I only got one gif from this short, I DID get this lovely image under “Daddy Donald” in Tumblr’s gif search thing

Awwwww. Anyways, Donald adopts a kangaroo like it was a baby, it’s kind of weird, not as weird as the above. He and Joey slowly bond, while he gets directions on what to do from the lady at the adoption place over the phone and hyjinks insue. Kind of cute but not quite reaching the heights of “Donald’s ostrich or the first hal fof “Donald’s Penguin” and not being quite as surreal as Double LIfe or Donald Punches Hitler.. which is what Spirit of 43 should’ve been named. I mean at least “De Fuherer’s Face” had a memorable name. But yeah not one of hte more notable ones and I mostly included it to round out the trilogy. Speaking of trilogy’s to close out this celebration of Donald, one of the last shorts and the last one featuring Daisy, and the inspriation fo rher Ducktales outfit. Donald’s Diary. 

12. Donald’s Diary (1954) Well.. this is basically one half of a good short ending in a lot of misogny. I could end it there but there is a lot to this short. It basically has donald, weridly in a clearly voiced narration talking about his courtship with Daisy as she first tries to get his attention and he’s oblivious.

Then she uses a rope trap and we get this iconic image which is concentrated awwwww. 

Then they date, Daisy’s implied to have dated a bunch of guys which was a bad thing in the 50′s but is perfectly resonable in 2020, and he meets her brothers, basically huey dewey and louie standins and her.. parents. Yes apparnetly donald’s parents have to be implicitly dead by present day, but Daisy’s can be alive. Weird ain’t it? It’s pretty adorable, has some great gags and we even get him proposing and them marrying!  And then the shoe drops.. yeah the rest of the short is how she expects him to GASP work all day , fair enough but then GASP do all the chores.. which is bad but the short implies it’s because he’s the man and she’s the woman and she should do housework. It’s actually bad because marriage is an equal partnership and while asking him to do a chore or too after working all day is fine just fine, asking him to do EVERYTHING while you do nothing is abusive and terrible and i’ve seen it actually happen in my friend’s previous marriage. So yeah this message can fuck off. And I knokw standards of the time, penguins having shotguns pointed at them etc but there’s not having aged well but being able to ignore it and there’s this.  And then she procedes to spousally abuse him and work him to the bone, and then he wakes up, and assuming ALL marraige sare like this dosen’t end up proposing leaving the poor girl wondering what the fuck she did to upset him. Real fucking cute guys. Seriously just.. part of the reason this part bothers me so much is MANY people think this is what marriage is like, like a fucking terrible sitcom. Life isn ot like home improvment or according to jim, or my wife and kids or king of queens or family guy, or you get my point again and yes I reused some their that bad.. even now we get stuff like man with a plan. It annoys me because 70+ years later and while it’s getting better this same lazy comedy still happens! and much like king of queens wasted the late great jerry stiller, this short wastes great animation and a great first half to tell a terrible story. It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth and is a bleh note to end on. Watch the first half because it’s adorable, end it at the wedding.  IN conclusion Donald’s shorts are a mixed bag but as you could tell some are truly spectacular and some are worth the spectacle and all have terrific animation and effort put in, evne when they didn’t deserve it and as such I couldn’t think of a better way to honor donald’s birthday than with these animators hard, well worth it efforts. Even when it wasn’t great, it was still somewhat fun. So happy birthday old friend and here’s to many more. Later Days.

[justhereforseverus]

A Rose by any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

Miserable_toad

Chapter 15: A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury.Summary:

You and Severus spent an intimate night together and he seems to open up to you more and more. The morning comes with a rude awakening and you can't hide your frustration with Dumbledore anymore.

Notes:

This took AGES. I’m so so sorry. Partly, because life is.. strange. Also due to my complete inability to write anything smut related. Sorry for the cringe in advance. There’s also fluff in there. And angst. Basically, a full package.

As always, thank you so much for reading, for your kudos and comments! :3 Comments are always appreciated.

Chapter Text:

We went through the empty hallways, down the staircases to the dungeons. When we stepped into his office, he locked the door behind us and led me to the fire. I sat on the couch after I had hung my jacket to a nearby hanger and put off my high heels. I could see that Severus carefully removed the handkerchief with the lily, looked at in thought for some moments and then put it on a small table near the couch, before going to the kitchen to get some tea. He came back, offered me a cup and then sat beside me. He was still smiling while putting his arm around me. I felt so warm and glowing with love and happiness. I sighed happily and put my hand on his knee. I asked him: “That handkerchief is pretty. Why a lily though? I know they are flowers of purity and virtue but seems very specific.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he drew in a long breath before saying: “…I bought it on a wimp many years ago. As a reminder.”

“Of what?” Wait, maybe I shouldn’t pry into this….I quickly added: ”You don’t have to tell me further. Just...”

He interjected: “No, it’s fine. Remus didn’t tell you anything about Lily Evans then?” I shook my head. “She was.. IS James Potter’s wife and I’m sure you’ve heard that name before.” – he said with a rather dismissive undertone.

“Yes, I think I’ve seen a picture of him in the Daily Prophet at some point because he was promoted or something? He was the guy who defeated Voldemort. I think Remus and Sirius are also friends of him. He lives in the US, doesn’t he?”

Severus nodded weakly: “I think so, yes. Lily and I.. We’ve been childhood friends, neighbours in a way. Went to Hogwarts together. I… liked her… a lot. She broke contact at some point. She was justified in doing that. I was an idiot but it still hurts.”

I think I’ve started to understand..in the end I commented “We all were idiots when we were young.”

“Maybe but I called her a terrible slur and I shouldn’t. Especially, because she was trying to help me when her precious future husband and a certain Mr. Black had me hanging from my ankles in the air.”

Oh Sirius… what an idiotic bully you’ve been. I only replied: “Ouch….you didn’t deserve that.”

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t but it’s not like anyone but her cared. It doesn’t matter now. I know I did wrong. I know I was at fault. She never spoke another word to me after that and it’s fine. It’s long over now. I bought it to remind me of not doing that mistake again. But I don’t think I need that reminder anymore. At least, I hope so.”

“What.. slur was it?”

“You know.. mudblood, which in retrospective was pretty stupid. Thinking about the fact that I’m a half-blood myself.” - he said with a tired smile.

I gasped: “The head of Slytherin a half-blood?! Wow Salazar must turn in his grave.” I chuckled. “The person obsessed with pure-blood ideology has someone so brilliant and beautiful as a leader, who isn’t fulfilling his first requirement of ‘good’ wizards.” I kissed him on the cheek.

He smiled again,“That’s a secret though. Don’t tell my students.”

“But you’re the change they might need. So never tell me you’re useless again. And we’ve all said things that in retrospect were… shit. Like really shitty. We regret and learn from them. Some people forgive us and see our growth.. others don’t. In the end she married a bully so I guess she changed together with him, too. It’s sad she didn’t give you another chance though.”

Sadness cloudes his features: “I think I was always difficult to handle, especially back in those days. It was difficult to fit in a house that was full of rich and arrogant purebloods. But yes, you’re right. We’ve all changed, I hope. That’s the difference. In the end, it’s ok.. I think. I don’t look for her anymore, haven’t for years.” He exhaled and pulled me closer to me before adding cheekily: “I have to disagree with one point though, I don’t think Salazar would be particularly interested in the looks of his followers.”

I puffed: “Hello?! Have you seen his portrait?! He was certainly obsessed with his own looks. That cloak is extremely fancy and his pose so over the top.”

Severus laughed and I was relieved to see him happy again. Though, I had the desire to be closer to him now, to do more. With an unexpected rush of bravery, I saddled him on the couch. His eyes widened with surprised. I started to kiss him, softly at first but then more passionately. I could feel his hands wandering over my knees and thighs up to my back. I also wandered with my kisses to his neck until I could feel his hands tightening on my dress and an ever so quite moan escape from his lips. I liked hearing the ever so tight and controlled professor in a weaker position. But before I could expand on this new experience, he flipped me on my back in a swift movement and positioned himself between my legs regaining control. Unfortunately, the couch was a bit too short for that and we had to take care not to fall to the floor. He laughed and smiled, his face over mine, his long black hair falling softly around me. He said: “I think, we should continue this in a more comfortable environment.” I nodded, and to my surprise he carried me up in his arms like a bride to the bedroom. He cautiously laid me on the bed, continued his position from before and started kissing me passionately. I was completely lost. He smelled so nice and I loved feeling his weight on me, his hips on mine, his hands that slowly wandered down my sides. At some point my dress really started to bother me though. I couldn’t reach the zipper on the back like this nor was my wand in close proximity. So, I whispered: “My dress... Could you..”

“I understand.” He said and got to the side. I sat up and he helped me out of the dress by pulling the zipper down. I rather awkwardly moved out of it and he started kissing me on my neck and shoulders and I melted. He put his arms around me and tightly pulled me to his chest. “Oh, Severus – what are you doing with me?” I said softly with a shaking voice. He replied by whispering in my ears: “Let me worship you, darling.” And his hands wandered down to my bra, unlocking it, while getting rid of his shirt and pants. He leaned over me and I took a good look at him. He was mesmerising. I could see some scars on his hips and chest and made a mental note of asking him about them later but for the moment… I was enchanted and just drowned in his eyes. He looked like he felt the same before diving into another series of deep kisses. I could feel his hands on my chest, exploring, sending shivers to my core. His kisses wandering down and down, until he kissed the inside of my thighs, looking at me for consent. I nodded and he made me truly feel worshipped with his tongue and fingers until I fell apart. But I wanted more. He moved up to my mouth again to kiss me, removed his underpants and mine before lying on me. He gave a last questioning look before I confirmed again and then pushed deep. I could hear him panting, moaning quietly, a deep and holy sound in my ear, while he moved inside of me and my mind went blank with passion. Everything was just feeling, a fire moving between us until we both reached the peak.

Sweating and panting we laid in the darkness. I put my head on his naked chest and he ran his fingers through my hair before saying: “I…. sorry.. I feel like I can’t speak properly right now but.. shower maybe?” I answered with a heartily yes.

His bathroom was painted green and black and the walls were windows looking unto the Hogwarts lake. It felt like being under water as fish and other creatures swam by. Severus explained to me that the walls are not see through from the other side. He admitted, it’s weird at the beginning to get used to it. It was kinda cool though. Like showering in the sea. We went under the shower and the warm water felt fantastic. He pulled me close to him again and kissed me caringly.

When we went back to bed we just cuddled and I laid my head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat while he ran his fingers through my hair. After he sighed contentedly, he whispered: “I’ve never had such a pleasant Yule Ball night. Usually I leave the ball room early, punish some student couples who hide outside to do their frivolous activities and then go to bed early.”

“Oh, these nasty students” I laughed: “But yes, I agree. Thank you for the wonderful evening.” He kissed me again and after we talked for a little bit further we both fell into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning, I felt myself rather reluctant to do anything. In the end, most staff and students would probably sleep out their hangover, so this Saturday was intentionally left without events. Severus seemed to feel the same. He woke up earlier than I did but brought the breakfast on a big dinner tray to bed. He was very cute, sitting in his pyjamas with legs crossed on his bed, eating a croissant carefully over his plate. I took a sip from my orange juice and said: “I somehow didn't see you as the type to eat breakfast in bed.”

He smirked and scoffed: “Oh, what should I do then? Sitting on the fully set table, smoking a pipe and reading the newspaper every morning?”

“Would be very stylish indeed.”

“No. As reserved as I am, I rather don’t have breakfast at all or like that really. My family didn’t have a breakfast tradition anyway. I was glad to get a slice of toast on the way out on some days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that… though I often don’t have breakfast, too. I’m very bad in getting out of bed. It was different during my childhood though. My parents insisted on the morning ritual. I’m sorry to hear you that you didn't Is that the reason why you don’t talk much about your family?”

His expression dulled while he replied: “My parents were poor, my father was an incompetent and very angry fool. My mother suffered much. There is not much to say. It’s a boring story.” He shrugged. I told him that, independent of that, it’s part of him and I wanted to know if he wants to share. He told me afterwards that they died a couple of years ago and I said my condolences. He replied sharply: “Don’t be. It was probably the best for both of them. Though I’d wished I could have told my father what an asshole he is. I’ll never forget what he did to my mother in his rage.” I didn’t want to press further but it was certainly good to see him opening up bit after bit. He looked thoughtfully towards the ceiling.

A bell rang and disrupted our peace. Severus went to the door and told me to stay in the bedroom. He put on a morning gown and left. I could hear Filch speaking through the door: “I can’t find her. Her room is destroyed and Dumbledore sent me to you. Do you know where she is?”

Severus replied cold and distant:“...I do. Go to Dumbledore, we all meet up in his office.”

Severus explained to me that there was another break in. This time not in my classroom but my office. They were unable to break the spell protecting my private quarters but my office was turned upside down. Books destroyed, desk in half.. it was a sight. When I was standing in the middle of my destroyed office surrounded by Filch, Albus, Minerva, Sprout and Flitwick, I couldn’t hold in my anger anymore: “How did they even come here?! I thought Hogwarts was so protected?! You promised me that it wouldn’t happen again?!” I yelled in anger. I was frustrated and unreasonable and frankly, I didn’t care.

Dumbledore said in an overly calming tone, which kinda annoyed me: “They must have help from the Ravenclaw house” – here Flitwick looked to the floor ashamed – “The portrait hasn’t reported anyone not being a student of her house coming in but there are ways to conceal oneself. At least the protection on your private quarters worked. Of course, there is also a possibility that they didn’t want to go that far just to intimidate someone.” The headmaster got closer to me, grapped my shoulders in a comforting gesture before saying: “I’m sorry that happened. I truly am. I promise you we’ll find a solution and a punishment for the perpetrators. But if they were only students. they must have some help from someone who knows how to get around these spells. This isn’t taught at Hogwarts.”

I was devastated: “So, what?! It doesn’t matter! We knew who it was that did this to my classroom. What will you do now, headmaster? This has to end!”

“I know” – he said. “I’ll do my best. I’ll talk to him personally. To son and father. I’m sorry.” – he said sadly and turned away from me. That wasn’t as satisfying for me as it should be. I was disappointed and still angry. Minerva interjected before I could say more: “I don’t feel good with you returning to your quarters, darling. Maybe you should stay somewhere else for the time being. I wouldn’t feel safe knowing that someone was so close to my bed. Albus, you really have to consider that this was a direct attack on all of us. Please.” She petted my shoulders and looked at me with a pleading half-smile. I couldn’t be mad at her and she was right. I’d feel unsafe sleeping here for the time being.

“She stays with me.” – Severus interrupted sharply. Everyone looked at him and didn’t dare to challenge him on that proposition.

“Very well, Severus” – Dumbledore replied before adding “Under the proposition that Professor [y/n] wants that, too.” I nodded “yes, that’s fine with me. Thank you, Severus. I’m sure they won’t dare to break into your office.”

“And if they do, they’ll see what messing with me really means this time”, Severus said while looking closely at Dumbledore.

[wickedlehane]

INJURY/HURT PROMPTS BC REASONS

@pryceism​ || Wesley

[ LACERATE ] for one muse to get stabbed while protecting/working with the other

Verse: Take it All the Way (Angel S4)

The air was thick and heady with cigar smoke exhaled through fetid undead lungs, past sour lips soaked with second-rate beer, the best a seedy joint like this could afford to stock. Faith had to appreciate the ingenuity and entrepreneurship of the owners, dedicated to providing demonic clientele with a little bit of release from the pavement-pounding lifestyle she imagined that monsters in Los Angeles had to keep. Not a one was the Hollywood type like the suited green singer she’d seen back at the Hyperion.

No, these were (for better or worse) her type of people. Rough, grimy. Versed in vice. God, any other night she might pocket a few bills from Wesley’s wallet and get herself a little pick-me-up. But they were tracking a trail of blood quickly clotting as Angelus tore through the town.

First stop of the night, a little dive called Dante’s. Sign on the door said no magic was allowed on the premises- the only salt circles these demons encountered were on the rim of their margaritas. Violators would be shot- and Faith didn’t think they meant the fun alcohol kind. 

Well, Slayers weren’t exactly magic, but she could always make someone’s consciousness disappear with a quick fist to the face if it came to that. Wesley, however, was packing heat. A surprising sight from the former watcher, but as she’d seen in the last twenty-four hours, things were different these days. Made memories of the Hellmouth seem quaint.

“Slayer,” a particularly scarred vampire growled as Faith swaggered in- his face was all forehead, yellow eyes matching the same butter-colored light emitted behind tacky stained glass lampshade fixtures.

“Hardly know 'er,” Faith replied coolly, breezing past with Wesley close at her heels. Whether it was because he wanted to give her the chance to lead (either as a show of deference or that fall from the prison window hurt him a little more than he was letting on) or this was yet another test on his part, the young woman has happy to be the face of the operation. Besides, Angelus already knew she was in town and looking for him. This time, she’d be goddamn ready.

She placed an open palm down onto the counter top, regretting it instantly as she felt the textured wood, both beer-sticky and demon-slimy, but refused to let the internal grimace pass over her features. “Hey, barkeep. I’m looking for a vampire, goes by Angelus. Psycho killer wrapped in leather- sound familiar?”

The creature tending the bar was some kind of demon, all scaled skin and vertical eyes. Wesley probably knew what he was and exactly the way to kill him, but Faith wasn’t going to let it come to that. Intimidation was a universal language, right?

He turned his back to her, picking up a glass and rag, cleaning idly. “Information’s for paying customers. ‘Sides, we protect our own here.”

“Hey, Angelus isn’t your own,” Faith said, slapping her hand down once more, lunging to grab his collar with the other arm. Her eyes hovered to the drink prices, contemplating asking Wes for the cash. $6.50 for a bottle of beer? Holy shit, that might have been more of a crime than her murder rap sheet. “I’m on a bit of a tight schedule, but my shit list has room for your name on it if you want to play dumb with me. Tell me where to find him.”

“Look, lady, you want to start trouble in here, we’ll give you trouble. But I haven’t seen any Angelus,” the bartender said, dropping the rag and letting the glass clatter to the countertop as Faith yanked him halfway across the wood. “Can’t imagine why he’d be avoiding you, y-you seem like a lovely person.”

Noticing the commotion, a large horned creature who looked like a moose and a monkey fucked in a candle factory withdrew a switchblade from his vest, pool cue in the other hand. Several others standing around- a mix of vampires and other monster-folk- tensed, either for action or self-preservation.

“Faith,” Wesley’s voice intoned.

“Yeah, just a second.”

It was not the moose-demon, but a smaller, sleeker woman who darted for the Slayer first. Faith quickly looked over her shoulder, dropping her captive before donkey-kicking the attacker clear into the pool table. Hard, colorful balls clattered against one another along the green felt surface, messing up the carefully arranged shot-in-waiting. The moose man roared, tossing his wooden cue down and taking a wide swing at Wesley while Faith attended to the diminutive, almost feline assailant who had charged her. Not vampires, so staking wasn’t exactly going to help her here. She heard Wesley grunt in frustration, but noted that he hadn’t cocked his shotgun just yet.

Besides, they weren’t here to kill with reckless abandon- the notion might give Angelus too much satisfaction.

Faith grabbed two spheres, the 8-Ball and 2-Ball, slamming them together on either side of her foe’s head. “You’re gonna be black and blue tomorrow, honey,” she quipped as she straddled the woman. Turning to leave, her boot heel caught the round pool cue beneath its treads, causing her to stumble somewhat. “Shit!”

The Slayer caught herself on the edge of the gaming table and quickly righted herself, but noted Wesley grappling with the larger demon. Faith grabbed the creature’s vest collar and yanked him hard, causing his horns to tangle with one of the dangling metal-rimmed lights. Shattered glass and electrical sparks rained down as Wesley managed to find a firm grip once more on his shotgun, aiming it at the restrained attacker. “I’d ask my associate here to mount and stuff you on the wall,” Faith explained as she held the demon in a headlock, “But the decor in here is tacky enough as it is.”

Dropping the demon to the floor with a heavy thud, Faith looked back at the bartender, who now had procured his own shotgun from beneath the racks of whiskey and tequila. The Slayer put her hands up, nodding somewhat appreciatively. “Protecting your own, got it. Well, Wesley, I think we’re finished here,” she said with resignation. “If I find out Angelus came through here, you’re going to wish I’d practiced my murder rehab mantras this morning.”

Wesley practically dragged her out of the place, but not before she added, “Your prices are the real monsters here.”

Out in the back alley, Faith blew a raspberry through her lips and shrugged. “Well, that could have gone better.” Still, it was only their first stop of the night, and the moon was young in the sky. She straightened her jacket, wondering what bar was next on their list- if they hadn’t just totally blown the game. Okay, if she hadn’t just blown it. Still, it wasn’t like this was something they taught in the Watcher’s Council either, though.

Wesley’s disapproving look and tight lips drew her eyes to the fact that he was bleeding from the deltoid, the bloody fabric of his shirt appearing near black in the dimly lit Los Angeles alley. The knife that demon had been carrying cut cleanly through his clothes, skin, and by the looks of it, possibly got into the muscle. It was a wide, deep wound, and Faith screwed up her face briefly in a look of embarrassed sympathy.

“Ah, shit- Wes,” the Slayer said, starting to reach out, but then thinking better of it. “You, uh, got any bandages in the car?”

“Faith,” he said again, that way she knew all too well. Though time and trauma had beaten the intellectual superiority and overtly British condescension out of his tone, the disappointment never changed. The way those five letters left his lips told the girl all she needed to hear. 

He continued on, wondering if his confidence in her abilities had been misplaced at all. Their search for Angelus was serious- there was no time for Faith to 'figure out' how to once again be an effective Slayer, tracker, hunter, or whatever it was she needed to be to accomplish this mission. If prison had dulled her senses, then the soulless vampire would not waste a moment to utterly annihilate her. The natural cycle of day and night were on their side now, Los Angeles no longer a perpetual vampire playground, but that did not make matters any easier. Angelus was an effective, brutal killer in any condition. Was that clear to the Slayer?

“Forgive me if I’m new to this whole ‘working as a team’ thing, if that’s what you even want to call us,” Faith defended. Even before her stint in prison, she was always used to going it alone. So, yeah, she hadn’t considered Wesley in the fight, and he got stabbed covering for her. Was she supposed to apologize for that?

-Then again, maybe yes. It was her lack of foresight that caused him harm, whether directly or not. She didn’t want to be babied, but the former Watcher had brought her out here for a reason. She either failed him- and Angel, and by extension all of Los Angeles- or learned from her mistakes and did better the next time around.

Faith sighed. “I’m sorry, Wes. Let’s get you bandaged, stay frosty, and hit the next bar. Consider this my one and only warm up.” She removed her denim jacket and tied the sleeves tightly around his right shoulder to hopefully stanch the blood until they could patch that properly. Surely this guy kept an emergency kit in the car- if he had a shotgun, he would have a bandage.

The Slayer handed Wesley his weapon, which he slung over the uninjured shoulder. The pair walked down through the alley towards their car, mostly in silence. Before they hit the street again, Faith turned to look back to where they’d started, in case any opportunistic vampires had followed them out. Nothing.

She sighed, turning back towards Wes. “Bar two- the Half Wolf Moon. Guess we’d better get to it- this time, I’ve got your back, boss.”

[mindfulwrathwrites]

Powered (Excerpt): Meet “Cute”

The first appearances of two of our main cast!

Words: 1,931 Warnings: Alcohol use, classism

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...

Lupe was having the luckiest bad day of their life, and if it didn't let up soon, they were going to collapse from the stress.

First, it had been the flooding—an event that easily could have killed a dozen people or more, but from which Lupe had escaped without getting so much as a toe in the water. Then it was getting trapped in the swanky office building, where they were sure to get caught and arrested, only to see on the news that the only thing stopping them from leaving was some weirdo up on the roof. And then, it was ARCOM's killer robot and its—handler?—which had almost shot Lupe dead on the spot but decided not to at the last second, instead chasing off after the weirdo in the mask and opening, however unintentionally, Lupe's escape.

So Lupe had hidden in the stairwell in case the Division showed up before the water cleared (they hadn't), and had taken the back-alleys and underpasses out of downtown in case the regular cops were looking for them (they weren't), and was now holed up in a booth at the back of the one Powered bar in Albuquerque, accompanied only by the tinnitus ringing in their ears, nursing a gin and tonic and supposing they ought to feel relieved.

They didn't.

An acrylic nail tapping on the table brought them back to the present. Their favorite bartender, Jess, was standing table-side, rainbow dreadlocks bright against dark skin.

"Starting to pick up in here, honey," she said. "You might wanna start thinking about heading out, before you lose all your elbow room."

"You can't just let me out the back again?" Lupe asked.

"I'd love to, except Cindy's working tonight, and she's been looking for an excuse to fire me."

"Is Cindy the racist one?"

"Take a wild guess."

Lupe winced. "Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Is it okay if I finish my drink first, or. . . ?"

"You got time. I'll get you a lemonade to go so we ain't just kicking you out. On the house."

"Are you sure? You don't have to."

She pressed a hand to her chest and sighed hugely. "If I don't, you might leave us a bad review."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to," they said.

"It's a joke, we're already drowning in bad reviews from normies. Zero stars, service was terrible and it was full of mutants, I felt sooooo threatened when everybody got mad at me for calling them slurs."

Lupe snorted. "Has that happened?"

"Weekly, honey, weekly."

"I'm sorry."

She grinned. "It's all good. They never stick around too long." She tapped her nail on the table again, and a breath of blue flame rolled up the back of her hand. "Lemme get you that lemonade before I forget."

Lupe gave her a lazy, two-finger salute as she moved off. They sucked down a few good gulps of their gin and tonic. Maybe Jess had gone a little heavy on the gin, or maybe it was just that Lupe hadn't eaten in almost twenty-four hours, but it was hitting them harder than usual. They checked their pockets for change and found about four dollars—and since they were getting kicked out before they could get another drink, maybe they'd go get a burger, instead. As they stuffed the cash back in their pocket, somebody pulled up to their booth.

"Mind if I join you?"

He was white, mousy, and freckly, with short-cropped brown hair and a midwestern accent. He was wearing thick-rimmed glasses, a green flannel over a band T-shirt, dark jeans washed a few too many times. He had a drink in each hand.

"I—I was actually just leaving, sorry, it's all yours," said Lupe, scooching outward.

The guy's face fell. "You were?"

"Yeah, it just—I just have to—" They cast around for Jess, but she was nowhere to be seen. They didn't need the free lemonade, anyway; they should get out of here while they could, before this poor guy put a foot in the wrong place and got electrocuted.

"I guess I have to drink both of these, now," he sighed, looking down at the two drinks. One was a beer. The other was clear and bubbly and had a slice of orange in it.

"Well," said Lupe. They fidgeted. "You weren't—you didn't—did you. . . ?"

He offered the cocktail to them. "It was supposed to be for you," he said hopefully.

Lupe fidgeted some more. The room wasn't too crowded yet, and one drink couldn't hurt, especially if it was free. Jess was up at the bar now, busy with a large group of young women that had just come in. Lupe gestured to the other side of the booth.

"I'll save you from the spare drink," they said. "Just be careful where you put your feet, I run at a pretty lethal voltage."

The guy stopped halfway to sitting down. He stared. Lupe shrugged.

"No wonder you're back here all by yourself," the guy said faintly.

"Yeah," said Lupe. "It's fine if you—"

The guy slid the rest of the way into the booth and pulled his feet up after him, sitting cross-legged. With one finger, he pushed the cocktail across to Lupe.

"It's a Tom Collins," he said. "You struck me as the ginny type."

"That—that's a nine-dollar drink," Lupe objected, torn between being flattered and gravely suspicious.

"Yeah," said the guy. He gestured to his own. "And this is a three-dollar beer, split the difference."

Lupe struggled for words. They looked from the cocktail to the guy and back again. They swirled the tiny straws around in case it stirred up any suspicious white powder, which it didn't.

"What did you say your name was?" Lupe asked the guy.

"Zach," he said. "He/him pronouns, if anybody's counting."

"Oh—oh," said Lupe. Something fluttered in their chest, a sigh of relief. "I'm Lupe. Um. They/them."

"Pleased to meet you," said Zach. "I'd shake your hand, but—"

"Yeah, don't—don't do that. So, you—so—you're . . . Powered? I mean, Watt's, it's sort of—it's not like they card you, and if that's too personal, obviously, you don't have to answer, I just. . . ."

"Barely," Zach said, amused but taking pity. "Just enough to make my normie friends nervous."

"Do you mind if I ask what it is?"

"Eh, sure. You showed me yours, I'll show you mine."

In the blink of an eye, he was gone—into thin air, without so much as a puff of smoke or a flash of light. Before Lupe had gotten done being surprised, though, he was back, scrunching his nose like he needed to sneeze.

"That's not barely," said Lupe, astounded.

"No, it doesn't work like you think it does. For example—cameras. It doesn't work on cameras, for some reason. I'm like a reverse-vampire or something. And it gives me migraines if I hold it for more than a minute or so."

"Ohhh, yeah, that—that's not great. I guess it's fun at parties?"

"It's the best at parties," Zach said viciously, grinning. "I hate parties. And now nobody can make me stay, because as soon as nobody's looking, I can literally disappear."

Lupe chuckled and had a sip of their cocktail. It was mild and delicious, like a carbonated gin-lemonade, and there was no hint of a salty Rohypnol aftertaste. Maybe, they thought, this guy really was just being nice.

"Silver linings?" they said. "I don't know, I haven't been to a party in . . . Christ, probably twenty years."

Zach sucked in a breath through his teeth, wincing. "Yeah, what with the voltage and everything, I guess that's probably a little fraught. Don't worry, you're not missing much. Parties suck."

"But bars don't?"

"So long as there's no parties going on in them."

Lupe stirred their drink, being careful not to touch the table. At the bar, Jess was entertaining the group of young women, lighting their drinks on fire with her fingers (to their great delight). Zach watched them, amused, his chin on his hand, his beer untouched.

"Um," said Lupe. "I um. Look, before, um . . . I appreciate the drink, and the—the company, but I just want to make it clear that I'm not really, um, interested in—in—not that you're not—but I'm, sort of, very asexual? So—"

Zach turned back to them, startled. "What? No, no, that's not what this is about. I'm straight."

"You're what?" said Lupe. Their face went hot. "Oh, no, of course, right, I just—"

"Not that you're not a good-looking guy—sorry, person. You're just not my type."

"No, yeah, same, but I just kind of . . . forgot about straight people. Hahah."

"You don't get out much, huh," said Zach, with that same amused-pity look from before.

"I'm homeless, I'm always out," said Lupe, and then realized that it was a top-tier idiot thing to say.

"Holy shit, seriously?" Zach said. "You don't look—okay, you kind of do look homeless, but I figured that was just a fashion choice."

"And you don't look like an ignorant dick, but here we are," Lupe retorted. Maybe they'd had a little too much to drink. Whatever. A remark like that deserved a little snappishness.

Zach winced. "Okay, I deserved that," he said. "But—man, that's rough. Do you need a place to stay, or something? I could put you up at a hotel for a couple of days, or—"

"Don't, just—don't," Lupe sighed, holding up a hand. "It doesn't work. Unless you can find a hotel that doesn't use keycards, it won't work. Just—forget I said anything."

"Are you sure?" Zach pressed. "You could stay at my place, if you needed to. Not forever, I'm kind of already maxed out on roommates, but for a while. Until you get—"

"Get my feet back underneath me?" Lupe filled in. "Sure, I just have to find a job where they don't require you to touch any computers, machines, or other people. Oh, and it has to be no-experience-required, too, and no high school diploma, and not need a physical address or an ID or a phone number, and and and. It won't happen. Trust me."

Zach stared at them, full-pity, looking like a lost puppy in the rain. Lupe shook their head and muttered in Spanish under their breath and looked someplace else. The pity was always the hardest to take.

"Well—do you want dinner, then?" Zach asked. "I could buy you dinner, at least."

"I don't want your goddamn charity," Lupe snapped. A bolt cracked off their wrist and earthed in the center of the table. Someone shrieked. Zach froze, whey-faced. The smell of burnt lacquer rose in a plume. Lupe ground their teeth and took deep breaths and waited for the whine in their ears to soften. Before it did, Jess sidled over.

"Hey, honey," she said. "Hate to butt in, but I think it's about time for you to be heading on out."

"Yeah," said Lupe. They abandoned the rest of their cocktail and got up, dizzy. "Sorry about the table."

"Don't worry about it. You ain't hardly the worst thing that's happened to a table in here."

They faked a smile, nodded to her, and headed for the door. Despite the crowd, a wide path opened for them. Every eye in the place watched as they went.

[thebisexualdogdad]

Club Whitespire

Co written with @inhumanshadows

Inspired by this post

Ao3 version

"Quentin where the hell are we going?" Julia says looking out the car window not recognizing the part of downtown they were driving through. 

"It's a surprise," Quentin replies knowing how annoyed Julia was. 

A few minutes later they are finally pulling into a parking lot and Julia stares up at the neon flashing sign on top of the building. 

"Quentin Coldwater you did not bring me to a strip club!" Julia shouts. 

"Happy Birthday!" Quentin says cheerfully.

Julia looks at her friend, “Please tell me you’re joking....” 

“Nope! Come on. First round on me?”

“First two rounds Coldwater.”

Julia reluctantly enters the club, a girl with the name tag Fen letting them inside and shows them to a table. 

They put in their drink order to a server who introduced herself as Alice. 

"So who do you want to get a dance from?" Quentin asks. 

"I'm not getting a lap dance, we're just watching the stage," Julia huffs.

“Okay...” Quentin says, holding his hands up.

Alice returns with their drinks, Quentin locking eyes with the bartender. 

"I think I've seen that guy on tinder," Quentin whispers to Julia. 

"You should go talk to him," Julia tells him. 

"You're just trying to distract me from convincing you to get a lap dance," Quentin laughs. 

Julia opens her mouth to tell him some witty comeback but her throat goes dry when the latest dancer gets welcomed to the stage. 

"Let's hear it for Scarlett, " the announcer states.

Julia’s train of thought is brought to a screeching halt as a beautiful woman struts onto the stage.

Holy shit

“That’s my wife...” Julia says breathlessly to no one. She goes and finds a seat closer to the stage and waits for the performance to begin.

Meanwhile Q makes his way over to the bar.

"What can i get ya?" the bartender asks. 

"Whisky neat," Quentin replies. 

"Your friend there seems to be quite enticed by Scarlett," he says pouring a glass of whiskey. 

Quentin looks back to Julia who is watching intently at the girl dancing. 

"It's her first time at a strip club," Quentin says casually. 

"You should get her a private dance," he suggests. 

"She would actually kill me... Though it is her birthday," Quentin thinks, "who i talk to about setting up a private dance?" 

"That would be Margo, I'll go get her," he tells Quentin, "I'm Eliot by the way handsome."

“How much for the-“

“It’s on the house.”

And just like that Eliot was gone, off to get Margo... whoever that was. Q slowly drank the whiskey and watched his friend become more enraptured with Scarlett.

With his glass empty Quentin left a tip on the counter before making his way back to Julia. 

"Guess what," he said quietly taking a seat next to her in front of the stage. 

"What," she mumbled never taking her eyes off the dancer. 

"I got you a private dance with Scarlett," he smiled. 

"Quentin!" Julia grunted a little louder than intended causing some of the other patrons to glare at her for the disturbance. 

Scarlett didn't mind, she grinned to herself overhearing the conversation, the girl was cute she thought.

As mad as she sounded, Julia can’t help but feel excited. But now she’s watching as Q awkwardly sits at the bar trying to chat up the bartender.

“El’s single if you’re friend wants to know.” A voice suddenly says next to Julia.

“Oh uh.-“

“I’m Margo Hanson, owner of “club whitespire”

"Julia... Julia Wicker," she said shyly. 

"I can tell you're nervous but don't be, human sexuality is to be embraced not resisted this club is for everyone to have some fun," Margo said highlighting that her club featured dancers of all genders. 

"I've just never been in a place like this," Julia explained. 

"Well Scarlett is one of our best and she can show you all places like this have to offer," she smiled.

“Thank you.” 

“If you need anything don’t be afraid to ask me or Eliot or Scarlett. Enjoy your time here, Julia.”

A new dancer was taking the stage with the name Echo and Scarlett was now approaching Julia. 

"I've been  told you requested a dance," she said putting her hand on Julia's shoulder, "right this way." 

Julia gulped and stood, following Scarlett to one of the private rooms. 

Quentin gave her a thumbs up as she passed him and Eliot chuckled. 

Once inside the room Scarlett  motioned for Julia to sit down on the couch which she did nervously. 

The song started playing and Scarlett leaned down and whispered in her ear, "relax beautiful and enjoy the show."

Julia lets out a breath she didn’t know she had as Scarlett starts to sway.

Back in the main room Quentin was on his third whiskey. 

“Hey. Let me go on break before you get sloshed and I miss a chance for actual conversation.”

"I've seen you tinder," Quentin blurts out thanks to his liquid courage. 

"I know," Eliot laughs, "I messaged you and you never messaged me back." 

"You were so hot i was scared," Quentin says holding his head embarrassed. 

"Good thing you can't run away this time," Eliot tells him, "you want to go out back for a smoke?"

“I don’t really smoke but I’ll join you.”

Meanwhile back in the room Julia was entranced with the way Scarlett was moving her body. 

When Scarlett climbed onto Julia's lap she near forgot how to breathe. 

Her hips rolled in time with the music and Julia couldn't look away.

Scarlett puts her arms around Julia. “You look amazing...” She says. 

“You look beautiful.” Julia replies.

"How sweet," she smiles. 

Scarlett brings her lips so close to Julia's she can feel her breath hitch. 

Julia wants so badly to close the distance and kiss her but she knows she shouldn't. 

Suddenly the song is ending and Scarlett is pulling away from her. 

"How was that?" Scarlett asks raising an eyebrow. 

"It- it was incredible," Julia stumbles. 

"Good, I hope to see you again sometime," she grins walking out the door, leaving Julia a mess.

Julia takes a moment to collect herself before leaving the room and finding Quentin who was shivering. 

"Q why the hell are you so cold?" Julia questions. 

"I went outside with Eliot... I have a date tomorrow night," Quentin says with an awkward smile. 

"Only you would come to a strip club and leave with a date," Julia sighs. 

"How was your dance," he says suggestively. 

"I uh- would like to come back again," she says softly watching Quentin get giddy with excitement.

“Sweet! So... how was she?”

“She was nice”

“Just nice?”

"She was… breathtaking," Julia muttered. 

"So I did good this birthday?" Quentin egged on. 

"Yes Q, you did good," Julia smiled.

Meanwhile in the prep room of Club Whitespire:

“Come on Kady! You totally like her!”

“Drop it Penny...”

"I haven't seen you smile like that in a long time," he teased. 

"So what if i did like her? It would be unprofessional to date a client," she muttered. 

"Like Margo would care, Eliot asked that guy out that she was with," he informed her. 

"Wait he did?" 

"Yeah so you can ask her out."

Cue Fen

“Ooh Ask who out?! That pretty brunette?”

“Gah! Fen don’t do that!” Penny warns. “Yes if you must know.”

“Hey Fen?” Kady starts. “If you’re here... who’s watching the doors?”

"Josh is," Fen says cheerfully. 

"Fen, last time Josh manned the door he charged people and pocketed the cash for weed," Kady added. 

"Oh yeah... I should probably go but Kady you should definitely ask that girl out," Fen said heading back to the front.

Kady and Penny sigh at Fen's staggering energy. "She has a point, Kady. What harm could asking her out do?"

"I- well- it would.... Fuck you Penny"

Penny laughs as Kady gets up and heads to the stage for her last performance of the night. 

And while she dances only Julia is on her mind. 

-- 

The next day Julia wakes up to many texts and missed calls from a panicked Quentin

Half awake she dials Quentin's number and listens to it ring. 

"Julia!" Quentin yells fully waking her up now. 

"What do you want Q it's 9am," she groans. 

"You need to come over right now," he tells her. 

"Why? Are you alright?" She says concerned. 

"You need to help me pick an outfit for my date tonight!" 

"Are you serious?"

“This is no time for jokes, Jules! We are in crisis!!!”

“Fine fine! Be over in an hour... you bi disaster.”

“I heard that!”

Julia hangs up and trudges to the shower. She gets ready and grabs coffee on the way to Quentin’s.

She knocks to reveal her friend. “I’m here. Now what?”

"Flannel or denim?" He says holding up two jackets. 

"This is gonna be a long day," she sighs.

Two hours later Quentin finally has an outfit he likes even though the last six were just as good.

"Should I ask Eliot for Scarlett's number?" Quentin asked Julia.

"What no way!" She shouted, "I don't even know her real name." 

"So I'll ask for that first," he shrugged. 

"Quentin Coldwater you better not."

Quentin looks at her with a serious expression "You know I'm going to."

"Quentin!!"

"What's the big deal, she was totally into you." 

"That's her job she has to be nice to everyone," Julia sighs. 

"Eliot did say you were her type." 

"... He did?"

--

"So where are we going?" Quentin asked getting into Eliot's car. 

"The Muntjack Diner, best food in town or at least it is when you're hungover," Eliot laughed. 

"Sounds good," Quentin smiles. 

Eliot turns the radio up as they drive across town.

The ride there is quiet, presumably nerves and saving conversation for the diner. 

They arrive twenty minutes later and grab a booth. 

“What’ll it be boys?” A waitress with the nametag “Fray” inquires.

“Just two waters for now.” Eliot says. Fray walks off.

 "What do you plan on getting?" Quentin asks. 

"I'm not sure I've never looked at the menu sober," Eliot jokes. 

A few minutes later Fray comes back and they put in their orders. 

"So what made you want to be a bartender?" 

"I prefer mixologist," Eliot tells him, "and I've always had a knack for the subject and when Margo decided to open the club of course i couldn't refuse her offer to work for her."

“So I take it you guys have been friends for a while then?”

“Yeah. She’s my ride or die and my impulse control. What about you and your friend?”

"We've been inseparable since the day she punched my kindergarten bully," Quentin chuckles. 

"And what inclined you to being her the to club it is a very bold birthday gift for someone who's never been?" 

"Julia's been stressed over work recently i thought she could use a fun night out," Quentin tells him. 

"What do you guys do for work?" 

"We're both TA's at the college, I'm in the literature department Julia is a Biochem major.”

“Impressive... impressive.”

Before either of them could ask another question, Fray brings their food to the table. 

"By the way could i get Julia's number for Kady? Scarlett I mean, her real name is Kady," Eliot asks as they eat. 

"Oh shit I was going to ask you for Kady's number for Julia," Quentin says mid bite.

“Well then looks like a win for both of us on that front.” Eliot laughs before taking another bite

“Looks like.”

Later that night Julia is laying in bed when her phone vibrates and she sees a text from Quentin. 

"Look what i scored," he says with a phone number attached and a second text comes in, "call her Jules."

Julia hesitates to dial the number when all of a sudden the same number is now ringing on her screen. 

"Hello?" She says nervously. 

"Hey Julia, it's Kady i got your number from Eliot," Kady tells her. 

"And I got your number from Quentin, i was just about to call you," Julia says smiling at the sound of Kady's voice.

“So... I um.... I was wondering if you wanted to maybe grab a cup of coffee sometime? Get a chance to see me off a stage and in more clothes. Wait I-.” Kady rambles on before taking a deep breath. “So... whaddya say?”

There’s silence on the other end and Kady’s already frayed nerves are on edge.

“... I’d like that very much. I’ll send you the address of a few nice places and we can chat tomorrow about it. Is that okay?” Julia asks.

"That sounds great, I look forward to seeing you again," Kady says. 

Julia can't see it but she can tell Kady is smiling too. 

"I can't wait," Julia replies and she falls asleep easier than she has in months. 

[turtle-steverogers]

Summer Nights

HOLY SHIT ME??? POSTING A FIC??? wow.....

warnings: alcohol, smoking, abuse mentions...would y’all believe me if i said its actually really fluffy? also, the use of ‘pal’ as a term of endearment because i’ve been reading way too much stucky

ship: sprace

editing: actually, yeah

word count: a whopping 4038

-

May 

“So where’d you get your fake ID?” Spot startles and chokes on the glass of Jack and Coke that he had been nursing.  His throat burns as the vile liquid travels down his esophagus much faster than he would have liked and he looks with watery eyes at the person who had spoken to him.  

The guy is tall and somewhat lanky with blonde hair that seems to shoot out in various directions.  His eyes glint behind a pair of black framed glasses and are highlighted by the bags that hang underneath them.  His face is set in a permanent smirk, but there’s a tired essence about him.

“Excuse me?” Spot manages, trying to suppress the coughing fit that threatens to overtake him.

“There’s no way you’re older than me,” The guy scoffs, “So I’m wondering how you managed to get your drink.”

Spot’s gaze travels down to the cigarette perched between the guy’s fingers, nose scrunching as the smell hits him and his neck tingles with desire.  

The guy seems to notice his stare and he scoffs, “You want one?”

Spot shakes his head, “I shouldn’t.”

“But you do want one,” The guy says slowly, raising his eyebrows, “Don’t you?”

Spot gives him a half-hearted shrug, raising his glass to his lips and taking a small sip.  

The guy chuckles, “Suit yourself,” he takes a drag, settling on the stool next to Spot.  Spot gives him a side glance as a bartender swoops past, asking to see the guy’s ID, before sliding a glass of rum and Sprite over to him.

“Where’d you get yours, then?” Spot asks, eyes flicking down to the glass as the guy snubs out his cigarette in one of the provided ashtrays.

“Hm?” The guy doesn’t seem too bothered as he knocks back half of his drink in a single gulp.

“Your fake ID.”

“Oh,” The guy says, swallowing, “A friend.”

“Oh,” Spot pauses circling his drink around for a few moments, peering at its contents, “I’m almost 21.”

The guy looks at him, eyebrows raised, “Yeah? How old are you, then?”

“Twenty,” Spot says, “My birthday’s in December.”

“You’re still like,” The guy furrows his eyebrows, thinking, “7 or so months out then.”

Spot shrugs, “Close enough.  How old’re you?”

“I’m nineteen, turning twenty in August.”

“Cool,” They fall into an awkward silence, although the guy looks generally at ease.  Spot clears his throat, motioning for the bartender to bring him another drink.  Another glass is passed to him and he brings it to his lips, intoxication swirling in his gut.

“You live around here?” The guy asks.

Spot nods, “Just got home from school.”

“Ah,” The guy nods, understanding flashing across his face, “S’that why you’re here?”

“What?”

“Well the last semester just ended, like, last week,” The guy points out, “At least it did for me, so we haven’t been home very long.  Are you already sick of it?”

“Sick of what?” Spot squints at the guy, dumbly.

“Being home,” The guy’s voice had turned from jovial to unsettlingly serious.  He fixes Spot with a hard, knowing look.

Spot squares his shoulders, turning to face the guy all the way, “Why,” he demands, “are you?”

The guy seems to shrink in on himself a little bit and Spot feels a pang of guilt shoot through him before he remembers that the guy had started it.

“What’s your name?” The guy asks, shaking out his shoulders, his smirk returning to his face.

“I don’t even know you,” Spot says, warily.

“Hi,” The guy sticks out a hand, which Spot shakes briefly, “I’m Race.  There, now you know me.  What’s your name?”

“Spot.”

“‘Cause of your freckles?” The guy, Race, blurts out.  His eyes widen and he backtracks, stuttering over his words, “Unless that’s not, like, a nickname and-”

Spot quirks an eyebrow, amusement playing on his lips, “No, you’re right,” Race’s shoulders sag in relief, “My old foster brother started calling me that when we moved in together.”

“Oh, nice.”

“Yeah,” Spot says, “Race?”

“Yeah?”

“No,” Spot shakes his head, “Why Race?”

“Oh,” Race blushes, “I don’t really know.  My dad always told me I was racing to catch up with my head and it kinda stuck.”

Spot nods, tucking the information somewhere in the forefront of his mind, but not answering.  The silence that stretches back out between them is welcome this time, a new sort of familiarity in it.  Something dynamic in the pause strikes a chord with Spot, a rare understanding bounding between them.  Race’s presence no longer renders a threat, although the mischief that seems to emanate off the other boy doesn’t go unnoticed.  But as they sit there, idly sipping their drinks, Spot becomes increasingly aware that the mischief isn’t directed at him.

“Well,” Race grunts, sliding his glass away with a sigh and checking his watch, “I’m outta here,” he hops off his stool, briefly stretching his shoulders, “see you ‘round, Spottie,” he pauses for a moment, eyes boring into Spot intensely before lightening, “try not to commit arson in your home or something.”

Spot barks out a startled laugh, “Same to you, pal.”

But Race is already gone.

XXX

“I quit last year.”

Spot skips the pleasantries, gesturing to the cigarette that Race was currently working to light.  His head is buzzing minutely, nothing to be entirely concerned about, but the alcohol didn’t fail to make its presence in his system known.  He’d lasted a few days sober in his home before he gave into the seedy bar’s beckon call and strolled out the front door, looking for an escape.  

Spot couldn’t necessarily say he’s surprised to see Race back- he seems the type to frequent the place- but his presumptuous aura is absent as he startles, wide, red-rimmed eyes fixating on Spot’s.

Spot’s eyebrows furrow, but Race looks away before he can speak. 

“Fuck off, I don’t need shitty life advice right now,” He grumbles, pocketing his lighter and inhaling a tangy lungful of smoke.

Spot raises his hands in mock surrender, “No life advice, got it.  You okay?”

Race scoffs, gaze still cast to the side.  Spot can see the misty lamplight twinkling in his eyes, but the playful light that had been there last time is nowhere to be seen.  It’s disconcerting.

“You wanna talk about it?” Spot asks casually, moving to lean against the damp, brick wall next to Race, “Believe it or not, I listen pretty well.”

Race doesn’t look at him as he takes a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a long, thin line, “I don’t even know you.”

“You know my name,” Spot smirks, “that was enough for you the other day.”

Race doesn’t seem to have an answer to that.  He takes another drag, then holds his cigarette up to the light, studying it with a resentful eye. 

“I don’t like smoking,” He concedes, “It’s just the only thing that can ever-“

“-Keep you sane?” Spot guesses, knowing all too well what he meant. 

Race spares a glance at him, “Yeah.”

Spot skips letting him know that he gets it.  Hell knows Race probably doesn’t want to hear it.

Instead he asks, “Does anything else keep you sane?”

Race scoffs again. He seems to do that a lot.  Like the world is sad and laughable.  It kind of is. 

“Uh,” Race scrunches up his nose, dropping his arm to his side, cigarette still secure between his nimble fingers, but momentarily forgotten, “Writing.” 

Spot carefully avoids letting his surprise slip, “What kind of writing?”

Race shrugs, fingers going loose.  Spot eyes flick to the falling cigarette.  Something sort of like pride wells in his chest.  The hardest part is already done.  Letting go.  

Not that quitting is going to be easy in any respect from here on out, but that initial admission to the notion is key.  And it looks like Race has given in. 

“Anything.  Stories, memoirs, thoughts,” He trails off for a moment, thinking, “just not poetry.  I suck at poetry.”

“Poetry is overrated, anyway.”

A moment of silence.  Race carefully stomps on the butt of the cigarette, “I guess.”

June

“I haven’t smoked for two weeks.”

Spot looks up from his bottle, something he could almost mistake for fondness swelling in his chest.  Race slides onto the stool next to him, waving over the bartender and gesturing for a beer.  The bartender hands it to him and sidles away.

Spot allows his gaze to scan over his new friend, noting that while he looks exhausted, there’s a healthier quality about him.  The bags under his eyes have let up a bit and the sallow, stretched skin of his cheeks have become fuller- redder.  He catches sight of the notebook that’s cradled protectively in Race’s grasp, but doesn’t say anything.  If Race wants to show him, he will.  

“I’m proud of you,” Spot says genuinely, taking a sip of his beer and facing forward again.

The now expected silence settles over them again.  

“And I’ve been writing more again,” Race admits, sheepishly holding up the notebook.  He delicately opens it, flipping through the pages slowly until he lands on one that has been bookmarked by an old movie ticket.

“I don’t usually let anyone see it, but…” He turns it towards Spot and thrusts it into his grasp, “If you want, uh, you can look.”

Realizing the underlying establishment of trust that accompanies the gesture, Spot takes the notebook, being careful to keep his expression judgement free.  He reads the passage- a short, choppy piece that doesn’t entirely make sense to him.  It’s a memory, that much is clear, but key details are missing.  It’s more of an imagery work, bringing Spot to an old park somewhere in Race’s childhood.  He isn’t sure exactly what importance or deep-felt symbolism the park may hold, but it’s obvious that it’s special to Race.  And if it’s been keeping Race from smoking, well, that’s a win then. 

“That was brilliant, Race,” Spot says genuinely as he carefully closes the notebook and hands it back, “Has it helped?”

Race looks at the notebook, a small, half-smile on his face, “So far.”

XXX

“Wanna take a walk?”

This time, Spot isn’t surprised to see Race standing expectantly next to him.  The notebook is back in his grip, but it seems to be more of a comforting presence than anything else.  Race is fiddling with the movie ticket bookmark that peeks out the top, running his thumb over the worn, leather bounding.

“Sure,” Spot answers before he can give too much thought to the notion.

Race’s face breaks into a wide grin and Spot finds himself mirroring it.

“Awesome, c’mon,” Race says, taking the glass out of Spot’s grip and replacing it with his hand.  

He pulls Spot out of the bar and doesn’t let go as he leads him down the street.  It’s decently late and as they venture further away from town and closer to the surrounding neighborhoods, the company of people surrounding them ceases.  They take a sudden turn into a little cul-de-sac and Race slows their pace as they cross to the other side of the street.  In front of them sits a small playground.  It looks old.  Everything is made of wood or metal and Spot can see pieces of paint chipping off the sets.

“Oh,” Spot murmurs, mind venturing to the passage Race had shown him the other day.

“Yeah,” Race says, leading Spot to the swingset and nodding for him to perch on one of the swings.  They sit, rocking back and forth in companionable quiet, “Why did you decide to quit?” Race asks after a moment.

Spot thinks for a moment, tilting his head to look at Race.  Race is watching him intently.

“I was tired of not being in control,” Spot says, honestly, “I had lost my mom and my dad was being shitty and so I started smoking to help ease off the edge, but after a while it just made me feel more out of control.  So, I quit.”

Race hums, eyes shifting to his own hand clasped around the chain of the swing, “Was it easy?”

Spot watches him fidget with the chain for a moment, “Is it easy?” 

Race looks back at him, “No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“But it can be done?”

Spot smirks, “I quit, didn’t I?”

Race nods and Spot allows himself to smile, “Then there’s your answer.”

XXX

“I like you, Spot.”

Spot blinks, turning his head to look at Race.  They’re back at the park, this time in the early morning.  He wasn’t sure when they’d gotten so close, but sometime between the last park visit and now, phone numbers had been exchanged and bonds tied tighter.  What they seemed to have was nice.  Never had Spot felt so real and raw with a person before, but in the span of a few weeks, Race had wormed himself into his life.  They didn’t talk very often about themselves, but the understanding of each other they seemed to have meant they didn’t have to.  They just got it.

“I like you, too, Race,” Spot says, bemused.

“No, like, I like you,” Race holds eye contact and Spot feels his stomach flip.  Race’s bluntness has always impressed Spot and he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly get used to it.

“Oh,” Is all he can think to say.  It isn’t that he doesn’t like Race back, it’s just that he hasn’t given his feelings much thought.  He’s mostly just run with what feels good in the moment. 

“I think I want to kiss you,” Race continues, gaze never wavering.

Spot feels his heart leap to his throat and he swallows, “Okay,” he manages.

Race raises an eyebrow, “Okay okay? Or just...okay.”

Spot nods, “Okay okay.”

Race smiles and stands from his swing, closing the short distance between them until he’s directly in front of him.  He grips one of the chain handles and rests his other hand on the side of Spot’s face.  Spot stares at him, memorizing the movements.  His own hand finds the taller boy’s hip.

Nothing happens for a moment, then Race leans down, capturing his mouth in a tentative kiss.  Spot hums a little and it’s all Race needs to deepen the kiss.  They move in tandem, feeling out each other’s presence for what could be an eternity.  Then, Race pulls back.

Their foreheads stay pressed together and Spot smiles.

“Thank you,” Race breathes.

“For what?” Spot whispers back.

Race shrugs, “For being here.”

“Thank you, too.”

July

“Why do you like the park so much?” Spot asks one day as they walk away from the bar.  He’s always wondered, but asking seemed too personal.  But now that whatever they have has been solidified, it seems appropriate.

Race doesn’t answer immediately.  Spot didn’t expect him to.

“Went there a lot as a kid,” Race says, “always had been an escape.  Still is.”

Spot nods, “Neat.”

Race laughs, squeezing their conjoined hands, “Neat?  What are you, 50?”

“Maybe,” Spot teases, eyes crinkling as he looks up at Race, “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Ewww,” Race whines, scrunching up his nose, “I do not want to think about kissing on an old man.”

“You brought it on yourself, pal,” Spot says, shaking his head.

“I know, but you- ugh, nevermind.”

They take their usual seats on the swings, hands still clasped together between them.  Spot smiles.  He’s happy.

XXX

The first setback happens a month after Race initially pledges to quit.  Spot had been expecting this.  Granted, lasting out a month without a cig was incredibly impressive, but it still wasn’t a surprise when Spot’s phone rang on a Tuesday afternoon.

He furrows his eyebrows, staring for a moment at Race’s contact photo before sliding his thumb across the screen and lifting his phone to his ear.

“Race?”  He sits up when he hears a jagged cough on the other end, “Hello?”

“Spot,” Race rasps.  He isn’t crying, at least, Spot can’t hear it in his voice, but he sounds miserable, “I fucked up.”

Spot purses his lips.  He knows what he’s talking about- it’s obvious enough- but he wants Race to say it.  Needs to have him talk it out.

“What happened?” He asks, already tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder and pulling on his shoes.  

“I smoked,” Race says.  His tone is dull, plain.  He sounds utterly defeated.

“Did something happen?  Or was it just urges, or-”

“My uncle hit me.”

“Goddamnit,”Spot paused in tying his shoes, taking a moment to draw in a measured breath.  Race didn’t talk much about his home-life, but Spot knew the basics.  He knew that his parents had passed in a car crash and Race had been sent to live with his aunt and uncle.  He knew that things had been good at first, but quickly physical abuse had reared its ugly head and Race was subject to things that no kid should know.  He didn’t know much, but he knew enough to make his blood boil.

“Sorry,” Race’s voice was still lifeless and Spot almost wished that he were crying.  This was just plain scary.

“I’m not mad,” Spot quickly reassures him, “I’m actually proud that you got this far without a smoke.  I’m coming, hang tight.”

“I’m at the park,” Race says, “In case you didn’t figure that already.”

Spot had figured, but he bites his tongue, “thanks, don’t go anywhere.”

He spots Race immediately, sitting on top of the monkey bars instead of the swings.  His head is turned outward, glazed eyes staring at the treetops.  There’s a nasty bruise forming on his left cheekbone, still red and glaring.  Spot’s shoulders sag.  

“Hey,” He calls carefully, not wanting to startle Race into falling.  Something tells him that wouldn’t be especially appreciated right now.

Surprisingly, Race turns towards him.  Spot had speculated that it would take a little coaxing to pull him out of his mind.

“Hey,” Race calls back.  His voice is scratchy and Spot vaguely wonders how many cigarettes he’s had.  Though, looking closer, there’s no sign of a pack or any stubs on the ground.

“I threw them in the forest,” Race mumbles, gesturing aimlessly, “S’why you can’t see any.  I didn’t wanna see any.”

Spot raises his eyebrows.  He’s got a million questions, a million concerns, but he elects to simply say, “I’m proud of you for throwing them.  How many did you have?”

“Only two,” Race watches him as he climbs up next to him, settling down on one of the bars, “only two…”

“That’s...not as bad as I thought,” Spot admits, “good job.”

Race scoffs, “Don’t praise me for messing up.”

“I’m not,” Spot says firmly, tapping his chin to get him to look at him “I’m praising you for realizing that it was a mistake and actively preventing yourself from having another.  I couldn’t even do that when I was tryna quit.”

“Oh,” Race looks down at his hands and Spot reaches out to grab one, “Okay.”

“Lemme see,” Spot says gently, lifting a careful hand as Race turns his head to the side, allowing for a full view of the abrasion.  Spot gingerly runs a finger over it, immediately stopping when Race winces, “Hurts still?”

Race nods, “He got me good.”

“Wanna talk about what happened?” It was probably a ‘no’, but Spot always offered, anyway.  Just to let Race know that he could.

“No,” Race mumbles.

“Alright,” Yep, as predicted, “Let’s get you some ice.”

He climbs down, waiting close by to help Race if he needs it.  A moment later, they’re walking towards town, hands linked together in Spot’s jacket pocket.

August

“Hey, happy birthday,” Spot greets Race with a smile, handing him a small parcel.  Race looks up at him from where he’s sitting at the swing and Spot is instantly reminded of their first kiss.  His smile grows.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Race says, biting his lip to hold back a smile of his own.

“Yeah, I did,” Spot rolls his eyes, stepping forward so that Race’s knees were resting against his shins, “Open it.”

Race blushes a little, bowing his head as he unwraps the gift.  Spot watches as his fingers slip underneath the tape, carefully unsticking each fold.  It always baffled Spot how meticulous Race is.  He emanates such boisterous chaos that Spot would have never pegged him for the gentle type.  But with Race, the surprises never really stopped.

“Fuck,” Race breathes, jaw going slack as he takes the new notebook out of the paper.  It’s a little bigger than the one he has at home and in much better shape.  He holds it to his nose, closing his eyes as he notes that the leather smells real, “this is beautiful, Spot.”

Spot’s grin turns into something a little more gentle, “I knew you were running out of pages in your other one, so I thought…” Spot takes Race in as he opens the notebook, running the pads of his fingers over the crisp, yellow pages, “Oh and here,” Spot digs into his pocket and pulls out a small pack of .5 mm pens, “these might be a little more fun to write with than a mechanical pencil.”

Race takes the pack and glances up at Spot before cracking open the lid.  He takes one out and uncaps it with his teeth, focusing intently on his paper as he writes out a short message.  His handwriting is surprisingly good and looks even better in the fine, black ink.  He tears out the paper and hands it to Spot.

Spot eyes him amusedly before reading the message,

Much love for you...thank you

Spot smiles, as Race pulls him down by the front of his shirt, “I love you, too,” he mumbles, already closing his eyes.  Their lips fit together like puzzle pieces.

XXX

Spot looks around at the boxes in his room, taking a deep breath as he goes over a mental checklist of anything he might have missed.  

“You all packed?” Race asks, wrapping his arms around Spot’s waist from behind.  He tucks his chin on Spot’s shoulder, pressing a light kiss to his pulse point.

“I’m 99 percent sure,” Spot says, turning to wrap his own arms around Race.

“Good,” Race leans down, pecking a kiss to the tip of his nose, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“S’just college Racer,” Spot says, kissing his chin, “We’ll both be back for Fall and Winter break and shit.”

Race scrunches his nose, an impressive pout forming on his face, “But that’s so long, Spottie,” he whines.

Spot chuckles, “I know, I’m sad, too.”

“One day,” Race’s pout melts away, a smirk spreading across his lips instead, “I’m gonna marry you and college or anything can suck my dick.”

Spot laughs loudly, head tilting back, “You do that.”

Race pulls him back in, capturing him once more in a kiss, “Oh, I will.”

6 Years Later

“Racer, I got the garlic!” 

Spot pushes the door to their apartment closed with his foot, holding the grocery bags above his head as their dog, Linda, bounds up to him.

“Hey, hey, no, Linda- down, babygirl! This food isn’t for you,” He transfers the bags to one hand and shoves Linda off with the other.

“Thank god,” Race pokes his head out of the kitchen, “I was worried that this chicken would have to go herbless and our taste buds would suffer tragically.”

Spot shakes his head, plucking the garlic pod out of the bag and tossing it to his husband, “Drama queen.”

He puts the groceries away, then joins Race at the stove.

“This all smells really good,” Spot says, dipping a finger in whatever pasta sauce Race is making.

“Hey, get your fucking fingers out of my sauce,” Race chides, hitting Spot lightly with a wooden spoon and getting pasta water on the sleeve of his henley.

“Asshole,” Spot bites, but there’s no real malice behind it.

“Mmm, you love me,” Race says, turning back to one of the pots.

Spot gently grabs his elbow, turning him and leaning up to kiss him, “Indeed I do.”

-

hehe

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[hiiggsmonaghan]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 910 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 1920 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 2930 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 3940 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 4950 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 5960 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 6970 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 7980 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 8990 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99

Are you fuckin’ kidding me--?

Alright, I’ll answer them ALL. 

1. Name: Higgs Monaghan Silver/Silvio

2. Nationality: Canadian/Acadian

3. Age: 22

4. Birthday: July 19th 

5. Zodiac sign (or your primal zodiac sign): Cancer

6. Gender: cis male

7. Sexuality: Gay

8. Your looks (add a picture or describe yourself):  This will have to wait until a special reveal. (Future cosplay things.)

9. What do you/did you study?: ... Does Egyptian history count?

10. What's your current job like?/What job would you like to have?: [Nervous laughter] I have no idea what I’d like to do for a job. 

-

11. Your birth order: First child

12. How many siblings do you have?: 1 “real” sibling, but so many siblings by bond.

13. Do you have good relations with your family?: Biological family? Absolutely not. Except for two of my cousins. They are cool.

14. How many friends do you have?: Too many that it’s obnoxious. [Just kidding, I appreciate you all.]

15. Your relationship status: Taken/Engaged

16. What do you look for in a SO?: Someone who can kick my ass. [Who can handle my anger outbursts]

17. Do you have a crush?: No. 

18. When did you have your first kiss?: When I was 14. It was forced and was a terrible experience. 

19. Do you prefer serious and meaningful relationships or casual dating/one night stands?: Meaningful ones, funny enough.

20. What are your deal breakers?: Overly clingy, too loud, not respectful of my music choices

-

21. How was your day?: Cold. Snowstorm happened today.

22. Favourite food & drink: Pizzas/cheeseburgers || Strawberry slushie with tapioca pearls/orange juice

23. What position do you sleep in?: Fetal position. [Hahahah... ha.]

24. What was your last dream about?: Cannot remember.

25. Your fears: The ocean [drowning], deep forests.. uhh... There are others but I cannot think of it at the moment

26. Your dreams: To be on my goddamn motorcycle, livin’ a good life without my mental illness in the way.

27. Your goals: See above.

28. Any pets?: Not yet! Planin’ to get a black cat soon!

29. What are your hobbies?: Music and readin’

30. Any cool places in your area?: Pfft, no. It’s so fuckin’ boring here.

31. What was your last awkward situation?: I was at Tim Horton’s and there was a baby cryin’ behind me so I looked over at it and played... peek-a-boo with them. It was...weird. But at least the baby shut up. The mother didn’t do shit to make the baby stop cryin’ so.. Great Parenting.

32. What is your last regret?: Well too many to really talk about but I’ll go with the funny route and my last regret was not goin’ to Burger King yesterday and eatin’ salad instead of a burger. 

33. Language/s you can speak: English

34. Do you believe in astrological stuff? (Zodiac, tarot, etc.): Not really. It’s all just whatever for me.

35. Have any quirks?: I bite my nails often... I pretend to conduct music while it is playing... uh...???

36. Your pet peeves: Everything.

37. Ideal vacation: Anywhere away from North America.

38. Any scars?: Many. 

39. What does your last text message say?: “Nah”

40. Last 5 things from your search history: Twitter, Vargskelethor’s twitch, Cloud Strife, YouTube, FF7 remake release date

41. What's your [device] background?: RK900 from Detroit Become Human

42. What do you daydream about?: Usually having super strength and throwing people whom bother me across the world or just... punchin’ them. 

43. Describe your dream home: A  simple house, really. Nothin’ too fancy. Just the idea of havin’ my own house? Even if it isn’t that big or anythin’... That is a dream for me. Oh, and I want it painted black. Hah.

44. What's your religion/Your thought about religion: I’d say I’m atheist but... I do believe in God. I AM God. :)

45. Your personality type:  ISTP-T

46. The most dangerous thing you've done: [Looks at the list of dangerous things I have done] ... There are too many

47. Are you happy with your current life?: At the moment? Yeah. There are things I am still angry about but it’s... fine.

48. Some things you've tried in your life: Smoking. Drawing. Singing. Writing. Playing the guitar. ???

-

49. What does your wardrobe consist of?: Black and reds. 

50. Favourite colour to wear?: Black.

51. How would you describe your style?: Goth/punk

52. Are you happy with your current looks?: Eh.. Not really but it’s all I got.

53. If you could change/add something to your appearance - impossible or not - what would it be?: Grow. Damn. Facial. Hair. Holy FUCK.

54. Any tattoos or piercings?: Snake bites. But I took one out so only one lip piercing now. And tattoos? Soon. Very soon. [Gonna be Higgs’ themed, baby.]

55. Do you get complimented often?: No and when I do I make it Stop. I hate it. Never compliment me. 

56. Favourite aesthetic?: Black/gold aesthetics as of late.

57. A popular trend that you dislike: Everything. I hate them all.

- [FINALLY THE ONES I WANTED, JESUS CHRIST]

58. Songs you're currently obsessed with?:  Allesfresser by LINDEMANN 

It’s a great song to listen to for me because I just punch my punching bag to this song. Makes my anger just... go away. It’s fuckin’ nice.

59. Song you normally wouldn't admit you like: .... Let’s Dance by David Bowie

I am a new fan of David Bowie. It just literally started in July or late June. I’m the typical metal head but for some reason Bowie just caught my ear? I dunno, man.

60. Favourite genre?: METAL. Well, Power Metal. I love all sorts of metal except for like.. most death metal/black metal. It is too much for me sometimes. But yeah, if yall are into metal... I’m all ears. I love talkin’ about metal.

61. Favourite artist/band/genre?: Well I already spoke about my favorite genre. For favorite bands? God... Uh.. I have a list here of favorite bands/musicians. Check it out if you’re interested. 

62. Hated popular songs/artists?: Honestly? I’m gonna be one of those guys and say pretty much everything on the radio these days. I don’t like pop/rap and all the most popular stuff. Turning the radio on is ear torture these days. Except for the rock channel, that one is okay most of the time.

63. Put your music on shuffle and list first 5:

1 - System of a Down’s Chop Suey in the Style of Ghost by Ten Second Songs

This guy is simply AMAZING. If yall haven’t already, you NEED to check out his channel. He is wicked talented and he has different styles for different songs. Like for example, Metallica’s Enter Sandman in the style of David Bowie. It’s amazing. 

Check him out. His YouTube is Ten Second Songs.

2 - City by Hollywood Undead

This one just gives me my inner Higgs’ vibes. That is really all I can say.

3 - Mein Teil by Rammstein

4 - Cars by Fear Factory

5 -  龍が如く極 - Turning Point [From Yakuza Kiwami]

Yeah, hi. Yakuza fan here. Do I have to say any more? 

64. Can you sing or play any instruments?: I can kind of sing, [very badly, mind you] and sort of play the guitar. I’m tryin’ to learn Come as You Are by Nirvana at the moment... but that’s about it

65. Do you like karaoke?: 

.... Yes. My inner Nishiki in me just cannot lie about this.

66. Own any albums?: Absolutely. I am a firm believer in albums rather than just buying them digitally. I love having an actual copy in my hands rather just on the computer. 

67. Do you listen to radio? What stations?: Not really. I only listen to the rock station.

-

68. Favourite movie/series?: Star Wars.

69. Favourite genre of movies/books/etc: Uhhh... I don’t know

70. Your fictional crush/es: Sam Fuckin’ Porter Bridges, General Hux, RK900...

71. Which fictional character is you?: [Chuckles nervously] 

Higgs Monaghan-- 

Too many to write down. I’ll just pass myself the trouble.

72. Are you a shipper? List your otps, if so: Eh not really. Only like.. Gavin/RK900 [Reed900] and General Hux/Kylo Ren [Kylux/Huxlo]

73. Favourite greek god?: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh? I don’t know?

74. A legend from where you live that you like: None.

75. Do you like art? What's your favourite work or artist?: I’m gonna be cheesy and say all of my friends because it’s true. I love my friends art.

76. Can you share your other social media?: Yeah sure. My twitter is @hiiggsmonaghan

77. Favourite youtubers?: Markiplier, Jacksepticeye... Streamers: Vargskelethor and Vinesauce

78. Favourite platform?: Tumblr and Twitter

79. How much time do you spend on the internet?: .. Too long

80. What video games have you played? Which one's your favourite?: Ones I have PLAYED that are my favorite: Pokemon, Devil May Cry, Final Fantasy XV, Yakuza 0/Kiwami. 

I also have a lot a games I love that I just watched. Like a lot of Legend of Zelda games and of course Death Stranding!

81. Your favourite books (manga also counts): Anything really by William Blake. I guess that really isn’t a “book” but.. all I really read are poems, Shakespearean plays and Egyptian history books.

82. Do you play board/card games?: No

83. Have you ever been to a night marathon in cinema?: No

84. Favourite holiday: Halloween

85. Are you into dramas?: Not really.

-

86. Would you use death note, if you had one?: ABSOLUTELY. And I do have one. Well... a replica. Not the real one of course.

87. What changes would you make in the world, no matter how impossible, if you had the power to?: Get rid of the racists, rapists, pedos and homo/trans phobes. The world would just be more pleasant to live in, yeah?

88. Could you survive a zombie apocalypse?: Probably. Because I stay inside a lot anyway.

89. If you had to be turned into a paranormal being, what would it be?: A demon because I am that fuckin’ edgy.

90. What would you want to happen to you after your death?: VOID OUT, BITCH. Uh, I don’t know. 

91. If you had to change your name, what would be your pick?: I did change my name so I am happy with it. 

92. Who would you switch your life with for a week?: Uh.. No one. Can that be an option?

93. Pick an emoji to be your tattoo: The devil smiling one I guess?

94. Write 3 things about yourself - only one of them must be true

1. I am in a poly relationship while I am also engaged.

2. I have a knife collection

3.I still used an mp3 instead of using my phone for music

-

95. Cold or hot?: ... Cold because you can get warm with blankets and sweaters while if you are hot, it’s damn impossible to not be hot.

96. Be a hero or be a villain?: Hero in my eyes, but to all of you I’m the villain for some DAMN reason.

97. Sing everything you want to say or rhyme?: Sing I guess. Imagine singing in metal. Holy SHIT

98. Shapeshifting or controlling time?: CONTROLLING TIME.

99. Be immortal or be immune to everything aside from natural death?: Immune to everything. I’m sick of being sick.

====

And there you have it. I’m... fuckin’ DONE. This took literal HOURS, ANON. I hope yall read through this.

[ciathyzareposts]

Game 39: Dog Star Adventure (1979)

The title screen. Note, if you will, the masterful use of negative space.

Before I kick things off, I should mention that I’ve completely redone all the Final Ratings, and converted them to the new RADNESS Index (standing for Righteous Admirability Designation, Numerically Estimating Seven Scores).  I’m pretty pleased with how it’s turned out, and I feel like it’s a much better representation of the relative quality of the games I’ve played.  The top games remain mostly unchanged, but there was a lot of shuffling at the bottom that put the worst games where they belong.  Check out the link on the sidebar if you care about my arbitrary ranking scheme.

*  *  *  *  *

About a month ago, I played Battlestar, a game that culminated in a lightsaber duel with a thinly veiled Darth Vader.  No doubt Star Wars was still in the zeitgeist in 1979, because Vader is back in the game I’m writing about today, Dog Star Adventure.

Oh, sorry, it’s not Darth Vader, it’s “General Doom”.  Doom and his Roche Soldiers are preparing an attack on the Forces of Freedom, and they’ve captured Princess Leya and taken her to one of their battle cruisers.  Geez lads, couldn’t you have tried a bit harder?  Obviously, this game is nicked from the middle third of Star Wars (and no, I’m not going to call it A New Hope, I’m using the movie’s real name).  Intellectual property concerns were definitely not a thing in the gaming community in the late 70s.

Dog Star‘s creator was Lance Micklus, who’s been featured on the blog before as the author of Treasure Hunt, currently languishing near the bottom of my RADNESS Index.  That game was more of a mapping exercise in the style of Hunt the Wumpus, with some light adventure game elements based on inventory.  Dog Star is a proper text adventure.  Reading up on Micklus, I’m surprised to see how prolific he was around this time.  Not only did he create the games above, but he also made a bunch of boardgame adaptations, utilities for programmers, financial software, and a port of the Star Trek game that was such a big deal on the mainframes.  The dude’s got a resume.

Dog Star Adventure was released commercially circa March 1979 for the TRS-80.  At about the same time its code was published in SoftSide, in the issue cover dated May 1979.  This is it’s main claim to fame; as the first text adventure to have its code publicly released it served as a reference point for loads of future game creators.  Micklus never made another text adventure after this, but his creative DNA will be seen in a bunch of games as I progress forward in my chronology.

I couldn’t find the cover to the commercial release, so here’s the cover of the SoftSide issue.

The article accompanying the code in SoftSide gives the backstory to the game.  General Doom has captured Princess Leya aboard her spaceship, as I mentioned above.  They also took a chest containing Melidium crystals, which apparently comprise the entire treasury of the Forces of Freedom.  Leya was also wearing a Shinestone necklace, and encoded in one of the stones is the location of the rebel base.  The player takes the role of a character (presumably a member of the Forces of Freedom) who has stowed away on board her ship.  The goal of the game is to rescue the princess from Doom’s battle cruiser, find the two treasures, and escape.  So yeah, it’s another treasure hunt, but at least this one’s wrapped up in a rescue mission.

The game starts with the player inside the ship, aboard the battle cruiser.  For anyone who’s played a Scott Adams adventure, the style and tone here are very familiar.  As usual, I went through my adventure game preparation routine.  First I checked my inventory, and discovered that I was carrying nothing.  Second, I typed SCORE, and learned that there are 215 points to earn before I can beat the game.  I also tested movement, and was surprised that the standard NESW abbreviations weren’t implemented.  To move around I had to type the full words NORTH, SOUTH, EAST, WEST, UP and DOWN.  Also, I had to use INVEN instead of a simple “I” to check my inventory.  I figured those abbreviations were pretty universal by this point, but not here.  (I also spent a good minute or so wondering why none of my commands were working, until I realised that I had the Caps Lock off.  The game doesn’t register anything unless it’s in all caps.)

User friendliness is big in the future.

There were only two rooms inside the ship: the cockpit and the storage compartment.  The cockpit had a launch button, but pressing it did nothing.  Storage was empty, but I figured that this was where I’d need to bring any treasures I found.  With nothing else to do, I left the ship to explore the battle cruiser.

North and east I found a Vault, but when I tried to enter a voice asked “who goes there?”.  I answered GENERAL DOOM, but apparently I wasn’t fooling anyone because I was swarmed with Roche Soldiers and imprisoned.  That was a game over, but it was worth a crack.

West of the Vault I found a research lab, with a slightly confusing layout (including a room description that simply says “I’m Lost”.  I found a laser gun in one of the labs, and took it with me.

Heading north I passed through a computer room, where a TRS-80 was happily whirring away.  This is fairly consistent with Star Wars, which has a sci-fi setting where the computer displays haven’t progressed past vector graphics.  A message on the monitor read >> CSAVE TAPE <<.  I tried that message as a command and was told that I wasn’t carrying any blank tape, so I made a mental note to try and find some.

Further north was a test laboratory, where I found an ID card, a cloaking device, and something called a “turboencabulator”.  Also in the lab was an “evil-looking” scientist, which is kind of a shitty assumption to make.  Still, he looked evil so I tried to shoot him with the gun I’d found earlier, only to be told “I’m not carrying a BLASTER”.  Dude, I have a LASER, isn’t that good enough?  Apparently not, because while I was trying to pull the trigger the scientist called for the guards, and it was game over once more.

Getting transferred to cell block 1138.

On the next game I tried exploring south, along the flight deck.  I found some anti-matter fuel, as well as a sign that read >> NEEDS TURBO <<; this was probably a reference to the turboencabulator in the test lab.  Exploring east I came to a supply depot, said to contain “all kinds of things”, which I left without exploring too much.  South of that I came to a decontamination room and an interrogation room, where I found Princess Leya’s cape, and the Shinestone necklace, one of the treasures I was looking for.  I’d thought that it would be better guarded, honestly.

My good fortune was short-lived, because I soon stumbled into a strategy room, and a guard who called for help.  Game over number three…  I really needed to find that blaster.

Exploring further I found a lounge, with a McDonald’s hamburger on the table.  I guess “long, long ago” doesn’t apply here.  Nearby was a bathroom with some graffiti, some of which read >> SAY SECURITY <<.

Climbing up from the bathroom led into a maze of pipes, which was really only two areas that looped back on themselves a whole lot, and not at all difficult to navigate.  In one of the rooms I found a map of the battle cruiser which I couldn’t read, apparently because I’m not a cartographer.

Eventually I found my way down from the pipe maze and into the jail.  There were two empty cells, and another that was locked.  Without a key I left the jail and found a security desk manned by an attack robot.  Beyond the robot was an elevator, but he wasn’t letting me past.

I was a little stumped at this point, so I resorted to the HELP command, which gives you hints in various locations.  In this case it said “Did you bring anything to eat?”  I had the hamburger in my possession, so I tried FEED ROBOT.  Sure enough, he took the burger and I was allowed to pass.  I really should have thought of this, because feeding has been one of the most common solutions in these games.  Anyway, the elevator just looped back to the interrogation room, so it seemed that I was out of places to explore.

Wait did I just feed that robot a citizen of Hamberg, North Dakota?

At that point a guard wandered in, and I was captured.  There are randomly occurring guards who pop up occasionally, and if you don’t have the means to kill them it’s a game over.  I generally dislike random elements like these in adventure games, but in this case it’s not so bad once you have the solution.  Before that, it’s a real pain.

I’d pretty much exhausted my options, and it was obvious that I needed to find a blaster so I could kill the various personnel that were blocking my progress.  I thought I’d found the password necessary to get into the vault (SAY SECURITY), and it did get me past the first level of security, but I also discovered the hard way that I needed an ID card.  Once again, I was stuck.

The answer came in the form of the supply depot, which has among its “all kinds of things” a blaster.  I didn’t figure this out on my own; I had to resort to the HELP command once again, which in the supply depot says “How ’bout a BLASTER”.  Type GET BLASTER while you’re in there, and sure enough you’ll find one.  It’s kind of a clever puzzle, but a little irritating as well.

With blaster in hand I stormed around the place shooting everyone in sight.  The evil scientist got it first, and with his ID Card in my possession I was able to access the Vault, where I found Leya’s treasury, the Malidium crystals (the in-game spelling differs from the backstory).

Next I went and vaporised the guard in the strategy room.  There I found some keys, a communicator, and some death ray schematics.  When I picked up the communicator, someone on the other side said “Sesame”.  I replied with the same word, and a voice over the PA announced that the flight deck doors would be opened.

I’ll have some holy smokes. Menthol.

Past the strategy room was the tractor beam room.  There were no guards there, just a sign warning people not to press any buttons.  I’m not on General Doom’s payroll, so I pressed those damn buttons, and the tractor beam was shut off.  I could have escaped at that point, except for one thing: with the flight doors open, there was no oxygen in the flight deck, and no way to get back to the ship.  I couldn’t figure out how to get the flight doors closed again, and I don’t think there’s another way back to the ship, so I had to restart again.

Getting back to where I was didn’t take long though, and with the keys in my possession I was able to open the locked cell in the jail, where I found the princess as expected.  Somewhat amusingly, she’s implemented as an object that you carry in your inventory.  You can’t interact with her in any way, and she doesn’t even react when you enter her cell, or return her to her ship.  Micklus didn’t even code a response to KISS PRINCESS, which is a real failing.

I’m Lewk Skywarker, I’m here to rescue you!

I ran into one last hurdle, though: my blaster ran out of ammunition, and I was captured before I could make it back to the ship.  I had a hunch, and on my next game I went back to the supply depot and typed GET AMMUNITION.  To my delight, I found some, and used it to reload when I thought I was getting low.

I’d rescued the princess, and stashed her necklace and treasury in the ship’s storage.  I also had the fuel and the turboencabulator, as well as as a bunch of other items that were worth some points (the cape, the laser, the cloaking device, the map, the schematics, etc.).  I’d disarmed the tractor beam, and used the communicator to open the flight doors (this time from the safety of my ship).  So I went to the cockpit, hit the launch button, and basked in a victory well-earned.

Well, almost.  I’d struck a blow for the Forces of Freedom, but I was 20 points shy of the full 215.  The only unexplained thing left on the map was the TRS-80, but I hadn’t yet found the blank tape I needed to use with it.  Once again I went to look for it in the supply depot, and once again that room came through.  With blank tape in hand I typed CLOAD TAPE into the computer, and was rewarded with a printout of General Doom’s secret attack plans.  This was the final item I needed, and I was able to complete Dog Star Adventure with full points.

Way to disguise your Very Secret Plans, dude.

We can be HEROS, just for one day

You can end the game without finding everything, though, and the game gives you a congratulatory message even if you just escape from the battle cruiser without the princess or any of the treasures.  Somehow that’s helped the Forces of Freedom defend the galaxy, don’t ask me how!

You get points for depositing various items in the ship’s storage hold.  The point values are as follows:

Anti-Matter Fuel – 5 points

Leya’s Cape – 5 points

Shinestone Necklace – 20 points

Death Ray Schematics – 20 points

Micro Laser Gun – 20 points

Cloaking Device – 20 points

Turboencabulator – 5 points

Malidium Crystals – 30 points

Map of the Ship – 20 points

Secret Attack Plans – 20 points

Princess Leya – 50 points

Finally, here’s my map for the game, created in Trizbort.

Click to enlargenate

I had a decent time playing this game: it’s short, and it doesn’t have any exceptionally frustrating puzzles.  The ones it does have are well covered by the game’s HELP command, which I’m a bit less reluctant to use than an outside walkthrough.  It’s a solid game for the era, and I think it will do okay on the RADNESS Index.

RADNESS INDEX:

Story & Setting: As with other games that have knocked off properties that I love, I have to be careful to rate what’s actually in the game, rather than what I’m bringing to it from those outside influences.  The story amounts to a treasure hunt once you get down to the gameplay, but it has far more context than other games of its type: there are rebels fighting against an evil force, and every one of the treasures you have to find is relevant to that fight.  The setting is novel, with Battlestar being the only other game I’ve played that’s set on a space station.  Still, it’s very sparsely described, and there’s not much in the way of atmosphere.  Rating: 2 out of 7.

Characters & Monsters: We have the guards, the evil scientist, Princess Leya, and the burger-eating robot.  The first two are obstacles and wandering hazards, and the only thing you can do with them is shoot or be captured.  Leya is a literal object.  The robot is memorable, but again you can’t interact with him beyond his one function in the game.  Rating: 1 out of 7.

Aesthetics: A TRS-80 text adventure with sparse descriptions and no sound is always going to score low.  Rating: 1 out of 7.

Puzzles: Dog Star has one puzzle I’d consider clever, and a bunch of others that are simple (buttons to press, doors to unlock, etc.)  I think I come down on liking the supply depot puzzle, and I’m down with it being used twice as a solution.  Three times might be pushing things, though.  And too many of the game’s obstacles are solved by shooting them.  Rating: 2 out of 7.

Mechanics: The game has a very simple parser, that only recognises about 20 verbs.  It does the job, but that’s all it does.  Still, I had very few issues with hunting for the right command.  Movement was annoying, though; abbreviating it to the first letter should be standard practice, even in 1979.  It’s not a gamebreaker, though, and the game does what it does reasonably well.  Rating: 3 out of 7.

Challenge: Outside of the puzzles, which I’d consider a mild challenge, there are the wandering guards to contend with.  They’re annoying at first, but easily dealt with once you find the blaster.  That’s decent design I feel: things can be frustrating for a short while, just not the entire game.  I’d rate Dog Star as pretty easy, but short enough that it doesn’t matter. By the time you run out of challenges, the game is over.  Rating: 3 out of 7.

Fun: I enjoyed this while it lasted.  It helps that it was short, and I never got stuck for long because of the HELP command.  The guards at the start were annoying, but that just makes it more enjoyable once you get the ability to kill them.  Still, there’s not a lot to this one, and no scope for activities outside of the puzzles required to beat the game.  Rating: 2 out of 7.

Bonus Points: 1.  As the first adventure game to have its source code published, Dog Star does have some influence and a little bit of historical importance.

That gives Dog Star Adventure a RADNESS Index of 29.  Overall that places it equal 21st, and on the chart for adventure games it’s 12th out of 24 games rated so far.  It’s equal in points to Castle, just below Pirate Adventure and above Voyage to Atlantis, squarely in the area of the chart that separates the games I liked from those I didn’t.  Middle of the pack feels about right, I’d say.

PORTS OF CALL:

I also played through the version for the Commodore PET, which was ported in 1980.  The major difference is that it’s even more explicit with its Star Wars connections: General Doom is Darth Vader, Leya is Leia, the ship is the Millennium Falcon, and the guards are stormtroopers.  I’m not sure why IP violation was fine on the PET and not on the TRS-80, but whatever. It mercifully uses the NESW abbreviations, but only recognises TAKE, not GET (my preferred verb).  The blaster isn’t loaded when you first pick it up, you need to also take the ammunition, but it tracks how many shots you have left. The random stormtroopers take potshots at you when they appear, but I never got hit by one.  The most difficult thing for me was that the TRS-80 has been replaced by a generic terminal, and it’s a little harder to figure out the correct command.  It takes 225 points to win, but you don’t need to do anything new, you just get the extra 10 when you escape.  It’s much the same game, and despite a nifty image of Vader on start-up it gets the exact same RADNESS Index. I probably like this one a touch more, simply because it’s explicitly Star Wars.  Still, it’s weirder to treat the princess as a literal object when it’s actually Leia, and not a stand-in.

To be honest, this is a better Darth Vader than most of the artists of Marvel Comics managed in the 80s

At least this version can spell “heroes”

Dog Star was also released by Adventure International, under the title Death Planet: A Dog Star Adventure (although it’s just called Dog Star in the game itself).

This is a much better name

It uses the split-panel style of Scott Adams adventures, with the room descriptions at the top and the player’s commands at the bottom, and is the most technically sound of the three versions I played; it ran really smoothly compared to the others. My major problem with it is that it completely removes the supply depot puzzle: when you enter the room the blaster, ammunition and tape are already out in the open.  It also has a score out of 100 rather than 215, and it explicitly marks the treasures with asterisks.  In terms of RADNESS Index I’d rate it a point higher in Mechanics, but the removal of the supply depot puzzle loses it a point in Puzzles, so it still comes out the same.

Brother, I’ve already finished this thing three times.

NEXT: It’s back to Scott Adams, as I take a look at his fourth effort, Voodoo Castle.  This time his wife Alexis is also involved, so we’ll see how much difference that makes. 

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/game-39-dog-star-adventure-1979/

[delos-mio]

Death of a Bachelor - Part 13

A/N: lucky number 13! no real warnings beside a drunk and horny Logan and mentions of familial loss. hope you guys enjoy 🤗

The boys had left before you and Emily the next morning, looking to pregame before tip-off. Emily had driven the two of you to a small bistro nearby that you both loved and had a killer brunch. When you arrived, the rest of her bridal party had already grabbed a table, whooping loudly when the bride walked in. You knew most of these girls for ages, lifelong friends of your sister, so it was nice seeing familiar faces and not having to sit through the awkward getting-to-know-you that can accompany these types of gatherings.

“Miss maid of honor made it! It’s been too long.” Michelle was bringing you in for a tight hug and planted a barely-there kiss on your cheek. If you weren’t Emily’s sister, Michelle would have absolutely had been the maid of honor.

“Yeah. It’s getting harder and harder to find time to come out this way,” you laughed lightly before taking your seat.

Before you knew it, champagne was flowing and the chattering began. You were filled in on the troubles Alex had finding a new apartment after she broke up with her girlfriend. Cheryl’s kids were starting kindergarten in the fall. A whole mess of stories from women who were now wrapped up in spouses and families and careers. It was weird to think about all of them sleeping over in your parent’s basement or begging you to buy them booze while they were still under 21. You were zoning out, thinking about days long since passed, when your name being called out snapped you back to reality.

“So, Em tells us you brought a boy home with you,” Michelle said in a sing-song voice, waiting for you to fill in the gaps.

“I um, I did, yeah,” you said with a smile before taking a big gulp from your mimosa, not giving any more details than absolutely necessary. This was going to be a long day.

“Well, spill! Who is he? What’s he like? How’d you meet? Is he one of those rich, LA playboy types?” Gabby added excitedly. How’d she know? Had Emily blabbed or was that just a midwestern woman’s guess at what LA guys were like?

“Jesus, is this 20 questions?” you joked, or so the table thought. “His name is Logan. We…met through work. He worked for his family’s company and yeah. I don’t know. We just kind of hit it off,” you shrugged.

“They fell in love,” Emily corrected, earning you awes from the rest of the girls.

“Yeah, yeah that too,” you laughed.

“How long have you been together?” Michelle asked.

“Officially? I don’t know, I guess I haven’t really been keeping track,” you laughed. You hadn’t. Why hadn’t you? Things were such a whirlwind with Logan, you never thought to stop and think about when you really started seeing each other. It had been at least six months, you knew that much, but you’d been fucking for a while before that. Did it matter? Did Logan know? A new voice snapped you from your train of thought.

“I think you’re the first girl I’ve met who doesn’t know their anniversary!” Gabby’s tone was a bit judgmental, but you let it roll off your back, simply shrugging in return.

The rest of brunch went exactly as anticipated. It was nice to see so many people love and take care of your baby sister. You had a lot of lingering guilt about moving away, even though she had Elliot and always had what seemed like a million friends. After the bill was settled, you caravanned over to the bridal shop for dress fitting and what you expected to be a lot of down time while the other girls got fitted.

You were lounging on one of the couches, scrolling through work emails even though you said you wouldn’t, when a notification from Logan came up. He had sent you a selfie of him and the boys courtside at the Bucks game. One thing you and Logan had in common is that you making friends did not come easily. Seeing him with a very real smile on his face, a little glint in his eye, while he was with a group of guys he hadn’t met before made your heart swell. He was trying to learn and grow and be a little more open and his hard work did not go unnoticed by you.

Y: You look so handsome. And drunk.

L: I’m not drunj

Y: Oh you’re not drunj huh?

L: Ahhhhhhhhhhhh you cauhgt me

You laughed to yourself. Logan drunk and happy and carefree was a new one for you and you fully intended to enjoy it as long as you could.

Y: So I take it you’re having fun then

L: Great time. I love these guys they’re so cool

Y: I’m glad baby :)

L: Giannis is right here!!!! He’s so big in person

Y: Lol well he is in the NBA

L: I wish you wewr here

Y: That’s sweet Lo. But you have fun having boy time

L: But they’re not pretty like you

L: You’er so fuckjing pretty fuck

Y: Lol drunk Logan is a real charmer

L: I LOVE YOU

Y: Love you too. Go have fun it’s almost my turn for my fitting

L: I wanna seeeeeeee

You rolled your eyes and locked your phone, rising to make your way to the fitting room to change. It had been a while since you’d seen the dress and it was the first time you were seeing it in person. You had to send over your measurements and hope for the best since you were out on the coast. But when you pulled the zipper up and took a look in the mirror, you were thankful there wouldn’t be much that needed altering. You stepped out to the pedestal in the middle of the room so the attendant could pin and mark all the changed that needed to happen.

“You look amazing,” Emily said sweetly as she came up beside you.

“Thanks, Em.” You smiled back at her as you were dismissed. Back in the fitting room, you took the opportunity to snap a quick picture in the full length mirror, sending it to Logan.

Y: I don’t look stupid right?

L: FCUK

L: Babe

L: No you don’t look stupid you look like the most beautiful grl in the world

L: Holy shit

Y: Well then lol. Thank you Lo

L: Ok now one without the dress on

Y: You’re so bad! No!

L: Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?

Y: I’m always good. That’s why I’m going to change back into my clothes so you’re not opening dirty pics of me around a million other people

L: Pleeeeease please please

Y: Logannnnn

L: I’ll be so good forever and ever I promise let me see my sweet girl

You groaned. Why was it so goddamn hard to say no to him? You slipped out of your dress and hung it back up neatly, covering it in the garment bag. Before putting your jeans and V-neck back on, you decided to indulge Logan and took another picture, this time in just your bra and underwear in a completely exaggerated pose, annoyed at yourself for caving so easily. Without much more thought, you sent it over and quickly got dressed. As you took back your seat on the couch, now Michelle’s turn to try her dress on, you pulled your phone back out only to see several notifications.

L: Jesus Christ

L: God I want to fuck you so bad right now

L: I’m so hard please baby let me fuck you the second I get home

Y: We’ll see

L: Don’t tease me it’s not fair

Y: But it’s so much fun

L: What happened to my good girl

Y: She’s gone. I’m bad now haven’t you heard?

L: Fuuuuuck I need you baby

Y: Soon enough Lo. Now pay attention to the game

Just as you and Emily had walked in the front door and put your things down, you heard the commotion of drunk boys trying to get a key in the lock. Rather than going to help, you both waited to see just how long it’d take them to get inside. Finally, Elliot pushed the door open a little too forcefully and stumbled in. Logan was close behind, still upright but visibly intoxicated. Elliot draped his arm over Logan’s shoulder as they swayed into the living room.

“I love this guy,” he said sincerely, leaning in to kiss Logan gently on the cheek. The gesture made Logan blush and dare you say, giggle. You raised an eyebrow as you watched the two fawn over one another.

“God, you didn’t tell me they were this drunk!” Emily said, exasperated.

“Oh, come on. It’s fine,” you said. Logan slipped out from Elliot’s grasp sauntered over to you. He ran his hand along the side of your face and down your neck, his dark eyes darting from your face to your chest to where his hand fell on your skin. “Hi, baby,” you said quietly, only to him.

“Hi,” he slurred and smiled back. Logan leaned down to kiss you sloppily, his aim just slightly off. He tasted like whiskey and smoke. “Mmm, let’s go to bed.”

“It’s like 5pm, Lo.”

“I’m ready for bed,” he repeated, pulling you in close to him. You laughed a little and nodded, grabbing his hand and leading him back to your bedroom. Once inside, Logan flopped on the bed still fully clothed. You slid off your shoes and stepped out of your jeans, getting ready to lay down next to Logan. You had no intention of actually going to bed, but he didn’t need to know that. “I love your ass.”

You turned and looked over your shoulder; Logan was staring lovingly at your backside as you changed clothes. “You’re so drunk, baby.”

“Nuh uh.” He rolled onto his side and patted the spot next to him on the bed. You laid down beside him and he immediately pulled you into his chest, his long limbs flinging themselves over you. “You’re the best. I want you so bad, princess,” he slurred into the crook of your neck.

“Why don’t you take a nap and we can play later, hm?” you suggested, trailing your fingers down his spine.

“But I want to put my dick inside you now,” he whined, his voice growing heavy as he fought off sleep.

“Charming,” you laughed. “Sleep, baby.” Logan yawned then and pulled you in a little tighter, his eyes no longer able to stay open. Soon, his breathing slowed and his lips parted just slightly. That didn’t take as long as you thought it would. You carefully untangled yourself from him and rejoined Emily and Elliot in the living room.

-----

“What have you been up to?” Juliet asked before taking a long drag of the cigarette between he fingers. Logan had gotten back from his trip to Milwaukee a few weeks ago and had been avoiding his family, even Jules, since he returned. Finally, he agreed to come over to the home she shared with William when he knew he was away on business with his father. “It’s been weeks since we talked. Is everything ok?”

“Everything’s great, actually. You know me- just fucking around, living a little bit. Trying to figure out how to be a good boyfriend,” Logan laughed.

“So you haven’t scared her away yet?” Juliet joked with a raised eyebrow.

“Not yet, thank god. I was telling Elliot that I’m afraid she’s going to figure out that I’m not shit and cut her losses. But she’s not skittish, that one. I just love her so much, you know?” he said with a fond sigh, lost in thoughts of you.

“Elliot?”

“Oh, yeah. We went on a trip out to Milwaukee. Her sister is getting married to him and he was a good dude. I was able to make friends without anyone knowing a single fucking thing about me. I got to just…exist. No expectations. No reputations to keep.” Logan paused for a second and chuckled. “All this time dad had me thinking people only wanted me because they really wanted him”

“Wow. I’m having a hard time picturing you in Wisconsin. I’m glad you guys had fun. And you got along with her family?” Juliet asked, skeptical.

“I did, yeah. It’s weird having people just take you in like that, no questions asked. Made me miss mom, if I’m being honest,” Logan said wistfully. It was hard to talk about her, even 20 years later. Logan was a mama’s boy through and through. She had loved him like he was the sun and the stars in her world. When she passed, Logan didn’t know how to handle it. He still struggled with it as a grown man. Some days he felt angry with her. Angry she left him here alone with his father, to look out for Juliet on his own. But then the anger would pass and he’d feel that same hole in his chest where she was supposed to be.

“You have family here too, Logan. You know I’m always here for you,” Juliet said.

“I just can’t stand the thought of spending a single goddamn second with dad or your dumbass fiancé.” Juliet passed the cigarette to Logan and he took another drag. “And wouldn’t you know it? You seem to always be with at least one of them.”

“Logan, come on. That’s not fair and you know it,” she huffed. “You can’t expect me to choose between my future husband and my brother.”

“Can’t I?” Logan turned to face Jules and crossed his arms. “He tried to ruin my fucking life! And you just…don’t care!”

“Of course I care, what the fuck?” Juliet spat back.

“Not enough to see what kind of sick fuck he is. Not enough to not marry him. Not enough to stick up for your own brother,” Logan accused pointedly. He knew Juliet was one of the few allies he had left and it probably wasn’t smart to isolate her like this, but he was tired of her not taking his side. She had no problem doing it with their father, so why couldn’t she see it with William?

“You’re being a fucking dick,” she said, tossing the butt on the ground and aggressively stomping out the burning end.

“Jules,” Logan said, much more gentle this time. “I can’t watch you throw your life away for someone like him.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened. Really, I am. But you’re going to die old and bitter if you don’t try to move on with your life. You’re smart and charming and you have someone who really loves you. You can do whatever you want now, Lo. You don’t have dad breathing down your neck. I don’t have that same kind of freedom,” she said with a sad smile. Logan came over and wrapped his arm around Juliet’s shoulder, kissing the crown of her head before resting his cheek there.

“I promise you, I will get you that freedom. Just give me a little more time.”

“Logan…”

“Please,” he asked, quiet but firm. He felt Juliet nod her head under him. A quick glance at his watch and Logan hugged her close to him. “I gotta take off. I’ll text you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. With that, Logan gave her one more squeeze goodbye before setting off for home.

When he came in, you were curled up in the corner of the couch, laptop out and glasses on. He loved the way you looked when you were laser focused on whatever you were working on. You looked up as the door closed behind him, a wide smile on your lips. As Logan approached you, his expression was hard to read; you thought he looked both worried and smitten somehow at the same time.

“How’d that go?” you asked, shutting your laptop. Logan plopped down next to you and you draped your legs over his lap.

“About how I thought it would,” he shrugged. “I just wish she fucking saw what I see in William.”

“I wish that too,” you said softly, reaching over to run your fingers through his dark hair.

“I think she’ll get the picture soon enough,” he said ominously, making you pull your face as you tried to decipher what exactly he was getting at.

“And what the hell do you mean by that?” you asked. Logan pulled you over to him so you were seated on his lap. He pushed your hair back from your face and gazed up at you longingly.

“Well, my darling, I’m going to throw dear old dad the retirement party he deserves.”

[scumfuckpartyboy]

Odds

Holy shit ok

1. Who was the last person you held hands with? My friend Zoë, while I cried on New Years 3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? My friend Saffron 5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you?  Zoë, my absolute mom 7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? Who knows! I’m open to it! 9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? Not really? I guess it depends who I’m talking to about it. Maybe if it was my mom or something 11. What does the most recent text that you sent say? “Horny murder used to really be humanity’s only vibe” 13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? If it’s the right person, a very enthusiastic yes 15. What good thing happened this summer? Absolutely nothing, I worked a full time job so I’d have money for moving into my own place 17. Do you think there is life on other planets? I think it’s selfish and foolish to believe humans are all we’ve got. What makes Earth so special? in short, yes 19. Do you like bubble baths? I don’t take them very often, but yes 21. What are your bad habits? Smoking cigarettes was the biggest one, but I’ve quit as of 5 or so days ago 23. Do you have trust issues? I used to have a big problem with trust, but i think once I’ve given someone my trust they have it until they don’t. I’d like to say I don’t have an issues trusting people, but humans have flaws so sometimes it’s tough. I trust my kin 25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? Probably my fluctuating gut/lack thereof or my Shoulders weirdly enough (ACNE SUCKS) 27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? I’m sorta pasty but it doesnt bother me. My only problem with my skin is my acne or the lack of full body tattoos 29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? Nope lol 31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail? Yes 33. Spell your name with your chin. jhdcxhygdsdsebn damn that’s tough on a keyboard 35. Would you rather live without TV or music? TV 1000% 37. What do you say during awkward silences? Nothing 39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? Anything with old, secondhanded or odd items 41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? I think people can change, but sometimes it’s unlikely. Case by Case basis on this one 43. Do you smile at strangers? Yeah 45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning? Dusty trails and the woman I long for 47. Have you ever been high? Yes 49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? I don’t think so 51. Ever wished you were someone else? Yes, but not really anyone in specific. I just don’t wanna be me sometimes 53. Favourite makeup brand? I don’t wear makeup, but if i did it’d probably be drugstore. that’s my vibe 55. Favourite blog? Nemfrog (or Dirtmunch) 57. Favourite food? I’m a big fan of diner food and goldfish crackers. I like foreign food a lot but dont really know anything about it 59. First thing you ate this morning? A muffin 61. Been suspended/expelled? For what? I havent, I almost did in elementary school for getting in a fistfight, but I assure that makes me sound cooler than I am 63. Ever been in love? Yes 65. Are you hungry right now? Not really 67. Facebook or Twitter? Twitter, but i’ve fallen off of it recently 69. Are you watching tv right now? No  71. Craving something? What? Excitement 73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? Nah, they usually get thrown off when i get in 75. Favourite animal? I’m very infatuated with large cats. like tigers n leopards n lions n shit. fish are cool 77. Chocolate or Vanilla? Vanilla 79. What colour shirt are you wearing? Blue 81. Favourite tv show? I’m more of a movie guy 83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? Haven’t seen either  85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? see 83 87. First person you talked to today? Saffron 89. Name a person you hate? I don’t think i truly hate anyone in my life? Cops and Politicians are high on the list 91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? Yes 93. How many sweatpants do you have? 0 95. Last movie you watched? The Ballad of Buster Scruggs 97. Favourite actor? Mads Mikkelsen (adam’s apples, flammen og citronnen, any of those gems) ( i also have a soft spot for Lee Van Cleef, makes a hell of a good villan) 99. Have any pets? No 101. Do you type fast? Semi-fast 103. Can you spell well? Pfft, mediocre at best. Autocorrect is your friend 105. Ever been to a bonfire party? Yeah, in high school my dad built a bonfire pit in our back yard so i hosted a few. 107. Have you ever been on a horse? Nope. (I’m a phony cowboy city slicker) 109. Is something irritating you right now? There always seems to be some thorn in my side 111. Do you have trust issues? Already answered, but basically, Not really unless you give me a reason not to trust you 113. What was your childhood nickname? Jaybro or Jade 115. Do you play the Wii? Yes! gotone in my living room. Warioware smooth moves and Wii sports are big hits 117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? Yes, but i like chicken and rice more 119. Favourite book? The Hobbit or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas 121. Are you mean? Sometimes. I try to not be 123. Can you keep white shoes clean? Fuck no 125. Do you believe in true love? I’d say yes. You can love anyone any time, some people really are perfect for eachother. that doesn’t make it work though 127. What makes you happy? Ar, friends and Music 129. What your zodiac sign? Gemini 131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? Depends. I’m kinda hoping for this right noe. so im not a great person to ask. If I’m not interested I’ll tell them that, and give them any space they might need 133. Favourite lyrics right now? “Are you sick of me? Would you like to be?” 135. Dumbest lie you ever told? i can’t place a point on one lie, maybe telling myself i wasn’t Bi for like 10 years 137. How tall are you? 6′2″ 139. Brunette or Blonde? Brunette, blonde’s have too much fun 141. Night or Day? Night, it takes a pretty beautiful day to capture the magic of snow falling in a streetlamp 143. Are you a vegetarian? nope 145. Tea or Coffee? Coffee 147. Mars or Snickers? Snickers 149. Do you believe in ghosts? I don’t know, which might be a cop out, but that’s the best I’ve got in that one. (Probably not, but who knows! I’m not all-knowing)

[bossman-hazani]

Gangstars episode 1

Hey so this is my first time using this website. I’m moderately new to it but I thought that this might be a good place to post the scripts for an animated comedy series I wish to one day start. I decided that since I have no idea on how and what the hell to do in order to get it noticed by a producer, I thought a good place to start was to post the scripts online and see if I could build a community on it and see what will come from it. I mean, worst case scenario is that literally nothing will happen and it’ll go completely unnoticed so here it is. Please feel free to give any feedback in whatever way is possible on this website lol. The first episode might be a little weak I’m not really sure what to expect from readers but please give it a chance to when I post the second episode before giving up on it. I guess the kind of humour it comes off from is more a Rick and Morty type of thing. And please can nobody be an ass with feedback? I’m still new to this and I don’t really appreciate it. This isn’t really a final product and I’ll probably change the script based on any feedback I get so please try to keep it constructive and helpful. Thanks and enjoy.

Gangstars Episode 1 script

(The camera shows a brick wall in an alleyway with a door. You can hear the muffled voices of the interviewer and his mother)

Interviewer: "!?"

(Door opens)

Mom: "DAMMIT BOY, IF MY SON'S GONNA SMOKE, HE'S GONNA DO IT IN HIS OWN DAMN HOUSE, NOT THE TRASHY APARTMENT HE BOUGHT HIS MOM CAUSE HE DOESN'T LOVE HER"

Interviewer: "alright, alright! I'm going!"

(Interviewer exits door, grabs a cigar, takes out his phone and starts talking to someone on the phone while leaning on a wall)

Interviewer: "Hey, Stu. Look, I need you to do me a favour. Dammit Stu are you drunk again!? Fine, whatever. Just go tell Cindy that I'm gonna be in the office to tomorrow morning - what do you mean what!? Why the fuck do I even pay you!? Dammit Stu! You'd better give results or you're fired! Oh so NOW you remember. Whatever. Now tell Cindy that I'm gonna be in my office in the morning and that she has to go get mike so I can meet him and promote his ass. Heh, yeah, he's gonna be making some big bucks now"

(Interviewer continues talking while smoking, and as this happens, a large arm (Fat Toni) with a burger starts creeping off side of screen and attempts to suffocate him.)

Interviewer: "WHA-!?"

(Interviewer punches Fat Toni in the stomach to which an immune sign appears, slowly rising. As time is running out, Interviewer grabs glass bottle and hits Fat Toni over the head with it.)

Fat Toni: "ah SHIT!"

(FT drops to floor directly onto interviewer's leg and a crack is audible)

Interviewer: "Fuuuck!!"

Fat Toni: "Help me up, guys!"

(Two more figures, Teef and Giuseppe run in to help FT up there is clear strain in doing the process.)

Teef: "Holy shit, Toni you’re so fucking heavy!!"

Giuseppe: (Makes strained sounds)

(Interviewer politely waits through this event)

(When Fat Toni is finally up, he takes a moment to catch his breath)

Fat Toni: "Ok, where were we??"

Interviewer: "Uhhhh I think you were about to proceed with kidnapping me?"

Fat Toni: Ooohhh yeeah... Well... Do you wanna go through with it or has the moment kinda passed?"

Interviewer: "Nah I think I can bring it back."

(Interviewer backs away, into a wall, unable to stand. The shadow of a LARGE man slowly, with help, makes their way up and looms over interviewer)

Interviewer: (In fear) "What are you?"

(Bag goes over interviewer's face and screen goes black)

Fat Toni: (As if talking to a sick child) "Wake up, this is a temporary kidnapping."

(From the perspective of the interviewer, you can see his eyes opening and closing slowly)

Fat Toni: "Wake uuuuppp"

(Interviewer still doesn't wake up)

Fat Toni: (Irritated) "Hey, cmon, wake up already."

Fat Toni: (yelling and at the same time slapping the interviewer) "Wake up!!"

(Interviewer is awake now and looks all around him. He can see a messy room and at the end of it stands a dark figure who is not visible due to a light shining into the interviewer's face)

Fat Toni: "Alright now, talk!!"

(An irritated muffle comes from the interviewer as he makes it clear that he cannot)

Fat Toni: "Oh, right. Sorry about that."

(From the figure comes a hand that reaches to the face of the interviewer and removes some duct tape)

Fat Toni: "Ok NOW talk."

Interviewer: "Somebody help me!!"

Fat Toni: "Naah I was just messing with you, you never had to talk. But what we ARE gonna do is we're give you something to make sure that you can't go to that interview tomorrow."

Interviewer: "huh? But-"

(Toni's hand goes over interviewer's face and the screen goes black for a few seconds.)

(The camera then goes to Mike. He's walking in a suit with a briefcase (office work starter pack) through the Jimmyasssteak building and his fellow employees pass by, engaging in conversation. It's clear that Mike is familiar and comfortable in his status and that EVERYONE knows and loves Mike.)

Employee 1: "Hey, Mike!! Pretty sure your gonna be promoted to CEO!! AND your gonna meet the boss! Even I haven't seen him"

Mike: "Yeah ikr! But it still hasn't been confirmed... Fingers crossed though!!"

Employee 2: "EY, MIKE!! YOU FUCKED MY WIFE!"

Mike: "Yeah I did"

Employee 2: (High fives mike) "Holy shit! That's really an achievement! I still haven't fucked her after 5 years together!! Anyway, have a good one, Mike!"

Mike: "Yeah, you too, Gary."

(Mike goes into a reception and starts waiting. After a sew seconds, a secretary comes up to mike)

Secretary: "Oh, hey Mike, the boss will see you now."

Mike: "Alrighty then, let's go."

(Mike and secretary start walking together through a corridor)

Mike: "So uh you know what the big guy's like? What I should say to him? What he looks like?"

Secretary: "I have no idea. I've never seen or heard him in person. Every day at 11 I escort everyone out of the building and security is turned off so he can enter his office. I guess you could say he likes his privacy."

Mike: "But then how did he tell you he wanted to see me?"

Secretary: "We communicate through ASCII. (but pronounced as ASCI)"

Mike: "So... the Advertising standards council of india??"

Secretary: "No it's with TWO 'I's."

Mike: "Ohh..."

(Camera slowly blacks out then slowly back into colour to show Mike and the Secretary reaching the end of a corridor. The secretary is a blubbering mess while mark is just confused and shocked)

Secretary: "And then I said "what, you don't like me that way?" and then you'll never guess what he said. Go on guess."

Mike: (slowly and confused) "How? This wasn't even a long corridor. It was only 30 seconds ago that we were talking about the boss. How did- Just- how!?"

Secretary: "HE SAID YESSSS!"

Mike: "Well I hate to have to leave you at the peak of the... The conversation but- uhh- we're at the boss so I kinda have to do my interview and all..."

Secretary: (clearly fine now) "Oh, ok!"

(Secretary goes to a computer and types in a legitimate ASCII message. In response, a message that's clearly not ASCII pops up)

Secretary: "Alright, I'm going to have to go while the boss opens the door. It's standard procedure. So bye Mike!"

(Secretary starts walking away. A door slowly opens. Mike goes through the door, looks around and sees Fat Toni, who is drawing a moustache on the Mona Lisa painting hung up on a wall)

Fat Toni: "OH, HEY! Mark, right? I- uh I wasn't expecting you!"

Mike: "But didn't you literally tell your secretary that you were ready for me through ASCII??"

Fat Toni: "Mike... How in the goatlord’s shitting anus am I supposed to contact my secretary through the advertising standards council of india!?"

Mike: "Oh no she says it's with two 'I's."

Fat Toni: "Aaaahh. Well that makes more sense. I thought she was playing a number game when she sent me all those ones and zeros

Fat Toni: "Mike... I don't like mike... Is it ok if I call you Donnie?"

Mike: "Please call me by my name, sir."

Fat Toni: "Then it's settled. Your now Donnie... Donnie Dwayne!"

Donnie: (small and powerless) "ok..."

Fat Toni: "So Donnie. I'm gonna ask you some questions and your gonna answer then a’ight?"

Donnie: "Sure, whatever."

Fat Toni: "What are your thoughts on crime??"

Donnie: "I've always hated crime. I don't want to establish myself in it in any way and it helps nobody in any way. Innocent people just get hurt."

(Fat Toni gives a disapproving 'hmm' and literally scribbles on his notepad)

Fat Toni: "Now for the second question; What's your weight and how much do you normally eat in a day?"

Donnie: "How does this have anything to do with my promotion?"

Fat Toni: "Trust me, it's very important."

Donnie: "Well I guess I'm more or less the average person for both of them."

Fat Toni: "So... 49,000 calories each day??"

Donnie: "what!? No! That's stupid!! It's like 2,000!"

Fat Toni: "TWO-THOUSAND!? WHAT KINDA SUPER FUCKIN DIET ARE YOU- *ahem* That's very, very low. I gotta say, Donnie, your not doing very well for yourself so far. But you can still make it back."

Donnie: "Ok, ok..."

Fat Toni: (Dark and slowly) "Now it's time for the third question..."

(features of Fat Toni's face are blackened and are very serious as he says this and Donnie is concerned)

Fat Toni: (All grim and dark features on Fat Toni's face quickly disappear as he says this) "Do you like burgers? I like burgers."

Donnie: "Oh- well I like a good burger. They're actually pretty good."

Fat Toni: "I should probably tell you the truth... You know the gangstars?"

Donnie: "Umm no..."

Fat Toni: "Oh c'mon you gadda know them... Ya know... Biggest gang in the worldiverse?? Startin' gang wars here and there? You've probably heard of the but don't remember"

Donnie: "Ohhhhh those guys are JOKES!"

Fat Toni: "Ah c’mon, they're not that bad..."

Donnie: "I mean, they were the first and only gang to ever have their heist thwarted by an old lady"

Fat Toni: "Well- uuhh- I'm pretty sure they felt bad for the grandma and they didn't wanna hurt her..."

Donnie: "Dude, she was 96 and they had guns. She was only armed with a walking stick."

Fat Toni: "Pretty sure she was a martial artist."

Donnie: "What kind of martial artist is called Masel?"

Fat Toni: "UM only the most powerful ones. You know how martial arts gotta be, you can’t have your enemy suspect it. Pfft what do you know. Listen. I'm not your boss. My name is Fat Toni. I'm here to recruit you on the behalf of the Gangstars."

Donnie: "No."

Fat Toni: "Look Donnie, The gangstars need you. We're at a very bad state and this is the final straw for us. We need you."

Donnie: "No."

Fat Toni: "In this job, you were about to be promoted to CEO of the company. Would you rather be a CEO of Jimmyasssteak and get about 15 million a year, as tempting as it is, I think our offer will still win you over. By joining the gangstars, you get to risk your life, for scraps from heists!" (shows a picture of two happy people) "See, in the picture, you can see two of our happy members, enjoying the rough territory of wars."

Donnie: "Who even ARE they??"

Fat Toni: (Looks at the picture) "Ah. That's Tim and John. They didn't make the old lady attack. Don't ask. And I haven't even gotten to the good part! If you choose to join the gangstars, you get a chicken! On the house! With deals like that, SOMEONE'S gonna be making it through the winter!"

Donnie: "Well, I was GONNA say "no.", but I think the chicken part really changed my mind to... No.

Fat Toni: (pulls out gun to Donnie's face) (Aggressively) "It sure is a good thing that you're so excited to join the gangstars. You start..." (Looks at watch) "now!"

Donnie: "Of course. This is just great."

Fat Toni: (Holds up handcuffs) "you're gonna need to wear these..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (Fat Toni and Donnie are walking on the pavement of a motorway. Occasionally, there's a car passing by. Most give an aggressive comment to them.)

Fat Toni: "Sorry we had to walk. We have a small unicycle back at the HQ... I totally forgot it though."

Donnie: "A unicycle? You can ride one?"

Fat Toni: "Yeah you should see us when we use it. We look like a fuckin' circus crew piled up on top of each other."

Donnie: "That's kinda st-"

(A car passes by, and says an aggressive comment."

Driver 1: "You fuckin' dumbass!!"

Fat Toni: "You too you piece a' shit!!"

Donnie: "What the fuck was that about?"

Fat Toni: "Well you're in the motorway. In these areas, it's home to some of the most aggressive drivers in the city. A word of advice, do NOT go through the motorway in a car. VERY few people ever see the end of the motorway. Don't worry about the comments though, asshole comments are like compliments here."

Donnie: "Oh. Well that's also stupid. What's the gangstars like??"

Fat Toni: "Oh they're great once you get to know them. But if you're gonna fit in, you're gonna wanna work on your gangstar voice. Try one now!!"

(Passing car)

Driver 2: "HEY!! I'm drivin' here!!"

Fat Toni: "yeah, I bet you are!!"

Donnie: "Well what do you want me to say??"

Fat Toni: "Ummm... say that the gangstars don't suck and that they're actually super cool."

Donnie: "Ok, that sounds like a fairly simple task." in gangstar voice) "The ganghhh-"

Fat Toni: "Go on, say it."

Donnie: (in gangstar voice) "The gagstars donn- donnut sss-" (out of gangstar voice) "nope. I can't do it. It's physically impossible They just suck that much."

Fat Toni: "Ok, imma let that pass, but don't say that any more. Look. We'll work on your gangstar voice later"

(Passing car)

Driver 3: "How's ur mom!?!?"

Donnie this time: "Much better than yours!!"

(Car stops in the distance for a moment and then starts reversing. Meanwhile, Fat Toni is in shock.)

Donnie: "Wait what's he doing?? Didn't I compliment him?"

Fat Toni: "Dammit Donnie!! YOU'RE OUTTA THE MOTORWAY ZONE!!"

(Camera shows the ground with half of donnie's front foot past a black and yellow tape on the ground)

Donnie: "Well how tf was I supposed to know that!?!?"

Fat Toni: "THERE'S A NEON ADHESIVE TAPE ON THE FLOOR AND ABOUT 50 SIGNS!! HOW COULD YA MISS IT!?"

Fat Toni: "Just let me handle this!"

(Fat Toni pulls out his gun and points it to the driver who is at this point already out of his car and is approaching them. Meanwhile, Donnie starts slowly making a getaway.)

Fat Toni: "Look sir, I'm sorry about this misunderstanding. My grandson over here."

Driver 3: "Idiot. You don't look anything like him. And the age gap is WAY too small for him to be your grandson."

Fat Toni: "Oh but he is my grandson. Tell 'I’m Donnie."

Donnie: "Huh? Oh- yeah, sure am."

Driver 3: "Well tell me something, then. Why is your grandson trying to run away?"

Fat Toni: "Are you serious?? That's like the oldest trick in the fuckin' book. Did you really think that was gonna work? Go on, Donnie, tell him how you're still here!"

Donnie: (slightly distant) "YEAH!! He's right!"

Fat Toni: "See what did I tell ya!?"

(Fat Toni looks back and sees Donnie running away)

Fat Toni: "SON OF A BITCH!! Uh... is that someone calling you a fucking dumb ass??"

Driver 3: "You're the fucking dumbass if you think I'm falling for that bu-"

(Fat Toni throws the gun in driver 3's face and starts running for donnie.)

Fat Toni: "Donnie? Donnie!! Don't worry. I think the guy's knocked out!! You can stop running now!"

Donnie: "You idiot! That's not why I'm running away! I need to go back to my LIFE! I can still get my promotion and forget all this EVER happened!!

Fat Toni: "But Donnie!! The chicken! It's still up for grabs!!"

Donnie: "You're fucking crazy!! Just leave!"

Fat Toni: "Slow down, Donnie, I'm fat!!"

(Donnie continues running while looking back at Toni who's stopped to catch his breath.)

Donnie: "hah haha AAHAHAHAH IT'S OVER! I'M FREE! OOP!

(Donnie runs into a tree and falls back onto the ground and goes unconscious. The camera shows Toni picking up Donnie and holding him over his shoulder and carries him off. The screen slowly fades.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Donnie wakes up in a small room on some hay, holding his head. The room looks old and floors and walls are made of wood. Donnie walks out of the room to another but this room looks normal and modern. Just regular but it's shit. In the room, Fat Toni stands alone in the room. He notices Donnie, starts walking towards him while talking.)

Fat Toni: "Hey Donnie, How did you enjoy our 17th century themed guest room?"

Donnie: "Well I feel like shit. I also smell like shit and I don't remember that before I hit my head."

Fat Toni: "Yeah... It's a pretty weird coincidence how the guest room does that to ya."

Fat Toni: "Listen Donnie, You're about to meet the other members of the gangstars. But, before you meet them and officially become a gangstar, you gadda sign this" (holds up a blank contract with only the signing area.) "so that if you bail, we can add shit in the blank and take you to court claiming shit you never agreed to! And if you don't officially join the gangstars, then we'll kill you. So... it's nothing important. You get it. Now sign it."

Donnie: "Welp. Doesn't look like I have that much choice... Uh... should i sign it as Donnie or should i use my actual name??"

Fat Toni: "Donnie will work just fine. I mean, I don't know how it not being your real name would affect how we can take you to court."

Donnie: "Oh I'm sure it doesn't. Real names are way overrated anyway"

(Donnie signs it as "Donnie")

Fat Toni: "Alright, this is the moment, as soon as you meet the rest of the gangstars, you'll officially be a gangstar. There's no going back from here."

Donnie: "Ummm I don't really need t-"

Fat Toni: (yelling upwards, cutting Donnie off) "GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE!!"

(Distant shuffling)

(the gangstars start walking in one by one)

Teef: (Talks in a shitty Italian accent) "What the fuck is it now?? If you've lost your cheeseburger again, we're NOT gonna help you this time"

Fat Toni: "Well actually I'll talk to you about that later buuut I called all your asses down here because I wanted to introduce the latest addition to the gangstars... Everyone meet Donnie!!"

Teef: "Oh, another one?? This is the fourth time this week. They keep dieing, dammit!"

Guiseppe: "Taglatelli!!"

Donnie: "Wait-- what's up with that guy, why did he just mention a delicious food that doesn't relate to context."

Fat Toni: "Ah, that, is guiseppe, he's got pure Italian blood, but we never really got to figuring out why exactly he doesn't talk proper Italian. His language is based mostly on Italian words that Americans know and love in their language likee... Ravioli, or pizza then there's also a sprinkle of random American words, but he CAN understand what you say. We came around to calling it retarded Italian. Oh yeah, he also makes a great ravioli."

Giuseppe: "Pizza ravioli Guiseppe (holds out hand) spaghetti"

Donnie: (shaking hand) "So is it like every word has a translation??"

Teef: "Nah it's really completely random. One ravioli could mean biscuits in one sentence but shit in another."

Fat Toni: "Yeah... Trust Teef's judgement when it comes to retarded Italian. He's the only one who understands retarded Italian."

Teef: "Welcome to the gangstars, if you need anything, just reach reach me, I probably got what you need."

Fat Toni: "Teef's our guy whenever we need something, if you need something done, just go to him!

Donnie: "yeah, sure, whatever, but why the fuck does he sound so weird??"

Fat Toni: "Well a couple years back his ass got into some deep shit and well... He knew some people who could fix it... let's just say long story short, according to the law he's related to guiseppe and is legally required to speak in a shitty Italian accent. It's a story for another time."

Guiseppe: "Spaghetti artichoke" (starts ruffling in pockets) "biscotti penne"

Teef: "Oh c'mon Guiseppe. You really gotta do that this time??"

Guiseppe: "broccoli."

Donnie: "Wait- What's happening?"

Teef: "He uh says you gotta do the ritual."

Donnie: "Oh for fucks sake what's it now?"

(Once guiseppe seems content with what he was searching for, he pulls out a live chicken and holds it in both hands and starts talking retarded Italian. What he's talking about isn't important.)

Guiseppe: "coffee ciabatta gelato..."

Donnie: "What the fuck!? Where the hell did he even fit that thing!?"

Fat Toni: "It doesn't matter, it's bad luck to question the ritual. It's a tradition that's been going through the gangstars for centuries now, your gonna have to accept the complimentary chicken."

Donnie: "What!? No! I'm not gonna accept this stupid chicken!"

(Guiseppe takes note of this and looks offended, but continues with the ritual.)

Teef: "You gotta take the complimentary chicken man. No excuses now, you're a gangstar."

Donnie: "What the hell even is this place!?"

(Guiseppe finishes speaking and goes down on one knee and holds the chicken above his head)

Donnie: "I'm not gonna take the chicken"

Teef: "You gotta take it man."

(Guiseppe starts to slowly push the chicken towards Donnie's face)

Fat Toni: "just take the damn chicken, just for a minute."

Donnie: "I can't, I'm allergic dammit!"

(Guiseppe slowly starts getting seriously pissed)

Teef: "Would you do it for a quarter?"

(Donnie shoots Teef an annoyed glance)

Teef: "He ain't buying, Toni."

Fat Toni: "Well raise!! We need him to take the chicken!"

Teef: "But I already offered a quarter!"

Fat Toni: "Whoa Teef, he's not worth our entire budget."

(Guiseppe slowly starts getting seriously pissed)

Fat Toni: "Donnie, I'm telling ya this as a warning, not advice; take the chicken."

Donnie: "Alright! I'll take the chicken!!"

(Donnie takes the chicken in a sudden movement, Guiseppe goes back to normal and walks out.)

Donnie: (throwing the chicken behind him followed by a squawk) "What a weird motherfucker..."

(Doogie walks through the door)

Teef: "Motherfucker..."

Doogie: "Reporting for business, boss!"

Fat Toni: "Ah come onn didn't I give you that calculus book!?"

Doogie: "That was a colouring book for kids."

Fat Toni: "And I did NOT think you'd finish it so damn fast"

Donnie: "Alright whose this dumbass?"

Doogie: "well my-"

Teef: "We'll do the talking, asshole."

Teef: "His name's Doogie; the smartass dumbass never really officially joined the gangstars, he just started coming here."

Fat Toni: "Physically, he's worse than useless, but he's a real smartass... Most of the time he's just annoying though. No matter what we do, we can't get rid of him.

Donnie: "Well why don't you just" (makes a slitting throat gesture)

Fat Toni: (excitedly) "Oh yeah, that reminds me, check this out"

(Fat Toni pulls a gun to Doogie's forehead between his glasses and shoots him without hesitation. When Doogie dies, he makes the most pathetic sound. Doogie's corpse slides a small distance so his head is under an object.)

Donnie: "What the hell did you just do!?You killed the weird kid!!"

Fat Toni: "What? you suggested that I kill him? Didn't he Teef?

Teef: "He did, and by laws of the gangstars, he'd be held responsible"

Donnie: "No! I was making a joke! I didn't want you to seriously kill him!!"

Doogie: (Weak and slowly) "Goooo..."

Donnie: "Wait- why did he just make a noise? What was that?"

Teef: "That. Is the reason why we could never get rid of him. I mean cmon did you really think we didn't try killing him? I mean just look at him."

(Doogie starts making a very slow rise)

Teef: "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I have something to get"

(Doogie starts talking while rising)

Doogie: "How many times do I have to tell you to not to do that guys? I know it's funny but it's annoying. You ruined my good glasses too..." (continues )

(Teef walks next to Doogie with a shovel and smashes him by the back of the head towards a wall. Doogie makes another one of his pathetic noises as he dies. His corpse slides towards a wall and and some sort of stacked tall object falls just right to cover his body from the viewpoint and from all characters in the area.)

Teef: "Welp, I think I took care of that."

Donnie: "So.... What!?"

Fat Toni: "To put it simply, it was by some really shitty fortune that the one useless pain in the ass is basically impossible to get rid of. We've never seem what happens when he's being reborn. The surrounding will just comically rearrange themselves through extremely unlikely processes to cover his corpse."

Teef: "The more you try to force seeing the regeneration process, the more destructive the events get so they'll force YOU not to see it. So uh try not to do that."

(Two semi-large guys walk into view next to Toni)

One of them: "Hey Toni. A word please"

Toni: "Oh, hey Donnie, meet these guys." (points to one of them) "This guy is Tommy de mato" (points to the other one) "and he's Danny 'D' Ruff."

Donnie: "Damn, those are some pretty stupid yet kinda catchy names."

Teef: "Yeaah... That was back when we were using the catchy name generator."

Fat Toni: "Ahh that was a good one... Anyway, they're mostly undercover or doing background work so you won't be seeing much of them."

(Fat Toni turns to Tommy and Danny and then back to the others)

Fat Toni: "Alright. I'll be back in a minute"

(Fat Toni walks a small distance with Tommy and Danny to talk.)

Fat Toni: "Alright so what's up guys?"

Danny 'D' Ruff: "We found a bank. This one's too easy."

Fat Toni: "How much they are we gonna get outta this heist??"

Tommy De Mato: "Well they don't got much money or gold or much of anything because they literally just opened but they got cookies; lots and lotsa cookies."

Fat Toni: (Stroking chin in deep thought) "How many cookies are we talking about here?"

Danny 'D' Ruff: "Get this; whenever you deposit or withdraw money from an account, they'll give out free cookies."

Fat Toni: "Holy shit that's a lot of cookies..."

Tommy De Mato: "Think about it man, this time in a few days, we'll be rolling in cookies beyond our wildest dreams and a small portion of money."

Fat Toni: "Dammit, we're doing it!!"

(Fat Toni rejoins the rest and Danny and Tommy leave.)

Donnie: "No the fuck I won't do it!"

Teef: (Offering a bloody bat to Donnie) "C'mon it's not that hard to just give him a whack to the head."

Doogie: "No, please don't. It hurts"

Donnie: "No!! It's psychotic!"

Fat Toni: "Don't worry, Teef. He's only finding it so difficult because he doesn't know him well enough."

Teef: (with a hint of hostility) "Just give it time."

Fat Toni: "Alright guys. We're gonna rob a bank."

Teef: "Sweeet. It's been way too long." (yells upwards) "HEY, GUISEPPE!! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE. WE'RE PULLING A HEIST!!"

Guiseppe: (muffled) "Taglatelli pastrami!? Fusili?"

Teef: "uhhh... Brocoli lasagna pizza"

Guiseppe: "Fusili!"

Teef: "He's in."

Donnie: "Yeeaah I don't know... Now we're breaking the law? This felt more like some creepy fanclub thing. I never really thought of doing illegal shit..."

Fat Toni: "Yea but that's only cause you don't know the stash we're gonna pull from this heist."

Donnie: "Fine. What is it??"

Fat Toni: "Cookies; lots 'n' lotsa cookies."

Donnie: "Yup... Just as incredibly stupid as I figured."

(Guiseppe joins the group)

Guiseppe: "Concerto."

Teef: "He says he's ready."

Fat Toni: "How about everyone else?"

(Camera scrolls to the side as everyone gives their answer)

Teef: "Yeah!"

Guiseppe: "Libretto" (yes)

Doogie: (excitedly but cut off) "Ye-!"

Fat Toni: (Excitedly) "You aren't coming!"

Doogie: "Awww..."

(Camera goes on to Donnie who has an exaggeratedly and comically pissed off face and his arms crossed and is hunched)

Donnie: (with a childlike misery) "No."

Fat Toni: (excitedly) "Doesn't matter!!"

(View goes back to Fat Toni.)

Fat Toni: (In a cool voice) "Well. Now that everyone's ready..." (pauses while putting on some of the stupidest glasses on the end of his nose and pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose) "... Let's go rob a bank."

*** END OF EPISODE 1 ***

[raechelpapaya]

Granblue Fantasy (Fate AU)

[[ Self indulgent thing I wrote for the Fate AU we have goin on in the discord I’m on lol. This was only supposed to be a short piece, I’m sorry. It’s admittedly not really coherent either? But boy did I have fun writing it. ]]

—-

Percival appears amidst the smoke and dust, a ring of chalk as a summoning catalyst at his feet. He looks around the room — at the dusty shelves that have toppled over in his summoning, the books of magic scattered on the wooden floors.

Then, his fiery red eyes land upon the one who has summoned him.

They sit sprawled on the floor and look up at him in awe, most likely they had been knocked over by the force of his summons. Dust litters their clothes and their eyes are wide with amazement.

Naive. Inexperienced.

Percival tilts his chin up, eyes narrowing. “I am of the Saber class,” he announces. His lips part, ready to state his name as his to-be Master sits up with that same wide-eyed look that’s been plastered on their face since he’s arrived. He closes his lips, frowns a bit, and looks down at them. “I take it you are the one who summoned me?” He says.

They stand and dust off their clothes. “That’s me,” they say with a sheepish smile. They introduce themselves and hold their hand out to him. He looks down at their hand before looking back to their face. “It’s nice to meet you, Saber. Or... should I call you...” they trail off, looking to him patiently.

He quirks a brow. “Just Saber will be fine,” he answers and their hand falls away.

“You won’t tell me your name?” They ask with a pout.

He smirks. “You’ll have to earn it,” he tells them. He turns and leaves, the ends of his red cloak billowing behind him. He goes to the nearest door and pulls it open, looking around the dark hall. He looks back to them. “I advise you clean this up, mongrel. It’s unbecoming to live in such a mess,” he tells them.

They stand straighter, bristle. “Mongrel?!”

He chuckles and closes the door behind him, sets off to explore more of his new abode.

—-

He roams around their home the next day as well. He had been summoned in the dead of night and his Master had fallen asleep shortly after. It didn’t feel right to rummage around the home while his Master was asleep, so he dispels his physical form and turns in for the night as well.

He feels his Master’s eyes on him at every turn, their footsteps not far behind his as he continues to explore the home. Their eyes burn a hole in the back of his head and the feeling is starting to get on his nerves.

He turns another corner and another. He familiarizes himself with the home — both the first floor and the second floor. He knows which door leads to which room and which room holds what. The third door from the right at the entrance hall holds the private study in which he was summoned. The door at the farthest end of the hall upstairs is his Master’s quarters. The house quite large for one person to live in by themselves, he notes.

He turns another corner and heads down the stairwell, hears their footsteps not far behind his. He stops, halfway down the stairs, and looks back to them. “What is it? You’ve been following me around all day like a lost puppy,” he asks, his brow twitching.

They stand at the top of the stairwell, a determined frown on their features. “I’m trying to figure out who you are!” They answer.

“What.”

“You won’t tell me who you are! So I’m trying to figure you out based on your armor!” They stomp down the stairs to join him, jabbing him in the chest with an accusing finger.

He catches their hand in his, his eyes narrowing. “As I’ve said before. You need to earn my name,” he repeats.

Their frown only deepens. They take their hand from his and stomp past him. “I’ll figure it out!” They declare as they walk further away from him.

Percival releases a sigh and shakes his head.

—-

“What type of magic are you capable of, mongrel?” Percival asks as they lounge about his master’s home.

They haven’t made any moves towards achieving the holy grail. He’s aware that other Masters and servants had begun to make movements, but his remains idle.

They look at him from where they’re currently cooking their dinner. “Hm? Oh, you know. This and that,” they tell him. They whistle a cheerful tune as they lean against the kitchen countertop. He peers over curiously. Their bowl remains untouched and a lid has been placed over it.

He sits back. “That’s not an answer,” he challenges.

They sigh. “Basic spells. Some fire magic,” they share and Percival can’t help but smirk to himself. “I can make shields as well,” they confess.

Percival nods. “I’ll have to assess your abilities at a future time then,” he states and crosses his arms over his chest. He reclines against true couch, his eyes closing in thought. “Hopefully you’ll prove capable in battle,” he comments.

His Master makes a despondent noise in response.

He looks up to his Master — to where they’re still staring at their untouched dinner.

“For what reason do you fight, mongrel—“ he stops as a bell rings noisily.

“Ah! It’s done!” His Master says happily. He watches them peel the lid off their bowl, waves of steam rise up from the bowl. It has a salty scent, meaty.

They take their bowl to the dinner table and Percival figures that the end of that conversation.

—-

There’s a training room in the house, he learns.

The walls and floors are covered in a protective padding to lessen falls or blows. Cushiony enough to safely throw someone around.

“Are you familiar with any self defense?” Percival asks his Master after dragging them to the training room. He had just examined his Master’s magical prowess and it proved... less that useful.

Which means he’ll be doing most of the fighting.

Not that he expected otherwise.

His Master frowns at him. “Some,” they mutter defensively, unconvincingly.

Percival frowns as well. “Well then. Show me what you’ve got.” He approaches.

He throws a punch and they yelp, dodging out of the way. “Saber!” They scold, looking to him incredulously.

“You said you knew self defense,” he states.

“Not for fighting!” They retort.

He rolls his eyes. “For what way then?” He asks.

“For...” they frown. “For self defense,” They mutter. He narrows his eyes at them.

When they don’t resume speaking, he sighs. “It seems I have a lot to teach you then,” he says and eases his stance. He turns around and heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” His Master sputters behind him.

“Outside. We’ll work on your pitiful magic first.”

—-

His Master is a quick learner.

They take to his instructions easily and adjust accordingly.

They have plenty of room for improvement and growth as well as an incredible pool of mana to tap into.

It only seems fitting, seeing that they were the one to summon him.

The sound of his Master’s strained voice draws him from his inner thoughts. Their magic flickers before them in the form of a circle with a diameter about the length of both his arms, though the edges shake and quiver.

“Easy now,” he guides with a patient voice. “Make sure to evenly distribute your magic,” he tells them.

They nod and he sees a bead of sweat trickle down the side of their face. He’d been training them for a couple of weeks now, teaching them how to best utilize their magic. For how little experience they had, even with training, they were coming along wonderfully.

Their magic flickers before them and the circle before them becomes semi-translucent. The edges of the circle become more firm, stable, and Percival rounds them. He presses his palm against the center of the magical shield, but it does not give under his weight.

He steps back a few paces and draws his sword, his blade appearing in his hand in a wisp of flames. “Ready?” He asks.

His Master nods and adjusts their stance and Percival swings his blade against the magic shield. Sparks fly in different directions and his sword bounces off the shield. His Master staggers but the shield remains as it was, no flicker or waved in its edges.

A smirk fits his features. “Well done,” he says and his blade disappears in another wisp of flames. “Just a few days ago, your shield would’ve shattered just from my hand earlier. You’ve gotten better,” he tells them.

His Master smiles brightly and their shield fades away. “You complimented me!” They cheer, clapping their hands together.

He quirks a brow. “Is that so odd? You’ve improved so quickly from our few lessons. It’s only natural to compliment you, no?”

A giggle leaves his Master’s lips. “I guess so. But it’s probably also because I had such a great teacher,” they say in return and Percival lifts his chin with pride.

“That you did.”

—-

He desperately wants to leave his Master’s abode. He’s been cooped up in the house for nearly two months now.

His Master comes and goes as they please but he remains trapped within the house.

“You want to go dressed like that?” His Master retorts to his request to leave the home. It’s one of their days off and he would like for them to at least lead him around the town.

He looks down at himself, at his elegant armor from his home land. He looks back to his Master. “What’s wrong with it? This armor is from my homeland of—“ he stops short as he sees his Master’s eyes light up with excitement. He frowns. “Anyway, I want to be able to leave! I’m tired of remaining here!” He whines.

His Master gives him a sympathetic look. “You’re more than welcome to walk around town, Saber. I never said you couldn’t,” they point out.

Percival blinks.

“But if you’re really set on going, why not change? That way, you’re not in your stuffy armor,” they suggest. They pause. “And so you don’t stand out as much,” they add with a grin and Percival bristles.

They laugh, happy and light hearted. “I’m going to go change. Let me know if you still want to go.” They skip their way up the stairs and leave Percival by himself in the family room.

He huffs, frowns, and looks to a magazine that’s been left on a nearby table.

He frowns at the male model on the magazine cover, but with a snap of his fingers, his armors disappear and give way for more casual clothing. He wears a white top with a plunging neckline, a red belt cinched around his hips. He dons a dark red jacket and a pair of dark jeans. Another look at the magazine and he ties his hair back in a ponytail.

He examines himself in the mirror near the front door, turns and poses and examines all sides of himself.

“Saber—“

He stops short and spins to look at his Master who is halfway down the last step of the stairs, that same wide-eyed surprised look on their face as they regard them.

It’s that same dumb, awestruck look they gave him the night prior.

“Saber—!” They squeal with delight and heat flares in his cheeks.

“Not another word from you!” He barks. He snaps his fingers and he’s back in his armors.

“No! Change back! You looked so cute!” They squeal.

“O-Of course I did!”

—-

His Master takes him out to town every weekend after a display of his temper tantrum, as they called it.

The city is buzzing with so many people. There’s so much to see and do, it’s honestly a little overwhelming.

The buildings stand so tall overhead and there isn’t a moment when a street doesn’t have less than twenty people.

His eyes wander to and fro, looking here and there and checking everything.

He may be in the town enjoying the afternoon with his Master, but the grail war still continues on.

“Saber,” his Master’s pleasant voice draws him from his thoughts. He looks to them and they smile up at him. “They’re selling fresh fruit here. Would you like to take any home?” They offer, gesturing to the fruit stand they’re standing before.

“I don’t need—“ he stops and trails off, his eyes landing on a familiar red fruit.

His Master blinks up at him before following his gaze. “Ah. Strawberries? Would you like some then?” They offer.

He turns back to his Master. “I don’t need any—“

“I’ll take some strawberries, please,” His Master says to the old woman running the shop, completely ignoring him.

He frowns. “Oi—“

“They’re not specifically for you,” his Master counters. They look over their shoulder at him and flash him a grin. “I want some too,” they say.

Percival frowns. A retort is lost on his lips when the old woman laughs softly. “You two make such a cute couple,” the old woman laughs with a sense of nostalgia.

His Master laughs as well. “Haha, thank you!” They say and pay for the strawberries. They take it and return home.

Percival watches the river they walk above on their scenic route home. Beside him, his Master whistles a happy tune that grates on his ears. He sighs. “For what reason do you fight, mongrel?” He speaks up, shattering the silence between them.

He hears his Master sigh too. “Again with the mongrel thing. Do you even know my name, Saber?” They huff at him.

“Why are you taking part in the Holy Grail War?” He asks again. “You’re awfully young. Is this the first time you’ve participated in a grail war before? Our enemies are surely making their movements now if they haven’t already. It’s been months and we haven’t made a single move—“

They step up behind him and grip the back of his shirt. Percival tenses but immediately senses why his Master has approached him so. He takes a defensive stance, holds his arm out protectively.

“Sa—“

“Quiet,” he orders, his eyes narrowing as he scours the area.

The air stills around them. Suffocating. Stifling. And then—

Percival turns.

He shoves his Master away with one arm and summons his blade in a wisp of flames. His blade clashes with another and he nearly staggers from the force of the attack.

He grunts and shoves his attacker off.

His attacker lands with a powerful lance, a golden lance in one hand and a shield strapped to his other arm. He wears silver and golden armor, his long golden hair billowing.

“Finally. I’ve found you, Saber,” his attacker says.

Percival snaps his fingers and his signature armor appears on his clothes. “Been looking for me, have you?” He smirks as flames begin to dance around his blade. “I hope to make your search worthwhile then.” Percival readies himself.

His opponent twirls his spear in hand, poised and ready to attack. “I am Lancer. Here I come!” Lancer rushes forward and Percival deflects his attack.

They dance in circles. Lancer strikes and Percival dodges. Percival steps around him and Lancer blocks the attack with a shield. Their blades collide and bounce off each other, sparks fly, and Percival wipes at Lancer’s feet, flames dancing off his blade.

Lancer jumps back, poised and ready to attack.

“Saber!”

Percival whips his head to look at his Master before turning again to follow the line of their vision. Balls of flame come hurdling towards him before they collide and sizzle off the magic shield that is suddenly erected before him. Percival turns back to his Master, their hands glowing with magic.

He turns his attention back to Lancer. “That was a cowardly attack! Was that from your Master?” Percival hisses but Lancer’s wide-eyed gaze is turned to his Master.

“So young,” Lancer breathes with astonishment. His stance is still hardened and ready for battle, but Lancer’s gaze remains on Percival’s Master. “To be part of the Holy Grail War at such a young age...” Lancer breathes again.

Percival looks back to his Master, their eyes hardened but wide with anxiousness and distress.

Lancer gasps and Percival turns back to him, gripping his sword tighter.

But Lancer’s attention is directed over his own shoulder. “But Master—!” Lancer’s face hardens with turmoil.

Most likely he’s receiving an order from his Master.

Lancer turns back to Percival, his brows knitted together. “Hurry. Take your Master and leave,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

Percival’s eyes narrow. “Why,” he barks back.

“My Master has ordered me to kill yours,” Lancer warns, his eyes sliding to his young Master.

Percival’s eyes follow and he regards his Master, fear written all over their features.

“Please. I do not wish to take the life of someone so young,” Lancer pleads. Percival takes one step back, his eyes locked on Lancer. A groan leaves Lancer’s throat and he staggers, his breaths haggard. “Hurry! I can only fight off the command seal for so long!” Lancer barks.

Percival nods his head once. “This fight is not over, Lancer,” Percival swears before he hurries to his Master’s side.

They grip his arms, the bags of their groceries left forgotten on the floor from when he had shoved them away earlier. “Saber—“ their eyes are desperate as they look up at him.

“Come now, this way,” he ushers them along with a gentle voice, taking them by the hand.

“Saber!”

Percival stops and looks to Lancer. “Be careful of Caster. He’s a dangerous one,” Lancer warns.

Percival nods his thanks and takes his Master on his way.

—-

Percival watches his Master in the kitchen as they prepare yet another bowl of those noodles that take only three minute to cook.

He stands and approaches them. “Again with this?” Percival mutters and his Master jumps.

“You scared me, Saber,” they sigh and look back at him.

“Is it that good that you must have it every other night?” Percival questions as he stares down at the offending bowl of noodles. The timer rings off and he slaps the button to quiet the irritating noise.

“Well...” his Master trails off, unable to meet his eyes.

Percival lifts the lid and grabs the chopsticks from his Master’s hand. He takes the some noodles and lifts it into his mouth only to immediately spit it back out.

“Saber! That’s so gross!” His Master whines as Percival coughs and downs some water.

“That’s not food, mongrel!” Percival hisses, the extremely salty taste still lingering on his tongue. “You eat this every other night?!”

“Only because I’m too tired to cook!” His Master returns defensively.

Percival jabs an accusing finger at the bowl. “This is food for a child!” He shakes his head. “I suppose it’s only fitting for someone of your age.”

His Master stares at him. “I’m in my twenties, Saber!”

Percival stares back at them.

“Grab your coat, mongrel!” He orders and storms his way to the door.

“Wha—“

“I’m takin you shopping for actual food so you can cook an actual meal! This is a disgrace! My Master shouldn’t live in such an unbecoming way—“ he continues his rant as he drags his Master out the door, scolding them for their eating habits.

—-

Percival sits on the floor of the dusty library where he was first summoned. The room is far too quiet and too dusty for his liking.

His Master should really clean this room up.

A knock on the door pulls him from his thoughts and he looks to the door as it cracks open. His Master pokes their head in. “Saber? You’ve been in here all day...” they voice their concern.

“My mana is low,” he answers simply.

“Oh.” The door cracks open a little further and they lean against the door frame. “Don’t you hate being in here? It’s dusty,” the point out.

Percival frowns at them. “And whose fault is that?” He asks.

A guilty smile dots their face. “I’m busy. I don’t have time to clean this whole house by myself,” they sigh, looking around the library. Their eyes, innocent and good, turn back to him. “But if your mana is low, isn’t there some way I can help? There’s gotta be a better method than sitting here in this dusty library,” they laugh.

His cheeks color and Percival turns away. “There are other methods,” he tells them.

“Well, great! Come over here so I can help you out!” They beckon him over with a wave of their hand.

Percival remains rooted to the floor. His Master skips over and tugs him up by the hand. “Hey—“

“Come on, I’m tired of being here, Saber!” His Master easily pulls him up and out of the library. They close the door behind them and they lead Percival back to the family room. They sit in the couch together. “Well? What are the other methods?” His Master asks expectantly.

His eyes drop to their lips. “I could take in your blood,” he answers. His Master blinks at him. He smirks. “I don’t think I want to though. Your blood must taste terrible based on what you eat,” he quips.

“Hey!”

Percival chuckles and stands to his feet. “I’ll be in the library if you need me—“ he stops when his Master tugs at his hand.

“Let me help, Saber. It’s only blood, right?” They offer with a small smile. He can’t help but sigh and sit back on the couch with them. He doesn’t missed the happy expression on their face when he sits either. “How much blood do you need?”

Percival’s eyes slide to their nervous expression. “Only a small amount,” he lies. He takes their hand in his and turns it so their palm is facing upward. He takes one last look at their face before he uses some magic to prick their finger.

His Master jumps. “Ow,” they give a small whine.

“Hush. It was only a pinprick,” Percival says as the blood seeps out slowly from the wound. He squeezes their finger until the blood covers about half of the first part of their finger.

He pulls their finger to his mouth, closes his lips around their finger. They stiffen and make a small noise, and Percival looks up at them through his lashes. They blush and make another noise when Percival sucks on their finger.

He licks around the finger and they bite their lip.

He pulls their finger from his mouth.

“D-Done?” They ask, pulling their hand to their chest.

Percival nods. “Yes, I’m feeling better.” He stands to his feet and walks away only a few paces before he turns back to his Master. “... thank you.”

His Master smiles. “You’re welcome, Saber!” They reply cheerily.

Percival gives them a small smile in return and makes his way back to the library.

—-

They meet that Caster bastard — the same one Lancer has warned him about.

A pale, white-haired, heartless bastard with a scar across his neck and twelve black wings sprouting from his back. He floats above them, dark and menacing, his large swords floating at his side.

Percival remains kneeled on the ground, still trying to catch his breath. Pools of black ichor are splattered across the floor, each one from Caster. Percival’s red blood stains his armor — from the damage he’s taken from battle. None of his wounds fatal, thankfully.

Off to the side, his Master lies motionless in a pool of black ichor that had finally coughed them up after swallowing them whole and blinking them out of existence.

Motionless, but not dead.

Not dead.

Beside him, Lancer staggers to his feet. “Just a bit more, Saber. Caster should be on their last breath,” Lancer heaves out in between his haggard breaths.

“We won’t be able to last much longer, Lancer,” Percival remarks as he rises to his feet. He clutches his side as he feels is wound open again, warm blood spilling and soaking into his clothes. He grits his teeth.

“Saber!” Lancer calls out in warning. He moves in front of Percival as Caster’s swords fly at them, only to be deflected by a familiar dark great sword.

The owner of the great sword lands before Percival and Lancer, donned in black armor and a tattered cloak on his shoulder.

Percival stares at the dark blade with disbelief, his eyes finally trailing up to the servant in the dark armor as they remove their helmet. Long dark brown hair tumbles down the servant’s shoulders and Percival’s breath leaves his lungs.

“Siegfried...” he whispers shakily.

Siegfried turns to Percival, giving them a tired smile. “Long time no see, Percival,” he greets before turning to Lancer. “But just Berserker will do for now.”

“Lancer, Saber,” Siegfried addresses them as he places his helmet back on. He draws his great sword with far too much ease, readying himself into an offensive stance. “Let’s take Caster down, shall we? He’s been causing too much trouble during this grail war.”

Caster chuckles. “Let’s see if you can try,” he says and lifts his arm. His swords rise with him only for thorny vines to reach out from the shadows and wrap around his arms, digging into his skin. He grunts, black ichor spilling from his wounds. “What?” He hisses, looking over his shoulder.

Caster beats his wings and surges forward, drawing the servant on the other end of the thorny vines from out of the shadows — a woman with long dark hair and a dress with roses along the collar.

“Assassin!” Lancer calls out.

“Go now, you fools!” She yells back as she rides the momentum of her vines. She swings and arches over Caster, drawing daggers hidden beneath the thick skirts of her dress. She throws her daggers at Caster as Berserker races forward.

Lancer and Percival follow after.

“We’ll give you an opening, Saber!” Lancer declares.

Caster deflects Assassin’s daggers with ease. She lands gracefully, her hands glowing with magic, as thick vines shot from the ground and wrap around the base of Caster’s wings. She yells and the vines yank Caster down to earth, slamming him into the ground.

Caster swings his two massive swords, trying to hit anywhere and anything. Berserker intercepts, deflecting and knocking away the large swords with his own. A light starts to form above their heads and Lancer looks to Percival and the others. “Behind me!” He calls. Percival positions himself behind Lancer as Assassin and Berserker join them. “Ritter Shield!” Lancer yells, a translucent shield appearing above their heads.

“Paradise Lost!!” Caster yells as beams of light plummet down, pummeling against Lancer’s shield.

Assassin turns to Percival. “As soon as the attack is done, Lancer will drop his shield. We’ll need you to attack as soon as that happens,” she tells him over the roar of the attack.

Percival nods and readies his blade.

The beams were deafening, pounding and smashing against Lancer’s Ritter Shield.

When the last beam hit, the shield drops and Percival charges forward.

“Lohen—!” His sword is engulfed with red hit flames, a ring of fire spirals around him.

Hotter, hotter.

He summons flames hotter than he’s ever used before. His sword singes his skin through his thick gauntlets.

“—Wolf!” Percival yells as he slices forward at Caster who roars with pain as the flames burn and engulf him, leaving only singed ground behind and a ring where Caster once was.

Lancer comes up behind him. “Did you finish him off?” He asks.

The flames on Percival’s blade fade away. “No,” he answers and stares down at the unburnt circle of land where Caster had been pinned. Percival’s blade vanishes as he whips around. “Master!” He jogs over, falls to his knees beside them, and pulls them out of the pool of ichor. He clutches them to his chest, turning them so he can look at their face. “Master? Master!” He shakes them gently and he hears the quietest intake of breath.

He releases a heavy sigh, closes his eyes, and touches his forehead to theirs.

“Is your Master alright?” Berserker’s voice comes from behind Percival.

Percival looks over his shoulder, the window of his old comrade’s mask has been lifted to reveal his face. “Siegfried....Yes. They’re okay,” he whispers and looks back to his Master. “But they’re not waking up.”

Berserker approaches and kneels beside Percival. He touches a hand to his Master’s forehead. “They might be afflicted with something. Let me take you to my Master. They’re a wonderful healer,” Berserker says.

Percival nods but looks over his shoulder when he hears footsteps approach. Lancer and Assassin stand a few feet from each other, as well as a few feet from Percival and Berserker.

“Berserker,” Assassin speaks, her voice cool, “is that all?”

Berserker stands and looks to Assassin. “Yes, that will be all. Thank you, Assassin,” Berserker says to her.

Assassin nods her head. “Then my debt is repaid,” she says before she disappears in a flurry of rose petals.

Percival looks to Berserker curiously but his old comrade shakes his head. Percival then turns his attention to Lancer. “Thank you, Lancer. It seems I’ll owe you another favor for aiding me again,” Percival says.

Lancer shakes his head, a small grin on his face. “You can repay it with a fair duel between us,” he quips.

“I look forward to it,” Percival says in return. Lancer bids them farewell before he disappears in a shimmer of golden dust.

With just the two of them left, Percival turns to Berserker. “You said your Master has healing magic?” Percival asks, his voice low. Berserker nods and quietly gestures for Percival to follow him. Percival takes his Master into his arms, cradles them against his chest, and follows Siegfried into the night.

They end up at a quaint little house in the city. The front door creaks open when Berserker pushes on it gently. A lights flicker on in the house and Berserker’s armors fade away into more casual clothes — a simple dark t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of thick rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of his nose. Percival closes the door behind him with a gentle nudge of his leg and he hears the patter of tiny footsteps coming down the hall.

“Papa!” A young girl — no older than six or seven years old — comes running down the hall..

Berserker kneels down and opens his arms up, letting the young girl leap into his embrace. “I’m home, little one,” he greets.

The young girl parts from the hug, looking Berserker over. “You’re not hurt are you?” She asks, tears bubble in her eyes.

Berserker shakes his head. “I’m not hurt, but my friend is,” Berserker says and turns his attention to Percival and his Master. “Can you help them?” Berserker asks with a kind voice.

Berserker’s Master looks to Percival. “They’re your friends, Papa?” They ask and Berserker nods. The young girl nods as well and turns back to Percival. “Okay. They can sleep in the guest room!”

—-

He sits in a chair beside his Master’s bed. They sleep soundly, their breathing much more even than when it was before Berserker’s Master healed them, which relieved Percival greatly.

It’s the dead of night and though his Master sleeps peacefully, he cannot.

He reaches over and gently brushes their hair from their face. They lean into his touch and Percival can’t help but let a small smile appear on his face.

They stir and shift, their head turning toward Percival. Their eyes flutter open and he sits up slightly. “Master,” he breathes with relief, gently closing his hand around theirs. He had long forgone his armor in favor of more casual clothes yet again.

A small smile appears on their features and they squeeze his hand, their grip so weak. “You didn’t call me mongrel this time,” they croak quietly.

Percival chuckles a bit and cradles their hand in between his, bringing it up to rest his forehead against the back of their hand. “Don’t get used to it,” he whispers.

They giggle. “I kind of liked it,” they admit. Percival grins at them. Their eyes roam away from his face to look around the room. “Where are we?” They ask.

“Berserker’s house,” he answers.

They look back to him, their eyes wide. Percival shakes his head. “They’re a friend.”

“Okay,” they whisper and nod their head. They shift on the bed again, seeming to sink deeper beneath the plush blankets. “I’m still tired,” they whisper. Their eyes flutter closed.

“Sleep,” he advises. “We’ll return home when you’re feeling better.”

They nod. “Will you be here when I wake up?” They ask.

He nods. “I’ll stay with you all night,” he promises.

—-

They leave late in the afternoon when his Master wakes. They thank Berserker and his Master when they say part in the morning and Berserker’s young Master asks them to visit and come play another day.

They return home and they continue about their daily duties. His Master studies up on the training regimen that he sets for them as he readies dinner for them.

They watch whatever program is on the television before his Master turns in for the night. Percival remains awake, reading through some novels that he’s found within the house — some romance novels to pass the time.

He hears the faint steps of feet on the wooden floors and he looks up from his book to see his master entering the family room as they descend the stairs. They’re still dressed in their pajamas and their hair is disheveled.

“It’s two in the morning, Master,” he chides as he slips his bookmark into place as he shuts his book closed. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” He looks to them, resting his chin against his fist as he props his arm on the arm rest.

“I could say the same to you,” they quip.

He smirks.

They pause and play with the hem of their shirt.

“I can’t sleep,” they tell him. His brows raise slightly and his smirk falls away. “I had a nightmare,” they add.

They pause again. “Can you sleep with me, Saber?” They ask so quietly, Percival almost doesn’t hear them.

He sets his book down on the coffee table and approaches his Master. He gently ushers them back to their room without another word, his hand on their back.

They return to his Master’s room. Percival waits for his Master to crawl under the blankets of their large bed. They scoot to one end of the bed to make room for him and he climbs atop the covers to lay beside them, facing them. He tucks one arm under his head as his Master snuggles deeper under the blankets, only the upper half of their face showing. They blink up at him in the dark room.

“Thank you, Saber,” they whisper.

“Of course,” he says. “Sleep well, Master.”

They nod and their eyes flutter shut. Just when Percival thinks they’ve finally fallen asleep, their hand moves out from under the blanket, reaching out for him.

He reaches for their hand, closing his fingers around theirs, and his Master shoots closer to him.

“Good night, Saber,” They whisper, voice leaden with sleep.

“Good night, Master.”

—-

Percival sleeps beside them every night from then on.

And he finds that he, too, has an easier time falling asleep at night.

—-

“Do you have a wish for the grail, Saber?” His Master asks during one of their breaks from training.

It’s down to just the last couple of servants for the Grail War — himself, Caster, and Berserker.

Percival ponders his Master’s question.

His mother’s face comes to mind.

Then his Master’s.

“Not particularly,” he lies and turns back to his romance novel. He should really recommend better novels to his Master.

“Then you’re just fighting with no wish in mind?” His Master asks.

“A little late to be talking about this now, isn’t it?” Percival quips without looking to his Master. “And you have a wish, don’t you, Master?”

His Master is quiet so he looks over his shoulder to look at them. There’s a pensive expression on their face and when they notice he’s watching them, they smile. “I suppose I do have a wish,” they tell him.

He waits a moment. “Will you tell me what it is?” He asks when his Master doesn’t continue.

They laugh. “It’s a secret,” they say with a smile.

—-

It’s the night of the final fight.

Tonight, someone will be declared winner of the Holy Grail War.

Percival waits outside, dressed in his armors. His expression is tense, pensive. He shifts his blade in his hand, stares up at the full moon overhead.

“Percival,” his Master calls.

He looks down to his blade. “Yes?” He asks.

He stops and looks to his Master who lingers at the front door. They give him a small smile.

“Where did you hear that name?” He asks, his voice almost swallowed up by the quiet night.

They step outside and close the front door behind them. “I’ve dreamt about you — visions of your life before. You’re from the House of Wales and the youngest of three sons to Herzeloyde and Ghamuret,” they share and Percival can’t help but stare at them.

They shrug their shoulders. “That’s about all I’ve pieced together from my dreams,” they admit quietly. They give Percival a small smile. “I wish we could’ve talked more about your past,” they say as they step up to them. Their head rests against his chest.

Percival stares down at them, something twinging in his heart. “You make it sound like we’re not going to have time to talk after the War is over,” he whispers to them, a small smirk on his lips. “When we win, you could always wish for us to spend more time together.”

A quiet laugh leaves their lips. “Maybe. What do you want to wish for, Percival?” They ask.

This time, his Master’s face enters his mind.

“I don’t have anything I need to wish for in particular,” he tells them.

“Liar,” his Master says.

“Will you tell me your wish if I tell you mine?” Percival asks.

They tilt their head up to look at him. “You’ll get to hear it when we win,” they say with a grin and he can’t help but smile. “Thank you for fighting with me, Percival. I may not be the best or the most experienced Master, but I’m grateful to have you at my side.”

Percival takes their hand and kisses the back of their hand. “I couldn’t have asked for a better Master,” he tells them and they smile.

He reaches his free hand up to brush hair away from their face. His eyes search theirs as he hesitated to rest his hand against their cheek. “Before we go... I’m a little low on mana,” he whispers under his breath.

They blink. “Right before battle, Percival? That has to be the worst timing,” they laugh. They hold their hand up to him. “Just a little bit, right?”

Percival gently pushes their hand away. “There’s a different way,” he whispers, his eyes never parting from theirs. When they look at him questioningly, he leans down to whisper in their ear.

He pulls back to look at them, nervous and anxious — more so than when he was mentally preparing himself for the final fight for the Grail.

“I hope you’re really low on mana, then,” they whisper and reach up to cup Percival’s cheeks. They push up onto the tips of their toes and Percival meets them halfway, his lips brushing against theirs.

—-

Their magic isn’t strong enough to block against Caster’s noble phantasm.

But that doesn’t stop them from jumping in front of Percival to block the attack.

“You fool!! You stupid fool!” Percival remembers screaming, helpless to get up from the wounds he received in his battle with Caster.

Caster doesn’t bother to finish them off, instead leaving them to slowly bleed out from their fatal wounds.

His vision waters as he crawls his way to his Master, their breathing shallow and raspy. The pool of blood they lay in is their own and Percival nearly sobs when he feels it soak into his clothes as he crawls to them.

He sits up, ignores the blinding pain in his body as he worsens his wounds. He pulls his Master into his arms, cradling them against his chest.

“Percival...” they rasp, a far-away look in their eye.

He tucks them close to him, touches his forehead to theirs.

“I’m so... so sorry,” they whisper weakly. “If you had a stronger Master...”

He shakes his head, his body trembles as he holds them closer.

“If only you had a better Master... your wish...” their voice breaks.

Percival releases a shaky breath. “I would want no other Master than you,” he tells them.

Their breathing grows shallower.

“My wish, Percival...” his Master reaches up to touch his cheek. His vision waters as he looks down at their face.

feels his tether to the world slipping, breaking.

Just a little longer.

Just a little longer.

Please.

“I wished to be reborn in another world where I could be with you again.”

He sucks in a shaky breath, holds his Master close, and kisses their forehead.

“You and I shared the same wish,” he tells them.

And their eyes close for the last time as he whispers their name, a silent promise to forever remember the name of his beloved Master as the last thread connecting him to the world finally severs.

—-

He has dreams of another world.

Another world filled with endless fighting and magic.

Another world with a magic item that grants wishes.

Another world where he had someone beloved.

Another world where his beloved shared the same laugh, same smile, and same name as the skyfaring captain he travels with now.

He walks onto the deck of the Grandcypher, the early morning sun just rising over the horizon. His captain stands at the railing, watching the rising sun.

They turn to him and greet him with a smile as warm as the morning sunlight.

“Percival,” His captain calls to him by way of greeting.

He smiles and says their name — a name he’s cherished deep within his heart.