#my brain worms are important. i like to think they help keep me alive

[vagueiish]

thinking about my boy oli and how i still think he'd be a terrible companion, but maybe not?

at the very least, i think i've kind of figured out what the... end choice? the actual major split in the road would be for his personal quest/arc. which, major spoilers for the ending of bg3, so...

but i think the real Big Choice in his companion quest would be during the 'who should become an ilithid' conundrum. majorly irrelevant if you trust the emperor, so maybe i'm not quite on the right track? because i'm not quite sure where else his story should lead other than 'has he come to value himself enough that he doesn't sacrifice himself at the end just because he thinks that's all he's good for?' and whether he offers to become a mindflayer or has to be persuaded or refuses.

because his arc/story, though the major themes kinda vibe with the rest of the group, is much more lowkey. he has no ties to baldur's gate -- that he's aware of, anyway, having spent his whole life thinking his mother was dead. not knowing she's alive and thriving in baldur's gate -- and no skin in any of the god/devil related shenanigans.

i suppose his patron could enter the arena and remind him of his own pact, but his pact involves him having to have a child before a certain age.... and, honestly, that whole angle does not sound appealing to me right now, lmao. i suppose it would tie into autonomy or whatever, but that feels like a whole ugly can of worms and i already have a plot bunny for that for later on, post-game. it's quite fucky!

but his whole thing is that, his whole life, he's been told that he's ruined lives simply by being born. he feels he has to make up for it by doing whatever he can for others. which makes him perfect as a completionist pc, lmao, it makes character sense he'd do All The Things. as a companion... eh, not so much? maybe throughout the game he offers to do some of the more dangerous things to keep the pc from getting hurt - 'hey, I can read the spooky book if you'd like. that way nobody important gets cursed, should it actually be evil!' 'hey, maybe you should let the bard try his dangerous procedure out on me! that way nobody important gets hurt!''hey, lae'zel, maybe you should let me use the ominous looking chair first. as a test.'(which, I wish that was a fuckin dialogue option, lmao) etc. but i'm...not sure how to make that into a questline

but the major themes of the others involve subjugation to others in some sense. breaking free from that -- or not it's a choice. oliver... his arc, as i'm conceiving of it doesn't really have that breaking free moment? or maybe i'm just looking at it wrong. because all the others' shit kind of boils down to 'do you see worth in yourself? are you worth the effort of healing/recovery? is reclaiming yourself worth the fear and possible danger that comes with eschewing all you've ever known?' or something around there. right?

oli... i don't know. he doesn't really have anything to break away from, at least not in the immediate area. he's already far from home. again he has no immediate connections to the plot or the city, other than his mother, who would definitely factor into his questline.

maybe he starts to realize that what's happening back home actually has been shitty for him this whole time, and he actually hasn't deserved it? he doesn't actually ruin lives simply by existing? maybe if he's not the leader, no longer the one who has to figure everything out for everyone else and so can distract himself from his own issues...he's forced to deal with his own issues.

maybe it's he's finally realizing he's never really been his own person? since his parents died when he was like... 5. the vast majority of what he's done has been for others. p much everything. he doesn't even join the party for himself but to help the others with their tadpoles. the same fuckin issue he has.

i don't know. kinda feels like i'm on the cusp of something, but my brain is fucky. i really do like the idea of the culmination of his personal arc being the mindflayer choice, getting to a place where he cares enough about himself to say no, actually, he doesn't want to do it. maybe to a place he cares enough about himself that you don't even get the option to persuade/intimidate him. he's more than what he can do for others. more than running himself ragged and making sacrifices. he gets to be selfish.

[kii2me2ii2]

do I actually not care that the people in my head are fake or can I not afford to care

[disasterofastory]

Rivals (Severus Snape x Reader)

Rivals young!Severus Snape x Reader Warning: bullying

New fandom. I'm a little bit worried about this fandom because I'm definitely not a hardcore Potterhead, but I have so many ideas for Severus, and I want to share them with you guys.

Y/N and young!Severus are more than just rivals.

When you first stepped into the castle with a bunch of other kids around you, waiting for the Sorting ceremony, you knew your life would change forever, and you have to give your best. You were full of eagerness to learn and want to prove yourself in front of your teachers and fellow students. The Hat sorted you into Ravenclaw, you got to know the castle and your teachers, and you made friends as the months and years went by. You became the captain of your Quidditch team, and despite the endless training and matches, you are still one of the best-graded students.

You only have one headache.

Severus Snape.

The boy is tall and lanky, and you never see his face without his black hair he uses as a curtain. He has a few friends, but your circle of friends never mixes with his. He is quiet and stoic. The only times you hear him speaking loud and clear when he is arguing with you about an answer or a test.

Even before you knew, you were rivals. The fact that you are the captain of your team helps you a lot with your results, but while you are horrible at potions, Severus is talented and hard-working. At first, the competition existed only in your head, but as the years went by, you noticed the boy’s annoyed expression whenever you had better grades than him.

After six years of competition, you came to the point when you had to admit to yourself you will never beat each other. Since then, you look at it as a game. Severus keeps you on your toes, and sometimes you just tease him for fun. After years of staring at him arguing with you about something, you noticed he is rather cute. He has thin but kissable lips, and his pale skin becomes reddish from anger whenever you tell him you are the smarter one. You enjoy your encounters even if you don't know about Severus’s opinion. 

You sit in the garden, hoping for some fresh air before your next class when you start to hear voices and laughs. At first, you want to ignore it and read over your notes, but the shouts get louder, and the word Snivellus pushes everything else out of your mind. You stand up from your bench to follow the noises till you see the sources.

Severus tries to gather his books and notes from the ground while the Marauders tower over him, laughing and guffawing. You see Severus’s torn potion book in Potter’s hands, and you see his mouth moves, but you can’t hear him because of the others. Pettigrew hits Sirius's shoulder when he says something funny, and Severus makes sure they don’t see his expression behind his black hair.

You are not the only one who comes to see the ruckus. People start to stand in a circle around them until you can’t see anything but their backs. You hear their cheers as Severus’s humiliation continues. 

Your first thought is maybe you shouldn’t intervene, it’s not your business, and you still can call a teacher for help, but as these thoughts run over your head, you get angry at yourself. Could you really let the poor boy here? If you do it, you aren’t different from the people who have fun while the Gryffindors hurt him.

He is smart and, despite your interactions mostly about arguing, he always helps you on potions even when you tell him you don’t need them.

You grab your bag to place it over your shoulder and start to run into the crowd. You struggle through the people until you arrive in the circle. Severus still struggles with his books while the other four make sure to entertain their audience.

“Y/N,” Potter calls you as he notices you stepping out of the crowd. Severus’s head snaps up in a panic, hearing your name. “Just in time!”

“No!” Severus start to argue, but his words are meaningless for the boy who walks next to you.

“Look at this!” He shoves the potion book into your hand. “You have a secret admirer,” he laughs.

Severus’s handwriting is messy, but you can still read your name in a heart-shaped drawing. You have to force yourself not to smile at it, looking over and over again your name.

“Who thought Snivellus has feelings?” Sirius asks loud enough for others to hear, and he gets his reward in laughs and cheers.

“Shut up!” You shout at him, closing the book in your hands. Your skin is hot from embarrassment and excitement. “You shouldn’t be jealous, Black,” you continue, stepping next to Severus to help him gather his things. “You don’t have a brain and feelings but don’t give up, maybe a few years, and you will look like a man.”

“You shouldn’t stand up for a worm. It’s not good for your reputation,” Pettigrew says.

“You shouldn’t open your disgusting mouth,” you snarl. “It’s not good for your nonexistent reputation. And if you ever hurt him again, I make sure my potion will eat you alive.”

You and Severus the only ones who know you would do it because of an accident and not knowledge. You grab the boy’s arm to help him steady himself as you pull him through the crowd.

“Are you okay?” You ask him when you get far from the idiots. “Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

“No,” he replies quietly. He is too embarrassed to look at you, but the warmth of your hand on his arm is too good to get out of your touch.

“Come, I know a place,” you tell him, pulling him with you.

The corridors are almost empty. The classes started a few minutes ago, but you don’t care. You have a more important matter to do than Herbology. You're heading to the library because you know, in the middle of the day it'll be empty.

You sit down not far from Severus, and you wait for a few minutes patiently while he repairs his bag and puts back everything in it. His hair still hides his face from you, and your fingers itch to adjust it behind his ears.

“Your book,” you tell him, reaching out his potion book for him. He grabs it out of your hand with hurried movements. You can see his dark eyes and red skin for a moment as you still wait for him patiently. After he packs everything, he stands still, hovering over the table, fidgeting.

“You want to talk about it?” You ask him softly. “I mean… about my name in your book.”

You are sure you will combust if you don’t bring up the topic you want to talk about so much.

“For what?” He asks you angrily. “It’s not your business,” he continues defending himself.

“Well... it’s my name,” you reason. “Come on, Severus! Sit down!” You order him softly, grabbing his arm to sit down next to you. You know you have to be careful. He is embarrassed and humiliated, and he doesn’t know about your feelings for him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He says. His voice is desperate, and it breaks your heart.

“No, don’t be,” you grab his hand and pull it to your lap. “I like you too,” you confess.

“Don’t play with me,” he tries to move out of your hold, but you don’t let him. His hand feels good in yours. You can almost imagine holding it as you walk to your next class beside the boy.

“I don’t, Severus, I promise,” you reply. You push his hair from his face with your other hand to see his expression. You can see the fear and slight hope on his opened mouth and black eyes.

“But… I thought you hate me,” he whispers.

“I thought you hate me,” you reply with a small smile. “I don’t hate you,” you continue. “You are the only one who smart enough to compete with me among these dunderheads.”

“So… you are not angry? Probably everybody knows about my book by now. They will pick on you too.”

“No, I’m not,” you squeeze his hand with a big inhale. “I like you too,” you repeat to ensure him. “I do for a while now.”

“So… so… it means…” he tries to have an answer for his unsaid questions, and you can’t help but smirk.

He is too cute.

“It means I would like to be your girlfriend."

His eyes shine as he looks up at you finally. His mouth closes and opens repeatedly but can’t utter a word out. His cheeks are still tinted with pink, and you can feel the sweat on his palm. The only thing he can do is nod. His lips are dry, and his throat tightened, looking at your soft expression.

“Come here,” you laugh at his shut down, pulling him closer to you by his tie.

At first, you kiss the corner of his mouth, and when you see he doesn’t against your closeness, you kiss him fully on his lips. He needs a few moments before he finds out what he should do, but you are perfectly fine to leading him. His skin is soft as you caress his cheek, and his lips are warm and taste like tea.

You pull back and look up at him to see his dreamy expression.

His breath is heavy, and in the back of his mind, he still thinks it’s just a prank, but the only thing you do is smile and continue to caress his cheek. He wishes you never stop it. 

[pmiller1]

Shoka, How does you feel about Rindo knowing that you were Swallow?

Shoka: ...

Shoka: Why did I ever told you from that timeline...?

Rindo: I don't know, why didn't you tell me that was be willing to let yourself be erased from that dumb Reaper ruled?

Shoka: Still salty about that?

Rindo: Yeah, my best friend that knew for three year was so willing to do something stupid like that.

Shoka: I-It not like you need me anymore. You had Fret, Nagi, Worm-for-brain and Neku. Was I am really that important to you? You didn't really know me. Like to you, I was some loser that help you in a AR game.

Rindo: Shoka, you where important to me, and not just because of the Game, you where 1st friend that I had.

Shoka: But what about school, your classmate? Don't you had any friends beside Fret in school?

Rindo: I was bully thank to my ash-hair. I wasn't well like by the other class. Didn't make it easy to fit in.

Shoka: Oh, you mean that natural? That you didn't dyed hair blonde?

Rindo: I wish. No, this is natural, alright.

Rindo: If I wanna dyed my hair, I ask Fret to borrow once of his.

Shoka: Oh yeah, I can tell Mr blonde brown dyed his hair.

Rindo: You should had seem him when I 1st met him, all black, he was a real emo.

Shoka: Giving what we know about him. I can't blame him being a real emo.

Rindo: Looking back, yeah...

Shoka: May I ask why you befriend with him?

Rindo: Well I didn't really wanna be friend with him. He just walk up to and try to befriend me. It was annoying.

Shoka: Aww, was you getting upset-ty with someone going to your person hoard?

Rindo: I didn't get why he wanna be friend to a loser like me. Heck, why would want be friend with a jerk, given how much shit I've give him.

Shoka: He could had saw how lonely you where and thought you could use some company.

Rindo: I guess.

Rindo: Then again, I wouldn't brother with him if it wasn't for you.

Shoka: Me?

Rindo: Don't you remember? I was talking about someone from school trying befriending me to you. How annoyed I was by it.

Shoka: Oh right, I remember now, I told you maybe you take up his offer of friendship. After All "Make friends not enemy."

Rindo: And just it Shoka, it wasn't Fret, what about Nagi, you know I don't had high hope for her and you told me to give her a changed and well, she better that I thought of her, like before that the woman that want inside my head and zap me.

Shoka: Yes and that was before you was Indecisive. Like this timeline we here right now, that because you made the choses to risk Shibuya to save us. The Rindragon that I know would just let Shibuya be safe and life on without his friend.

Shoka: And... now I realised how bad I made myself out to be... You really care about us?

Rindo: Yeah, Shibuya isn't special without my friends. Without you.

Shoka: .....

Rindo: Did you really think you wasn't special to me?

Shoka: To whom, Shoka or Swallow?

Rindo: .....

Shoka: Face it, you didn't like me. It Swallow you befriend with, not me.

Rindo: You're right, I didn't.

Rindo: But that changed, once I find out that been helping us behind the scene, that you care enough about Shibuya that you've betrayed your Reapers for Shibuya sake.

Rindo: Honestly, I feel bad that been a big jerk to you. You was this Reaper that where antagonizing us.

Rindo: And let fact it, that wasn't you, that was a front that up on, just to keep from now finding that you was Swallow, who you really wear.

Shoka: ... I'm sorry.

Rindo: It okay, I mean, I'd would act like a big jerk myself if it was other way around.

Shoka: No, I'm sorry that I didn't told you that I was Swallow.

Shoka: I was worry what you think if you find out that your online friend is some dead girl who been killing other people just to herself alive in the afterlife. That's what Reaper are. Bad people!

Rindo: But you not a bad person Shoka.

Shoka: Doesn't changed that fact I was a selfish bitch, keeping herself alive in a rigged game, just because there were my family! The family I want in life! People that care for me as one our own! As opposed to those that fucking birth me!

Rindo: O_O;;;

Shoka: I'm sorry... I didn't mean to yell... at you.

Rindo: It right, you just vent out.

Shoka: Yeah... vent out...

Shoka: I was worry that you hate me for whom I am.

Rindo: But I don't. And not because you're Swallow. But because I get to know whom you really, if anything you tell me that you was Swallow, it shock me. I didn't know what to think about it.

Rindo: The one person I want to played FanGO in person as a friend, was the one person grew to love back in the game.

Shoka: O///O;;;

Rindo: I know, it silly, fallen for real virion of your online friend without knowing.

Shoka: It not silly... you can like a friend...

Shoka: So I guess I'm glad that I told you.

Rindo: Same here, we get to be friend.

Shoka: You said it Rinrin.

[sailordiavolo]

suicide prevention month 2021 - things that helped me stay alive

i heard that this month is suicide prevention month in the united states. as someone who’s struggled for many years with suicide myself, and is currently in the mystical “better place”, i feel it’s my duty to open this can of worms. i am unafraid of the stigma that comes with discussing such things.

i’ll go over things that helped me to cope during dark times. these may also apply to being depressed in general (?) because no offense but “drinking water” doesn’t help as much as google seems to think it does. note that these aren’t be all end all solutions, more like techniques that helped me to stay sane on some of my worst days.

1. get rid of everything that’s an immediate danger to your health.

if you’re actively a danger to yourself, safety-proof your home. don’t keep sharp objects lying around, or anything dangerous of the like. get rid of anything toxic or chemical, and don’t keep medicines in excess.

2. if you can’t make yourself happy, try to mildly amuse yourself instead

thinking “happy thoughts” doesn’t really work for me, especially if i’m in the throes of a depressive episode. i do have many things that make me happy, but i seem to forget about all of them in dark times. that being said, really dumb jokes get me every time. if i can make myself laugh, smile or chuckle, i’ve already made it 10 times easier for myself. and if i can do that, usually it’s easy to make myself forget about the original reason i was upset in the first place.

dear reader, i don’t know what would count as “mildly amusing” to you, but here’s some things that work for me.

i have a self care playlist on youtube. mine’s pretty dumb, but making a playlist like that of things that you find entertaining or amusing might help. another amazing one is distantcry’s worst beat ever collection.

very specific songs that really get me going include metrostation’s shake it, botdf’s bewitched, rm’s expensive girl, and she past away’s ruh.

3. do some self care activities

self care is very very important. when you feel like you’re absolute worst, that’s a free pass to be as selfish as you need to be until you feel better. no job, no person, no drama is worth dying over. all of that can wait until after you’re finished what you’re doing. if you’re not really sure what to do as self care activities, i’ll list some suggestions.

take a hot bath, if possible. if you have the resources, add bubbles, flower petals, bathe salts or candles. i did this the other day and sat in the bath and ate crumpets. it was amazing. if not, have a steaming hot shower. (i know it’s hard to find the energy, but it’ll help, i promise)

watch your favourite childhood show, or your favourite show at the moment, or play a video game.

sleep all day, or take the day off.

eat your favourite food, or the best food available to you right now.

spend some money if you have it. personally, i never spend all my money in a week, i save some in case i have a panic attack or something so then i can spend money on something totally random to make myself feel better.

change up your appearance. i usually end up cutting my hair short or randomly dying it, but this can also mean dressing in a way that makes you feel good, painting your nails, or doing your makeup.

4. know how to comfort yourself

this is related to the last one but knowing what brings you comfort is very important. it took me a very long time to figure out what things i find comforting. list the things that you find comforting, and you can use those to help yourself feel better. it might be music, interests, even something abstract.

if you can’t think of anything, then make sure to pay attention to things that make you feel nice/comforted, and list them down. it’s also important to know what will send you over the edge, so you can avoid it.

5. distraction topics

this may help with anxiety as well, but having distraction topics can help you to calm down and forget about what you were worried about. it’s good to have a few distraction topics up your sleeve in case of emergency. i’ll list a few of my favourites, but if you ever need one don’t be afraid to ask me directly, or send me an ask on my blog! i have a ridiculous amount of misc knowledge just floating around.

dinosaur fossils of mothers protecting their nest have been found, meaning that dinosaurs probably felt some form of motherly love. love on earth is billions and billions of years old. creatures have loved each other on this planet since before the dawn of history. imagine being the first organism to love on this planet and what that must’ve been like

some cave paintings were animated. they had different frames painted over each other, and the flickering of a flame in the cave would cause the images to appear as if they were moving. isn’t that extremely profound?

i saw somewhere, that scientists attempted to see what an electron was made out of, or something to that effect. it’s made of a pool of energy, which is essentially nothing. no form, no matter. everything is made out of nothing.

6. romanticise your future

a lot of us probably don’t have a concept of the future, or if we do, it’s something that sounds absolutely horrible. well, forget about that! think instead about how hot n sexy you’ll be in your 30’s, 40’s, etc. don’t worry about how you’ll get there for now, your future self can take care of that. think about your ideal life, and get excited like it’s absolutely going to happen. the more you think about it, the more it will become true.

7. romanticise your current self

nobody in your life understands you? that’s because you’re the hot brooding mysterious one. struggle with very dark thoughts? omg you’d be so powerful as a jujutsu sorcerer. people are staring? it’s because they’re in love with you. people whispering as you go by? also in love with you. no friends? the universe had to keep you humble because otherwise you’d be too perfect. hate the way you look today? you’re just a littel troll babie. the more amusing these thoughts are, the better. and if you think these things for long enough, eventually it will trick your brain into thinking it’s true. who’s gonna check you? the telepaths?

8. put things into perspective

i am prone to delusional thoughts when i’m panicked, and i have to remind myself to reel it in. think about it, you’re more afraid of answering the phone than you are of death? doesn’t sound very cash money of you, bro.

think about how many years you’ve really lived, especially if you think you’ve failed in life. take 12 years off your age, because childhood doesn’t count. also take off any other years which you were forced to live the way someone else wanted you to live, rather than for myself.

for example, i’m currently 23. my household was pretty strict, so i couldn’t really do anything before age 18. which gives me a grand total of 5 years of me trying to figure out life by myself. it helps me to remember how young i actually am in the grand scheme of things, and that i have plenty of time to still figure things out.

9. find a safe outlet for dark urges

for me, art and journaling really helped. music too, especially when i felt like i could relate to either the lyrics, or just the tone/mood/feel of the song. it might be exercise, or you may like to do creative writing or make oc’s. sometimes you may just need a friend or someone to listen.

if you don’t have anyone to talk to, you can message me or shoot me an anon

10. sleep it off

sleep is not going to cure anything, but if i’m pushed over the edge and am struggling with dark thoughts, going to sleep almost always helps. most of the time i still feel like shit in the morning, but no longer in the mood to try anything hasty.

lastly: suicide is not the easy way out

note: i’m gonna be discussing my own experiences with suicide in this part, so if you don’t want to see that, then don’t read past this point

suicide is not the easy way out. it’s messy and it’s ugly and it’s painful and it’s gonna bring out the worst in people. i’ve been struggling with it since age 19.

one particular attempt landed me in the hospital after i swallowed a bunch of painkillers. i couldn’t think or speak properly, i was slurring my words and tripping over myself. my doctor brushed me off and said that it “would probably get better” with time, but it never did. it improved, but my mind has never been the same as it once was, and one of my biggest insecurities to this day is when i struggle to learn new things or get things mixed up that i shouldn’t. i struggle to learn the simplest of things, and my reaction times tend to be very slow.

the point is, sometimes you don’t die, sometimes you just end up hurting yourself in a way that won’t get better. nobody needs that. if had’ve known how to calm myself down back then, i might not’ve tried.

i don’t mind talking about it now, since i’ve dedicated so much time in learning how to uplift myself. i may be in the “better place” now, but you don’t need to rush yourself to be better immediately. sometimes you need to be patient, use baby steps, or learn to accomodate yourself where you are. these things take time. that’s okay.

and remember, you are loved and very much needed to be here on the planet with us.

[pl-panda]

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 9

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

To Marry a Vigilante: Part 9

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

The Gala. The Wayne Gala. The Wayne New Year’s Gala. The Wayne Gala to celebrate the New Year.

“I can’t do it!” Marinette screamed. “What if I trip and fall on Mr. Wayne and then he will break his leg!? Or what if I accidentally babble something I’m not supposed to and make it a disaster!? Or what if Lila makes a mess and I get blamed for it in front of thousands of people!?” She started breathing heavily. “Or maybe I’ll just look awkward and people decide that I’m useless and Mr. Wayne decides that I should leave Damian to spare him the embarrassment?! I can…” Tikki slapped Marinette when she didn’t respond to any of her pleas.

“Marinette! Breathe.” The Kwami instructed her. 

“Sorry Tikki. I’m really nervous. I know that making the announcement today is the best option since we’re starting school soon and the news would break anyway, but it’s just so… I’m not used to all that.” 

“I know Marinette. But you must accept that your beloved lives in these circles and you must respect some of the needs. He’s changing for you, but you can’t just demand he abandon his old life.” 

“I know… I really want to make this work. He… I know I can trust him like nobody else. Even… even you… I love you, but you’re not…”

“Human?”

“Yes! I’m sorry Tikki. You’re still my partner and my best friend. Don’t tell that to Chloé though.”

“My lips are sealed.” The kwami giggled. “You’re my favorite chosen too, Marinette. You have the true creation inside you.”

“Thanks, Tikki.”

“Not get on and show them what you’re made of!” The little goddess cheered. 

“Yes! I’m going to rock! I’m great!” The girl said confidently and put on the purple mask with golden lines. 

-------

Damian waited impatiently for his beloved to come. The guests were already filling in and his father and brothers went to greet them. Tom and Sabine, dressed in their MDC original outfits, were already on the dance floor, showing everyone that they could still move even in their forties. Cass was probably somewhere with Bourgeois, stealing cookies or something. The two seemed to bond over being the third wheel and treating Sabine like their new mother. 

“Wassup Dames?” A voice startled him and Damian whirled around with a punch that stopped an inch from Jon’s nose. 

“Tt. Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs? With the guests?” He grumbled. 

“Nah. Mom and Dad are with your dad, going over the safe questions to ask your wi…” Jon didn’t get to finish that word because Damian lunged at him and covered his mouth. 

“Tt. Shut up. The last thing I need is drama caused by your big mouth.” 

*muffled sounds*

“I don’t care. Mouth shut or I’ll test the new Kryptonite dusters.”

*more muffled sounds*

“I did get them. Want me to try them out right now?” Jon shook his head. “Good. We’ve got an agreement?” A nod. “Fine.” Damian let him go.

“You’re very violent, you know that?”

“Tt. Shut up.”

“I’m just saying.” 

“I told you to…” Damian’s words died in his throat. Marinette entered the scene.

“Shall we?” She asked, handing him a sleek black mask with gold details. When light reflected from it, a very subtle purple gleam could be seen.

“It’s incredible, Habibti. Just like the rest of my suit.” He was dressed in a pure-black three-piece, a white shirt underneath, and had a black tie. He screamed style and power.

-------

All in all, the trip was not yet a disaster for Lila Rossi. Her lies were slowly taking root in the people around her. Like the clerk at the Hotel. Soon, she would have them all wrapped around her fingers. Only Maribrat and Chloé seemed to be completely immune to her charms. But that girl was too goody-two-shoes for her own good and Bourgeois was hated even before she started her work. 

There was also that exchange student, Grayson boy… Darren, Damien, something like that. She couldn’t believe she thought that guy was Damian Wayne when he first walked into her class. She went as far as stopping Alya from being mean to him. From her research, all Waynes were kind and helpful. Damian Wayne supposedly volunteered at an animal shelter. The press described him as ‘cute in a special way.’ Blasted Waynes and their no-pictures policy. The guy in her class looked a bit similar to Bruce Wayne, at least at first glance. Then, she noticed that his skin was darker (not just solar tan), his nose was a bit different too. And his eyes were green. It was the only constant with the Waynes. They all had dark hair and blue eyes.

As such, she dismissed him as unimportant and focused on her more important goals. Making a deal with Gabriel Agreste, or rather Hawkmoth, was risky. In the end, it worked out for her in many ways. She gained a foothold from which she made her small empire. And Agreste boy was nice arm candy for a while. Until he went all psycho on Maribrat that is.

Now if she found one of the Waynes, she could start working on worming her way in. Blasted masks! They appeared too good in the media not to have a big dirty secret to exploit. Blackmail wouldn’t be new for her. 

The Gala was slowly starting when all the lights turned off. Two stage flood lights focused on the stairs leading to the second floor of the manor. Two people appeared on them. First was a young man, about her age, dressed all black. He radiated money and influence and she was sure what he wore was in fact an MDC original. But he was nothing next to his companion.

Her dark-purple dress shone in the light like a thousand diamonds. It hugged her figure perfectly and while she was most likely the same age as her companion, she still looked stunning. The high collar was embroidered with a golden thread that formed intricate patterns around her slender neck. The sleeves went down to her arms where they seamlessly merged with gloves. The line was blurred by twin bracelets that each had a symbol of a bat with flowers. A nod toward the Bats of Gotham while keeping it original. From the waist down, it opened on the side, giving her the freedom to move while still keeping the near-royal appearance. With each step, it flowed slightly, revealing the golden underlining. Her legs were also covered with the same material down to ballet shoes in a deeper shade of purple finished with golden lining.

Her blue hair reached slightly beyond her shoulders and matched her eyes perfectly. All the gold and purple served to make everyone focus on her. 

Lila cursed under her breath. There was no chance anyone would notice her with someone like that parading around. Something had to be done. Lila checked her own dress. It was pretty, but when compared to that, it came plain. 

All her scheming came to the halt when the pair walked over to Bruce Wayne and got him to stop speaking with Gotham’s mayor. They knew him. A realization dawned on her. It was Damian Wayne and his date. They had to be. But his eyes… they were green. 

“No…” escaped the Liar’s lips. The woman she was talking to noticed and followed her gaze. Some part of Lila’s brain noticed she also checked her dress and was saddened. At least her reaction was not out of place. 

Bruce Wayne walked with the two back to the stairs where the stand with a microphone was prepared before the lights were turned back on. Sensing a juicy story, all the journalists and bloggers swarmed as close as possible. Some even lost their masks. 

“Can I have a moment of your attention?” The billionaire asked. His eyes swept over the crowd. “Before I start, I wanted to remind you that there is a strict no-photos policy on the gala. We’ve hired a photographer with an exclusive contract and any pictures taken not by him will be considered a breach and will be met with a lawsuit.” 

The murmurs broke all around the crowd. It was a known fact that taking unsolicited photos at Wayne Galas was forbidden. There was no need to remind anyone about it unless it was a really juicy piece. The last time Bruce Wayne took time to remind everyone about this was when Jason Todd turned out to be alive and well, only slightly amnesiac. 

“Now. First I wanted to welcome everyone to this year’s Gala. We’re closing another year and I thank everyone for showing up to celebrate with me and my family.” He raised a small glass of champagne. “In particular, I wanted to welcome a class from Paris that is participating in the year-long exchange program funded by the Thomas Wayne Education fund. I hope you enjoyed Gotham so far.” The journalists were frantically noting everything down. Either for publishing or just to put it in tabloids with some conspiracy theories. “Now, onto the main reason for the announcement. You know I’m not good at speeches.” He grinned and the crowd exploded into laughter. “Since my son just returned from Paris, I’m well aware that this news would break anyway when he returned to school. I ask you to respect their privacy and… well, at least try not to bother them. May I introduce Damian Wayne and his girlfriend, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Everyone started to either whisper or frantically make notes and think of questions to ask. The fact that Damian Wayne, dubbed Ice Prince of Gotham, got himself a girlfriend serious enough to be introduced to everyone was already front-page news for many of them. Even just the dress she wore was front-page news. Any journalist that dabbled in celebrity fashion would recognize an MDC original by now, at least from Jagged Stone or Clara Nightingale. The two refused to even consider anything else. 

“Tt. Against my better judgment, I know that teenagers are walking gossip machines so you would all learn it the moment we entered Gotham Academy.” Damian started his speech. “As such, I want to clear any and all confusion before it can start. This,” he motioned at Marinette, “ is my girlfriend. We met in Paris and clicked immediately. I expect you to show her the same respect you show my family or I will challenge you to an honor duel.” 

Damian was not even trying to hide his distaste for journalists today. He could see that Marinette was uncomfortable with this attention even more than he was. He grew up used to attention while simultaneously being taught that newspapers were at best a propaganda tool and at worst trouble to be dealt with. Obviously, he disliked them, even more, when he became Damian Wayne. Usually, he tried to remain civil to the journalists unless they were irritating. Today, he didn’t bother. Not that they didn’t know he was a private person. A certain paparazzi with a blade going through his camera would attest to that. 

“Angel, do you want to answer their questions or should I?” He whispered.

“Um… shouldn’t you first tell them more?” 

“No. It’s better if I only answer what they want to know.” 

“Um… Maybe you start.” 

“Fine.” He turned back to the microphone. “I will be taking the first question.” He pointed at Clark who had his hand in the air. 

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet. Could you tell us more about how you met?” 

“I joined Marinette’s class for the exchange program my Father mentioned. The only free seat was next to her, so that’s where I sat. What got my attention first was her willingness to stand up to injustice and forgive those who slighted her. She was open-minded and didn’t back down even when I was… Ehm… a bit rude.” He admitted. “I managed to ask her out and she showed me the side of Paris you don’t usually see with a tour guide. We share a passion for drawing and she shared with me her favorite place in Paris. No, I won’t reveal it. After that, my respect for her only grew when she was willing to accept an apology from a girl that bullied her in the past, helping her actually change her ways. Next question?” He pointed at a different journalist. He really hoped he picked right. The masks were making it harder than he assumed. A flaw in their plan that they overlooked. 

“Vicky Vale, Gotham Gazette” The woman introduced herself and Damian resisted the urge to curse. His Father’s ex was not exactly the most favorable toward them after their breakup, even if she tried to stay professional. “What more can you tell us about the mysterious girl behind the mask? So far we know she’s from Paris and likes to draw, plus some traits.”

“May I answer this?” Mari asked Damian, thinking it was high time for her to step up and help. He nodded and stepped back so she had free access to the microphone. “Hi. I'm Marinette. Mostly, I’m just a normal girl with a normal life…” She started. What followed was quite a long introduction where she gave the press enough to satisfy them while keeping private the parts she wanted.

There were many more questions. About family, plans, dreams, etc. The young couple answered some while dismissed others as too personal and rude. Finally, after over an hour they ended the event and told those who would stay to move on with the gala while several journalists were removed. In total, ten photographic devices were confiscated and Chloé got the honors of handling everything with Tim. He was there for a technical site, she was there for intimidation. 

One of the particularly irritating paparazzi tried to argue, but then Chloé started to rant until he was cowering in the corner. Pretty much everyone around them was now glaring at him with a hateful gaze. After that, they mostly behaved. 

-------

“Well… that was exhausting. And it’s only ten pm?” Marinette and Damian were resting next to the snacks table. They were enjoying a moment of peace once the initial wave of well-wishers passed. Jason was keeping an eye on the class to make sure they were stopped from making anything worse for themselves and everyone else. So far they were too stunned to deal with it. He was pleased to see that Alix girl was finally doing something and pointing out many flaws in their reasoning. The problem was Lila disappeared in the crowd for the moment. Chloé was on the hunt though. She was a master of dealing with a rich crowd, probably surpassing even Drake. 

“Here you are!” A voice startled the couple. Marinette and Damian turned to see a group of four people. Jon was one of them. There was also a girl with blonde hair pulled into a long braid and a boy in a blue suit with medium-long black hair and blue eyes. The fourth one made Marinette’s blood run cold. Her eyes went wide and she acted before anyone caught the wind of it. A strong straight punch sent the boy looking like Adrien flying onto the ground. 

Chatter around them died in an instant. Marinette tried to lunge at him, but Jon caught her. He was probably the only one strong enough to hold her back. 

“Let me go! Don’t you see he is a criminal?!” She was doing her best to get out of his grip. Damian suddenly was holding the blade to the neck of the blonde boy. 

“You have five seconds to speak.” 

“I’m sorry, but I’m not my moronic cousin. Would you please let go of me?” He asked with a thick British accent. 

“Tt. Prove it.” Damian scoffed. 

“Ugh. I’m really tired of dealing with everyone taking me for a criminal just because I look like him. Ask my mother!” 

Indeed, a blonde woman in a gray dress was making her way through the crowd. “Felix sweetie!?” She kneeled next to him while glaring daggers at Damian and Marinette. Reluctantly, he took away the sword but didn’t put it away. Dick and Tim also arrived.

“What happened?”

“That twit attacked my Felix!” 

“Tt. He shows up and looks just like a known criminal. You should’ve really chosen something other than a black mask and a black suit.” Damian frowned. He didn’t exactly feel bad about the incident, but the press would jump on that.

“It’s alright mum. I admit I’m partially at fault. I forgot the reaction Parisians have to me right now.” He bowed his head. “Please accept my apologies.” His lower lip was bleeding.

“Um… here. Let me help you.” Marinette pulled a tissue from her pocket (of course her dress had pockets) and handed it to him. Nodding, he wiped the blood. 

“Tt. I’m still not convinced.” 

“Damian! That’s rude. I remember Felix. He was in Paris once.” Then, she mumbled under her breath. “Caused a triple akumatization.”

“I am sorry for that…” 

“Felix joined our class this year. You left the day before he came.” The blonde girl explained.

“It was all just one big misunderstanding folks. You can move on.” Dick took control of the crowd and allowed the teens some breathing space. Except that’s when the class finally decided to start speaking up. 

“Yeah right! Marinette is just a big bully! I’m in her class and she was mean to Lila from the beginning. I wouldn’t be surprised if she dated Damian Wayne just for money.” Alya had to babble. The rest of the class (minus Alix) was either nodding or giving their own confessions, real or not, and always against Marinette. 

So far the Waynes avoided any accusations about gold-digging. The one journalist that tried to pick up the subject (subtly at first) was silenced by Damian’s evil eye. Now more people murmured. And the number of people able to respond was greatly limited as Damian, Chloé, Jason, and Sabine had to be restrained from hurting people. 

To everyone’s surprise, it was Cass who jumped on the table.

“Shut…! Up!” She shouted. Or what stood for her shouting, which was only slightly louder than normal people’s speech. Still, it got everyone’s attention. “Cousin Nettie is… kind. Good. Sel… Selfless. She is my family. Not… digger.” She glared at several people that were still muttering. “Saw her… date with Damian. She did not let him pay. Not digger!” There was a dangerous edge in her voice. That was enough to shut people up. Except for the class. 

“Of course you would protect her!” Kim stared at her. “You’re probably…” He didn’t finish because Alix covered his mouth. The girl noticed that Bruce, who was restraining Jason Todd was about to let go. She wasn’t sure exactly what would happen, but she wasn’t willing to find out. 

“I think it’s time for you to leave. Where is your teacher/chaperone?” Bruce asked, also glaring at them.

“Um… Madame Bustier is…”

“Madame Cheng is right there!” Mylene pointed to where Tom was doing his best to stop his wife from grabbing the Bag and cutting the class into tiny pieces.

“I… I don’t think it would be healthy for us to go with her right now. She is very emotional right now.” Alix offered. She was trying to act like the voice of reason. Something this class lacked. 

The teacher was quickly located flirting with one of the musicians invited to the gala. She was completely unaware of what her charges did. 

“I’m sure it was just some misunderstanding. Marinette indeed started acting out a bit this year. They probably overexaggerated a bit.”

“Tt. You mean she stopped being a doormat?” Damian huffed. 

“As I said, it’s time for the kids to leave,” Bruce said in a harsh tone. 

“Oh… Okay. I’m sure Sab…” 

“Caline. You’re the one responsible for taking care of them. You’ll take them away when Mr. Wayne asks.” Tom then pointed at his wife, who he was holding a few inches above the ground to keep her from doing something stupid. 

“Um… Of course.” The teacher sighed. “Kids. Gather your things. We must leave.” 

As they were walking out, people applauded. After Alfred closed the doors behind them it was finally safe to let the more violent part of the family free. In all that mess, nobody noticed that a certain sausage-haired girl was not with them

“Now, Wayne.” The blonde started. “Want to explain why we had to learn about you having a girlfriend from a press conference?”

“Or why did Jon know her before us?” The boy added. 

“I would also appreciate hearing how my bloody cousin earned your ire,” Felix added. 

“Oh! Sorry.” The girl turned to Marinette. “I’m Allegra and this is Claude. You already know Jon and Felix. We’re Damian’s friends. Or the closest thing he had to such.” 

“Tt. I don’t have friends.” 

“Bro. Not cool.” Claude argued.

“Shut up. Claudius.” he huffed. 

“You wound me.” The teen gasped and put a hand on his chest. “Dami.”

Felix and Marinette watched from the sidelines how the quartet bickered. Jon tried to help Damian sort things out. 

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” Felix said after a moment of silence. “My cousin is a daft git.” 

“That we can agree on,” Mari said absentmindedly while trying to keep the eye on Damian. She hoped he didn’t bring the kryptonite dusters tonight. 

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

Masterlist // Next

[flatstarcarcosa]

favors and heists

notes: i gave myself brain worms while roping @dadbodsandbots into my mass effect insert shenanigans by using her mans so I had to shake some of them loose. this turned out to be kinda fun, actually, for a change :3

also tags @jackals-ships while making pspspsps noises

summary: what's the point of your best friend dating a galaxy-renown mercenary if not for the favors you can squeeze out of the deal?

or

zaeed takes a charity case.

ship(s): stubborn goddamn jackasses, cat/digs (boomcat? harcat?)

******

The door alarm has been chiming for four minutes. Pressing the override button on his omni-tool shuts it off for a few scarce seconds, only for whoever is outside to activate it again. Finally, Zaeed gives up on ignoring it and wrenches the damn thing open manually. The metal squeals in protest before the hydraulics correct themselves.

"The hell do you want?" he asks, frowning. Cat stands in the door way with barely contained tears in her eyes.

"My final thesis is due next week and the whole argument hinges on this 18th century painting and-"

"Dooooon't care," Zaeed drawls as he goes to manually pull the door shut again. She lunges forward, getting a shoulder and half a leg across before the safety catch feels an obstruction and stops.

"-and it got stolen and if I have to report it to my boss I'm not only gonna fail the program but I'll never work in this industry again!" she blurts. Zaeed has already turned his back towards her and is cussing at his omni-tool's refusal to force the door shut.

"Don't caaaaaaaaare," he says.

"You gotta help me get it back!" she cries, "That fucking asshole Harkness stole it and if he gets too far I'll never see it again!"

Zaeed stops, shoulders sagging. He holds up a finger and turns.

"When you say Harkness-"

"Yeah, Digger," Cat sniffs. "You know, Captain Boom-"

"Will willingly shoot my other eye out before I call him that, thanks," says Zaeed. He goes silent for a moment, and then lets out a frustrated growl and runs a hand over his face. "All right, fine. But only because I've still got a grudge against that jackass I've been meaning to settle."

She looks up, elation flashing across her face.

"Really?! I mean, I can hire you, too, so-"

Zaeed snorts.

"You don't make near enough to hire me," he says. "Especially not if you want him alive, although honestly, that part isn't up to you." He steps out of sight into the other room, and Cat wanders into the kitchen to blow her nose on a wad of paper towels.

"Where was he last?" Zaeed asks.

"I mean, my office," she calls back. He steps back around the corner, the top half of his armor undersuit hanging around his waist.

"I meant where was he before he stole the painting?"

"Oh!" she pauses. "I...dunno, some hotel down on Silversun."

Zaeed hums, and pulls his arm through the sleeve on his suit. He drags a footlocker over to the sofa and plops down, bending over to unlock the lid.

"How'd Harkness get into your office, anyway?" he asks. "It's not exactly publicly accessible."

"Uh- I...I don't know," she stammers, "he's a thief, that's what he does!"

Zaeed quirks an eyebrow at her as he laces his boots.

"Uh-huh," he says. "And he just happened to have decided to specifically case your office for one painting..."

"Yeah."

"Your office, which is in a moderately secured area in the Citadel Tower," he continues. He raises an eyebrow at her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Yeah," she says again, voice tight. "Why?"

"No reason," he says. Motorized armor joints lock into place with mechanical whirring, and she watches him strap a pistol and a sniper rifle in place. "Here's the thing, if he's already jumped ship and left the Citadel, I'm not chasing him all over. This lasts until I decide the amusement isn't worth the lack of money. Matter of fact, you knowing Reese is the only reason I didn't tell you to fuck off and throw you out."

"A fact which I am heavily aware of," says Cat.

"Long as we're on the same page," says Zaeed. "Might as well wait here, I doubt this is gonna take too long."

"Hey," says Cat, "wait a second. How do you know him, anyway?"

Zaeed clicks his tongue.

"Got unlucky enough to be on a job with him once," he says. "Stupid little fuck nearly got me killed. Spent four weeks healing from that."

"Oh," she says.

"Granted, wasn't the same as getting half my face blown off," he adds, "but it was still enough that I've had it in for him ever since."

"You're not actually going to kill him, are you?" she asks. Zaeed shrugs as the door slides open.

"That depends on him, love," he says.

"Oh," she says. Before she can get another word out, Zaeed steps into the hall and leaves her alone. She sighs and sits down on the sofa. "Well, that's just fucking great."

******

It takes less than five hours to track Harkness down. After checking out of his hotel earlier that morning, he'd stuck around the Silversun Strip rather than booking a flight off the Citadel.

For some reason that Zaeed can only chock up to the man being an absolute fucking idiot, he didn't consider that wandering around with a medium sized painting under his arm was going to make him stick out to the residents.

Only on the Silversun Strip would one get away with that without C-Sec getting called and dropping down on your ass. Try it up on the Presidium and every rich asshole with a penthouse would be ringing the emergency numbers for 'suspicious activity' while triple locking their doors.

Tucked away in a back alley and away from the main attractions of the Strip is a little pawn shop run by, who Zaeed assumes, are the only Batarians to have a permanent residence on the Citadel. There's an old fashioned bell hanging above the door and it jingles when he walks through. It catches his attention for a moment, and he glances up at it, wondering where the aliens picked up that detail about human stores.

Behind the sales counter, a bored looking Batarian is standing with his arms crossed over his chest and glowering with all four eyes at the man in front of him.

"Come on mate," says the Australian. He's leaning over the painting, so focused on his attempts at hocking it that he either didn't hear the door bell, or isn't interested enough to turn around. Zaeed catches the gaze of the sales clerk, and holds a finger to his lips.

"I said no," the Batarian growls, looking back at the would-be customer.

"All right, fine, screw giving me what it's worth," the man continues, "we'll settle for 60% and then I can be on me way."

"You think I'm so stupid or naive I don't know stolen merch when I see it?" asks the Batarian. "I know enough about you humans and your squabbles to know there's no amount of credits worth getting involved in this kinda shit.

"Harkness, why don't you do something useful and stop pestering this poor Batarian?" Zaeed asks, interjecting only when he's close enough to Digger Harkness that the sound of his voice makes the man jump. "Bad enough the poor bastard has to walk around looking like that every day of his life, he doesn't need you coming in here and cocking everything up for him."

The Batarian sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Is it asshole human day today and no one told me?" he asks. "Oh wait, I suppose that's every day, isn't it?"

"Goddamn right it is," Zaeed says. Harkness turns around, nervousness clear on his face.

"Zaeed," he says, slowly, "well, I'll be...funny running into you out here, eh?" He reaches behind himself, fumbling his hand across the counter as he searches blindly for the painting. Zaeed is faster, and snatches it out from under him.

"Lets go," he says, gesturing towards the door. "You know why I'm here."

"Aw, c'mon-" Harkness' protest is cut short by Zaeed grabbing his wrists and slapping a pair of electrified cuffs on them. He shoves the man forward, and then tosses a credit chit down onto the counter.

"You see a couple of human males today?" he asks the Batarian. The alien grunts, considering him for a moment before reaching down and snapping up the chit.

"Been a slow day, I haven't seen anybody," he says, shrugging. Zaeed nods.

"Good man," he says. He shoves Harkness towards the door again. "Get moving."

The bell above the door rings as the two leave, and Harkness turns, walking backwards with his arms locked in front of him as he addresses Zaeed.

"Well, I'm simply stumped," he says, "can't for the life o' me figure who I pissed off enough to hire you." Zaeed says nothing, and simply motions with his pistol for him to keep walking.

Harkness faces foward and catches sight of the skycar parked at the end of the alley. It's not the best area to try and make a mad dash for freedom, but that doesn't mean he's not gonna give it a go.

"How'd you even get into the Citadel Tower to get a hold of something like this, anyway?" Zaeed asks, holding the painting up to get a good look at it. He's never understood fuck all about art and it's not one of those especially famous pieces that he'd even recognize anyway, so he doesn't bother theorizing on why it's so important to Cat's thesis.

"Oh, you know," says Harkness, "made a friend."

"Find that hard to believe," Zaeed drawls as he tucks the painting back under his arm.

"Oi, I'm quite suave when I want to be!" Harkness stops walking again, turning with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Though, some people are just easier to woo."

"Yeah, that sounds more like you, doesn't it?" Zaeed narrows his eyes. "Making a mark out of some poor girl that always sees the best in people."

Harkness blinks.

"Hang on," he breathes, "how do you know that? Don't tell me she's the one that hired you!"

"Course not," Zaeed snorts, "like I told her, she can't afford to hire me. This is a favor for a friend."

"Well shit mate! In that case, why don't you an' I work out a deal, yeah?" The grin is back, and Zaeed makes a point of ignoring him as he opens the skycar door and lays the painting in the back seat. "You ain't on an official contract, I see no reason why you an' I as two consummate professionals can't come to some sort of arrangement that benefits us both!"

"There's an exhaustive list of reasons why that won't be happening," Zaeed says, crossing his arms. "At the top of which is simply the fact that I can't goddamn stand you."

"Fair enough," says Harkness, "But Zaeed, come on, mate! As it happens right now, you're not making any money on this! That's a problem for you, and I can fix that real easy. You just slip these bracelets off me, let me be on my merry way, and recoup credits for your time. Anyone asks, I was too slippery to get a hold of, we all move on."

"No," Zaeed says. "Get in the goddamn car before I knock you out and shove you in the trunk."

Harkness groans, and bounces on the balls of his feet in frustration.

"Come on," he says again, "we both know at the end of the day lining your pockets is the only thing you really care about, so why don't you-"

Zaeed lunges faster than a half blind old merc has any right to move, and Harkness lets out a strangled yell as he punches him in the kidney with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He's wheezing as Zaeed shoves him into the alley wall, hanging onto him by the collar of his coat and lifting him off the ground.

"Listen to me, you stupid fucking jackass," Zaeed growls, "I'm not remotely young enough or stupid enough to not know exactly how you got access to Cat's office. That girl is the only person Reese knows that isn't a killer or a junkie or some fucked up combination of both, and the last thing she needs is to be caught up with likes of you and I."

Harkness says nothing as he gasps again, and waits on his lungs to remember how to take in air.

"I care about her well-being for my own selfish reasons because of her proximity to Reese, and I recognize that doesn't put me in a position of dictating to her who she spends her time with," Zaeed continues, "but so help me, you cause so much as a minor inconvenience for her and I will carve out your goddamn eyes, sew your mouth shut and sell you to Batarians as discounted slave labor, are we goddamn clear?"

Harkness manages half of a choked, garbled word and gets his head bounced off the wall for his effort.

"That didn't sound like a yes to me," Zaeed growls.

"Y-yes," he says. Zaeed slams him against the wall once more for good measure before dropping him.

"Get in the goddamn car."

******

The rental apartment Reese and Zaeed have been staying in isn't much to come home to. Far from the worst place they've ever holed up, sure, but that's never been a very high bar to begin with.

Regardless, as he pushes Harkness through the doorway and pauses long enough to set the painting down on an end table, he does reflect on the warm lightning in the corners and the smell of a beef roast being pulled out of the oven.

It's temporary and it's barely big enough for the two of them to move without tripping over each other, but it is home.

"You found it!" Cat appears in the archway to the kitchen, and Reese looks up over the counter. Their eyes glance between Zaeed and Harkness and the painting, and they quirk an eyebrow in his direction. Zaeed responds with a subtle shake of his head.

Later, he mouths, reaching up to undo the clasps on his armor.

"Wasn't too much trouble," he says aloud. "Helps when you're being sent after a goddamn moron. I should take more offers like this, actually."

"Caaaaaat," Harkness purrs. He goes to hold out his arms, and stops when he meets the resistance from the cuffs. She bypasses him entirely to scoop up the painting and make sure it hasn't been damaged.

"You know, on a hunch I looked into something on the way to the Strip," Zaeed says casually. "C-Sec has multiple active bounties on him at the moment. Cashing in on just one of them would likely pay more than, well...whatever it is you even do currently."

Harkness lets out a nervous laugh and looks between Zaeed and Cat. She sets the painting down and regards him for a moment.

"Right now I'm more worried with getting this back before anyone notices it was gone," she says, causing Harkness to puff up slightly. He winks at Zaeed, only to stop at the look the other man sends his way. "It's unlucky for me the building is locked down for the day, though..."

"Sounds to me like you could use someone who knows his way 'round security systems," Harkness offers. Zaeed snorts, and Cat frowns. Silence stretches out for a moment, broken only by the sound of Reese turning on an electric carving knife.

"Okay, fine," Cat says when they've turned the knife back off. "But know that if we get caught, I'm telling them you kidnapped me and I can cry on command."

"Well now you're just talkin' dirty to me," Harkness says.

"Really?" Reese barks from the kitchen. "Some of us still gotta eat tonight."

Zaeed remains silent and utterly unreadable as he taps at his omni-tool. The handcuffs beep a few times before popping open and falling off. Harkness massages at one of his wrists, and manages to ignore the bait when Zaeed shoves into him on the way to the kitchen.

"If we leave now we should make it in and out without too much trouble," Cat says. Reese offers a wave.

"Call me when you get in," they say, "mostly so I know if anyone's gotta kill him later."

"Sure!" says Cat. She tucks the painting safely under an arm, and drags Harkness out into the hall by the collar of his coat. The door beeps as the automatic lock powers on, and Reese turns to lean against the kitchen counter.

"What?" Zaeed asks, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer.

"Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not."

Reese rolls their eyes and turns their attention back to the roast. "I leave for 20 minutes to get fucking dinner, and I swear to Christ..." they say, trailing off when Zaeed reaches around and snags a slice of beef.

"You do realize she's got absolutely horrid taste in men, right?" he asks. The top of the beer bottle pops with a resounding hssss, and he flicks it across the kitchen into the garbage can.

"Yeah, well, that's just something we got in common, I guess," Reese says.

"Oi," Zaeed protests. He takes a swallow of beer and reaches for another slice of meat, then stops. "Hang on, she can cry on command?"

"Yeah, fucking wild actually," says Reese. They frown. "Why?"

Zaeed is silent for a moment as he takes another sip of beer before answering.

"Goddammit."

[softspeirs]

A/N: Some holiday Speirs for your Monday morning. Sorry I haven’t posted much lately! Anxiety has been eating me alive. Felt inspired this morning, though. Hope you enjoy. x

He’d be lying if he said the hustle and bustle of downtown Boston on a wintery morning didn’t make him want to rip his hair out. 

It was all very festive, sure, but he’s still not used to the crowds, or all the noises... it makes him feel on edge, twitchy. Still, he has an important job to do. A mission, if you will. 

He makes it to the train station relatively unscathed, despite a few bumped shoulders and rushed apologies from unsuspecting shoppers. 

She’s already on the platform when he arrives, and he takes a minute to watch her before she notices - her hair, slightly windblown, and the way she stretches up on her toes to try to spot him overtop the crowd. 

He finds himself a little breathless at the sight of her in civilian wear - the sight so feminine she looks like a completely different person. She’s lovely, but he thought she was beautiful in dirty ODs, too. 

When she spots him, it feels like a punch to the chest. Her eyes light up, and that smile--

He has no choice but to follow the beating of his heart as it nearly begs him to get closer, closer, closer.

“Ron,” she says softly when he closes the distance between the two of them. 

“Hi.” He says simply. He reaches down to take her suitcase, and she positively beams at him when he falters at how heavy it is. “What do you have in here, rocks?” 

“Some light reading.” She says, her smile a little too sweet. 

“Taking advantage of me wanting to carry your bag for you?” 

Her lips twitch. “I’d never.” 

He rolls his eyes, but can’t help but smile. “Come on.” 

He walks closely to her as they head out to hail a cab, their shoulders brushing together every so often. He smiles as she chatters on about her trip and everything she’s done since the last time they spoke.

He’s missed her. It’s hard for him to admit - not because he’s naive enough to think she hasn’t wormed her way into his heart, but because he tried so hard not to form attachments, and ended up attached to nearly everyone in Easy, surprising himself. 

She was no different, but he had no choice but to care for her. She had that type magnetic personality, drawing everyone around her into her orbit and into her heart and refusing to let go. 

And out of everyone, somehow she chose him. 

He knows how he seemed when they first met. Rough and aggressive and angry... and he was. Still is, most days. But she treated him with the same sunny disposition she did everyone else, telling him terrible jokes until he smiled, shaking his head, and eventually staying up with him when they both couldn’t sleep and listening to his worries about the company and everything else. 

They’ve been tiptoeing around the idea of seeing each other in person again after she started writing to him when she got home. It started professionally - she needed a letter of recommendation to start nursing school (why she didn’t ask Dick, he has no idea), and they just... kept writing. 

Finally, he asked what her plans were for Christmas. Making conversation, or so he thought. When he heard she was planning on staying home and studying for exams, he couldn’t bear the thought of her alone. 

So now here they are. He’s got a small apartment in Boston - figured it was easier to have something temporary stateside as he waits for new orders. He suspects he’ll be back at Benning in the New Year to train new recruits, but for now, he’s thankful his back pay is enough to get him a place of his own.

“This is beautiful,” she breathes as they walk through the lobby. He smiles at her as she takes in the Christmas trees and holiday lights strung around the windows. 

Upstairs, he feels out of his depth. He’s keenly aware of the way she takes in his space, his belongings -- as spartan as it is, she seems to take up the entire room. 

She looks out the large picture window, and he can hear her sigh from there. “Wow.” 

His view of downtown is one of the reasons he chose this place. Plus, the city noise at night is preferable to spending a quiet night alone with his thoughts and his memories. 

She turns around suddenly, her hands on her hips. “Ron, there’s not a single Christmas decoration in here.” She looks so put out, he can’t help but laugh. 

“Didn’t have a reason to decorate.” He says, shrugging. “Don’t suppose you have any ideas in that big brain of yours?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Let me unpack, and then we’re going to fix this.” 

. 

Two hours later, they’re back with arms full of bags from the department store. Garland and ornaments and the world’s smallest Christmas tree she insisted he buy from the place on the corner. 

He huffs out a breath when he sets it down, leaning it against the wall. 

“Tired?” She asks, and he narrows his eyes. 

“I carried a tree for three blocks.” 

“I offered to help.” 

“And I’m sure my neighbors would have been scandalized to see it.” He says, winking. “Imagine, a woman doing heavy lifting.” 

She rolls her eyes. “You should hear the women my mother is friends with. I wore trousers to tea last week and I thought they’d faint.” 

He grins at the mental image. “That’s my girl.” He says quietly, the sentiment slipping out almost without his permission. 

She stills, a shy smile on her face, and he worries he’s ruined it, but she breezes by him to start fussing over decorations, the only sign she registered what he said the way she won’t quite meet his eyes. 

He brushes it off and together they work quietly to transform his home into a winter wonderland. He finds his can’t quite keep his eyes off her, his mind straying into dangerous territory, watching her move about the space like she was always meant to be there.

Later that night, they’ve collapsed on the sofa, a glass of wine for her and a glass of scotch for him, admiring their handywork. 

“Well?” She asks quietly. “Do you like it?” She gestures at the tree.

He hums. “I do.”

She cranes her neck to look up at him. She shifts so she’s facing him. “What are you thinking about?” 

“You.” His answer is almost immediate. “I’m thinking about how I shouldn’t have waited so long to have you here. How I sat for weeks in this near empty apartment, missing something I didn’t realize was you.” 

“How many of those have you had?” 

He snorts. “I’m trying to be romantic. Serious.” 

She sighs, but she’s smiling. “Sorry. Do go on.” 

He huffs. “I think I’ll get my orders after the holiday. You’re going to be finishing exams--” 

“If I pass--”

“When you finish your exams,” he continues as if he hasn’t heard her, “I wish I had more to offer you.” He admits. 

She frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“You deserve better than some Army captain who will be gone more than he’s home and can’t support you.” 

Her eyes flash. “I can support myself, thank you very much.” 

He gives her a sharp look. “I meant support you when you start working,” he says. “You’ll need a shoulder to lean on and I think I’ve been pretty clear that I want it to be mine.” 

For the first time since he’s known her, she looks speechless. 

“You know I had no plans for after the war,” he says quietly, twisting the glass in his hands, admiring the way the amber liquid looks in the dim light. “I didn’t think I was going to live to see the end, and I certainly didn’t plan on you.” 

“Well, tough.” She says, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re not my commanding officer anymore and I think I can decide for myself what I deserve. Plus, you’re stuck with me now.” She drains the rest of her wine, setting the glass on the end table before reaching up and taking his face in her hands. “You’re going to train up the next group of paratroopers and whenever we can be together, we will.” 

He blinks slowly at her. “Simple as that?” 

“Simple as that.” 

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s alright with you.” He says softly, his voice low.

“How can a girl say no to that?” She smiles, and leans in, meeting him halfway. 

[icefire149]

so this is kinda very random (if it's too random or too hard to write no pressure to do it) but I was thinking of #12 from the "i love you" prompts for hannah x charlie (i don't know what their ship name is or if they have one lol)

Hi there! I'm sorry this took a while to get to. I can't emphasize enough how exciting this was to work with. I know when you asked for this there were a couple posts going around with this ship and that was the first time I ever considered Hannah/Charlie. I really hope more people explore their dynamic more. I enjoyed taking a crack at it here.

I'm sorry if it's not what you were hoping for. From start to finish this took a crazy number of turns that I wasn't expecting. It kept worming away into it's own thing. Right off the bat the spring time part of the prompt flew away. Still, I hope you enjoy it <3

#12 – When we lay together on the fresh spring grass – Hannah/Charlie

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

The seasons were rapidly changing from summer to autumn. Any human today would know from a single look at a calendar. It was strange sometimes to think of how far humans have come since the garden and how much of the world they’ve been able to understand through reason and design. For Hannah, she knew from the moment the Earth shifted under her feet. And now the composition of the air just wasn’t the same as it was a week ago. Shortly, even the humans and the trees would start to notice the change in temperature.

It was normal. Routine. The world kept spinning day into night and summer into autumn, and so forth. Since being flung back into the crown jewel of her father’s creation, Hannah couldn’t help but wander back to some of her earliest thoughts. She could still remember her hesitation when the spark of creation breathed life into mortality.

At the time she hadn’t the experiences or the vocabulary to explain her abstract feelings, but now she could equate the feeling to the sharp sting of a slap to the face or a thorn lodged in the heel of her foot. The Earth cycled seasons and spun around the Sun. The garden sprouted leaves, fruits, and flowers that quickly shriveled and crumbled before sprouting forth again. The humans were built with a carefully constructed system of oxygen, blood, and electrical impulses cycling around the body. It was marvelous to behold, but what was an immortal, unchanging being supposed to read between the lines?

Her father created the archangels long before everything else she knew. The rest of her siblings were made lesser, but until more recently she always believed they were still just as loved. Maybe she was just blinded by her grief and denial. Everything mortal came next, but humans were the ones her father plucked and planted in his favorite garden.

It was because of the humans that her father started altering her siblings. All of them. She never knew what the end goal was to vessels until all of Heaven had to confront the ugly truth: their father left them eons ago. And now, every time Hannah was caught in a crowd, she couldn’t help but wonder if the person who’s eyes lingered the longest was the one who’s skin and bone he’d slipped under.

“Of course! I can’t believe you’ve never done this,” Charlie turned her head on the ground to face her. The tip of her nose twitched as a blade of grass bounced free from the rest laying under her cheek.

“Since the fall there just wasn’t time for something so trivial,” Hannah answered, moving her gaze back up to the clouds slowly rolling by. “And before that…..every angel had a job and that’s just what we did. Nothing more.”

Moments like these were still completely foreign and strange to her. A month ago Castiel received a phone call during their travels, and suddenly their mission was no longer the top priority. Locating the wayward angels was still her mission, and she spent much of her time at the Winchester’s bunker researching while he…..focused on curing the mark of Cain.

It wasn’t the ideal situation or even the one she’d hoped for. It dimmed her and diminished herself to a flatline, because a part of her dared to hope that Castiel could offer her companionship. He was her friend, but he’d stuck by her and saw her in a way that Hannah wasn’t expecting again. Not since the siblings she’d lost when the Winchester’s came onto Heaven’s radar. She tried to establish a connection, even using human methods she’d observed from her vessel’s memory, but he just wasn’t receptive. Nothing clicked until she observed Castiel around the human men he gave everything up for.

Whenever he was in proximity to Dean, his true form would come alive in ways she’d never expected. Despite the damage done to his being, Castiel would still twist, and turn, and hum in ways that were almost too much to bear witness to. And she knew that he was trying to keep himself from doing that in her presence. A part of her liked to think it was because he was trying to spare her feelings since he just didn’t connect with her in that way, but she knew it was because he was embarrassed and desolate. As humans would put it: he wore his heart openly on his sleeve. But, it was beyond the limitations of human perspective.

But since staying at the bunker, Hannah had met a handful of humans. Mostly over the phone, but it was a Miss Charlie Bradbury that showed up one day at the bunker's entrance with a dozen movies and snacks, and a very puzzled look. Since then she’d been a frequent presence during Hannah's research.

And a welcome one at that. At first Hannah wasn’t sure what to make of the exuberant woman. Charlie would talk for hours about a million different things. It was odd to try to conceptualize how many ideas a human brain could hold, and Hannah spent an entire night doing just that after a busy afternoon that rolled into a busier evening discussing the delicacies of numbers and computer programming.

Hannah still wasn't sure how computers could help her mission, but there was something about Charlie's confidence in her own abilities that the angel couldn't help but automatically placing her faith in the human.

“What was your job before things started getting crazy? Dean says Cas was a soldier.”

“He was. He still is,” Hannah started. “I...I wasn’t built for the front lines. My duty was what the majority of the host was given: protect and watch over the souls in Heaven.”

Charlie’s eyebrows pinched together. “That’s it?”

“Of course.” Hannah sat up. She could feel the grains of dirt on the palms of her hands and particles caught in her hair. The rays of late afternoon sun reflected off the surface of Charlie’s car and made her pupils contract. Frowning, she turned to move the nearby road out of her periphery. “It’s one of the most important jobs in Heaven. Each soul generates their own paradise from their stored memories. Maintaining that happiness is everything."

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Charlie rolled over so that she was laying on her stomach now. One of her feet kicked up and moved idly in the air. The corner of her mouth twitched until it decided to curve into a teasing smile.

Hannah still didn’t understand what connections Charlie was clearly making. It was utterly confusing. “I don’t understand,” finally she admitted out loud.

“Did watching over the souls make you happy?”

Hannah’s head fell to the side. This wasn’t the first time Charlie had asked her something that made her stop and reevaluate several aspects of herself and her memory. And just like the last few times it elicited a tiny pulse, a thrill, through her being. It started when she realized that Charlie kept purposely putting herself into the angel’s orbit. Charlie seemed like she genuinely wanted to know her.

“What?” Charlie’s smile widened.

“You asked an incredibly unusual and strange question. My happiness is irrelevant. That’s much more of a human thing. Angels weren’t built for that. But-” Hannah thought about those old days and the souls under her watchful eye. She enjoyed that privilege to bear witness to their joys. She could still remember the way her wings would puff with pride. “I did find great joy in my work.”

“I’m glad,” Charlie said, before laying her head down in the grass. There was a note of sadness buried deep in her tone.

They sat like that in meditative silence for a while, and the sun dipped further in the sky. Finally, Charlie continued, “You know, people think angels are watching over us while we’re living. Like you guys are ready to jump out and help us when….when we need someone most.”

The idea put a soft smile on Hannah’s face. “It’s a lovely notion.”

“A pipe-dream,” Charlie frowned.

“Well, there were angels stationed here on Earth with the job to watch. That might be where that very idea came from.”

That put a look of surprise on Charlie’s face. “But do they help?”

“Not unless Heaven commands it, and that….” She shook her head.

Charlie sighed deeply before standing. She started brushing the dirt clinging to her jeans away.

“You wish for divine intervention.”

Charlie’s surprise quickly morphed into something unreadable. She kept silent.

Hannah stood up, and for some reason it pained her to see the light dim in Charlie’s being. “I’m sorry,” she said keeping her gaze locked with Charlie’s. And she meant it, truly. “You needed help beyond human capabilities, and no one was there. You were alone.”

Charlie nodded, and led them back to the car. They drove in silence and Hannah spent the entire time trying to figure out what went wrong. Again, and again she replayed that final conversation, but humans were still too difficult to puzzle out.

It wasn’t until they were back within the bunker walls that Charlie’s demeanor seemed to equalize back to normal. She brightened even more meeting Hannah’s eye. “Thank you for that.”

“Of course,” Hannah answered. She honestly wasn’t sure for what exactly, but her instincts told her it was about their last conversation. And that was all she needed to lift her spirits after that car ride.

Charlie took a few hesitant steps towards the hallway that led to her room. She looked over her shoulder. “Will you still be around tomorrow?”

“Mmhm,” she hummed happily. Charlie asked her that same question every day since they met. She wasn’t sure why, but she enjoyed the extra burst of light that would emanate from Charlie’s soul the moment she gave the same answer.

Ask me more writing prompts (I’m using these as warm ups so send a number and a ship)

[writinganothertime]

We Get Through This Together

pairing: albert x elmer

warnings: panic attack, self harm, blood, unexpected death (of someone who’s hardly a character)

story: ... it’s a panic attack

time period: modern au

word count: 2,643

a/n: every time there’s a dotted line the point of view changes

Elmer sat back against the headboard of his bed. He had been out all day. Race, Albert, and Romeo had thought it would be fun to try to go to as many of their favourite places as they could. So they’d been all over town. He was exhausted and just wanted to sit down. He knew he should get some supper ready for himself but granted himself some moments of relaxation. Albert was coming over right away too. Just to hang out for the evening. Elmer loved anytime spent with his boyfriend and was looking forward to it but supper could wait for a few minutes. He pulled up Instagram and scrolled through it. He liked a couple photos without really thinking about it. He realized that one of his old friends had posted so he took a better look at it. He mumbled to himself as his brain tried fit the pieces together.

“That’s Tyson isn’t it? Yeah. Yeah. Shoot. Shoooooot.”

The caption slowly wormed itself into his head. Tyson had died. It was an underlying health issue. Him and his family had always known about it but they hadn’t expected it to kill him. Elmer didn’t even register the fact that his breathing had picked up until it was too late. He started scratching his arm absently, still scrolling through the posts with his other hand. He went up to the stories, seeing all the tributes to his childhood friend. His vision blurred and he dropped his phone.

“No no no no no,” he whispered.

“Not now not now.”

But the panic had started and he didn’t know how to stop it. There were so many words in his brain, what were they? Why didn’t he know? Did his chest feel tight? Why wasn’t he breathing? He choked out a breath and suddenly noticed he was crying. He couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe. He scratched his arm harder as if the sensation would fill his lungs with air. He curled in on himself, the contact between his hand and arm never breaking. He pressed himself into a ball, so tense it was almost painful. Why was it so loud? Was something playing in the background? He couldn’t remember. Tears were rushing down his cheeks as he tried to suck in breath after breath. He was dying. He knew it. Albert was going to find him lifeless. Why did it have to be like this? Another sob left him painfully. He tried to curl himself tighter if that was possible. He couldn’t feel anything. Was he on his bed? Elmer had no idea. He couldn’t even remember the city he was in. And so many words were flying through his mind. He was crying so hard but hardly even realized it.

He was so far in his head.

——————————————————————————

Albert entered the apartment. He did have a key, but the door was unlocked and Elmer had told him he was always welcome. Elmer had probably left the door unlocked because he knew Albert would be over right away. Albert took in the room in a quick glance. The kitchen and living room looked completely empty, Elmer wouldn’t have cleaned up from supper that quickly right? It felt suspicious. (Those thoughts ran through his mind in a split second btw because our brains think things SO QUICKLY) He heard the crying almost immediately. He wondered briefly if he had ever seen Elmer cry before. Probably, but no exact instance was coming to mind right now, not important he reminded himself. He hesitated only a moment before moving in the direction of Elmer’s bedroom. He paused in the doorway trying to process the scene in front of him. Elmer looked broken. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he regretted it and wished he could erase a thought. His brain felt fuzzed out and he wasn’t sure what to do. He stepped forward.

“Elmer?” He said it quietly, afraid of startling him. Elmer did not respond so he tried again.

“Ellie?” He said slightly louder than usual.

Elmer was making horrible, frantic sounds. His sobs were coming out way too quickly and each breath seemed to only go in halfway before it was forced out again. He scratching vigorously at one arm and Albert realized he was bleeding. Once Albert realized Elmer was hurting himself he lunged forward, attempting to pry his arms apart. That was not a good move. Elmer actually stopped breathing for a few seconds.

——————————————————————————

His thoughts were still too fast and he couldn’t make sense of anything. Feeling something on his arms somehow raised the level. Now he literally couldn’t breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and glued his arms together across his knees. His nails were digging into his skin but he couldn’t tell how hard and he was so desperately wanting a grip on reality. The buzzing was SO LOUD where did it come from? He wondered if Albert was there. Was someone talking? Maybe he was already dead. Who knows.

——————————————————————————

Albert didn’t know what to do. He was smart enough to understand he shouldn’t touch Elmer right now. The crying stopped for almost 30 seconds and Albert realized his boyfriend wasn’t breathing.

“Elmer!” He said it close to his ear, hoping to get though to him.

Elmer sucked in a breath and started those horrible, heart breaking sobs again. But he was breathing, even if it was very uneven. Maybe he could hear Albert. Albert decided to keep talking. He sat down near Elmer careful not to brush against him.

“I’m right here baby. You’re going to be ok, you know that? You need to breathe for me ok?” He paused, and muttered to himself, “breathing exercises?” He thought for a second and tried to think of what would be good numbers.

“We’ll start easy ok? I know it hard, um, can you breathe in for four? I’ll count, one, two, three, four.” He knew Elmer had not done that at all but he wasn’t going to give up that easily. He continued counting up and down from four watching the dark haired boy closely to see if he was following.

——————————————————————————

Elmer had no idea how much time had passed. Was he even still alive? Was it the same day? Maybe this was a dream. His thoughts were getting slightly more coherent. He could tell he was thinking now. Not all the words were registering but he could tell he was thinking. That probably meant he was still alive. The buzzing sound in his ears hadn’t quieted at all but he could hear something in the midst of it, trying to break through. He tried to focus on it. He couldn’t remember if he had the tv on or not, was he even in the living room? Maybe his phone was ringing, no that wasn’t it. A voice? No it was music, no wait. It was definitely a voice. Think Elmer think! he chided himself. The voice was counting. Maybe. It was hard to make out. And he recognized it. But who? He suddenly felt very choked up and gulped in a breath, he’d been forgetting to breathe. His body couldn’t handle him trying to figure out and focus on multiple things at once. Oh they were counting. Numbers numbers. Oh only to four. Ok ok ok. He counted to four in his head though he didn’t know why. He heard them say “three” after four and got confused.

——————————————————————————

“Wait!” Elmer choked out in a sob. That was only thing Albert had heard him say since he had gotten there almost ten minutes ago.

“Elmer? Ellie? Can you hear me now?”

Elmer made no indication that he had heard. The cries coming from him were more regular now. Not all staggered and painful sounding. That was a step in the right direction. But he was still scratching himself. He was really bleeding now and had blood all over his hand, other arm, and pants. Albert was afraid to touch him again, not wanting to set him back.

“It’s alright baby, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Let’s keep going ‘kay?” Albert began counting again hoping with all his might that his boyfriend was hearing him.

——————————————————————————

“Breathe in for four seconds yeah?” This was the first full sentence Elmer understood in what felt like forever. He tried to nod but he was still curled into a ball. Where were his lungs? Breathe Elmer come on. He tried to breathe in for four seconds but it didn’t work. It took a couple of failed attempts but he finally managed to breathe in for four seconds. The voice was also counting backwards. Ok ok. He probably had to breathe out for those counts too. Elmer tried so hard to focus. His crying kept interrupting his breathing but he was trying. The buzzing quieted slightly. The voice was clear. Oh. Oh. It was Albert. He was here. Elmer’s brain couldn’t decide if that was better or worse; better because he was helping or worse because he was seeing him like this. His brain overloaded and he stopped breathing again.

“Elmer,” he heard, “you’re doing so good, come on, I’m here. I’m gonna count again. Let’s try seven seconds both ways?”

Slowly his thinking returned and he tried to do what Albert was saying.

——————————————————————————

Elmer was still curled tight. Albert couldn’t see his face. But his crying, oh, it had almost completely stopped. Elmer was breathing with him now only interrupted occasionally with shaky breaths or cried. As one does when the body tries to calm itself.

“You’re doing so good baby, I’m so proud of you. We’ll clean you up when you’re ready. Let’s keep going for now.”

——————————————————————————

Things were a lot clearer in Elmer’s mind now. He was VERY aware of everything he was thinking and what was going on around him. The input was almost too much again. He tried to tune out all the data he was getting and focus on Albert’s voice again. He decided he was glad his boyfriend was here. If he hadn’t come, maybe he wouldn’t have ever stopped panicking. He could feel his head pressed against his knees. He realized his arm was in a LOT of pain and it was warm and sticky ‘oh my gosh I’m bleeding’ he thought.

“Hey Elmer, I love you and I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so much better. Can I touch you now?” The thought of Albert touching him scared him even though he wanted it at the same time. He shook his head quickly before he could change his mind.

“Ok, that’s fine,” Albert started to settle back to lean against the headboard then sat up again. “Ellie, you’re actually, uh, not to alarm you, but you’re bleeding kind of a lot. Is it ok if I put a towel on your arm? I’ll try not to touch you too much.”

It was probably a good idea. His arm stung and he was just making it worse. He nodded slowly. Albert disappeared and came back a minute later.

“Ok, I got a cloth, I want to wipe your arm, I got a towel and a glove. I want to put it on the hand that was doing the scratching.” Elmer slowly separated his arms. It hurt. Everything hurt. He’d been so tense for so long. Albert gently wiped the cloth over Elmer’s forearm, trying to not touch his skin with his fingers, just the cloth.

“Actually can you put on the glove, maybe you don’t want me doing it.”

Elmer raised his head slightly. Everything was blurry and felt sort of sideways. He took the glove Albert held out for him and put it on. He leaned his forehead down on his knees again but didn’t press himself tightly together. He was in a looser ball now. Albert wrapped the towel around his bleeding arm then sat back. Unconsciously Elmer started rocking back and forth.

——————————————————————————

Albert felt Elmer moving beside him and glanced at him. He watched him rock back and forth for a couple seconds, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. He was so glad Elmer was feeling better and was (he hoped) comforting himself by rocking. Albert stared straight ahead. He felt weirdly tired despite the fact that he had just sat there. He turned his head to watch the dark haired boy again. Elmer raised his head slightly and turned it to look at Albert. His eyes were red and puffy. He had tear steaks down his cheeks and Albert realized he should’ve offered to wipe his face too.

“Hey baby,” Albert said softly. Elmer didn’t reply, just kept rocking.

“You’re gonna be ok, you’re safe you know that?” The red head reminded him.

El nodded slightly.

“I’m here and I’m not going to leave.” A pause. “It didn’t look like you’d had anything to eat, should I make something? Soup maybe?”

Elmer shook his head. Albert didn’t mind. He knew Elmer was not doing well and Albert had already had supper before coming over.

——————————————————————————

They were silent for awhile, only broken by Elmer’s occasional sniffles. Eventually Albert got up.

“I’m just going to go get some water,” he raised his hand as if he was going to pat El on his head or shoulder, then thought better of it and walked away. He came back with a glass of water and a water bottle. He handed the water bottle to his boyfriend.

“Have some water.”

Albert sat back down, drinking half of his cup before setting it aside and getting under the covers.

Awhile later Elmer was feeling much better. He just wanted to lay down but he’d been in his little ball for so long he didn’t know if he could. Slowly he tried to relax and stretch out. He tried to say something but his voice wasn’t there. He turned to look at Albert who was watching him. Albert sat up again.

“I’ll be right back.” He came back (again) with a cloth.

“Is it ok if I wipe your face?”

Elmer nodded. He really wanted his boyfriend to touch him now but didn’t want or know how to ask for it. Al held Elmer’s chin lightly as he cleaned off his face. When he was done he tossed the cloth into the laundry hamper and got back into bed.

“You wanna cuddle?” He asked with a smile.

Elmer nodded before slowly and carefully sliding underneath the blanket. He fitted himself against Albert, his head on the red head’s chest. Albert lightly raked his fingers though Elmer’s hair.

“How are you feeling now?” He murmured.

“Sore,” El whispered back. His voice was gone but he could still whisper.

“Understandable, you should try and stretch out.”

Elmer was still mostly in a ball, he was just laying on his side now. He stretched his legs out wincing with the change of position. Albert reached down to rub his thigh.

“There ya go, I know it’s uncomfortable at the moment but this should feel better.”

Elmer nodded shifting to lay more comfortably against his boyfriend.

Albert brought his hand up to Elmer’s upper arm, rubbing gently.

“We’ll have a good day tomorrow. I’ll make pancakes or something, that sound good?”

Elmer was very drowsy, he wasn’t sure if he had nodded in response or not. The sound of Albert speaking quietly, the soothing rubbing on his arm, knowing his boyfriend was there and he was completely safe, all those things combined made him very sleepy. And that all his energy had been used up in the panic attack.

“I love you Ellie.”

Elmer didn’t have the strength to reply but he put his arm over Albert and attempted to hug him.

“Go to sleep,” Al whispered, “I’ve got you.”

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Comfortably Numb

Part 5

Warnings as always. This isn't terribly dark. Again, more informative, but a fun little lead up towards the future, so there's that. (Take note of the way Marinette describes her movements, it's not extremely important, but gives a little insight to her mind.)

(Closed list) People I've had on hold for a week: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Sitting in a coma for a year was only mildly less terrible than sitting in a grave for however long. 

On the one hand, Marinette was in a coma for a much longer period of time as far as she could tell. On the other, she was alive and could feel this body. Could hear the nurse read the newspaper to her, always announcing the date at the beginning of the visit. Sure, most of the news of this local area meant very little to her, but beggars can't be picky or whatever the saying was. 

Still, nothing could possibly beat the feeling of waking up fully. As these eyes (Both! They both opened now!) took in the room, she decided to focus in on her nurse. Watching the little delicate movements and shifts and attempting to replicate them to ensure all her nerve endings still worked. That muscles, large and small, still responded to commands, nothing paralyzed or unresponsive. While every movement strained against itself, everything still worked to some extent. Weak, but there. It seemed laying mostly still for over a year and a however much longer had deteriorated the muscle mass. Not surprising, but annoying when she desperately wanted to work her body into a frenzy just to prove she could. 

Laying there a little longer to take stock of healed over injuries, she came to the realization that this throat felt weird. She opened the mouth and attempted to ask the nurse, only for nothing to come out. Narrowing eyes, she reached out and gently tapped thin fingers on the nightstand next to the still reading nurse, drawing his attention to her.

Startled molten gold met her and suddenly he was up and taking the vitals, checking everything to be sure Marinette was truly awake and okay. He started speaking in a soothing, soft voice, though she could barely focus on the words enough to process them. Reaching out again, she stopped him midstep and then brought that same hand up to the throat to indicate the problem. She couldn't speak.

The man seemed to understand and nodded along, quickly paging a doctor and coming back to her, pressing a button to gently prop her up and slowly adjust a few machines before turning back and slowly asking a few basic yes or no questions. 

Did she know who she was? Yes, she was Marinette, stuck in the once dead body of her soulmate. She shook to indicate she didn't. With the state of the grave, she doubted she would be welcomed back to the manor. Best not to let them know who Jason was and have them contacting Bruce.

Did she know where she was? A hospital. She gave a nod for that.

Did she know the date? Yes, the nurse had read the date every day for a little over a year now. That much was easy to agree to, despite the timeline confusing her.

Does she know what happened to her? Well yes, but she shook her head no. She couldn't very well explain dying by Joker's cruelty while in the wrong body as Robin and climbing out of a grave. That was like, three separate identity reveals to one stranger. It also made zero sense and she'd probably end up institutionalized.

With the knowledge that she understood him and wasn't brain dead, the man informed her of the various injuries she knew of, plus a few bonus ones that alluded her. Then, he mentioned her inability to speak.

While all of the breaks and bruising had healed up well, the damage to the vocal chords had been horrific and while they did their best, the damage was done. They couldn't even remove them without it potentially cutting off her airway or esophagus.

She was effectively mute.

Marinette finally woke up after a year in a coma and however long in that grave and she still couldn't scream to her heart's content. This was stupid.

All she could do was glare off into space, ignoring the doctor that came in to do a checkup. 

…

After a week they took her off feeding tubes and IV only hydration and started reintroducing a liquid diet. Progress was slow and painful, but necessary.

After another two weeks they brought in soft solids like pudding and oatmeal. This is also when they first tried to help her stand up a little on her own and fine motor control was finally stable enough to write short phrases on a white bored. Rehabilitation was turning out to be an annoyingly long process.

After a month in this place, she finally left her room for the first time and abruptly realized they transferred her to a children's hospital at some point. It made sense. Jason was about fifteen when she died for him and small due to his time on the streets. Stunted growth, likely. They probably assumed she was about fourteen right now, despite the year technically making them sixteen. Even then, it would make the cutoff for a children's facility.

The bright colors across the walls and floors jarred her a bit after the nothing of so long, but was a welcome change. She tried not to glare at the little sick kids running about as she wheeled slowly along corridors, not quite able to walk on these stick thin legs.

Reports of a child John Doe had been filed, but no one really looked at those that hadn't lost their kid, so no one who would recognize Jason ever saw his report. She would be here a while. At least until she recovered enough to be considered okay for discharge. Then she would be put into the system as an orphan. She had no intention of staying long enough to see that through.

Jason and her had taken to the streets before and would thrive out there more than in any foster home they could find her. For now, she would settle back and allow the recovery process to take control. 

…

Or so she thought. She'd only been awake for a little over a month, but she guessed the file must've been put through when she first came in to try and find his guardian. Someone, somewhere, recognized Jason Todd. 

Whoever they were sold the information to Talia Al Ghul.

The woman came in the middle of the night and stole Marinette away. With this weak body and useless voice box, struggling didn't even seem like an option.

Where would it get her, anyways? Dropped off a rooftop and possibly stuck in a grave again? Talia could kill her again and she wouldn't stand a chance in defending herself. Marinette was not willing to take that chance, so she stayed complacent in her kidnapping.

Talia asked many questions of her, curious as to the state of her new play thing. She had to have known that Jason was supposed to be dead. Marinette didn't bother with paying the questions any attention. It's not like she could respond and she felt hesitant to reveal the inability. She worried over what Talia would do upon finding out the extent of the damage. Would keeping Jason be worth it to her?

Either way, she sensed the ever festing frustration in the older woman with every passing inquiry left unanswered. The look in her eyes spoke of a willingness to torture the information out of her.

Good luck with that. 

At the same time, what could Marinette possibly lose at this point. She already died once and had no home to return to. The once ever present tug in her mind was long gone and hadn't returned with her resurrection. She already lost Jason and her old life. If she actually died again by Talia's hand, would it kill her as well by this point? The body was as good as hers what with the lost connection. Either she could either actually die in it now or she was immortal. When it came to it, with no connection or way to truly live on or track down her past life, she had nothing left to fear.

Eventually she came to a decision. Looking up at the woman before her, she lifted a hand to point to the throat and quickly made a slashing motion across it, which Talia immediately nodded in understanding at. She left for a moment only to drop into the seat across the way again and drop a notebook and pen between them. Marinette picked it up and slowly wrote out a phrase.

'Vocal Chords destroyed.'

Talia only nodded and gestured to continue.

'Long coma, deteriorated muscles. Not much function.'

"And coming back from the dead? How'd that happen?" 

Marinette only shrugged. She truly didn't have an answer. Luckily that seemed sufficient an answer.

"Your brain is fully functional though. I can see how closely you're watching me. Waiting and observing. Not nearly as reckless as your past actions made you out to be. Perhaps dying has that affect though."

Marinette only watched silently as Talia mulled the thought over.

"And the damage otherwise?"

'Mostly healed over. Weakened though.'

The following conversation continued much the same. Talia asked questions and either answered them herself or waited for a short response in return. It didn't take long to get the full extent of the situation hashed out. Talia seemed to regard her with an excited gleam now and reassured her that that could all be fixed. Not to worry, the process only hurt a little. In the end, 'Jason' would feel all better.

Marinette wasn't sure exactly how to respond to this news. Yes, the promise of healing faster and possibly regaining her voice was a tempting offer, but in the end, she knew the woman wanted something from her. The price of health would be steep, of that she seemed sure. Again, she couldn't help but wonder what her alternatives were. This would happen whether or not she consented. Might as well make it feel like she had some control over the situation, if only for the comfort it lent her. She gave a jerky nod and watched the woman's smile grow.

Letting this head loll to the side, Marinette blanked out on everything else, falling into a restless sleep for the duration of their journey to wherever they were going.

…

Over the next few weeks, she woke up in random locations, being carted off into a hotel and up towards their rooms. She was never allowed to leave the room or do much more than eat and drink and use the restroom. It was similar to how she imagined prisoners lived, only in nicer conditions. Talia, while adjusted to live in any conditions, preferred to live luxuriously after all. And it wouldn't do to have a random, half dead kid following her around, raising questions all the time. Marinette couldn't truly blame her for that. She remained hidden.

…

At the end of their travels, she followed Talia out of the final hotel room and out into a cab. The cab dropped them off at a seemingly random location only for the two to walk out into the dessert. She wouldn't be surprised if that cab was only a front for the league. They walked for well over an hour, Marinette lucky to have healed enough to walk so long, even though it started to wear her down after the first thirty minutes, only determination to not be left behind moving her forward.

Talia must've stolen her without informing anyone else of her intentions. Otherwise, she's sure they would've taken a more direct and less discreet route. As it was, they reached a cave entrance and made their way down and down until eventually they begin to veer down different paths, Talia disabling traps as they went.

Eventually they reached an opening into a glowing green room, the glow emitting from a massive pool in the center. Something about the place set her on edge. The glow reminding her of Plagg's toxic green eyes and letting off what had to be a magical aura. Talia smiled down at her in a reassuring manner, putting a hand to the small of this body, nudging her forward.

Calculating the risk, it seemed her best bet to go along with the woman's plan. Talia would want her alive, so surely this wouldn't kill her. Plus, Talia seemed sincere in her promise of healing this body up and Marinette might as well be a walking lie detector at this point. The woman meant her every word. Taking a deep breath, she only hoped this magic would accept her as well as the miraculouses had.

Hovering a foot over the pool, she hesitated only a moment before remembering Kagami's advice from all those years ago. Hesitation had never helped her before and had no place here. Blinking, she nodded and let herself drop down into the pit.

[luci-cunt]

Hi, welcome to my open worm can, here’s me not being able to shut up Cureless and Cynical version @sargent-major-jane​ whyyyyyyy do youuuu doooo thiisss too meee aksdjfl;askdj XDD <33

Ok so first of all, here’s the cast: Izyc, a demon; Walter, a vampire; Lou a werewolf 6 year old

The story starts out with Walter summoning a demon (who happens to be Izyc) because he wants to bring his friend (Caine) back from the dead. Walt’s at this point basically a dumbass rich fratboy and him and Caine had this pretty not great friendship that was super co-dependant and toxic because Caine is not a good person. Anyways, Caine ends up dying, but the circumstances seem fishy because no one will talk to Walter about it so he gets the fantastic idea to bring Caine back from the dead. 

Izyc’s a little ass tho and he’s like “how do you want him?” and so Walter orders one supersized friend resurrection. 

“Alright,” Izyc said, cracking his knuckles and standing up, “which one is he?”

Walter pointed to Caine’s grave and Izyc walked over to stand in front of it. He scanned the grave stone, it was made of lacquered wood, with Caine’s name burned into it. “A wonderful son and friend with an honest soul, he will be missed.”

“Must be nice to have one of these,” Izyc remarked, more joking than wistful, “I think my parents buried me in a Payless box in the backyard.”

“Sorry,” Walter said, not sure what to say. 

Izyc just shrugged, “them’s the apples,” he said, which didn’t make sense to Walter but Izyc was moving on.

There’s just one problem with this whole thing, and that’s the fact that Caine does NOT want to be alive. The reason no one told Walter about Caine’s death in detail was because Caine killed himself, and now he’s back as a nearly unkillable monster. 

So Caine mauls the hell out of Walter’s arm and turns HIM into a vampire. 

Some details about vampires in this world: they’re nearly unkillable. The only thing that can kill them is another vampire. The sunlight thing is a myth, Walt is allergic to garlic tho. Also he’s got fangs, and has better senses. Oh and there’s a wrinkle: the vampiric disease can be transfered thru bodily fluids--I promise this will be important later XDD

Anywhoo--Walt’s a vampire now and he’s grouchy and grumpy about it. he goes all emo and the story flashes forward 7ish years to him sulking in a bar even though he can’t get drunk he just LiKeS tHe BuRn. 

this is where we find out Izyc has stuck around, and that him and Walter hunt monsters. Also that Izyc really likes his pair of jeans. 

Izyc cried out as he hit the ground, scrambling to hold onto something as the gnome dragged him down into the tunnels. His arms hit the sides of the tunnel and stopped him and he cursed. 

Walter was on him in a second, grabbing him by the coat as Izyc held onto his arms and pulled against the gnome. 

“Fucking– catch– fire!” Walter yelled, straining to pull Izyc out of the hole. 

“I like these jeans!” Izyc yelled back, “Ow! Shit!” he yelped, probably as the thing’s claws started digging in. 

Oh also: since Izyc is a demon he’s got some magic powers, most namely: the ability to set himself on fire, the ability to conjure anything in the world as long as he makes a deal, and an immunity to vampire sicknesss. 

Also also: these are gnomes in this universe (description courtesy of Izyc’s bestiology)

Surprisingly large, looks a bit like if a mole and a man decided to shit on god’s face by fucking. Claws for hands and pointy faces with milky eyes covered by big, bushy eyebrows. Does not wear clothing, which is a sight, and known for dragging unsuspecting women into their dens during mating seasons. The species is exclusively male and very reclusive/ meek. Will not inhabit anywhere within a mile of another gnome.

So.... moving on.... Izyc and Walt have an odd relationship, they travel around the US living out of hotels (specifically one that’s run by a man eating ghoul named Klancy who may or may not be 100 years old). 

Some details to know about demons: most of them were desperate people who sold their souls to other demons for something in their life. Then when they die they get stuck in this limbo and are basically hellish office workers. People can summon Izyc, but the only ritual most know just pokes at him and he can ignore it. It’s actually how him and Walt get jobs, someone summon’s Izyc and gives him details and then Walt and him zip on over. 

So Izyc’s got nothing better to do and Walt was his first ever deal so sue him, he’s lonely, he just kinda sticks with Walt. After a couple of years tho they start fucking, and both claim it’s for convenience sake--mostly Walt tho, cuz he can’t have sex with anyone who isn’t a vampire unless he wants to make them a vampire and -- yeah anyways.

Izyc catches feelings though, and he tries to pipe up about it, but then Lou crashes into the story. 

Some details to know about werewolves: they don’t only transform under the full moon, but that is a sacred time for them. They’re very ostracized by the world, forced to live in tiny communities and keep to themselves because they’re “dangerous.” 

One day, a vampire comes through and murders Lou’s entire pack

and the two other packs living in the town with them. 

Lou is the only survivor, and she’s friends with a woman named Luca who mentions a bitchy-but-nice vampire named Walter. 

And so Lou’s grieving 6 y/o brain goes “only a vampire can kill another vampire, this is perfect” and tracks Walt down and twists his heart strings until he agrees to at least check the scene out. 

Details about Luca: she’s Walter’s ex-boyfriend’s step-sister and she’s also half banshee. She’s also also one of Walter’s only friends. 

Some details about banshee’s: contrary to popular belief they aren’t omens of death, rather just really fucked up people. They’re usually the product of a hateful birth and feel emotion so strongly they’ll only be able to feel one single emotion in their lives. Usually people’s first emotions when their born is fear, and thus--screaming banshee’s. However, if you’re only part banshee you feel other emotions but they’re still super strong, so Luca’s basically cracked out bipolar. She takes meds that help but if she doesn’t take them it gets BAD.

Anyways, Walter goes to the crime scene, it goes a little like this: 

It started as splatters, dried and dirty looking on the ground. Then it got thicker, darker, and more concentrated. The walls of surrounding buildings were painted with it, and the street looked like it had been bathed in it. At the end of the street, however, was a schoolhouse, which seemed to be the source of all of it. 

Walter’s shiver had nothing to do with the cold. 

“Hey!” a voice called suddenly, stirring Walter out of where he’d been standing, staring at the school. It wasn’t very large, just a long, single story building that had a lot of windows and big doors. Above them were rusting metal letters spelling ‘SMITH CREEK ELEMENTARY.’ Most of the windows were broken and the doors had been torn off their hinges. The lawn in front of the school – which had probably been grass before – was now torn up and muddied from countless claws scrambling and tearing it up. 

“Hey!” The voice called again, this time closer, “you can’t be here.”

Walter turned to find a man walking up to him. He was wearing an officer’s uniform and his face was scrunched up in annoyance behind a big paper mask that covered his mouth and nose. Walter could smell lavender on it. The officer was also quite a bit shorter than Walter, and he had blond hair and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at Walter. 

“I’m on business,” Walter said, “a consultant,” he lied. 

The officer gave him a shrewd look, “we didn’t hear anything about you coming up,” he said. 

Walter sighed, “it’s not my fault your department is useless.” The man’s face twitched. “I’m going back to work now, unless you want me to bother my superior and admit you messed up,” Walter said, brushing past the bristling man. 

“What kind of consultant are you supposed to be?” he asked, jogging a bit to catch up to Walter as he picked his way up to the school. There was a shallow set of stairs leading to the doors. The stairs were dark with blood and Walter almost expected them to be tacky. It had been days though, and they were dried by now. 

“Vampiric expert,” Walter said. 

“What are your credentials?” 

Walter turned and flashed his fangs. All the blood drained from the mans face and he took a few quick steps back. Walter didn’t stop walking, just tore through the caution tape blocking the doorway and went inside.

We find out later on that this is actually Caine’s doing, and Caine goes on a bit of the murder spree, which is what the book devolves into. Before it was some cases, a bunch of undocumented kishi (people with hyena faces on the backs of their heads) run into a wyvern problem that turns into a monster smuggling scandal. Izyc pisses off pirates which results in them kidnapping him to try and make Walt murder a bunch of mermaids, which just leads to the mermaids and Walt eating all the pirates. They meet another vampire named Marissa who happens to also be a warlock and zips them into a pocket dimension that’s like a 1950′s nuclear family where Izyc goes crazy, manages to escape, and then has to get into Walt’s pocket dimension and kill his alternate self.

yknow, the usual. 

This is so fucking long I’m so sorry if you managed to get all the way down here I owe you my whole soul aksjdf;lakjsdf;lkajsdf here’s some snippets: 

[chickensarentcheap]

I Found

Chapter 5

Sorry this is so long. But it made no sense to split it up.  I promised @c-a-v-a-l-r-y som Ovi and I didn’t want to let her down ;)   also tagging @alievans007 and @hemmyworthy

“I've got a bone to pick with you,” he says to Ovi three hours later.  It was a conversation that would be best done in private, but with thousands of miles and countless hours separating them, face time was the next best thing.  “A big fucking bone.”

The kid looks good. Taller. Muscled. More mature in the face.  It is surprising how someone can change in the course of just a year.

“What did I do?” Ovi laments. “I didn't do anything.”

“Cut the shit, kid. You know what you did. What was the first thing I told you? When Esme gave you her email and her cell number?”

“To make sure that I didn't accidentally send her anything dirty off the internet. And to make sure none of my friends got my phone and sent her dick pics.”

“Okay. What was the second thing I told you then? Do you remember? The second and more important thing.”

His brow furrows as he strains to remember.  Then his eyes widen when he realizes his mistake.

“Yeah, you got it now, don't you, mate.  You figured it out.  I specifically told you not to message her about serious shit. That if you got any chatter about bullshit going on over there that you were to get a hold of me. Not her. So why the fuck up?”

“I don't know,” Ovi laments. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know why I did it. I just did. I didn't mean to. It just happens.”

“That's the kind of bullshit excuse guys make when they fuck someone else or knock someone up.”

The kid frowns. “What?”

“Never mind. Point is, you opened a whole can of worms over here, mate. You really stirred the shit pot. Can you guess what happened? Can you just guess?”

“You got into a fight?”

“You're damn right we did. And this wasn't your normal fight about leaving the seat on the shitter up or leaving dirty socks on the bedroom floor or drinking the last of the milk straight out of the carton. This was the kind of shit show that happens when your girl asks you if she looks fat in what she's wearing and you say the wrong thing. This was almost months...if not years...of me sleeping on the couch, kid.  And I'm sorry but I kind of like sharing a  bed with my wife. You're lucky I can't reach through this thing and strangle the ever loving shit out of you.”

“I'm glad you can't. That ending would not be good.”

“No. It wouldn't.  You really freaked her out, kid. She's fifty shades of fucked over here. And not fucked in the fun way. Her nerves are all over the bloody place now. She's freaking the hell out. And I'm the one that has to do battle against that demon. Not the particular hill I want to die on.”

“Die? Why would you die? She's going to kill you? I don't want her to kill you because of me. Let me talk to her. Let me...”

“It's a bloody saying, mate. But with the state of the things over here, she just may smother me in my sleep or poison my food.  I know you didn't mean to do it, but fuck mate, what a goddamn mess.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just thought...I don't know...I just thought maybe it was better to talk to her.  So you wouldn't get upset with me.”

“So I get upset with her instead? Well played, kid. Well played. Don't let it happen again, okay? You come to me. If it is shit like this. She doesn't need it. She's got enough shit to deal with. Don't add to her plate.”

“I'll call her. To apologize.”

“Just leave her alone for now. Let her come to grip with things. It's not a good time right now. She's not in a good place. So do me a favour and just hold off, okay?”

“Okay. I really am sorry, Tyler. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just thought maybe she could help so I wouldn't have to come to you. Please don't hate me.”

“I could never hate you, mate. You know that. So what's up? What's going on? I only got so much out of her before shit hit the fan.”

Ovi delves into a tale of increasingly suspicious and frightening behaviour.  What started out as simple hang ups on his cell and home line had someone transformed into dead animals left at the front door,  graphic images sent to his email of dead bodies blown apart by bullets, warnings to watch his back when he was out on the street; that he better have eyes on the back of his head. And within the last two days  things had really stepped up: extremely vivid descriptions of how and where he would meet his untimely demise.

“Let me guess,” Tyler says. “The bridge.”

Ovi nods.  He looks as if he may cry. Or throw up. Or both.

“Mother fuckers,” Tyler mutters, and rakes a hand through his hair. “Did you tell the guys watching you all this? What did they say?”

“They said to just ignore it. That it was probably just someone playing a sick joke.”

“Rookies. You always take this shit seriously. Did you call Nik?”

“She's the one who told me to call you. But I got scared and I called Esme instead.”

“Scared of me? Why?”

“You get so angry. You get so angry and you said the doctor said you're going through a lot of stuff and...”

“Yeah my brain's mighty fucked up but that doesn't mean you keep shit from me.   There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, kid. You should know that by now. Outside of this, how are things going? How's school? What about the cute girl that you said you've been checking out for a while?”

Ovi is clearly relieved with the change in conversations. And he willingly and happily dives into tales of both his school exploits and his social life. The kid's become the hell of a story teller since coming out of his shell'; leaving no stone unturned, no details (even the most trivial out). And his face is content and his voice animated and it's almost enough for Tyler to forget about the shit the kid is dealing with. Alone, without the protection and the guidance of his father, with nothing more than servants, maids, and bodyguards to give him necessary human contact and care. It's a shit life. Sure, the money was great. And everything that came with having that kind of money. But how do you live day in and day out knowing what kind of prick your old man is? Knowing he's responsible for putting drugs out onto the streets and into the hands of vulnerable kids? Always having it on your mind that he was capable of killing another person?

That last part hits hard. He was that man. He was more than capable of taking a life. He'd shown it hundreds of times. And he wonders if he'll ever tell his daughter about that side of him. About his mercenary days.  And how she would react to the news. It would suck coming from someone else, he supposed. Honesty was the policy. But how to tell your kids about something like that without totally fucking them up? Without them hating you?

That last part is a brutal kick in the nuts.  The thought of his daughter hating of...thinking less of him...well it fucking kills him. And he briefly closes his eyes and struggles to get that thought of his mind.

“Tyler?” Ovi's voice. “Are you okay?”

He gives a reassuring smile. “I'm fine mate. Just a killer headache. It's been a long day.  So there's nothing on the girl front? You haven't made your move yet? What's wrong with you?”

“I'm nervous,” he laments. “I don't know what to say to her.”

“I'm going to have to give you some pointers when I get there. Light a fire under your ass.”

“You're coming? Here?”

“Looks like it. But there's a lot to work out. I've got to get a hold of Nik and make some arrangements.  It's going to take a few days at least. And my wife won't let me come alone...”

The kid's entire face lights up.  “All three of you are coming? I get to meet the baby?”

“I'm not making any promises, okay? There's things that Esme and I need to talk about and work out. But she's pretty adamant about not letting me go alone and I've learned to pick my battles. Do me a favour, would you? Send me those pictures you got. Did you take any photos of the shit sent to the house?”

“Of course. I do remember some things you told me.”

“Send those to me too.  What about the calls? You get any numbers?”

“All unknown numbers.”

Tyler knew it was too much to ask for things to be simple for once.

“I want you to send me anything and everything you have. And don't breathe a word of this to anyone around you, got it? Not a word. Not what's happening, not who you've been talking to. Don't even say my name. Less people know, the better. I'm still not sure if those fuckers know I'm alive or not. But let's just be on the safe side for now.”

They know, he thinks, as Ovi rambles some more about school and the girl he likes and how excited he is that he's going to be getting pointers from someone with experience. His friends know shit, after all. They're just as green and awkward as he is.  

They know I'm alive. That's the only reason for this. They're trying to get me back there. And if they know I'm alive, they'll figure out my name. And once they know my name, nothing will be able to stop them from finding out where I am. Where I live. With my wife and my child.

And suddenly, it all becomes so much more serious than he initially thought.

*****

“What are you doing?” Esme asks later, as finds him at the kitchen table, the laptop open in front of him, a pen and a pad of paper off to the side.  “Watching porn? Learning new moves? You have to write them down so you'll remember?”

“Smart ass,” he grins, and she stands behind his chair and rubs his shoulders before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He watches as she crosses the room; the way she has to stand on her tip toes to get a coffee mug down from its shelf.  That simple movement and the stretch of her arm causing the bottom of her t-shirt to rise up. Not only revealing a slice of the tattoo that covers her entire left rib cage, but gives him a peek of that ass clad in a lacy pair of black boy shorts.

 “Don't you have any clothes of your own?” he inquires, as she pours a mug of tea from the pot she'd prepared before heading for a shower.   “I swear that's all your shit taking up the room in the closet but you're always wearing my things.”

“I like your shirts better,” she replies. “They smell like you.”

That sounds like a good enough reason as any, he supposed.

“Baby asleep?” he asks, as she slips into the chair across from him.

“Finally. She was hungry again. She is your daughter. A bottomless pit for a stomach”

“She's growing,” he reasons, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I see it every day. How much she's changing. She pays more attention now. She looks for us when we talk to her. She smiles.”

“And before long she'll be bringing her first boyfriend home and asking to go on birth control.”

His eyes narrow as he stares at her. Long and hard.

She smiles and innocently sips her tea.  

“Did your father go gray at an early age? Did you give him wrinkles? Cause him to drink excessively?”

“He had five kids altogether. I'm the second last. So he was already a wrinkly, gray haired, borderline alcoholic before I came along. And you know why ? Because  had three boys before me.”

“Yeah, I'm sure that is exactly what caused his issues. The three sons that came before the first daughter. “

“You don't know my brothers,” she reasons.

It's true.  He doesn't. They've never actually come face to face.  He's seen pictures and vice versa and he's briefly chatted with them on the phone,  but he knows very little about them. Nor do they know much about him. All they really did know was that their sister went on a 'business trip', hooked up with some random Australian, and never went back to Colorado.  He was a mystery to them; ex army, someone that travelled a lot for work,  got mixed up in some bullshit that ended up with him in the hospital and needing months of recovery. They knew his name. What he looked like. His age and where he was from.

But that's where the details stopped. Their wedding was small and secretive. She didn't tell her family there was a baby on the way until the last month arrived.  Or why she had to be 'laid off' from work. It was messy and complicated; a lot of little white lies gathering into one huge fib. But it was for their own good.

“They're bat shit insane,” she adds. “They're savages.”

“My kind of savage or...?”

“Baby, there is no one out there that is your kind of savage. They're normal savage. They're normal human beings that do normal human being things. And we're...well we're...”

“Fucked up?”

“Well I was going to say complex but you always have had  a way with words.

Leaning back in her chair, she stretches her legs out and rests her feet in his lap.  Quietly sipping her tea as his one hand disappears under the table; dragging his knuckles slowly up and down the top of her foot, then along the bottom. Slowly, methodically.  His eyes focused on that pad of paper as his right hand mindlessly scribbles and doodles.  He's hard to read; a million and one things going through that beautiful head of his. Memories of his previous life. The things he's seen. The things he's done.  Replays of conversations that they'd had today on the beach, the argument that they'd found themselves embroiled in.  And more than likely some thoughts of Ovi and what ever had happened during their behind closed doors face chat. It wasn't cause for concern when Tyler fell quiet; he was a man of few words, the strong and often silent type. It was when he grew quiet and he got THAT look.  Where his brow furrowed and his eyes darkened and he'd absentmindedly (and repeatedly) dragged his top teeth  along his bottom lip. That twas when you should worry.

“What's up?” she asks casually. This is a thin line to teeter upon. Like walking across thin ice that you can hear cracking under your feet.

“Just tired,” he replies with a small smile, tilting his head to the side and causing his hair to fall across his forehead.

His knuckles continue to brush against her foot; over each toe and down the instep before travelling onto the ankle and down onto her heel and over the bottom. In the past few months he'd become increasingly needy when it came to physical touch. Both seeking it and giving it. Not that that wasn't a welcome change. This is a man who'd had to learn what it was like to love again. And to be loved.  “It's been a long day,” he adds. “Too much sun. Always make me tired, you know that.”

She nods slowly, both hands clasped around her mug, the rim pressed against her lips.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “About our fight earlier. For some of the things I said.  I didn't mean them. I say shit when I get upset.  I lash out when I'm pissed off. Always at the people who don't deserve it. And I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that.”

“I know. But to be honest, you were pretty tame. You've said a lot worse over a lot less.”

“Maybe. But I still hate myself for doing it.  I shouldn't have snapped like I did. I just wasn't expecting it, you know? It caught me off guard.”

“It's okay,” she assures him, and rubs her toes against his stomach. “And I'm sorry too. It probably wasn't the best time or place to bring all that up.”

“To be fair, that's kind of our history. It's how we met. Letting things happen in the wrong place at the wrong time. Seems to be our go to.”

“Remind me to never tell our daughter that. We're going to have to come up with a really good story for when she asks where she came from. Do you really want to be telling her she was conceived in some flea bag motel in Dhaka while you were trying to rescue a drug dealer's son?”

“Not exactly something you want to tell your kids.  We're definitely not a love story that someone would write home about.”

“I don't know.  It's the thing movies are made of, don't you think? Two people falling in love in the midst of some crazy shit? Surviving things that would kill most mortals? I'd watch it.”

“Would there be nudity?” he teases. “I'd watch if if there was nudity.”

“If it's about us, there'd be tons of nudity,” she says with a wink, and he can't help but chuckle.  Their sex life has always been epic. Right from the very beginning.  

“And I'm sorry for bringing Austin up,” she adds, and he glances up at the mention of his son.  “I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have stooped that low.”

“You didn't stoop low.  You had a right to bring him up. I know I don't talk about him much.  And you know I don't like to talk about him. But you were right.  I do think that way. I do feel guilty at times. I feel like a shit father who is forgetting about him. Who doesn't love him anymore because I brought another kid into the world to take his place.”

“She isn't taking his place, Tyler. That isn't why she's here. She's here because two people fell in love and they made something so incredible together. There's no other reason. She's here because she's meant to be. And she's here as her own person. She isn't a replacement.”

“I know. I do. But I can't help but think that way some time. My brain is fucked up.  All those fucking pills...” he jerks his head in the direction of the microwave stand. Where a wide variety of medications prescribed in his name take up residence in a locked drawer. Pills for the pain. Pills to help him sleep. Pills for anxiety. Pills for depression. Pills for every single fucking thing under the sun. “...they fuck with my head. Some days I can't even remember what day it is.”

“That's not the pills. That's old age.”

He smirks.  “First a Viagra joke and now a crack at my age? Do you want a divorce?”

“Not particularly, no. I kind of like having you around.  I think I'll keep you.”

“Yeah? Good. Because I kind of like hanging out here.  The food's good. I get my laundry done. I get laid on a regular basis. Things could be a lot worse, I figure.”

“You mean like sleeping on the couch for the rest of your naturally born life?” she teases, and he nods in agreement. Once again they fall into a comfortable silence; no noise except for the tick of the kitchen clock, the slight drip of the tap, and the hum of the laptop's fan. “So?” she eventually asks. “What are you doing?”

Sighing heavily, he turns the laptop to face her. The screen displaying one of the photos that Ovi had sent him: a headless cat with its blood smeared on the front door.

She grimaces. “I won't lie. I wish it was porn you'd been watching.”

“Ovi sent me these. And a whole bunch of others. Just weird and creepy shit for the most part. But whoever is doing this isn't messing around. It's all very deliberate.”

“You don't think they're just trying to scare him.”

“This goes above and beyond just trying to scare someone. This is bonafide psychotic bullshit. Whoever is doing this, they're after him. They're sincere with their threats. They're too invested in this. It's not just some passing fancy or some kid doing shit because they think it makes them look cool. This is the real deal. This is scary shit.”

“So he's definitely in danger.”

“No doubt in my mind. Maybe if it just went as far as the hang ups and the pictures, I'd say it's just someone fucking around. But the dead animals? The threats? The letters? That shit is very real.”

“Someone attached to Asif? Or even someone pissed off at Ovi's father?”

“This is definitely someone that's pissed off that Ovi got away and Asif died. Don't get me wrong; Nik had every reason to shoot him in the fucking head. But it is coming back to bite us all in the ass.”

She nods slowly, considering his words. “What's this?” she inquires, as she leans forward and picks up the note pad.

“Just some research I've been doing. Names mostly.”

Her eyes study what he has scrawled, eyes narrowing at one particular name.  “Farhad? That one sounds familiar.”

“It should. That's the little fucker that shot me in the neck and nearly killed me.”

“Hmmm...” she traces a finger over each letter, as if committing it to memory. “...no last name.”

“None that any of my contacts could come up with.  I'm sure I'll be able to find him if I put some feelers out.”

“Why would you want to? To kill him?”

“To talk to him. He's probably behind this bullshit. Why would you say kill him right off the hop like that?”

“Well, I wouldn't exactly blame you if you wanted to kill him,” she reasons. “Or if you did kill him. I think it's a reasonable response considering he almost killed you.”

“I'm not out for revenge. I'm out to help Ovi. This isn't about me.”

“But revenge isn't always a bad thing,” she gently argues. “And I think in this case...in our case...it's the only natural response.”

Tyler frowns. “He's a kid.”

“That shot you in the neck.”

“He's still a kid.”

“Why does that matter? Look at what he did.”

“He was only doing it to impress some drug lord dick head.  Now he's probably up to shit thinking he's big and bad because he did supposedly kill me.  But he's still a kid. A fucked up kid. But still a kid.”

“A kid that tried to fucking kill you!” she snaps, and he blinks at the anger in her voice.  It's the first time she's ever truly snapped at him. Not the little flip outs she has when she has to tell him twenty times to do something or when she's tired and he's getting on her last damn nerve. This was different. This was rage. Vehemence. And those were the eyes of a woman possessed.

A woman out for blood.

“Well he didn't succeed did he? I'm still here. It's water under the bridge.”

“The bridge. The fucking bridge! Always the fucking bridge!”

“The bridge? What the fuck...?”

“The bridge! The bridge where he shot you! The bridge where you almost fucking died! I was on that bridge too! I was the one that held you when you were dying. I was the one that had your blood all over me. I was on that fucking bridge too, Tyler!”

“I know,” he rubs and squeezes her foot in an attempt to settle her down.  “I know you were.  But just calm down and...”

“Don't you fucking tell me to calm down,” she snaps, and yanking her foot out of his lap, pushes her chair away and jumps up with so much force that it nearly topples over.  “Don't you do that. Don't you act like my feelings aren't valid!”

“I wasn't. That's not what I was trying to do. I know you were there. I know what you saw. And I wish every day it never came down to that. That you never had to see that. But I can't go back and change it. Didn't you say that to me today? That I can't go  back in the past and change how I did things?  This is the same thing.”

“No. It's not. It's the same damn thing at all! Don't you dare try and downplay this.”

“Esme...settle down...just take a breath...take a breath and let's talk about this calmly. Reasonably. Please...” he reaches for her and she slaps his hands away. “I'm not the enemy here, love. I'm not the bad guy. Don't push me away. You've been trying to do that for almost a year now. And I haven't gone anywhere yet.”

“How can you just sit there and be so calm about this?” she snags the pad of paper. “How can you act like this doesn't matter any more? That this name...this fucking name!...doesn't mean anything to you.”

“Because it doesn't. He isn't the first person that has tried to kill me.  And he probably won't be the last.”

“Jesus Christ, Tyler. Are you really trying to normalize this?”

“It's the nature of the beast. All part of the job. You knew that when Nik dragged you into this. You really think he's the first asshole to try and kill me?”

“He's the first asshole that's tried to kill you right in front of me!”

Sighing, he runs his hands over his hair and through his hair and then leads back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “Maybe you should stay behind. Maybe it's better if you and the baby stay here.”

She stares at him incredulously.  “You have got to be kidding me.”

“If shit hits the fan, which it probably will, it's probably best if you're not there. You went through it once. You don't need to see something like that again.”

“So you just wander off like you're fucking John Rambo and I stay with our baby...your baby...while you get killed?”

“What is this obsession with me getting killed? Do you really have that little faith in me?”

“Oh don't you play that card with me. I'm the only one around here that has had faith in you.”

“Then what the fuck is going on? What is happening right now? Because I honestly have no idea.”

“You're not a stupid man, Tyler Rake.”

“Well I must be because I have no fucking clue what you're going on about.”

“You almost died. You're not just some random of the street. Not some guy I was just randomly fucking. You're my husband. The father of my child. And you have the gall to ask me why I'm so upset? Oh I don't know Tyler. Maybe I'm upset that I saw you get shot in the neck and you were bleeding out all over me. Maybe that has something to do with it, do you think?”

“Okay settle down. Just settle down. Before you say something totally stupid you'll regret. I get it. I do. But you've got to let it go.”

“I'm never going to let this go. Not until this piece of shit...” she tosses the pad down onto the table. “...is lying dead in the street. I want revenge. You deserve that.”

“I don't want that. We got revenge when Nik killed Asif. Isn't that enough?”

“No. It's not. It won't be enough until that little bastard is stone cold dead and in hell where he belongs.”

And with that, she storms out of the room.

[houseofvans]

ART SCHOOL | IN SESSION WITH ROB SATO

From vibrant rainbows to familiar yet alien landscapes occupied by strange beings, LA based artist Rob Sato’s works are filled with creative energy in a loose minimalistic style. From watercolor, digital medium to acrylics and oil, Rob’s artworks and illustrations have been shown in various galleries from Giant Robot 2 to the Oakland Asian Cultural Center, where recently his original paintings for a comic called 442 were exhibited. We’re excited to chat with Rob about his work, his various collaborations and what he’s got coming up for the rest of the year.  Take the Leap!

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself Hello, my name is Rob Sato. I’m an artist, illustrator, and writer. Something people might not know about me is that I was a kid I was so fanatical about the Oakland A’s that when they lost in the World Series I threw a tantrum so big that I destroyed my bedroom and after that I felt so stupid I quit following baseball. Also, I’m told I have maybe one of the great poop stories of the world. It can only be related in person, so ask me about it sometime if we ever meet.

How would you describe your work and style? Eclectic? Kaleidoscopic? I’ve never had a concise answer to this question. I tend not to pin myself down because I think if I did, I’d stop making things. 

Art is my outlet for the cryptic and obscure as well as the gushing spillover of foolish idealism and wild fantasy. It’s the only place I’ve ever found where you can healthily play with unhealthy thoughts, where you can explore undefined emotions, things that lurk out in the corners of consciousness that may be embarrassing or uncontrollable.

I love to make entertainment and decorative work, things that tend to be obvious, that communicate very clearly and reveal all their cards, but I also love to make work that hides things, that actively resists easy understanding or recognition and risks being super personal or unrelatable and strange. This can make things difficult, especially in the ongoing deterioration of attention spans, but I can’t help but pursue things outside of a pop sensibility and logical thought. I have to be, much of the time, in mental wildernesses. It’s hard to get there, hard to be there, and hard to come back, but it keeps me going.

Tell us about how you really started getting into art, and how that turned into what you do now? Was it something you always intended to pursue? I’ve drawn every single day for as long as I can remember. I never really thought about it. It just seems to be what I do. It’s how I have fun, how I solve problems, how I think. I’ve wanted to pursue other things like make movies or write books, but I always find myself drawing. Before I know it, it’s time for bed again.

When you are working on a new piece or upcoming exhibition or show? What’s your process like? What themes do you find yourself taking on? I explode. I used to plan things in a very directed way, but lately I’ve just let my brains spill out everywhere. I make a ton of drawings and paintings, and try my best to be fearless and open. Most of it produces failure after failure, but it shows me what might be worth building on, plus many exciting surprises reveal themselves in the process. As a show nears I start seeing what things fit together, what needs to be edited out, and how it all might form a cohesive exhibition. Sometimes the subject matter is the glue that makes everything stick, other times it’s the aesthetics. Alongside the explosion I usually have 2 or 3 pieces going at any given time that I’ve had long term plans for. These pieces can take take months or even years. 

Thematically I’m all over the place. War and peace, realism and surrealism, grim realities and escapism, sober observations and dumb jokes.

What are some of your go-to art making materials? Are there mediums you want to explore that you’ve yet to get your hands on? I feel pretty comfortable with anything you can use to make a mark on a piece of paper. I’ve mainly used watercolor and various drawing tools for the past several years. I’m been having fun with acrylics and oils again, and I’ve started to play around with photography a little. I’ve had ideas for sculpture and film for years that I’d really like to finally get to. What I really want to get my hands on is more time.

Where do you find inspiration? What kind of things or people inspire what you make? Watching someone pick their nose listening to headphones and singing softly to themselves in line at the grocery store. Just watching my cat live her weird life. Even though the final artwork may not really show it, these places are usually where my ideas originate. Art has also been a place where I can put memories that have some abstract need to be recorded.

I made this series of drawings called “Bad Hands”, which started out with me laughing at these dumb hands I was drawing with academically incorrect anatomy. Abandoning correctness felt so good. In the process it triggered a memory from High School. I had been forbidden from drawing in one of my classes, so I was contorting my hands into different shapes at my desk to amuse myself. There was a hysteria over gang activity in the school at the time and the teacher freaked out thinking I was throwing gang signs and I ended up getting sent to detention. 

At detention I was talking with a friend and made fun of the teacher for her mistake. A kid who was in a gang overheard and then HE misunderstood and thought I was making fun of gangs or something. On my way home from school he and a couple dudes punched and kicked me for a bit while I tried and failed to explain. I think it’s funny. 

So embedded in that piece is this tumbling series of misunderstandings, these multiple layers of hands being perceived as bad, speaking in an absurd language that communicates different things to different people. I know people aren’t going to see all those layers in the final piece, but that’s where it comes from and I hope it at least sparks some thoughts about talking with our hands, and where else can you follow this kind of train of thought except in art?

I get inspired by artists who seem to approach art as an intuitive discovery process rather than a  pursuit of mastery, that play is one of the more important aspects of making things. My wife, Ako, has been a huge influence on me in this respect. She’s continuously playing with various materials around her at any given time and finding out what she can do with them. Everywhere she goes she abandons a nest made of fresh creations she’s manifested out of mud, string, packaging, plants, uneaten rice, her used drinking straw, lint and whatever else was within her reach

You’ve done a lot of collaborations with companies, museums and art galleries. Do you have a favorite collaboration, and what about the collaboration do you enjoy the most? I’ve recently been collaborating with Tiny Splendor, an indie publisher and printer who have studios in LA and Oakland. It’s been really great working with them, Cynthia Navarro in LA on risographs, and with Max Stadnik, who runs the print shop in Oakland. 

Max has been returning to lithography, my favorite traditional printing medium, and he printed a piece of mine inspired by mushrooms called “Growerings". It’s a full 5 color print, which means it took five separate plates and each print had to go through the press 5 times. It turned out more beautifully than I could have hoped for. Litho is a super difficult but also very fun process and the results are so rich. 

I think I particularly love this collaboration because the image fits the medium so well, and the combination of the two elevates the final piece of work, When it works, the artwork and the print become more than just an image on a piece of paper. It’s more alive in some undefinable way.

Since we’re called Art School, we always ask the artists to give us their favorite art tip? Never force the thing you think you want, you’ll probably miss out on the really interesting thing that’s happening. Also, don’t drink too much coffee. I have trouble taking both of these pieces of my own advice every day.

What do you enjoy doing when you’re not making stuff? How do you chill out? I read and run. I love coffee and I love gossip and talking nonsense with friends. Also, I cannot stop watching Terrace House.

What is the last art show that you went to? What artists should folks keep an eye out for? I recently went to the Velveteria in LA’s Chinatown, which is one man’s collection of paintings on velvet. A very entertaining and very fucked up experience. I went to a life drawing session at Subliminal Projects and got to draw surrounded by Chad Kouri’s fun abstracts. I’m actually typing this interview inside an art show right now. 

I’m here at my wife, Ako Castuera’s, show “Soil” at the Weingart Gallery at Occidental College. We’re here feeding worms. She sculpted this beautiful ceramic vermiculture composter for the show. It’s a grand temple for worms. The show is an act of gratitude for the exchange we have with the soil which provides the clay for ceramics, and for the worms who turn decay into healthy earth to grow new life in. 

She sculpted a menagerie of creatures out of the worm poop that also populate the show. Super fun. Speaking of Ako and Subliminal, her show there with Hellen Jo and Kris Chau this past December was one of those once-in-a-lifetime powerhouse gathering of forces. That may have been the best show I’ve ever seen.

What advice would you give someone thinking about following in your footsteps? What’s something you learned that you want to pass along to art making newbies. Don’t listen to advice if it is extremely quotable. Pay no attention to it especially if it accompanies a photo of a famous artist and fits perfectly into an instagram post. If it’s easy to remember then it’s probably empty, crap inspiration. Those things are entertainments and not words to live by.

 If you’re interested in making art you’ll keep making it. It takes day in, day out patience and exploration and mutation to discover how you really work, not some idea of how an artist works. 

Sometimes it will be very hard, sometimes it will be so breathtakingly easy you think that your problems have been solved forever. Neither situation ever lasts, but cultivate and nurture your curiosity and what you love, and you’ll find ways to make it through the rough times and keep on making things one way or another.

Who are some of your favorite artists to follow and/or see in a show? Lately I’ve been really enjoying the work of Nathaniel Russell whose work makes this great space where funny, grounded matter-of-factness and sweet nothingness sit comfortably together. His drawing also reminds me of Ben Shahn, my all-time favorite drawer. 

I really like Amy Bennet’s oils, these intimate studies of isolation in suburbia where mundanity overlaps with quiet drama and melancholy. Her work obliquely reminds me of Edwin Ushiro’s work, though his stuff is the opposite of melancholic. He captures almost incidental but haunted moments from growing up in Hawaii and infuses them with warmth, and it’s in a style influenced in a super personal way by animation. It reminds me of Satoshi Kon’s movies in its well observed, slice-of-life elements. Edwin’s sketchbooks are a treasure too.  Esther Pearl Watson’s recent autobiographical paintings, Hellen Jo’s latest badass watercolors, Amber Wellman’s funny, playful oil paintings, and Matthew Palladino’s watercolors are also favorites. 

Megan Whitmarsh’s work is some of my favorite to see in person. Her installation with Jade Gordon at the Hammer’s “Made In LA “ show was maybe the funnest work I’ve ever seen and interacted with. I went to see the Ai Wei Wei show at the Marciano Foundation, which I thought was impressive in scale and execution but still somehow lame, but I stumbled on a Mike Kelley installation/ video piece I’d never seen before in the upstairs collection and loved it so much, but I can’t remember the name of it at the moment. 

It’s 2 videos shown side by side of the same guy wearing a cape singing almost the same song simultaneously, but each version has different words at different points. It’s a love song but one version is more bitter and mean and one is sickly sweet. Anyway, highly recommended!

What do you have coming up the rest of the year that you can share with us?  For just a few more days there’s a show up at the Oakland Asian Cultural Center with a bunch of my original paintings for a comic I illustrated about the 442, the Japanese American Army unit of World War II. Plus it has some personal work about Japanese American Incarceration and images from my family’s experience in the concentration camps. My grandfather was incarcerated in the Arkansas camps, and he was a soldier in the 442. 

Next up, I’m in a slew of group shows all happening within a few weeks of each other this month. Poor scheduling on my part as usual, but it’s nice to be invited to so many. I just sent off my piece to the “Seeing Red” show curated by Jeff Hamada of the BOOOOOOOM art and culture blog. That show will be at Thinkspace in LA. Giant Robot has been kind enough to host another solo show for me in September. 

I’ve been busy experimenting with some more 3d stuff that pushes the more narrative side of my work which I hope to show there. We’ll see how the experiments turn out. I’ve also been working on a ton of prints and ideas for books. This year I want to focus on working in print, making zines and comics, and writing a lot more. 

FOLLOW ROB | INSTAGRAM | WEBSITE | SHOP 

[bigskydreaming]

Biden does not have the nomination yet. It is not yet a matter of “a vote for Biden is a vote against Trump, anything else is a vote for Trump.”

And until it is, until either Sanders or Biden has all the delegates they need, peoples’ criticisms of Biden are absolutely relevant. And even should Biden GET the nomination, c’mon guys, there is STILL room to be aware of everything Biden IS and everything about him that needs OPPOSING, even WHILE still opposing Trump. This is not counter-intuitive....if you are against most of what Trump has done, because it is WRONG rather than it is just Trump who did it, and did it in obvious ways, then this is vital, I’d argue, because Biden isn’t going to address a lot of it once in the White House unless people DO keep in mind what is and isn’t likely to still be an issue in a Biden presidency.

This isn’t divisive, this is NECESSARY. If you can’t find a way to hold both truths in your mind: “Trump absolutely needs to be ousted, and opposed, and his works undone,” as well as “Biden has a long history of doing harm in his various seats, and he is the lesser of two evils ONLY in some respects and its important to know what those are because evil is still evil”....that’s something to WORK on, not just “Biden or bust.”

And to be clear, I’m not advocating for “Bernie or bust” either. I’m simply saying: This is all more complicated than accusing people of having brain worms for thinking “Guy who won’t expand health care as much” is the same as “Guy who is killing people.”

Let me be perfectly, 100% clear: If Biden gets the nomination, if it comes down to him or Trump, I am voting for Biden, hands down. But I will be doing so not thinking that Biden is in any way a more moral choice, but because I think the true danger of Trump is in him serving these past years as a rallying point for all the most vocal white supremacist and homophobic and misogynistic elements within our society, allowing them to feel emboldened and having no shame about expressing their hate openly. I think the true danger of Trump’s presidency is how little of it is actually Trump doing anything other than acting as a magnet that draws all focus and trains all eyes on him, even as his cabinet stocked to over-flowing with white-supremacists, antisemitic, homophobic and transphobic and eugenics-advocating assholes go about ACTIVELY advancing agendas of hate behind him while he serves as the catch-all for all opposition.

That absolutely needs to be opposed, and defeated, but fuck this self-defeating nonsense that this means the work will be OVER the second Trump is gone, whenever and however that happens. And I think for as much as people accuse some of us of doing the enemy’s work for them by sowing division and dividing our efforts and how this is doomed to be self-sabotaging and backfire on all of us, I think the same is true of saying things like the only real drawback to Biden is ‘doesn’t want to expand Health Care as much as Sanders whereas he’s otherwise not remotely comparable to Guy Who Is Killing People.”

Because BOTH ARE SELF-DEFEATING. Both set up only ONE THING as a goal or a focus that needs tackling and carries the implicit “and then we can rest” instead of holding up as a goal or focus that both need defeating or plenty of people are still going to die, as they’ve been dying all along.

If you’re going to go with the Devil You Know because he’s also the Lesser Evil of the two Devils You Know....

You still need to know who he is, and who he is is not just guy who won’t expand health care as much and claiming him to be such and nothing more is DANGEROUS.

Vote for Biden if it comes down to him and Trump, yes! But do so in a way that will let you get right back to work opposing all the shit HE prioritizes and stands for, every bit as much as you claim to oppose all the same with Trump!

Stop treating this as an impossible ask. It is not as simple as evil or not evil. It is as simple as making the choice that ensures most people survive....and then from there, actually ensuring that means that the most people survive. 

Which can only happen when you keep in mind how Biden will still be dangerous even once Trump is gone, and who will still need protection from him and his administration and policies, even once Trump’s are gone....and especially because there are a number of those policies that Biden, based on his own policies of the past, is not likely to prioritize or even be helpful in getting dismantled.

Any posts responding to this with anything remotely on the lines of “you’re encouraging people not to vote for Biden and thus helping Trump win” will be ignored the same way they ignore that THAT IS NOT WHAT THIS POST IS, OR SAYS, OR WANTS. I am not responsible for your inability to read what this post actually says, or your unwillingness to hold two not actually opposing viewpoints and priorities in your head at the same time. I am being as clear as I possibly can be on what I will be doing if Biden is the nominee, and why, and how none of that makes Biden’s worst flaws or history irrelevant or a distraction from Trump.

First off:

“Won’t expand healthcare that much” IS actively letting people die. GoFundMe’s biggest usage is trying to raise money for people whose health care isn’t keeping them alive and most of those goals are never actually met, and that’s literally killing people. 

Please be cognizant of what kind of people are most being killed this way. Ones who have the most trouble MEETING (often) impossible goals. The most marginalized members of society. 

If anyone is still framing the health care issue in their own heads as a matter of whether or not they can always pay for their own medical expenses, or will always be able to, please understand this disregards the many people who flat out can’t, and die every day as a result. Homeless people, people kicked out of their homes for being gay or trans or neurodivergent, not having access to quality health care for those reasons or turned away by the specialists they desperately need because the specialists’ only concerns are they can’t afford to pay. Ex-cons who are largely barred access to jobs with good medical benefits, and are largely barred access to the goodwill of random internet strangers willing to shell out some money of their own for their gofundme campaigns. And so on, and so on.

Absolutely the camps and detention facilities are a huge ongoing issue, but its a huge ongoing issue MOST being talked about throughout these entire past four years by a lot of the exact same leftists being accused of taking focus away from the very issues they are doing the most to highlight.

Now onto Biden specifically:

Are Biden’s positions on everything identical to Trump? No, but for starters, Biden wrote the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act, responsible for building more prisons, increasing prison sentences, deploying more cops, and increasing and furthering the exploitation of prison labor, etc.

He’s long been a major proponent of capital punishment, directly leading to the creation of over 60 new capital offenses including murder of federal law enforcement officers. And oh yeah, Biden also voted against limiting appeals and rejecting racial statistics in death penalty appeals.....which would be great if the vast majority of the new death penalty offenses he had a hand in creating - like the murder of police - haven’t been massively disproportionate in who they end up targeting and who ends up charged with and convicted of them: 

Like carjackings, acts of terrorism (just hardly ever acts of domestic terrorism aka the mass shootings of white supremacists, antisemites and disgruntled white guys), and the many drug-related offenses that stem from him being known for decades as a ‘drug warrior’ behind many leading efforts in the war on drugs.

Such as how in the 80s he was the head of the Senate Committee responsible for passing most of the most punitive measures against drug users, during the crack epidemic that was largely created to target and make scapegoats of lower class drug users and PoC, whom were at the time denoted as statistically more likely to use crack cocaine than powder cocaine....

And given that Biden himself sponsored and co-wrote the Anti-Drug Abuse Act which specifically and deliberately laid out hugely harsher penalties for crack cocaine use than were received for being convicted of using power cocaine.....aka a particular favorite past-time of rich white guys (including politicians and political staffers)....all during and throughout the crack epidemic Biden and his cohorts happily whipped up public moral outrage about....

This directly makes him and his political career an inciting element in the huge disparities in prison populations, all stemming from this drug warrior’s leading role in a war on drugs he helped get underway and become what it eventually became in the first place. (Please keep in mind he was famously critical of REAGAN for not being strongly enough anti-drug, as well as George H. W. Bush.)

Granted, Biden admitted his role in crafting and enforcing legislation that led to such huge disparities, at least by the time he was asked about such things in the debates of the 2007 Democratic primaries.

But to my knowledge, to this day he has yet to ever similarly walk back his role in things like oh, the Comprehensive Forfeiture Act in 1983. Which directly empowered and has steadily more and more further increased the power of drug enforcement agencies to seize assets of even just those charged with anything from drug possession to intent to distribute. Which in turn, almost always directly affects the ability of defendants to pay for their own defense instead of being limited to the representation of overworked and underpaid public defenders. Not to mention limits their ability to repeatedly avail themselves to the unlimited appeals Biden nominally has always been in favor for. 

Or there’s the Illicit Drug Anti-Proliferation Bill which was a bit of shady shitmanship that squeezed through thanks to being attached to an unvetted, unrelated and super fucking vague child protection bill that has often been criticized as overreaching in scope. And this IDAP Bill, despite its superficially stated intentions, has historically most often been used by DEA agents as an intimidation tactic wielded against drug-reform protestors at rallies and other such events.

Biden might never have openly had his support base chanting Build the Wall, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t vote for the Secure Fence Act of 2006, which partially funded the construction of 700 miles of fencing along the Mexican border. 

And his stance for over ten years about whether he’d allow sanctuary cities to ignore federal law has been a clear and concise NO, which y’know, given that’s kinda the whole point of sanctuary cities....and given that sanctuary cities have been absolutely CRUCIAL to even attempting to stave off the worst of Trump’s anti-immigration efforts, travel bans, etc.....this may not make him worse than Trump, but I fail to see that particular stance helping all that much even after Trump is gone. 

Because Biden might not have put the same efforts into motion as Trump has, had he been the one in office, but I do not for a second believe he will in ANY way make reversing or undoing some of them his priority. All of that is just as likely to be an uphill battle in a Biden presidency. His track record speaks to itself as to how much he’s likely to make anything like abolishing ICE or getting rid of the detention facilities his first order of business - or even second, third, or even tenth....UNLESS PEOPLE FORCE HIM TO MAKE IT THAT, INSTEAD OF JUST TRUSTING THAT HE WILL BECAUSE HE’S NOT TRUMP.

The caveat I have here is that Biden and his inner circle and support base are unlikely to ever be that visibly resistant to repealing Trump’s anti-immigration efforts, or that visibly in favor of what’s happened there, and he isn’t going to campaign on a platform of overt racism.....but that’s kinda the point. He’s never needed to, in order to still do a huge amount of damage to an untold number of lives over the decades, all while being able to claim to be nominally or superficially progressive and use that to advance his own career. 

Trump doesn’t care about hiding his racism....and Biden doesn’t try all that hard to either. But he’s always known he doesn’t really have to try all that hard....just to hide it just enough to claim it isn’t there and its nothing worth anyone worrying about or pushing back against. Plausible deniability - made all the easier and all the more plausible by having someone like Trump to point to and know just by doing so people will breathe a sigh of relief because whew, at least he’s not Trump. Not that this is likely a huge comfort to the people killed long before now, due to his prison policies, capital offense expansion, and war on drugs that happen to not be the right kind of drugs, or being snorted in the right form of those drugs, or snorted by the right people.

And putting a face and a claim to things that absolutely none of his actual efforts back up or are even aimed in the same direction as....this is something that extends to pretty much everything else about him. 

Yeah, he reversed his stance on voting for DADT and DOMA in years prior, when as Vice President he said he was totally fine with the idea of men marrying men and women marrying women and each enjoying all the same benefits and civil rights and liberties as anyone else. Course, that doesn’t actually reverse how he voted, nor did he actually have anything to do with striking down the results of his and others’ votes as unconstitutional.

And yeah, Biden drafted the Violence Against Women Act, which he’s famously called the most significant piece of legislation he’s crafted throughout his political career and the one he’s most proud of, citing it as the beginning of a ‘historic commitment to women and children victimized by domestic violence and sexual assault.’ Not that it helped Anita Hill that much, nor that he ever seemed all that interested in helping, believing or supporting her, despite whatever he may have claimed a couple years ago at the start of the #MeToo movement or around the Kavanaugh proceedings, when he stated he’d always believed Anita Hill and voted against Clarence Thomas.

(With Thomas of course still a member of the Supreme Court, alongside Kavanaugh now, thanks to Trump. And Thomas still being famously considered one of its most conservative justices. And still someone whose appointment to the Court might not ever have happened had not Biden - the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee overseeing Thomas’ nomination to the court -  made the choice to never call forward four female witnesses who’d been waiting in the wings the whole time to testify on Hill’s behalf and speak to her credibility. With this decision of Biden’s only ever being described as the result of a ‘private, compromise deal between Republicans and then-Judiciary Committee Chair Joe Biden,’ after which all four other women’s testimony was deemed irrelevant, and thus a waste of the court’s time.

And sure, Biden as of just last year supports repealing the Hyde Amendment, that he’s only supported since as far back as ‘76. The Hyde Amendment, of course, blocks federal funding from being used to pay for an abortion except in the specific provision of an abortion being needed to save the woman’s life, or when the pregnancy is the result of incest or rape. Of course, even through all those decades that Biden did support the Hyde Amendment, he pretty famously never felt it went far enough, and thought it shouldn’t include a provision allowing for federal funds to be used to pay for an abortion that stemmed from incest or rape. But that doesn’t speak to his personality or priorities either, obviously, since he took it back (while preparing to hopefully run against pussy-grabbing Trump).

And Biden’s not as interested in giving billionaires tax cuts as Trump is, for instance, since he was always against even George W. Bush’s tax cuts for Americans who made more than one million dollars a year. He was always of the belief that this money should then be put in a dedicated Homeland Security and Public Safety Trust Fund, to invest specifically in increased law enforcement. Joey does love him some cops.

And Biden’s not quite as likely to go to war compared to how often Trump seems to have us poised on the brink of it. Biden only favored sending American troops to Darfur, is a self-described Zionist who has defended various acts of aggression by the Israeli army against Palestinians, and was of the opinion that the biggest problem with our involvement in the Syrian Civil War was that Europe didn’t trust we had a plan there.  

Of course, much like with numerous other stances, its not like there’s not plenty to point to as proof Biden’s invested in keeping us out of any international conflicts. For instance, he’s been a longterm advocate for ‘hard-headed diplomacy’ against Iran that included pushing for coordinated international sanctions against them...except then he voted against a measure to declare the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps a terrorist organization, said war with Iran wouldn’t just be a mistake, it’d be a disaster, and threatened to personally begin impeachment proceedings against George W. Bush if he attempted to start a war with Iran. This was in December of 2007. Course, then in September 2008, he said that the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps was a terrorist organization and that the Bush administration already had the power and right to declare them as such, soooo......hmm.

And Biden did vote against the first Gulf War in 1990. Then supported the use of force against Iraq in 1998 and expressed a commitment to taking down Hussein, even if it meant being in it for the long haul....which as Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee in 2002, he ratified by voting to authorize war against Iraq, going on record as firmly believing that Hussein possessed chemical and biological weapons and was seeking nuclear weapons. 

Then again, in 2006, Biden did go on to say that the original authorization for going to war with Iraq had been a mistake that was due to Bush “using his congressional authority unwisely” (and that Biden had no role in unwisely helping him obtain), and that there were no stockpiled weapons in Iraq and likely never had been. 

Which Biden then followed up in 2008 by saying in his opinion the real mistake had been in labeling Iraq the focus of the War on Terror, instead of Afghanistan, which he believed was really the focus all along, and that we should leave Iraq....and shift our focus fully back there. Because see, the problem was the war in Iraq was a war of choice, whereas the war in Afghanistan was a war of necessity.

And he did have this to say in 2011 about getting involved in the conflict in Libya: "NATO got it right. In this case, America spent $2 billion and didn't lose a single life. This is more the prescription for how to deal with the world as we go forward than it has in the past."

Course, five years later in 2016, in an interview with Charlie Rose, Biden stated he was "strongly against going to Libya" due to the instability it would cause within the country. He said, "My question was, 'OK, tell me what happens.' He's gone. What happens? Doesn't the country disintegrate? What happens then? Doesn't it become a place where it becomes a petri dish for the growth of extremism? And it has."

And then there’s his stances on North Korea...and Russia...and Central America....and Cuba.....all of which can be summed up as “that’s Joe Biden’s hot take on this issue, tune back in next week where he plays devil’s advocate with himself and argues the exact opposite.”

So yeah, all of that and more is who Biden is and always has been. Do not buy into him being someone who has grown and changed, because he’s more recently said the right things - especially as opposed to Trump. Biden has ALWAYS said the right things for the time he’s saying them at.....and history has always shown him willing to say the exact opposite, as soon as its more to his advantage to change his tune to that instead.

He is not the lesser of two evils, IMO, he is just the less overt of two evils. But make no mistake.....I can not tell anyone what to do, nor am I trying to, ultimately, beyond just asking people to BE AWARE of things like this. I can only really tell you what I’m going to do, and if Biden gets the nomination, I AM going to vote for him, not just to get rid of Trump....but everyone Trump brought with him, and the way Trump’s spent four years assuring every hateful piece of shit in America that they are not alone in their hate, and they have presidential approval.

I am simply ALSO saying, at the same time, that I do believe that even a Biden presidency can help push back against this, by virtue of at least being the American people saying We Do Not Support Trump or Want Him Back in enough quantities as to shame at least some of the more hateful and cowardly elements of our society back into silence.....

But that even while doing so, it IMO will remain MORE CRUCIAL THAN EVER to keep in mind.....none of those people or their hate simply sprang into being when Trump took office. They were here all along, and just because BEFORE Trump many of them weren’t brave enough to be seen out of the shadows, doesn’t mean that politicians like Joe Biden haven’t seen them and been fine with them and even agreeing with them and catering to them in various ways all along. Its just, unlike Trump, Biden cares too much about being seen as doing and saying the right things, the progressive things, to do any of those dealings openly, speak to any of those elements directly. But that’s never meant he’s above dealing with them, or profiting from their support.

So elect Biden if that’s what we have to do, even if only because his desire to be seen as progressive is at least a lever to ply between him and such elements of our society, where no such lever exists between Trump and them at all.

But it needs to be remembered that such a lever is only as effective as WE MAKE USE OF IT, AND FORCE HIM TO CATER MORE TO ACTUAL PROGRESSIVE PUBLIC OPINION RATHER THAN ALLOW HIM THE TIME AND ENERGY TO BE TWO-FACED THE MOMENTS OUR BACKS ARE TURNED.

And that if we do not keep this in mind, the latter is very much something Biden will do, just as he has done it countless times before.

AND ALSO PLEASE KEEP IN MIND:

HE STILL IS NOT THE NOMINEE YET, AND UNTIL HE IS STOP TAKING IT FOR GRANTED.

There is a marked difference between preparing for less than your preferred scenarios, and taking for granted that you might as well go ahead and settle for them already.

Too much of the latter has too much to do with the current state of our country, SO WHAT IF WE STOPPED DOING IT.

[tiffany-loves-broadway]

Characters from Worm and Ward as @dril_gpt2 tweets

Wildbow: i wrote the post. sorry everyone.

Emma:  You fucking worm. Youre a foul, stinking rat. Fanart is pure garbage.

Skitter, pre-Leviathan:  my followers are wasting my time by asking me stupid shit like "where is my worm hole" and "where is my piss hole"

Tattletale:  13 Reasons Why Sasquatch Is Real

Bitch:  you know society is ASS-FUCKED when people spend tens of millions of dollars to maim and disfigure their dogs in an effort to appear more "INTP"

Panacea: im going to dress up like a nurse and perform emergency C-sections on the street to build self respect

Coil, on Dinah: Everything you say is true and good. no exceptions

Miss Militia: the idea that i would ever lose my shit on the computer board game "minesweeper" is one of the most despicable maladies ive ever suffered

Skitter, post-Leviathan: to the guy who paid me to distribute free toilet paper to the homeless in my hometown: thanks for 00000000000 \000 \000 .

Jack Slash: the human mind... is a funny little thing... called A Mind

Crawler: my ass has become highly immunized against fungal infections, by ingesting fantastic amounts of kfc

Cherish: sending my most powerful kiss to any image of blue jeans because i just want to die by suicide because my brain and body are FUCKED

Dragon: ...the US Navy's newest computer chip can now program itself to 'Play Pokemon' and evolve into a Pokemon with it ....

Simurgh: saddened to see that people woud gravitate towards gaming as a career path, rather than exclusively gravitate towards gaming during a time of crisis

Perdition: *does the dishes in reverse for shock value*

Watchdog:  INTRODUCTION TO THE GUILD OF THINKERS 1. who are these people whose opinions are worth less than mine to keep me away from the toilet 2. how do i add 3D effects to my hair 3. WHO CARES I DIDNT ADD 3D SHADES TO MY JUGGLY

Greg: well gotta go with the old adage "Dont forget to feed the trolls"

Valefor: causing your dick to hurt because you have too much respect for the Virgin Mary to engrave "666" onto the back of your dick

Weaver: I will do the right thing, and delete all my posts about eating maggots

Behemoth:  *glances towards the camera slowly becoming more and more skeletal*

Tecton: Geology is Theory. Geology is not Fact.

Heartbreaker:  me fucking ruining another wedding by asking the bride to marry me for $6. its just too hard

Glenn Chambers: the most important part of being a content producer is being able to mentally picture the Brands' Emblems on your fridge and never missing a Brand Point Update

Glenn Chambers, on Skitter: "i firmly believe that bugs should be banned," i continue, letting the video conclude. "But…" i pause to collect myself, "but…" i increase the volume

Riley: im sorry but how can i reconcile my increasingly loathsome behaviors with the cheerful, bubbly manner in which i am marketed

Clockblocker: according to wikipedia, the bed bugs and human fly larvae that burrow into my skin and organs are my soul mate

Andrew Richter: i am truly devastated to announce that the y2k bug is now officially classified as a feature

Scion:  1) Kill all the people 2)

The Elite:  to the distrusted: To the disappointed: Towards the hungry: I will not trade places with you. Good bye.

Eden:  As an evolved being I want to fuck Humankind

Khepri:  my followers are nothing but worms, trying to devour me alive , my only value is that i make people mad

Pandora:  i've been itching to get online for a while now, and i finally did it. this is the ultimate sacrifice

Bitch, with Biter:  i have the brain of a small dog and the asshole of a college educated adult

Valkyrie, on Clockblocker, Kid Win, and Grue: The "Boys" are back! They're back from the dead

Victoria Dallon, looking for work: After finding out that my followers believed that doctors should be allowed to force me to eat grass, i vowed never to read any posts from you all again

Seir: the "minor girls" jokes is one of the few parts of the Alabama Republican Platform That I actually respect, and wouldn't change a word

Mama Mathers:  god grant me th e ability to send very strong, very small particles of information through the air into the eyeballs of <- targeted <-

Tattletale, on clusters: blood transfusions vs gunshot wounds - the jury is still out on which one is "good"

Sidepiece: here comes that ass hole. here comes that spleen. here comes that gut. *spits out another mouthful of food turds* wow. im pretty good at kicking ass

Nursery: How To Make Hugs Out Of Anything - Essential book for new Mommers

Foil: You've heard of Small Arms Firepower, but did you Know Small Arms Penetration Power?

Love Lost: Fear not, a tiny speaker attached to my gas mask will allow me to better understand the emotions of my followers

Ratcatcher:  Rats Are Life Forms Too Sub-Genius

Custodian: i demand now that complete and utter silence be accorded to the hideous sonic boogie man who has inhabited my thoughts for 17 years.

Teacher: micropenis Wearing A Turtleneck Sweater

Valkyrie, on Furcate: i am fucking thrilled that my daughter is becoming ultra-sensitive to light after undergoing sex reassignment surgery. she is the most POWERFUL KISS GIRL yet

Ingenue: my nudes... have helped me tremendously in my career, and... i'm extremely Pleased...

Cradle: brain death huh. Not good. Not good at all.

Negotiator Shard:  strapped to an eyeball looking for the peak of Mt. Doom, not realizing that all the eyeballs are now gnawing

Red Queen:  I think that for every person who tells me that they like my posts i should be able to kill about 8 people

SpaceBattles:  im classified as a Mature writer, 1) I cannot handle discussion of sexual matters 2) I am unlikely to read a book of 100,000 words without destruc[ing myself physically)

Eric:  i help girls by inventing and selling "I helped a girl" tshirts. i have a very good following

Parian:  in mourning the passing of my grandmother, i will gladly accept donations to pay for her "Face lift".

Gimel Checkpoint Attendants:  #DollarsShit the US Dollar has devalued, and is the currency of scum, and shit

Antares, at the crystals:  a giant screen saver depicting my entire fucking body changing into a huge wad of spaghetti