ikkosu

[lostjulys]

Lol!!

[notkodanymorebye]

bonsoir ! my name is sam, its 5:30 am as im writing this, and im a mess. i use she/her pronouns and im from aus – hence the being up at 5:30am for opening and still being late smh. i have a habit of rambling so sorry for this intro in advance lmao. but thats more than enough about me, let’s talk about the other and more important mess, reed’s token aries:  K O D A   R E I D  

tws: mentions of divorce, drugs, and ya know the murders

STATS.

full name: dakota reid

best known as: koda

age: twenty five

gender + pronouns: non-binary, they/them

occupation: waiter/bartender at salvatore’s steakhouse, aspiring podcaster

hometown: reed, virginia

star sign: aries

traits: jovial, creative, adventurous, confident, detached, cruel, impulsive, lazy

drink / smoke / drugs: yes / yes / yes

MORE INFO.

born and raised in reed, they’ve honestly left the area maybe a handful of times. not for a lack of wanting to, they certainly have wanted to and still want to, just a lack of money and time and motivation to plan anything “””big”””” (leaving ur town is not big but koda is lazy) in their lives

im gonna try not to get too into it bc i will go on forever but two important things to mention as far as their childhood. the first, when koda was sixteen their parents went through a really fuckin rough divorce. and like any sixteen yr old whose parents are getting divorced it pissed koda off. they have a moderately better relationship with them now but at the time, it was messy. at first, koda was very outwardly emotional about it, but as their emotions were just used as a weapon for their parents to use against one another they shut that shit down immediately. only showed their emotions in a way that was more of a nuisance to their parents: graffiti, petty shoplifting, being a dickhead in school, flunking grades (though they werent great to begin with), sneaking out all the time, all that bs

which leads to thing two: koda was a dealer towards the end of high school/the start of young adulthood. nothing big, bc they were a dumbass teenager in a small town just looking to piss their parents off. but because they were a dumbass teenager in a small town i assume theres a good possibility that if ur character is from reed: koda was their dealer. eventually they stopped bc people figured out they were just a sometimes v annoying middle man for the much easier to deal with guy that koda bought from + too much work. like most things to koda, drugs were meant to be just a fun past time, not a full time career.

after barely finishing high school they had absolutely no want to go to college. even at local reed college it was a lot of money to put down and for what???? for koda to do an arts degree they dont really care about and then do nothing with it ????? instead they just worked more. they’ve had the job at salvatore’s since they were fifteen and its really a staple in their lives. 

when they are not at salvatore’s, they’re still being a menace tbh that did not end with high school or even the dealing. they’re usually skating around (would also be driving around and sometimes they are but its illegal because they recently had their licence suspended), probably spray painting some fence, maybe takin some photos on their barely working dslr, partying, drinking, stealing shopping carts from the local grocer, being a dickhead, u know the ~usual

despite being the local, so far they’ve not had any close connections to the parkway victims and thats unfortunately made them pretty insensitive about it. they’re far, far more interested in figuring out what the fuck is going on than they care about u know the loss of life and danger to everyone else in the town. in stats i mentioned they were an aspiring podcaster and thats because, u guessed it, koda wants to start a podcast about the murders they’re a piece of shit we already know this

and since this isn’t showing in the tags anyways: here’s a link to their pinterest board

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

housemates –  koda is a broke mf, i want this connection to be with other broke mfs that are leasing a shitty house and probably have one too many people in it, but like: it works yk

childhood friends –  obv koda has lived in reed their whole life, they’re from a very working class family, can be a connection through family or just through school im down for whatever

actual friends – this is probably gonna be limited to like a couple bc koda is so closed off lmao. while they’re friendly and enthuastic with just about everyone, theres not many koda actually considers genuine friends, these are the exceptions

co-workers – koda is confirmed annoying most of the time but they are at their peak annoying at work so if anyone else works at salvatore’s a. im so sorry b. lmk lets plot

party people – do u do drugs and other reckless impulsive bs at house parties? then this might be the connection for u bih – bonus if they’ve been partying together for fuckin ever

an easy thing – literally just the song easy thing by dom ferra. an easy romance, very much in its early stages, prob not official at this point, kinda learning what being in a relationship should mean together. only open to f/nb sorry lads

then just everything idk i need to start getting ready for work but pls hmu if u would like to plot ✌️ 

[scaryscarecrows]

Roots and Leaves, Pt. 8

All done!

“-son. Master Jason.”

Fuck, Alfred’s dead? The end is extremely fucking nigh.

But, if he’s going to be selfish (which got him into this, you’d think he’d learn)…at least he has company in…wherever this is.

His hands still hurt, though, which he finds very unfair.

“You are no better at feigning unconsciousness than you were at fifteen, sir.”

He’s not tryin’ to…

Why does Death look like his old bedroom. Is this some sorta ‘ease into it’ area?

“There you are.”

“Alfie?”

Alfred hasn’t changed one bit. Jason will bet that his mustache hasn’t even grown, or shed a hair, or anything.

“How are you-”

Alfred.

He hugs him and he hasn’t changed, not one goddamn bit. Alfred hugs him back, one hand cupping his neck and the other moving firmly up and down his spine. Alfred’s here, everything’s gonna be okay, at least for another minute…

The hand on his spine moves and his head’s tilted up with a soft, “Oh, my boy.”

It’s over. Any dignity he had is gone. He presses his face against Alfred’s chest (fabric softener Earl Grey home) and doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not crying. He’s never been able to keep anything from Alfred anyway.

“M’sorry.”

“Oh, my boy,” Alfred says again, and those sturdy hands press against his head and neck. “There is nothing to apologise for.”

He tries to take a few deep breaths, to get himself under control for fuck’s sake, and can’t. He can’t do it anymore.

But Alfred is a literal saint, and he doesn’t try to coax him to talk or to sit up or to do anything at all, even after his jacket must be soaked through. He just sits there, marginally more slumped than he usually is, and rubs a hand in slow, steady circles over Jason’s shoulders.

At some point, he senses a presence in the doorway, but before he can straighten up it’s gone again and now, without that motivation, it’s easier to just stay here where it’s safe and warm.

He eventually runs out of tears but his face is now wet and swollen and hot. His nose feels like it’s swollen shut and he’s been reduced to careful, thought-out breaths that rattle in his throat and burn in his chest. Sitting up is too much work.

Alfred props him up anyway and rubs a cool washcloth over his face before letting him take it and hold it against his now-puffy eyelids.

“That’s it, Master Jason.” If Bruce is Sherlock Holmes, then Alfred is Watson. They don’t deserve him. “That’s it. Deep breaths, there we are.”

“M’sorry, Alfie,” he forces out, voice strangled. “M’sorry-”

“That’s enough of that.”

“But-”

“I won’t hear any more of that.” Oh, boy. That’s the ‘you’re on thin ice and should just shut up’ voice. Even now, it’s scary and he doesn’t have the courage to go against it.

A straw presses against his lips-limeade-and Alfred continues, a little gentler now, “I cannot imagine that you purposefully buried yourself for any reason, Master Jason. Am I correct?”

He laughs. He can’t help it. It sounds so nice put like that.

“No. No, I…I didn’t. I didn’t.” He is not going to start crying again. He refuses. Sheila flashes behind his eyes, blonde and blue and red, and he presses the washcloth down hard enough to hurt. “I…she s-said. She said she was out. Sh-she said she was out, Alfred, I thought…just once…”

“From the beginning, Master Jason.” Calm, but making it very clear that he doesn’t have a choice. “Who is ‘she’?”

He swallows, knows he’s imagining something squirming at the back of his throat. Alfred waits.

“Sheila Haywood,” he finally whispers. “I…Bruce’s files…she might have been my mother.”

He doesn’t have to look to know Alfred’s got that little frown between his eyebrows, the one that says he’s deeply upset. Jason presses the washcloth tighter against his eyes, sparking colors, and his wrist is tugged at until the colors die off.

“I just…she approached me, Alfie, I swear, I didn’t…I just thought…” He swallows again, forces himself to let the washcloth fall to his lap. “M’tired of bein’ second choice, Alfred.”

He doesn’t have time to brace himself before he’s pulled back down and somehow…folded…so that he’s tucked against Alfred’s chest like he’s thirteen again and still fits.

“Jason Peter Todd,” Aw, shit. “you have never been second choice, do you understand?”

But…

Look. He’s very well aware that he wouldn’t be here if Dick hadn’t had that fallout with Bruce. And oh, boy, has he ever learned the Joys of Being the Second Child-‘Dick did this’, ‘Dick did that’, and on and on and on. He’s come to terms with that fact, it’s fine, whatever.

But arguing that point (or any point) with Alfred is a Bad Idea.

And. And he’s here, now, because Bruce…Bruce came to pick him up, when he asked. So. That means something, doesn’t it?

His head hurts.

Alfred sighs at his non-answer but lets it go for the time being.

“What happened with Miss Haywood?”

He’s not moving. He’s staying right here until this is all over.

“Some moron tried to hold up the grocery store…”

* * *

Jason feigns sleep for the rest of the day, until Bruce is out on patrol. Sneaking past the Batman isn’t impossible, but it’s definitely hard and with his hands almost completely useless, well…

The last thing he wants or needs is a lecture on Trust and Rushing Into Things and Dammit, Jason, This is What Got You Captured by the Joker. He knows that, thanks, Bruce.

(And yeah, okay, he knows lectures are Bruce’s way of saying I Love You, but some people swear a punch to the face is an I Love You, so.)

Sneaking past Alfred, on the other hand…now that really is impossible.

He’s halfway down the stairs when there’s an irritated, “A-HEM,” from behind him. Crap.

“I was thirsty?”

Alfred gets this expression that Jason will swear means he’s envisioning smacking him upside the head with a rolled-up newspaper. Yeah. Okay. Game’s up.

“I just…I need some time,” he says, eyes fixed on a knot in the wooden banister. “I can’t face him, Alfred, not now.”

Not for a long time, probably. Not without a massive blow-up on both sides and it’s better if no one else is around to be caught in that crossfire.

And besides. Right now, he just…his apartment may be kinda crappy, but it’s not haunted by a stupid kid who swore up and down that

“Being Robin gives me magic!”

“This is the best day of my life.”

There’s too many ghosts in this house.

Alfred comes forward and pats his shoulder.

“At least permit me to provide you with a few easy-to-reheat meals.”

“I’m okay-”

“Humor an old man.”

That is a trap. That is a trap, it’s just better to nod and neither protest or nor agree. And he’s got time, before Bruce gets back.

“Thanks, Alfred.”

“Hm.”

He’s ushered towards the kitchen. It hasn’t changed a bit-still homey and warm and with those same comfy stools by the counter. He remembers having after-school snacks there and chattering a mile a minute about ‘so Mister Pierce set his desk on fire in chemistry and it was so cool I gotta try that y’think B’ll let me-?’

“If I hear one word about you being out before those hands have healed, there is no power on Heaven or Earth that will spare you, is that clear?”

He believes. He believes.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” An icebox appears out of nowhere. “Do you need a ride?”

“No, I, uh…I called an Uber. I didn’t think I could drive.”

“Wise choice.” Alfred sets the icebox down and grips Jason’s arms. “You will always have a home with us, Master Jason. Remember that.”

He is not going to start crying again. He is not.

“Thanks, Alfred.”

* * *

The Uber guy is more interested in his radio than in Jason and that’s just fine. It means he’s not going to pester him, which means that he can twist around to watch Wayne Manor shrink into the distance through back window.

When he gets home, he opens his e-mail. Nothing new, but Sheila’s are still there. He deletes most of them.

But.

He can’t. Even now, after everything, he can’t bring himself to hate her. Not really.

He moves the remaining few to his ‘save it’ folder, where he won’t open them by mistake, and goes outside for a cigarette. Lighting it’s a pain, and there’s a few minutes that he’s terrified that he’s going to light the bandages on his hands on fire, but he manages it, in the end, and leans on the railing to watch the cars go by below.

In another unit, he can hear Mz. Melinda May cackling and a handful elderly voices swearing and demanding she be thrown out. Maybe he’ll go over there tomorrow, make sure she hasn’t downloaded a crap-ton of computer viruses again. (And yeah, okay, he wants to know about the yelling.)

There’s a sudden movement in the shadows across the street and he goes inside, turns on the TV. He’s halfway through an episode of Chopped when a red bar pops up on the bottom saying, Batman recaptures Harley Quinn, more at eleven.

A knot in his chest he didn’t realize was there loosens up and he pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“Thanks, B.”

THE END