#was dann

[der-gefallene-engel]

Was passiert wenn nur noch einer Kämpft ?

[tessaaaaa]

[deutsche-bahn]

Wir waren für ein paar Tage bei einem Freund in Düsseldorf verschollen. Sonntag stehen wir gerade in der Innenstadt, er erklärt die Fassaden aus den Zwanzigern, zeigt belustigt auf Häuserfronten aus der späten Biedermeierzeit und hangelt sich anhand der Architektur einmal quer durch die Stadt. Vor zwei weiß verputzten Häuserfassaden in der Altstadt bleiben wir hängen. Das rechte Haus ist der Beweis dafür, dass es immer schon Menschen mit Geld, jedoch ohne Geschmack gab: ägyptisch angehauchte Büsten, darüber bemalte, vergoldete und sonstwie ganz furchtbar originalgetreu restaurierte Schmuckreliefs, darunter ein paar fette Engelchen, die im goldenen Rahmen sitzen. Das linke Haus, im schlichten Bäderstil, ist sich selbst ein wenig peinlich.

"Ich meine, da rechts wohnte irgendein schwuler Bildhauer". Die fetten Engelchen machen einen zustimmenden Schmollmund.

Ein paar Straßen weiter steht ein gigantischer Brocken aus rotem Klinker und Sandstein. Fünf überlebensgroße, halb in Togas gewickelte Statuen sitzen über dem Eingangstor und starren in's nichts. Riesige Säulen, obligatorische Kranzornamente und Messingfenster. Ein Monument vom Vorabend des Nationalsozialismus, brutal in seinen Ausmaßen, als wollte dich die Fassade in ihrem Gigantismus erwürgen.

Kurz bevor wir zurück zur S-Bahn-Haltestelle kommen sehe ich auf's Handy. Landtagswahlen, erste Prognosen, politische Weltuntergangsszenarien. AfD mit über 30%. Er schaut über meine Schulter, ich erwarte irgendeine der üblich beißenden Bemerkungen über's Zeitgeschehen in seinem niemals abreißenden Stakkato, stattdessen sagt er nur in trockenem Ton: "Wer hätte damit nur gerechnet?"

Wir entscheiden uns gegen die S-Bahn und laufen zurück. Raus aus der Altstadt, vorbei an einheitlichen Wohnblöcken und Arbeitersiedlungen. Ich murmele etwas frustriertes über die politische Lage. "Weißt du?" sagt er. Ihm steht Spott in's Gesicht geschrieben. "Wir sind historisch wieder genau da wo wir sein sollten. Schau es dir an. Und der Rest steht im brennenden Haus und diskutiert, ob der Feuerlöscher denn zur fucking Inneneinrichtung passt". Eine Freundin von uns wagt es nicht sich in ihrer beschissenen Beziehung als trans zu outen, und entwickelt stattdessen ein Alkoholproblem bishin zur Psychose. Ein anderer Freund nahm ein Jahr lang Testosteron, nur weil seine Krankenkasse sonst nicht die Mastektomie bezahlt hätte, ganz unabhängig davon dass er eigentlich sonst nie eine Hormontherapie gewollt hätte- nur die gottverdammte Mastektomie. Ein Bekannter stellt seine Abschlussarbeit vor, über seine eigenen Erfahrungen mit Diskriminierung im Alltag. Eine der Zuschauerinnen erklärt ihm im Anschluss, dass seine Darstellung doch so frustrierend und negativ sei. Ich weiß nicht, wo er die Engelsgeduld hernimmt um sie reden zu lassen.

Und jetzt steht er neben mir, und hat unter dem beißenden Ton einfach nur Angst. Vielleicht liegt es daran dass die meisten von uns ein bisschen zu asozial, zu sehr erwachsen gewordene Systemsprenger und unrealised-potential-du-hättest-was-werden-können-Enttäuschungen auf ganzer Spur sind, um die schützende Hand des Tagesschau-Bildungsbürgertums mit Aktivismusambitionen verdient zu haben. Weil die trans-Frau mit dem Alkoholproblem an irgendeiner Stelle dieser Geschichte auch nur ein therapieresistenter Alkoholiker mit wässrigen Augen ist. Für die Unze Empathie die ihr zusteht verbiegt sie sich nicht genug um dem allgemein geltenden Bild von dem, was sich hinter ihrer Identitätsschublade verstecken sollte, zu entsprechen. Gib dir mehr Mühe, dann nehmen wir dich bestimmt auch für voll!

Selbst im Geschichtsunterricht erzählen sie dir lieber von der noblen Weißen Rose, als von den Edelweißpiraten. Dafür waren vielleicht die Methoden von letzteren ein wenig zu dreckig.

Und ich weiß nicht was ich ihm sagen soll. Während die Sommerhitze langsam nachlässt glimmen die historischen Straßenlaternen eine nach der anderen auf. Als direkt vor uns eines der Gaslichter angeht, mit diesem ganz blassen, fahlen Licht, wird sein Blick etwas weicher. "Hab die noch nie angehen sehen" erzählt er. Den Rückweg über redet er nur noch von alten Gaslaternen und den Architekten der Arbeiterwohnungen, zwischen denen wir uns verirrt haben. Ich weiß es doch auch nicht

[the-thorster]

Team Saarbrücken (& Henny) x Kinderfernsehen

[thisfeebleheart]

[opheliagreif]

[flashypunches]

( REUPLOAD I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT im so sorry )

You're someone who's held great resentment for your godfather.

For your first meeting, for his ego, for his murderous intent towards your father.

For his failure to provide comfort or understanding when your parents refused you as a son, when your friends have left you as a corpse.

You suffer through long years, sticking with him through thick and thin, because he’s the only one like you, the only other Death refused to take.

( The daughter he made, the cousin you mourned, Dani, is gone. She will not return to either of you. It is always his fault. )

Because he’s all you have left. The only one who wouldn't refuse you.

He moves you to a city that matches your dreary state. Vigilantes take residence, closing in on crime. Closing in on your godfather.

Vlad leaves. He doesn’t take you with him.

He leaves you his wealth, a place in a school that makes you miss home, and an order to never speak to the ones who made him run– the Waynes.

He doesn’t return. Never properly. You make due with phone calls and brief visits every now and then. You don’t mind, you preferred this more than his haphazard attempts at providing companionship when it was too late.

Your schoolmates does not like you. That is okay, even if it leaves you longing for friends.

( Sam and Tucker are in Amity and will stay there until they die. They would never come and visit a corpse like you. Not when you desecrate their friend's body, parading it around, like you're him. They know who you really are. They've always known, they just couldn't see sense before. )

But you find someone who could be one.

He is prickly, rude, disliked less, but disliked nonetheless. But he is the only other person who does not care about your worn out shoes, for your scars, your clammy skin, all the things that made your parents refuse you as a son, as sentient— or about you coming in the middle of the school year.

You care not about his attitude, desperation clawing at your mind for any form of socialization not from Vlad or who he calls company.

You make quick work of befriending him, a shared rivalry for an annoying schoolmate pulling you close together.

You learn his interests, his pets, his family. You know his name but do not ask for it. Willful ignorance could be considered bliss. Just for a moment.

He lets you stay at his house for a night, though his siblings push the matter more enthusiastically. You do not see his father.

( “He’s on a business trip.” Daniel blinks, looking up at his friend.

“Who?” he asks, despite knowing there’s only one person that Damian could be referring to.

Damian tsked automatically, “My father, you imbecile. He will return in two weeks notice.”

Daniel thinks of his godfather, of his various excuses over the years to many people, including him. But instead of telling Damian the likely truth, that his father won’t return, never like how his best friend wants him too, an “Okay” comes out in place of it.

Let him bask in ignorance, Daniel tells himself, Let your friend have this. )

His father comes back. You don’t call Vlad when he forgets you. For all he wanted you as a son, now he never tries to treat you as such.

You continue the cycle of avoiding an empty house, of sleep-overs, of waiting for something to happen.

And something does. Your godfather comes back. He lies to you that he won’t leave again. He says that he will stay longer, that the family who tried to run him out won’t succeed again.

You do not think of your best friend. Why would he even care?

Your godfather treats you like he had before, when you still had your friends, your home. Like you are a misbehaving child, and him, the tired parent.

( Shouts of an argument ring from an dead manor, before being shut out to the upstairs.

Daniel slammed the door, not caring if Vlad had heard it or not. Ancients, he'd forgotten how much of an utter fruit-loop Vlad was. He gritted his teeth, rubbing the bruise left on his wrist by the man.

Why'd he expect anything different? Vlad was just going to be his usual nutty self, and go back to treating him like he was still some misguided kid, that he would just come around to playing nice with Vlad.

The wood of the door was smooth, most likely sanded down from any splinters by the past families who lived here. Daniel moved his fingers along the grooves, faintly remembering how he had done this before, when he was better. He bit his tongue, ignoring the bitter taste of ectoplasm it brought forth.

He hadn't thought of who he was before since he'd ran. He hadn't been this angry at Vlad since he ran. He hadn't felt so like himself after he ran.

Daniel would be lying if that thought didn't make him feel just a little bit better.

He let his head fall into his knees, back leaning against the wooden door, limbs sagging. He did not cry, because the Danny from the empty home did not do that. )

It irks you, but not like before. Maybe you were doing something right if he’s treating you like this now, treating you normally. Maybe you’re back to who you were before, before the rejection scarred you.

Damian notices the change in your personality, as you notice his change in costume. He is on the rooftops, in the streets, cloaked in muted colors, not unlike your own old costume, and his family knows your godfather is back.

When you come back to school after a week of Vlad trying to bond with you without success, Damian doesn’t say a word about your godfather.

You don’t either. What even is there to say?

“Oh, I know that you are investigating my godfather, and that you’re a vigilante, surprise!”

You would have been killed ages ago if that was your response.

Your friend does not invite you over anymore. You know why, understand why but it still stabs your core, in the way a butter knife does to wood. Dents it but does not cut.

You repeat the loop of boring conversation, of stilted companionship. You grow tired of it, as you always do.

Vlad's signature is easy to forge. You get to skip your classes under the guise of it being a family emergency.

( Damian is near the gate when he gets off the bus. Daniel's ratty sneakers are hitting the ground, as he walks over to him.

The weight of his backpack feels heavy, the evidence that Daniel had stuffed inside not helping his back. Damian twirls around at his steps, a scowl already on his lips.

Daniel smiles back, readjusts the straps on his shoulders. He whispers to Damian, uncaring of the fight currently breaking out in the front, the fight that Damian is watching, "I'm getting out of school today, wanna come with?"

His friend tears his eyes away from the brawl, looking intrigued at Daniel's offer.

Damian considers the chance. The thought of having to sit through another day of school with only Jon for mild company sickens him.

"I suppose I can, though if this is a trap Masters, then let it be known that—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you in still?" Daniel flashes his (only) friend a cheesy grin, ignoring Damian's eye-roll at his theatrics.

"..Yes."

-

The route to the local park is quick, though slowed by the need to be away from the public's eyes, lest they be caught right away in their venture.

Daniel gasps in a breath, ancients, did he need to jog way more. Damian easily strides beside him, the only sign that he was showing off being the smug gleam in his green eyes. Bastard.

The papers, the records, the flash-drive, all weigh down his back. Vlad has definitely noticed them missing, and he most definitely knows who took them.

But Daniel didn't care, not right now, because right now, he was spending time with his bestest friend in the whole wide world, and he'll deal with Vlad later. )

You drag Damian over to a secluded bench, taking no mind to the mutations Poison Ivy has given the plants near. The backpack is emptied, and you guide your only friend to the path that leads to Vlad's destruction.

The dread fades away, the high of adrenaline taking its place, at the crimes left behind in pieces, put back together in a backpack, and let loose into the hands of your only friend.

It feels good, like something’s been taken off your shoulders. You know that Vlad has anticipated you telling someone about what he’s done. He’s still not leaving.

Your high is running down, as you start to beg Damian not to arrest him, lying to your only friend that Vlad is a better man, and doesn't deserve to rot in a cell. You know that when you take a separate route to your homes, that he’ll tell anyway.

You can’t bring yourself to care. Vlad’ll just weasel out of it, as he always does.

He knows what you did, doesn’t bring it up, with the only sign being a watchful eye whenever you’re back in his grasp.

You get invited to a gala by your friend. You accept, uncaring of Vlad's reaction.

Your friend gets held ransom. No one’s worried, no one feels anything but annoyance. You stay away, not wanting to feel your core straining to help, to protect.

The Bats swoop in to help. You ignore the envy at their luck at having a team of other heroes to depend on.

( Your friend ) The Waynes send people after your godfather. He tries to bribe his way out of the charges, out of the jail cell that cannot hold him. They leave with him in tow.

You start staying overnight at your friend’s house even more. Damian doesn’t say a word about it.

His father does. His siblings do.

They talk about adopting you, they fight about Vlad, about what they are meant to do with your godfather, and what to do with poor old Danny. You don’t listen in much. They remind you of your parents, just a little bit. It hurts.

Vlad is let go. False charges, apparently. You know he just bribed the judge and juries.

He wants to talk to you, intent on having a conversation that lasts more than five minutes without shouting and tears ending it.

I'm sorry for not being there, please, give me forgiveness, are the only things you remember from the conversation. You do not give him what he wants, but the conversation doesn't end in slammed doors and withheld tears.

You sleep under his roof for the first time in weeks, the most civil conversation you’ve ever been with him looping in your mind. You even wonder if he’ll let you go to your friend’s birthday party.

You don’t sleep at your friend’s house as much. There’s not much need to anymore.

You wake up one night, to hear the sounds of ectoblasts and footsteps. They are on the roof, and you know what they’re here for.

You go ghost, going up the roof, watching invisibly as Plasmius shoots at the vigilantes who yell about something. You stay like that for a moment. You almost decide to let him go.

He's the only one you have left, to leave him, to abandon him, is to leave the last person in your corner. That thought is the only reason why you lift your thermos up, capturing Vlad in one fell swoop, before he leaves too.

The vigilantes are not pleased, as the Bat barks out orders to find you. You can imagine Vlad is the same, fuming at your disrespect inside the can.

With Vlad in your thermos, the Bats on your tail, there is no hope in your mind of getting out of Gotham with everything you need.

Oh Danny, what are you going to do?

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Es ist schon nicht unamusing wenn AfDler "schockierende" Bilder posten von "bösen Gegendemonstranten😢" oder "dieser Politiker hat uns Nazis genannt!😟" als wären das schockierende Enthüllungen und käme aus dem nix. Bro, ihr seid die "wir werden sie jagen!!"-Partei

[hubba1892]

"They were all exceptional. (…) The kids started – some of them – the others came on and they did an incredible job. It’s cool how a culture educates the next generation."

[suckmyarschkarte]

"it feels like i'm in a movie"

[tokyoproxy]

JPN NEO-TOKYO

[deutsche-bahn]

Meine Firma hatte neuerdings eine zweite Auszubildende. Mit vorheriger Ausbildung in einer verwandten Brache, daher wurde ihr beim Einstellungsgespräch angeboten doch das 1. Lehrjahr zu überspringen. Ist nicht so ungewöhnlich, hab ich damals auch gemacht, weiter kein Thema. Sie sagte ja, Vertrag wurde unterschrieben, Antrag auf Einstieg im 2. Lehrjahr gestellt und genehmigt.

Mein Chef hat jetzt, 6 Monate später, allerdings bemerkt dass es doch irgendwie nervig sei dass beide Azubinen jetzt im 2. Lehrjahr sind. Beide am gleichen Tag in der Berufsschule, beide machen gleichzeitig Prüfung, schien alles ein großes Problem für ihn zu sein. Womit er dann nicht erstmal zu dem Typen rannte der für Personal-Angelegenheiten zuständig ist, sondern die Azubine am Freitagmorgen anblöffte. Keine Ahnung, lösungsorientiertes Mobving nennt sich das. Was weiß ich. Handwerk halt. Erstmal losbrüllen, vielleicht löst sich das Problem vor Schreck von allein. Was ein vibe

Er wollte jetzt, dass sie (nach Beginn des Schuljahres, mind you) zurück in's 1. geht. Die Azubine beworb sich vor Schreck dann über's Wochenende bei zwei anderen Firmen, weil fuck that. Verständlich. Leider erwischte sie dabei die Firma des besties unseres Chefs, der sofort am Telefon hing um die Azubine bei unserem Chef anzuschwärzen. Die Stimmung am Montag war bestens, der Azubine wurde Vertrauensbruch vorgeworfen (wobei... Lunte zu riechen weil man nach einem halben Jahr spontan den Ausbildungsvertrag ändern will ist in my book kein Vetrauensbruch), gegen Mittag stand dann ihre Mutter auf der Matte. Thank god, endlich ein Erwachsener.

Mein Chef ließ sich nicht dazu herab dem Gespräch mit Azubine plus Mutter beizuwohnen. Ihre einzige Forderung war dabei, dass sie nach wie vor in's zweite Lehrjahr wollte- wie's in ihrem Ausbildungsvertrag steht. Seit 6 Monaten. Nö, is nich.

Und dann hatten wir halt eine Azubine weniger. Noch können wetten abgegeben werden wann hier wieder jemand einen monolog darüber hält dass die jungen Leute alle nicht richtig arbeiten wollen, und wir deswegen kaum Lehrlinge bekommen

[kraeki]

When the kids came one by one to collect their Klopp hugs 🥹

(with bonus big kid Ibou)

[thisfeebleheart]

[lu-inlondon]

[hubba1892]

"In football, can you create stories that definitely nobody will ever forget? It’s so difficult. Because this happened before, this happened before. They won it then, they did it there… This tonight?! Will you find the same story with academy players coming on against a top, top side? And still winning it? I’ve never heard of it."