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phantomphangphucker · 4 years ago

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Phic Phight - I Tried But Not In Time

For: @ave-aria

Lancer just wanted to help, but sometimes being ‘helpful’ just gets people killed. Especially when there are already dead, or half-dead, people involved.

Lancer considered himself a decent man, a good teacher, and an overall respectable member of society. He did his part, paid his taxes, and helped the next generations thrive. In many ways he did more for society and humanity than most did, even if he hardly got the pay or recognition he likely deserved. But he didn’t really care about those things, the children were what he cared about; their future and their happiness. It saddened him when there were some kids he couldn’t help and gutted him when there were others he merely failed to help.

Daniel wasn’t one he couldn’t help and he refused to let the boy be one he failed. Not this one. Not the boy once so filled with life and a positive bright future; even if it was a bit over-ambitious. Not the brother to the most brilliant child he’s ever meet. Not the son of the people that, while strange, helped defend this town. Not someone who could do well and thrive but wasn’t, not through any fault of their own intellect or the school structure or home life, but simply a lack of effort and drive. A bit of missing commitment.

Lancer gave him a bit of a pass -maybe he shouldn’t have- after that accident of his for the first while that school year; it was perfectly reasonable to be a bit lazy while recovering from any sort of accident, good even. But the boy merely got worse, not better. At first he suspected that his parents were going easier on him due to guilt -it was their invention that hurt him after all- and were thus slacking in the discipline department. So he had tried disciplining the boy, not only had that proven entirely ineffective but somehow also practically impossible to do. No amount of locked doors kept him in detention or his office. No amount of grabbing his arm to drag him to classes would stop him from literally slipping through his fingers. Verbal scolding didn’t even seem to do more than make him embarrassed or nervous; he’d sit and take it but nothing would change.

What really caught Lancer was spotting one of the many many times -he’s sure it’s extremely often- Dashiel had pinned Daniel to a locker by the shirt, holding him above the ground by a solid foot. Lancer was going to intervene, knowing full well Dashiel would deny anything was wrong and would act ‘all buddy buddy’ with Daniel, but he’d noticed Daniel’s hand on Dashiel’s wrist, the other hand curled into a fist. Daniel actively wanted to punch the other teen. But... he didn’t. He restrained himself. Practiced good self-control. Self-discipline perhaps. So maybe discipline wasn’t the issue.

So he took a different route. He tried very literally sitting down and watching Daniel closely, giving him one on one help with his work and... it helped! The teen did fairly well immediately! Lancer thought that this little success would be enough to restart Daniel’s drive and willingness to put in the work, the effort; since that seemed to really be all he actually needed to do.

But it wasn’t to be.

That sort of success only ever repeated itself when Lancer sat Daniel down and helped him one on one. If it wasn’t for the teen lacking all other signs he would have suspected some kind of learning disability, caused by the accident perhaps, but he was otherwise normal if a bit paranoid. And Lancer certainly wasn’t revisiting that attempting to send the teen into therapy event again, that had made things actively worse and Lancer doesn’t exactly... trust therapists these days.

Then the frequent growing tardies and skipping entirely made him think that maybe Daniel really truly didn’t care unless he was very literally forced to.

And now... now there were the C.A.T’s coming up and Lancer was out of time to help the teen. This was entirely in Daniel’s hands and maybe Jasmine’s a little as well, he doesn’t doubt she’ll help him with studying. Maybe she’ll even sit him down and make him study? Sadly though, if she hasn’t done that yet he doubts she ever really will. Unfortunate, truly unfortunate.

But then... the answer sheet went missing and Lancer could think of one, and only one, student who could seemingly slip through solid objects and move as if invisible: Daniel. And Lancer is perfectly well aware that Daniel wasn’t the most... law-abiding individual and was absolutely not above cheating, theft, or trickery. Lancer usually let that slide because Dashiel truly deserved it and he’s pretty sure that one time the teen locked him in a closet was a fluke; he thinks the teen's eyes might have been red actually...

But stealing test answers was absolutely unacceptable.

“But Mr. Lancer, you still have no proof Danny took the test answers“.

Judging by the way she cringed, Lancer’s fairly certain he’s right. Regardless, he technically doesn’t have real physical on-camera proof, “fair enough. He has up until the test to return the answers. But if he cheats, I won't just fail him. I'll destroy his future”. Lancer nods to himself, that was probably overdramatic but he was a drama kid and the cheer squad was for life. Jasmine, as expected, takes him seriously and gulps before nodding curtly while walking off likely to go find her unusual brother.

Lancer is perfectly fine letting Daniel retake the test -a makeup one with different answers of course and far enough away he has time to study, without feeling the need to commit a felony just to pass; which seemed incredibly extreme to Lancer- if Daniel simply gives him back the answer sheet. Frankenstein’s Bride! The boy could give them back halfway through the test and that would be good enough; Lancer would be far less impressed with that though. Will he be proud if Daniel gives over the answers beforehand? Yes, of course. Even Lancer knows how much harder it can be to own up to our mistakes and make things right than it is to make the mistakes in the first place. He’d still be in trouble for stealing them of course, with a punishment of lots and lots of one on one intensive study sessions.

But what Lancer hadn’t expected, upon walking back into his classroom, is for there to be a well-dress but old-fashion-looking man leaning against his desk; seemingly polishing some kind of staff. Lancer quirks an eyebrow as he speaks, “hello?”.

The man doesn’t so much as look up from the staff, turning a nob at the top with some clicking noises, “William Edward Lancer, you are a man of simple paradoxes and ironies”.

Lancer stays exactly where he is, hand on the doorknob, oddly he doesn’t feel safe. In fact, he feels like he is explicitly in danger and being actively judged for his worth. “Pardon?”.

The man still doesn’t look to him, but at least he stops tinkering with the staff, placing the base on the ground and standing straight, “you seek to educate the youth, yet cripple them with stress from excessive testing. You turn a blind eye to encourage strength of self, yet that only makes the weak meeker. You try to inspire, yet are so out of touch you discourage instead. Your goal is to make for a bright thriving future for every child you can, and yet... you’ve become a gear cog in the educational machine that is the catalyst for most of their premature deaths”.

Lancer decidedly does not like where this is going and takes a step back, only for the man to seemingly disappear into thin air and for Lancer to bump up against something or someone behind him. Spinning around and staggering backwards into the classroom at seeing that the man is now behind him and staring at him with apathetic judgmental crimson eyes. This man... was a ghost. But nothing like what Lancer’s seen before, he’s sure. Gulping, Lancer grabs the first thing he can -a stapler- and holds it up like a weapon, “what do you want”. He always impressed himself with how not terrified he can make himself sound when faced with a ghostly threat.

The ghost frowns slightly, “from you? Nothing. From Daniel? Plenty. And as much as you are a cog in the educational system, you are also a cog in Daniel’s existence; and so far, not a very good one”.

Lancer’s not sure what to make of that except... “you, ghost, whatever you want with my student, you leave him alone”, swallowing, “and I help him were I can, where’s the fault in that”; he’s not sure why he feels the need to defend himself but he does.

“Explanations? Very well. The fault is in that you push him towards that which is no longer in the universes cards for him. Adding stress and crisis unnecessarily. When all is said and done, some people would be better helped left alone. Would be better to seemingly fail in the eyes of larger mortal society”.

Lancer has to cut in, “I don’t believe that. Every student and child can be great if given help, guidance, and education”; that was the philosophy of any teacher worth their salt.

The ghost actually almost seems to chuckle and smirks faintly, “make no mistake, Daniel has every possibility to be quite great. Or more so, it is something in the potential of the future; a future that, due to your intended future actions, will not come to pass”. Lancer gets that explicitly ominous ‘I’m in danger’ feeling again and tightens his grip on the stapler while the ghost continues though sounding far more malicious, “so as such, the best option is for the problem, for you, to be eliminated”, and brandishes a very large scythe.

Now Lancer knows he is absolutely in danger; he had never imagined he’d be the specific target of any ghost or ghost attack in general. But the best option currently is to RUN! Which, with his weight, is not an option he’s all to confident in. That, and the ghost’s blocking the doors. Said ghost shakes his head in mild disappointment before swinging with the scythe, Lancer barely manages to move to side and lands on the floor with a thud while the scythe slices a desk clean in half. Lancer scrambles on the floor wide-eyed, this ghost really meant to kill him!

Doing what he always does Lancer tries to think quick and grab for anything that might help him -a stapler was doing nothing against a scythe and that’s a fact- lunging for the ghosts staff thinking that maybe the ghost would value that enough to avoid damaging it. He’s not going to claim to know why the ghost left it to the side. Glancing back, Lancer has just a slight feeling that the ghost is smiling? as he grabs the staff. Lancer realises far too late, as the staff makes a clicking noise and a portal begins to swirl open around the top, that maybe this was the ghosts plan all along.

The portal swallows him whole in an instant. The ghost hums to themselves, thins their lips, and nods slightly; disappearing from sight with the swirl of clock-hands.

---

Lancer lands in the dirt practically face first, scrambling to get up and away from the staff. Craning his head around and wincing before cracking out his back, one too many hours spent bent over a desk; the things he gives for those kids. At least the ghost is nowhere in sight but something’s not right, the wall of the alleyway he’s apparently in looks far more weathered and beaten down than the city would allow; had to keep things looking good to avoid the wrath of the rich citizens. Putting his hand to the wall and bits of it crumble off, Lancer gets the distinct feeling the entire wall would crumble to dust with one solid push. He doesn’t like this, it feels too much like he’s in the middle of a serious ghost battle; the lemon/lime stench of ectoplasm in the air doesn’t help.

He’s unsure what to do at this time, stay put and wait for the first responders to start yelling that it’s safe and to come out? or risk going out himself? Both options left him at risk of a violent ghost, like the one just previously after him.

But what he doesn’t get about that is what in the name of Shakespeare did that ghost mean?!? When Lancer threatened Jasmine with ruining Daniel’s entire future that was not meant literally! So why had that ghost seemingly acted as if it was literal? And better yet, what did that ghost seem to want with Daniel?

Yes Lancer was well aware of the Fenton family business, who wasn’t?, and that his parents very likely had plans for him to take over the business one day, but as far as Lancer knew Daniel had little to no interest in that. Maybe Daniel was more involved with ghosts than he knew? Or maybe the Fenton parents' intentions to have him inherit the business was exactly why a ghost was interested in Daniel. Sabotaging or influencing a future important hunter would be something that ghosts would consider doing, even if said future hunter had zero interest in being a hunter. Shaking his head, all this think is getting him nowhere, he needs to decide his actions now.

Swallowing, well he was a man of risks, both calculated and sudden. And it has been a bit.. Gulping Lancer lifts a foot to move to step out before pausing and glancing back to the staff, it sitting innocently on the ground. What would happen if someone else stumbled upon that? Nothing good he imagines. Nodding to himself before gathering it up gingerly and returning to taking a cautious step out of the alley way; at the very least he can use the staff as a beating implement or a spear even.

But stepping out is like exiting an empty silent movie theatre into a crowded mall, like time itself had been stopped until he made up his mind to step forward. The scene that greets him is like an active war zone, people are running around without paying attention to where they’re going, there’s screaming, something is cackling with a heavy echo in the distance, an entire building starts collapsing; Lancer doesn’t know where to look or what to do so he just... stands there, frozen in spot.

At least until he sees what brought down the building, or more so who, a crumbled body flopping and skidding across the ground surrounded by rubble. At first all he can make out is the red suit, The Red Huntress, that’s enough to get him running; running off towards the downed Huntress. but when he gets close... he sees the dark skin, the shaved military hair cut, and the determined expression even with blood rapidly pooling around her head.

“Valerie!”. Lancer immediately kneels next to her, putting fingers to neck and grimaces over the lack of a pulse.

No ones ever died before. But... Lancer was trained to deal with death, in the case of a parent or Shakespeare forgive a student dying. So maybe he’s a little more calm than he should be but, no, never from a ghost attack. People might get hurt sure, but they don’t die! And this barely makes sense! Valerie looked to be in her late twenties. He scoops her up anyways, he is not just leaving her; gripping the staff tightly as he runs, panting heavily.

He sets her off near a more sturdy-looking building, there really was nothing he could do. Him slumping against the wall and crouching, “Chicken Soup For The Soul, what is going on here”, glancing at Valerie, “is this what the ghost meant by ‘cause of their death’?”, shaking his head and glancing to the staff, staring at the top, at the clock, the thing the ghost had been fiddling with. Was... was this a time-travelling device??? One way to find out... Lancer pokes at the nob on top, finding that won’t budge, then prodding the clock hands which move. Gulping, he pushes the hour hand backwards slowly and watches as the world around him reverses. Valerie seemingly glides along the ground and back through the building, the building puts itself back together, people run backwards; it’s a lot to take in.

Lancer pulls his hand away from the staff clock face, backs away from the people, slipping back into the alleyway and breathing out heavily. Glancing to the staff, “it is a time travel device”, he’s not sure whether to be in awe or completely horrified. Because that meant this was the future, he doesn’t want this to be that. Not by a mile. He flinches from the sound of a building collapsing, now knowing exactly what was happening out there.

Sliding down the wall and running a hand over his balding hair, he wants to go back, but what was the point of going back? His job was to prepare people for the future, prepare children for the future; but no one could be prepared for whatever this was. It was like something out of an apocalypse drama! The sound of another building going down sounds like definite emphasis. A sudden voice startles him, “that is indeed what it is”. Lancer snapping his head to the side and jolting upright, knees protesting; it’s the scythe-wielding ghost again... minus the scythe. And he looks like a proper ghost now, blue-skinned, cloaked, and sporting a ghostly tail.

Lancer narrows his eyes, more certain now that this ghost let him take the staff intentionally, “why?”.

The ghost almost seems to chuckle, “why not? A lesson taught in shock value sticks far better than any lesson plan, but I shouldn’t have to tell a human that. Now of course that isn’t the real question, now is it. No, the real one is why you”, the ghost floats a little closer, “why now”, and closer, “why here”, the ghost gets slightly closer and gestures with an arm, small screens appearing from thin air showing destruction taking place all around the globe, “and yet it’s not just here”; Lancer lets the ghost pretty well get up into his face, his back pressed up against the wall and shaking slightly. But where else is he going to go? Into the streets filled with suffering? He’ll take his chances here... and maybe this ghost had a point, not all ghosts were evil after all. Phantom proved that.

But as if on cue, a larger sneering ghost lands on the wall across the alleyway, cackling loudly and looking a lot like an older Phantom. But while Phantom felt safe, childish and goofy even, this ghost feels like death has arrived and is knocking down his front door with a battering ram. This ghost feels like terror and suffering without even looking at him; and looking felt like his god had come and he wanted nothing but his absolute obliteration. When Lancer jerked his head to take that unpleasant look to the side at the Phantom-like ghost, the strange ghost reaches out and taps the staff before yanking it away. Lancer snapping his head back to that ghost just as a purple portal opens up under his feet and he falls down. He’s almost glad purely because it’ll get him away from the Phantom-like ghost, away from death and torture come knocking.

If he stayed in this time, that time, nothing but brutal pain would await him.

Lancer staggers but manages to stay on his feet when he lands on the ground this time, putting a hand against what feels like wall to steady himself further; shivering still and glancing around cautiously. It looks as if he’s back in normal Amity but his gut’s doing flip-flops and, in the name of Dracula, he is trusting his gut. Especially after just having had run-ins with two of the only ghosts he’s ever felt truly and genuinely deeply afraid of. The only times he’s felt like something dead, something that was death itself, had set its eyes on him. His paranoia right now is cranked up to eleven.

Even so he still doesn’t expect the sudden explosion seeming to come from the building he’s directly behind that shakes the ground violently and blows out his eardrums, clapping his hands over his ears and wincing. He still walks cautiously to make his way around the building, coughing on the smoke as he goes; only to come face to face with bits and pieces of flesh and clothing.

Including clothing that looked disturbingly familiar to what was in his own closet. The breath he sucks in nearly makes him choke; from smoke and shock alike.

But looking up, there on the road, there’s Daniel kneeling on the ground with an outstretched hand looking stunned and red-eyed. And looking back down, Lancer understands, he gets it.

The bits of red hair.

The chunks of blue and orange spandex.

Half a dark-coloured beret.

The pair of almost jarringly intact faux leather combat boots.

The clothes that look so much like his own.

And the piece of the Nasty Burger sign impeded into the ground.

If Daniel never returned the test... this place, the Nasty Burger, was were he intended to take him and his parents; his sister of course would have came.... his friends too. They were there for him through thick and thin, even if that thick was cheating or expulsion or jail time or just a slap on the wrist. To Kill A Mocking Bird, they’d come faster and more determined than the boy’s own parents would.

There was something deeply wrong with that. Wasn’t there.

The sound of sirens overtaking the ringing in his ears gets him to look back up, back to Daniel who hasn’t so much as moved yet, his face is wet with tears. Lancer can’t do anything but watch the paramedics get to him, shake him and check him, try to ask him questions. He can’t do anything because... because he’s realised that this was what that ghost really meant. This was his own doing.

He brought Daniel and them all here in his vain self-indulgent desire to help the teen with what he thought were normal issues that just needed correction.

He brought them here and they all died because of it.

All of them but one.

And Lancer doesn’t have that staff to turn back the tides of time this time. He wishes he did because he doesn’t want, almost can’t bare, to watch Daniel be checked again and again. Watch the boy push them off when he remembers himself enough and refuses to let them take him away with surprising strength. Watches as Vladimir Masters, one of the richest men in the world, arrived seemingly out of nowhere and places a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

The amount of pure hatred filling Daniel’s eyes makes Lancer unable to doubt for even a second that Vladimir has something to do with this. But the green that flares up in those eyes is what finally makes Lancer move, jerk a step backwards. Yet still watching as Vladimir subtly jabs Daniel with something and the teen goes limp; the man telling the paramedics that he’ll handle this, that he can look after the boy himself, that he’s family. At first they protest but, with red flashing in their eyes, they agree.

And then... everything stops as if it’s a photo rather than real life. Even the puffs of smoke and steam are still.

“For a mortal to be faced with their own death, it is a grounding thing, is it not”.

Lancer doesn’t bother turning around, watching Daniel’s limp frozen form instead, “that’s not it”.

“Ah then perhaps it is Daniel, the one left behind, the forgotten child to fall between the cracks. The one the system, your system, failed”.

Lancer swallows and shakes his head weakly, but he doesn’t deny it because it’s not a lie. Lancer knows in his gut that wherever Vladimir is taking Daniel he won’t come back from.

Daniel was going to die.

And Lancer helped ensure that.

Because he did what he was supposed to do. He tried to help and he did, in some ways. But he missed something, missed a malicious presence, so entirely, so completely, that it didn’t matter; that it did the opposite of help.

Lancer glances to the side as the ghost, now appearing to look like a small buck-toothed child, floats near his shoulder, “there are times that you, as a mortal, must realise when you are at your limit. When something is simply outside of your reach. When someone is. And you must let go. If you do not...”, they tilt the staff just slightly and Lancer is transported with them to a place that looks like a lab. Lancer’s stomach drops.

Daniel is strapped down and thrashing against the restraints on a table.

Vladimir forcing a gas mask onto his face and slowly... that struggling dies.

Clawed gauntlets are wielded and Lancer can only watch as Daniel gets impaled by them and thrashes even though he’s unconscious.

Phantom is torn from him like something out of a nightmare and he lunges at Vladimir full of rage and wrath. Lancer’s never seen anything like this from the ghost, rage and hatred. The desire to hurt. He sees now how Phantom could have grown to become the other version he saw. This was how he was tainted.

Phantom, in his rage, tears a ghost out of Vladimir and devours him piece by ectoplasm splattered piece. The teen ghost has completely lost it.

Daniel has slipped off the table and woken up, has tried crawling off to the corner. It does him no good as Phantom sets his sights on Daniel.

Lancer collapses down to his knees and nearly vomits when Phantom violently tears out Daniel’s stomach, tossing intestines and organs across the room before tearing Daniel’s throat out with his teeth. He’d never imagined even ghosts to be capable of such cruelty. A bout of insanity, surely, that the hero wouldn’t come back from.

This wasn’t just Daniel’s death, but the fall of a hero too. Where they one and the same? Lancer isn’t going to claim to know, not after today.

The strange ghost speaks up again as Lancer stares down at the blood pooling on the ground and slowly creeping towards his knees. “Someday I will teach that boy, and I will teach him well. So, I want to make a deal”, the ghost leans over his shoulder near his face, all Lancer can do is side-eye them as the ghost continues, “he will live, mostly. He will thrive, in a way. But he will amount to absolutely nothing in your mortal society. In fact, he will amount to less than that, another failed statistic. And you, you will let him. He will misbehave, and you will wave it off. He will skip and miss classes, and you will let it go. He will do everything worthy of expulsion, and you will act as if no wrong has been done. You are but a bump in the road of his existence and you will act like it, and you may become his favourite adult because of that fact alone. People often appreciate the simple things in life, do they not. So be a simple thing. Deal?”.

Lancer swallows, “and everyone will be alright”. He doesn’t really have a choice here, does he?

“But of course”. The ghost sounds sickly sweet.

Lancer doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to or what he may be condemning Daniel to, but he nods weakly anyway; anything would be better than this after all.

“Much appreciated. Truly. He’ll make for a very satisfying-”.

Lancer jerks, spinning around, suddenly back in his classroom, an open empty briefcase sitting on his desk. He does hear the end of the ghosts statement though...

“-god”.

Lancer stares forwards for a bit before shaking his head violently and slumping down into his desk chair. Eyeing the briefcase warily, moving his hand and closing the lid with a soft click. Closing the lid on this day. Closing the lid on a teenager's future. Closing the lid on Daniel.

There’s something’s he’s better off not knowing. And some people better off left unhelped. The book of Daniel Fenton’s life is staying firmly unread. ‘God’ that ghost had said...

Glancing to the wall clock, it’s about that time that he talked to Jasmine, before whatever exactly that ghost was that messed with everything. But this time... Lancer’s staying right here. He’s not moving from this chair, he’s not reopening that briefcase, and he’s not talking to anyone.

He’s... not going to ignore Daniel but he is not even going to consider interfering with him and whatever The Great Gatsby was going on with the teen. He’s also going to run away if he ever even glimpses that cloaked staff-wielding ghost again. Very far away.

Daniel looks shocky and shaky the next day, but at least he and everyone else is alive. And Lancer’s going to have to live with his decisions and actions, or lack thereof.

End.

Prompt: Lancer + Time Travel

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gachadiy · 2 years ago

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DIY CD - Part 3

CD Tutorial directory // Part 1 (burning the CD) // Part 2 (designing booklet & cover) // Part 3 (printing & assembly) - here

Printing

Check the options at your local print shop services, but my only option for double-sided prints (I’m pretty sure…) was regular old document copy prints. The quality was way nicer than my printer would've gotten, and they're a little stiff & matte for that nice professional feel.

Also, a good Step 0 would be to order a test print - two pages, double-sided, with a ruler (maybe use an image of a ruler and fit it to measure the 11 inch edge) - to make sure it'll flip on the long edge and not the short edge, and to see if the image will be resized at all before printing. Mine shrunk and my stuff didn't quite fit.

Check the print size (ex. 8.5 by 11 inch) and make a new art document with these dimensions and the same dpi you used for everything else (if you used my templates, that’s 350dpi).

Copy & paste each layer over from your back cover and booklet documents into this new document. Put them all in a folder, and with the folder selected, drag them all to the center (the more bleed you add to the edges, the less centered you have to be, but be a precise as you can).

To create the actual printable document (since I needed a .doc or .pdf to have multiple pages), I exported each page/layer as a .bmp, then inserted them into a Word document (with text that was just . every 30 lines or so to make sure I had enough pages). Right-click on each image, and under Wrap Text, choose In Front of Text, and uncheck Move With Text / choose Fix Position of Image. Move & resize it to take up the entire page, exactly. Make sure they’re in the right order. If you’ll be printing double-sided on the long edge (I think this is usually the case), rotate every other page 180 degrees.

Assembly

Again, Crafter In Training covered this, but I have some notes:

I recommend finding something smooth and round - a dowel, sharpie, or anything rounded - and using that to smooth out the fold in your booklet instead of your fingers. It’s straighter and cleaner that way.

I didn’t end up needing tape? I’m not sure what I did differently from the tutorial but i just stacked them all together and folded it down the middle and I was able to hold it together myself. Maybe this was hubris and I shouldn’t be telling you this but it worked fine for me, so.

If your stapler doesn’t open and can’t reach to the center of your booklet, use the stapler very lightly to mark where the holes would be and punch holes in them with a pin. (Pretend there's the front & back cover showing here, I ended up pasting mine on after because printing problems)

[Alt text: closed booklet with faint dots on the spine from where the stapler was used, then a pin being pushed through the spine center on the front of the booklet]

Then you slide it all together, and you're done! I didn't make a spine cover, but I would have just attached it with double-sided tape (weakened with your arm like in the tutorial video, probably). Also my back cover is off, because I didn't get a test print to check for shrinkage, and I didn't bother trying again lol.

#enstars #diy #diy tutorial #cd tutorial #this was SO fun but i dont want to be doing it anymore so you get my somewhat janky version #when i get around to making other CDs ill update these posts with better pictures

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fakecrfan · 4 years ago

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bloop, I find many of our TMA characters very lovable. Tortureable. I mean, lovable. Definitely that one. What do you think would happen if the eye fell in love with some other people?

Oooooh yes I also find every single character in TMA amusing to torture worthy of love, so I greatly appreciate this ask! In fact I wrote 2000 whole words of this ask, holy crap. It was long enough that I posted on AO3 here, if you prefer to read over there.

Otherwise, have 5 different humans the Eye could have fallen in love with in a funny way, and One in a serious way. :)

---

Jon is tiredly washing his face in the Archives bathroom when it happens.

Nothing immediately concerning, like waking up from a coma or feeling the pull to traumatize random strangers on the street. It’s just--when he looks in the mirror, there is a little buzzing at the back of his head, similar to what he feels when he gets a burst of knowledge or compels someone. Then, like an intrusive thought, words appear.

HELLO THERE, HANDSOME.

Jon stares at the mirror for a split second.

“What the fuck.”

Melanie gets to overhear Jon’s hysterical phone call to Elias’s prison later.

“No, no! I refuse!” he says, pacing as his voice gets increasingly shrill. “I’ve been kidnapped, blown to smithereens, resurrected, and had my free will toyed with. I’m drawing the line here. I am not having a-a possession-induced sexuality crisis in my thirties! That’s too much! No!”

“Well, Jon, I’m afraid you can’t simply switch off whatever feelings our master channels through you.’

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Considering our predicament, it would actually be much better if you --”

Jon throws the phone at the wall.

---

Elias is tiredly washing his face when it happens.

He looks up into the mirror and feels a buzzing at the back of his head, similar to what he feels when he gets a burst of Knowledge, or when he compels an answer from someone. And then, like an intrusive thought, words appear in his head.

HELLO THERE, HANDSOME.

This is what Elias always thinks when he looks at himself in the mirror, so he pays it no mind.

---

“We don’t think like they do,” Arthur Nolan says.

Gertrude scoffs. “I’m not convinced they think at all.”

Before the statement can go further, the door to the Archives bursts open, revealing a flushed, disgruntled looking Elias.

“Well, how do we know that you think?” he snaps, his cadence distinctly un-Elias-like. Un-Wright-like, for that matter. “I mean, philosophically--you can’t know if anyone is thinking besides yourself! Various human philosophers came to that conclusion you know! If you can’t be certain of whether humans think, then why doubt whether powerful eldritch beings can?”

Gertrude squints. “Elias--”

“The Eye is definitely smart. Super smart,” Elias says, still red and jittering like a teenager stumbling for a comeback. “You’re just--you’re mean! Anyway, the Eye knows sooooo many things! So many more than you, Gertrude. Maybe from the Eye’s perspective you don’t think because your brain is sooo tiny and your thoughts are so small. Ha, ha! Bet you didn’t think of that!”

Gertrude pinches the bridge of her nose. “I was taking a statement, Elias,” she tells him curtly. “Also, I didn’t mentioned the Eye spec--”

“The Eye is also very sexy and dateable too” Definitely-Not-Elias-Or-Even-Magnus says, bowling over her. “I hear the Eye has an eight-pack. That the Eye is cosmically shredded--”

---

Melanie expected her mental breakdown would be the end of her career. It had been awful. She’d woken up every day utterly miserable over the fact that one of her worst, most vulnerable moments had gone viral and was being watched and laughed at by millions of people over the internet.

And then, unexpectedly, her patreon earnings tripled overnight. Hundreds and hundreds of new accounts signed up and started donating. Suddenly every single video she’d made was one of the most popular on YouTube of all time, due to a sudden influx of likes from new accounts.

That’s also when the weird comments started up. Thousands upon thousands swarming the comment section of every video on her channel.

HEY HEY HEY THIS IS VERY FUNNY VERY GOOD MELANIE KING IS GOOD I LOVE HER

THE DOG GHOST JOKE IS FUNNY VERY FUNNY I LOVE MELANIE KING YES

MELANIE IS THE BEST VERY GOOD YES MORE MELANIE PLEASE

Melanie assumed it was some kind of mockery, but none of it was outwardly hostile enough to report. The thing that made them disturbing was just the sheer volume of comments and likes, from so many accounts all writing in the same style.

“This is--uh,” one of her more computer savvy friends told her. “I mean, I thought someone wrote a program to write all of these when you described them at first but… most of them are from different IP addresses. Um, it seems like the most likely explanation from a technical perspective is… multiple people collaborating to send all of these to you?”

The second disturbing thing was that the comments started to respond to things Melanie did not share on the internet… or even speak out loud.

NO MELANIE NO BREAKS POST MORE VIDEOS PLZ

MELANIE YOUR NOT BAD IT WAS VERY SEXY WHEN YOU PUNCHED THAT MAN

MELANIE YOU ARE LOVED HOPE THE ANNIVERSARY OF DADS DEATH WAS NOT TOO BAD WE LOVE YOU

And then, of course, was the third disturbing thing. That in addition to implying to have incredibly private knowledge about her, the comments started to… suggest things. Or rather, one thing in particular.

DO A MAGNUS INSTITUTE EPISODE MELANIE WILL BE FUN YES

MAGNUS INSTITUTE TAKES STATEMENTS THEY WILL BELIEVE YOUR STORY MELANIE DO AN INTERVIEW THERE

Melanie looked up the place. The Magnus Institute. Known for taking stories of spooky shit. Latest Archivist had disappeared mysteriously. Apparently the police gave the place a wide berth.

Melanie took a swig of whiskey, and decided she didn’t have much of a self-preservation instinct anyway.

---

Joshua had dealt with enough creepypasta shit during the coffin ordeal to be able to figure there was something supernatural about the Harry Potter style flurry of letters that swarmed his apartment, the ones with eyes painted all over their envelopes. He ignores them at first, which was his preferred way of dealing with this kind of nonsense, but that leads to the whole thing escalating. Now there are more letters, several boxes of chocolate on his doorstep, and… the wall has a bunch of new security cameras. The lenses seem to have silhouettes of hearts in them.

Huh.

He opens the door, uncertain about what to do with all the packages. That's when he notices his cell phone was buzzing up a storm. He checks and finds notifications peppered with eye emojis and hearts and x’s and o’s.

Well. Might as well see what the sender wants from him?

He taps the notification to see an impossibly long stream of letters.

Dearest Joshua, my love~

He stares. The texts come in as he does so.

458 new messages.

498 new messages.

He shoves the boxes of chocolates back out, and texts back.

---

Basira is tiredly washing her face when it happens.

It’s just one thing to add to the pile of obsessive paranormal weirdness that’s been happening around her lately. She looks up into the mirror and feels a tingle at the back of her head. Her face looks… well. Not different, exactly. Her features are all the same, but she can feel that thing at the back of her head tingling, appropriating her own eyes to size her up in an intrusive, alien way, noting the softness of her skin and the angles of her cheekbones. It’s not a way Basira sizes herself up--not on her own, at least.

BEAUTIFUL.

Basira knows, deeply, that she is not beautiful. Beautiful is a label that was always applied to other girls, ones who ran around in frilly short skirts, or put on makeup or wore sparkling things. Basira’s labels were different: smart, practical, sensible and most importantly useful.

Basira doesn’t like to look at herself in the mirror much these days. Still, of all that oppressive… interest… that she’s been saddled with, the appropriation of her own eyes on occasion might be the least of her problems.

Melanie watches her, whenever Basira takes to reading openly in the Archives. Melanie’s eyes are wild these days, and she’s always muttering and pacing and snarling as her eyes dart around as though looking for threats--except for when Basira is there. Then she gets still, watching, eyes unblinking.

“Stop that,” Basira says, when she catches her. “I’ve told you I want to read alone.”

Melanie looks utterly wounded for a second, then she flips.

“Fuck you!” she snarls. “I saved you, that fucking meat man would have skewered you without me! How dare you act like I’m some wild animal?”

“That doesn’t mean you get to--”

But Melanie isn’t good about listening to reason these days. When Basira tries to get her to stop, Melanie kicks furniture and throws things. Staplers. Scissors. Usually Basira doesn’t get hit. Usually. But even when she does, Basira keeps her voice level and her feet on the floor.

(Just like Basira isn’t beautiful, she’s not someone who shakes or cries when people throw things at her.)

Jon is worse than Melanie, though. Not violent. Not irrational. Just concerned. He tries to bring her coffee when she wants it but hasn’t asked, gives her Advil when she has a headache and hasn’t mentioned it. He blinks even less than Melanie these days, even if his eyes are softer.

What makes him worse are the questions--and the fact that Basira can’t stop herself from answering them.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Melanie. Scissors nicked me. She didn’t mean to, I think. Just was angry and didn’t think. Looked more hurt than I did when they actually hit.” Then, Basira got control of her tongue again. “Stop that.”

No reply to that last bit. Just an unblinking, soft gaze pinning her down like she’s an insect on a board. “How are you feeling?”

“Awful. I miss how she was before,” Basira can only barely keep her voice steady. “I’m mostly okay about the violence. I’ve dealt with worse. It’s just it all adds up, having everyone act so weird around me all the time. Jon--”

“You’ll feel better when you talk about it,” he says. Like he’s doing her a favor, instead of just satisfying that sick curiosity that this place runs on. “Basira, you said you’ve dealt with worse. Do you mean in your past job, or has anyone ever-?”

The second she’s done answering that one she bolts and locks herself in the safe room, pressing a pillow over her ears. She can hear Jon knocking outside, sounding so sorrowful. Saying he’s sorry and he just wants her to feel better and she needs to talk to someone.

She’s furious with him. If she’d caught him pressing anyone else for info like that, she’d have called him a monster. She’d have threatened to murder him in his sleep. She can’t manage any of that now. Instead she curls up on the cot, shaking in a way Melanie hadn’t managed to get her to.

(It’s not really Jon. Just like the violence isn’t really Melanie.)

(Is there a “Jon”, anymore? Or is what’s left just a hollowed out vessel for--?)

Her phone buzzes. Martin, the screen says. Martin, who refuses to be in the same room with any of them, or respond to any of their texts. Except Basira.

Are you alright?

Do you need anything?

Basira puts her phone down, unsure how to respond. The timing of the text means that Martin probably saw something, either through cameras or spooky Eye powers. That he’s just as compromised as Jon, or Melanie, or Basira’s own eyes in the mirror.

They can probably see her now, she realizes. One or another of them watching every single little twitch and lip wobble right now. The thought makes her suck in a deep breath, and school her expression into perfect stillness.

I wish Daisy were here.

The thought almost cracks through her calm and sends her into a spiral.

I was always safe with Daisy.

Outside Jon stops knocking and jiggling the doorknob. Quiet. As though he’s had an idea.

#I think I invented several cursed ships for this one #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #not sure what else to tag this rn I'll think of something later #taiey

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somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds · 3 years ago

Note

The Von Savage kids meeting the tutor

“I’m certain you will get along with the children, Mr. Wick.” “Please, call me John,” Nate replied, walking down the long hallway alongside Katrina, who had introduced herself as the children’s physical instructor.

She looked down her nose, just enough that it was evident, and smiled at him. “Of course, John. As I’ve said, you will have no behavioral issues. Mr. Savage’s children are model students. Scandal can be a bit… aggressive, but she’s a lovely young woman.”

Nate nodded, scratching behind his ear at his earpiece to send a signal back to the Waverider. He was at the right house, good. Ever since Gary disappeared and five other angry weirdoes showed up demanding to know where their leader was, there had been a lot of new knowledge uncovered about their favorite time agent. Nate had responded with the same shock as everyone else, but as he drove out to the sprawling country estate, he couldn’t help but think about his time in the Bureau with Gary. Gary had never talked about his childhood much. All Nate could remember was a dentist father and the way Gary shut down when someone mentioned school at all. Nate shook his head. He couldn’t feel guilty right now, even as it ate at him.

As it turned out, he didn’t even have to tune them out, the piercing scream of a whistle brought him back to the present.

Katrina let the whistle fall back against her throat. “Children! Downstairs, at once,” she called out, not a hair moving from the tight bun at the base of her neck.

Nate looked up at the sounds of running, and three children nearly jumped over the banister trying to get downstairs faster than each other. The taller boy shoved past both of his siblings, making it to the bottom first. A shorter girl stood to his right, an even shorter boy to his right.

The children stared up at Nate, all with toothed smiles.

“Children, this is your new tutor, Mr. Wick. John, these are Mr. Savage’s children. Scandal is twelve, Bishop is ten, and Gareth is eight.”

The children nodded in unison. Nate gave them all a wave and an awkward smile back. Yeah, he can do this. Why was everyone so worried about him taking this mission on in the first place?

“Okay! Okay, no punching at the library table,” Nate said, standing between Bishop and Gareth. “We’re having some quiet reading time, remember?”

“He’s breathing too loud.”

“I am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Shut UP,” Scandal snapped, throwing a discarded book at both of them. Nate batted it away, and rubbed his temple. This was going poorly on so many levels.

“I can’t focus on my biology textbook with you BREATHING on me!”

“I’m not, Bishop!” Gareth protested. “I’m all the way over here!”

“Both of you need to shut up, I don’t want to hear either of you.”

Bishop narrowed his eyes, chewing his bottom lip. He waited until Scandal turned back to her book, before he reached out and smacked it out of her hands. He snickered as she shrieked.

Scandal picked up Nate’s stapler and dove over the table, knocking Bishop to the ground. Gareth covered his ears as they struggled. Nate had to peel Scandal off of her brother. “Guys, guys, guys, that’s enough.”

“Oooo, did Katrina show you how to do that?” “Shut UP, Bishop.”

“Mr. Wick, my sister has a CRUSH on Katrina!” Bishop taunted and Scandal’s face went white. “It’s true, she writes about it in her-“

Nate apparently hadn’t had a tight enough hold to restrain a twelve year old full of rage, and Scandal was loose enough to kick Bishop in the throat and knock him over. He coughed on the floor while Nate set Scandal down in her chair. He shoved Nate away, still gasping. “’S true, Gareth told me so.”

Gareth’s eyes went wide, flicking over to Scandal glaring bloody murder at him. “I didn’t! I didn’t do that! Bishop’s the one that-“

A knock at the door made all three children silent, and Nate took a moment to breathe in the awful peace of the moment. He realized none of them were answering the knock, so he called towards the door, “Hello?”

“Are the children busy?”

“They are - finishing a quiz, just give us a minute.”

Nate sat Bishop back in his chair and handed him a book. He gave them all a thumbs up and a smile to set them at ease. He got blank stares back. “Come in!”

Katrina wheeled in a cart set for afternoon tea, the steam escaping out the spout of the kettle. She smiled. “I see the children are adapting to you well.”

“Oh, they’re angels,” Nate smiled, brushing a sweaty strand of hair out of his face. He helped her set out a scone and a cup for each child.

Katrina poured them all tea, smiling warmly at each of them. “Your father was proud to hear of your excellence in marksmanship this morning, Gareth.”

Gareth nodded, nibbling at his scone but not touching his tea. Bishop had already finished his while Scandal was halfway done with her cup. She poked Gary in the shoulder, and Nate watched them share a look. She shook her head at Gareth and Gareth shook his head back.

Katrina looked over her tablet at him. “Gareth, drink your tea.”

“No.. no thank you,” he whispered. Katrina’s smile turned downwards.

“Gareth, your father sent this up as a treat for all of you.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

Scandal nudged his shoulder a bit harder this time, but Gareth didn’t look up. Nate felt a bit helpless, until he remembered something his mother did when he didn’t want to eat his broccoli at dinner. He took his empty coffee mug, filled with tea, and downed it before anyone could ask him. He smiled at Gareth after he set the cup down, “See, man? It’s good, I’d have more.”

He didn’t really understand the shocked look on everyone’s face, including Katrina’s.

But it had to be worth it, because Gareth picked up his teacup with both hands, and drank his tea down. Katrina gave him a curt nod of approval, and asked Nate to gather materials for a lesson on the Roman Empire. Nate agreed, leaving the children to their snack at the table, slipping away to a back shelf. He tapped his earpiece. It’s me, can you guys hear me?

Nate, what’s up?

I can’t find anything on Katrina, Savage’s right hand. I haven’t even seen the man himself yet. He’s in the West Wing or something, nobody talks to him except for her.

What about Scandal? And Gary?

They’re just kids, guys, I don’t know what else to tell you. They’re homeschooled, they don’t like each��other….Garrrrrry hates….what was it….

Nate? Nate, what’s wrong with your voice?

…the tea…the tea…guyssss….guys…they’re being dr…..

Nate woke up gasping, sweat cold against his neck as he came too on the library floor. The lights were out, and the children were gone. He stumbled out the door, clutching the doorknob to steady himself. The mansion was silent, except for a tapping sound coming from the foyer. He managed to drag himself down the stairs to Katrina standing before the front door, monitoring her tablet that never left her hands.

“Mr. Wick,” she nodded in his direction. “Good of you to join us.”

“What was in that tea?”

“I had another pot for you, you were too impatient. Patience is a virtue, Mr. Wick.”

“No,” Nate shook his head. “No. What was in that tea? Why were you feeding it to them?”

“The children must be able to complete their work even under duress, you understand.”

Nate looked out the open door. The night had set in and the darkness hung over the estate like a shroud. “You - are they out there?”

“Of course.”

“But - but they’re kids. They’ll get lost, they’ll get hurt.”

“Mr. Wick. Mr. Savage’s children never get lost. And do not worry. Children are remarkably difficult to break.”

A flatline sound echoed from her tablet right as a gunshot echoed from the woods. Nate was a step away from shoving her aside and running out there to find the kids himself when a figure ran out from the trees.

Katrina made a note on her tablet. “Thirty minutes faster this time. Excellent work.”

Nate couldn’t ask what she meant, because the figure ran up the front steps and stepped through the doorway. He looked away from Katrina into the empty eyes of a tween girl with an AK-47 too big for her small hands. She had grime and blood smeared across her face, and she didn’t even blink the soil out of her eyes.

Katrina patted her head, kissed her forehead and smiled at her with pride. “Excellent work,” she repeated. “I sent six out with you, six flatlines. I’ll have the scouts bring them back in the morning.”

Nate felt his stomach creep into his esophagus as he saw the flatline next to both of her siblings’ names.

Scandal let the gun clatter to the floor, mumbling about being hungry, being tired, wanting to go away, please let me go to bed.

A voice boomed from the top of the stairs. “Scandal.”

Scandal lifted her eyes, and Katrina turned around. Nate didn’t. He knew who was talking.

“Scandal,” Vandal Savage repeated, an awful smile in his tone, “I see you have made wonderful progress under Katrina these past two years. This is your best time yet.”

Scandal nodded.

“Have you learned all you can from Katrina?”

Scandal shook her head.

“Scandal.”

“No, Father. I can learn - I can learn more from her.”

“Hmm,” Vandal pondered. “I don’t believe so.”

The tablet fell out of Katrina’s hands, hitting the floor along with the tutor’s jaw. She shook her head. “Mr. Savage, Scandal still needs to learn much more from me.”

“Could she beat you in a fight?”

“I - I -“

“Scandal,” Vandal ordered, not even looking at his tutor. “Pin her down.”

Tears fell out of Scandal’s eyes as Katrina whipped her head around, punching her pupil in the side of the mouth. Scandal didn’t scream, but grabbed her wrist from the punch and ripped it back, breaking it. Katrina shrieked, reaching out to grab Scandal’s throat, only for Scandal to kick her in the stomach once, then twice, then swing for her throat. She grabbed her hairbun, ripping it from its many pins, and used it to level her on the ground. She put a knee on her chest and grabbed her throat. She looked up at Vandal.

“Very good, Scandal. Finish it.”

Scandal flicked a sharp steel spike from her bracelet and looked down.

“Scandal…sweetheart…you don’t want to hurt me, please, please, please don’t -“

Scandal brought it down on Katrina’s scream.

Nate fell back against the door, the air sucked out of his lungs in a gasp.

Scandal got up, tears streaming down her face but no noise coming out of her throat.

Vandal smiled down at her. “You are truly my heir, Scandal. My number two. Come, clean up and eat your dinner. You’ve earned it tonight.”

Scandal scrubbed her eyes as she climbed the stairs after her father, looking back at Nate for a moment before turning around again.

Nate tapped his earpiece when he was alone except for Katrina’s blood soaking his pant leg. Guys, we have a major problem.

What?

It’s not the tutor. It never was the tutor.

Nate, what are you-

It’s the kids. It’s always been the kids.

#legends of tomorrow #gary green #scandal savage #I like pain #black widow vibes I suppose

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kova-starlight · 3 years ago

Text

Finally decided to hop on the train many others have and make my own Legion of Stationary. Ya’ll who made their own stationary have really inspired me and i love them all.

Gonna just drop off some headcanons for them while I work on finalizing their designs.

Coloured Pencils/Jean-Pierre/Cassie:

• He/she pronouns

•bi-gender

• The tips of her hair are coloured due to an accident while painting, but she claims she was born like this.

• Jean had helped decide which streamer each member guarded (she went by the colors each member mainly was)

• Loves to draw and draws in his spare time.

• Gets annoyed by the others easily

• He speaks with a french accent, but hardly knows the language

• she has a special glove that allows her to control her giant coloured pencils.

Rubber Band/ Rumi:

• she/her pronouns

• She Identifys as a trans woman.

• Rumi is a sucker for theatre and dramas. She can and will drag the other members to watch them with her.

• Rumi loves to act and put on plays, she is thinking about getting into the movie business too.

• She always wants to be the centre of attention. No matter the place or time

• She is a bit of a drama queen in any situation.

• Rumi can easily fix a fashion disaster or bad hair day.

Hole Punch/Hux/Heath:

• He/she/they

• Genderfluid/polygender

• Despite his retro tastes in music, he can listen to all music (he will complain about how bad it is though)

• Hux loves to dance, she loves disco and breakdancing the best.

• quite athletic

• They can and will make music references and puns to annoy Jean with.

• Mainly chill but can get hyper sometimes.

• Needs to wear gloves because she accidentally punched out many things.

• has a habit of chewing on things like paper

• Rumi usually helps her style their hair.

• Can and will stay up all night despite being told not to.

Tape/Theo:

• He/him

•male

• Theo is essentially the legions caretaker/parental figure.

• If you hurt any of them, look out as he will come after you

• Literally needs so much hair products to style his hair.

• His dispenser/motorcycle is one of his most prized possessions.

• He can fix any mechanical problem.

• Theo often gets the group out of trouble.

• Speaks in a new york accent.

• loves to collect pins

• He has too many pins on his jacket someone stop this man.

• He has a soft spot for animals

Scissors/Soren:

• they/them.

•nonbinary

• “Gender? Threw that mortal concept in the trash”

• Soren treats the paper cutouts and handaconda like family.

• They get bored easily, due to them being really strong and able to mostly beat anyone.

• They love to duel and are skilled in both sword fighting and martial arts.

• Soren spends a lot of time caring for their swords.

• They wear a binder and constantly need a reminder to take it off.

• Soren gets luxury treatment at shangrai spas (lets theo come up too)

Stapler/Spike:

• he/him

•male

• He is literally a dog, specifically a German shepherd

• Is able to speak but rarely does

• Spike loves king Olly and Tape.

• He is very protective of olly

• He is very obedient ( unless you arent tape or Olly

• Spike loves to chase after others, especially The folded soldiers

• instead of fangs he has metal staples

• his body is able to turn metal into new staples to use

• will chew on anything metal

• He has ruined a lot of toys Olly gave him from his fangs/staples

#pmtok #hole punch #legion of stationery #coloured pencils #tape #rubber band #scissors #pmtok spoilers #stapler #paper mario #origami king #pmtok scissors #pmtok tape #pmtok los #pmtok stapler #pmtok rubber band

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bigshot-circa-1997 · 3 years ago

Note

What does ur whf legion do to the protagonist, if anything?

Okay so I'm assuming this is about how they'd fight the protagonist

Dr. Colored Pencils has a modified Jubilator he rides around in and shoots bombs at you. Some of them are smoke bombs that are filled with Joy, others are regular smoke bombs, and some are just regular bombs

Constable Rubber Band has whips as her weapons that he can do some fucking DAMAGE with. He can grab things from afar with them as well

Dr. Hole Punch can fucking punch you into next week. They're fucking STRONG. They don't have any need for a bonesaw. Often they'll knock you down and inject you with joy that way

Constable Tape can like,, shoot things to tie you down. He also has his electric truncheon and brass knuckles. Idk I haven't figured out his weapon much yet

Dr. Scissors has not one, but two bonesaws that she can and will use to fuck you up with. She often doesn't inject people with Joy like how the other Doctors do, but she'll pin you down and shove a pill in your throat if she does decide you're not worth it to bring back to the lab.

Constable Stapler uses a modified truncheon as a weapon but also they will straight up bite you like a rabid dog

#thank you for the asks <3 #asks #oc: Dr. Colored Pencils #oc: Constable Rubber Band #oc: Dr. Hole Punch #oc: Constable Tape #oc: Dr. Scissors #oc: Constable Stapler

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toonjazzy · 3 years ago

Text

The things Hole Punch and Stapler have in common

Both leap out from doors

Both jump at you right before the battle starts

Both can’t sit still during the battle

Both have a move where they pin Mario down

Both have a move that is a repetition of moves

Both have fucked up endings that made me feel like shit

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bigdlittleibignlittleozzo-moved · 4 years ago

Text

@sebastianshaw asked A, C, G, L, P , Q, S, T, W

A: Who are their exes? Do they still keep in touch?

It sounds funny to Tony, when he says he only has two exes and they’re both women. Well how can that be? He’s a gay man, and he’s never had sex with a woman, but both of his exes are women, and both of them (rightfully) pin the downfall of their relationship on him.

At least with Wendy, they ended somewhat amicably, even if he stood at the front of that church for two and a half hours, waiting for her, worried that something had happened to her. When her bridesmaid had shown up and told him that Wendy was calling the wedding off, it had been a relief. Tony hadn’t really wanted to be married anyhow. It was just what had been expected of him, and that was the wrong reason to get married, the wrong reason to trap someone with him, tie them down.

Jeanne... well, what could he say about the woman who had accused him of murdering her father, who had tried to get him locked in prison for a crime he hadn’t committed? He didn’t blame her at all. After everything he’d done to her, the lies that he had told her, he’d deserved to be treated the way he was, to be accused of murder, to be treated however she saw fit. Hell, if she’d wanted to kill him, he wouldn’t have blamed her. He was the reason her father was dead.

Not being in contact with either of them was what was best for them, and him. They deserved better and he- well all he wanted was peace. He didn’t want fighting, didn’t want to feel the need to justify his actions. He’d done what he’d done, and it was terrible. He knew that. He could never take that back. Best for all of them if they just moved on.

C: If they had to pick one sport to play/watch which would it be?

Getting into football had been an accident. He’d needed to pick a sport when he was at RIMA and he hated riflery with a passion. But he could throw a ball like no one’s business, so he’d joined the football team. When he’d discovered that he was actually good at it- well it had taken care of his bullying problem almost immediately. No one wanted to bully the star quarterback, even if he was only a freshman with ADHD and behavior problems.

Maybe that’s why he loved it so much. Football had been his sanctuary, the thing that had saved him from being harassed by the other kids. No one liked the rich kid, no matter that most of the other kids were also from well-off families. No one liked that he knew more about war than they did, despite not coming from a military family. No one liked that he was constantly making jokes, that he couldn’t hold still in class.

Oh, but they liked him on the field. When he threw that ball in a perfect spiral, everyone liked him then. That was when everyone cheered his name, wanted to be his friend. Football made him popular, in a way that he’d never thought he would be. It was amazing, how much people changed the second they discovered he was good at the sport. He just wanted to bask in it, in the praise that they heaped upon his head. It was such a nice change from the derision that was usually pointed at him, he didn’t think anyone would blame him.

G: What was their first job?

It was a busy Friday night. He was late to work because of the football game, the same football game that meant that they were busy. He skidded into the kitchen wearing his post-game sweatshirt and apologized in rapidfire Spanish, pulling off the sweatshirt and hanging it up, grabbing his apron instead. There was a sink full of dishes, but he was good with that. It wouldn’t take him long to wash them all up, get everything clean. He was good at that, at physical work like that. He’d had a lot of practice.

Tia Maria came and patted him on the shoulder, congratulated him on the big win, and Tony smiled at her, his entire face brightening. He loved this job, loved the family that he’d come to have here, the people he’d befriended. Between Maria and Pablo, the owners of the restaurant, he never went hungry. They were always sending him home with food, and Joaquin was always teaching him how to make new recipes when they had some downtime. There wouldn’t be any downtime tonight, but that was okay. He was ready to work. That’s what he was paid to do, after all.

L: How often do they post on their social media accounts?

Twitter was a new thing to him, but he liked it. He could follow all his favorite actors, comment on their movies. He’d once upset Mark Hamill by mentioning the Star Wars Holiday Special, something his Nonna had gifted him with when he was six.

He didn’t post often though. He couldn’t afford to. He was still an undercover agent, after all, and he couldn’t afford to blow his cover. Risking his job for the sake of posting a few selfies seemed dumb, childish and immature, and Tony wasn’t about to do that. It wasn’t safe, for the people that he protected when he went undercover. It was why he didn’t have a Facebook, or any other social media outlet. It wasn’t like he knew anybody he would want to keep in contact with using social media. The only frat brother he was still friends with was Steve, and they called each other on the phone, met for coffee. There wasn’t the need for social media.

Maybe he was just old. He didn’t see the point behind these websites he would never use, though. They weren’t for him.

P: What are their thoughts on going vegan? Could they do it?

He’d gone kosher after Ziva started working for NCIS. It was an easy change to make for him. The hardest thing to give up was shellfish, but he’d made the adjustment. It was just easier. They didn’t always label their lunches, had habits of grabbing whatever bag was in the fridge and just eating what was inside, no care for whose it was. Tony wasn’t about to make Ziva eat something that she couldn’t because he was too selfish to give up pork, too selfish to adjust his diet.

But vegan? He had no problem with vegetables. There were certain times of the year, centered around certain Jewish holidays, where Tony didn’t cook with meat at all. But that had everything to do with the fact that Ziva was always grateful when she grabbed his lunch and it was something she could eat, saving her the trouble of having to order out, hoping that the Jewish deli had someone who could get onto the Navy Yard. They both knew McGee wasn’t going to change the way he ate, so Ziva grabbing his lunch was out of the question.

Still, vegan... as much as he loved vegetables, Tony also loved meat, loved the taste of it, the way it added flavor to his food. He had no problem with other people going vegan, that was their choice. It wasn’t the healthiest dietary choice they could make, and that was coming from the athletic nutrition courses he’d taken when he was studying for his degree, but it wasn’t the worst either. It just- it wasn’t for him. He needed proteins from meat, needed the flavor too. He respected the choices others made for their own bodies but it wasn’t for him, that was for sure.

Q: Do they have a good luck charm they often have with them?

It was stupid. The thing had been given to him as a joke. Holding onto it was just silly. But there it sat, on the corner of his desk where everyone could see it, where it had sat for years, since his Captain in Baltimore had given it to him. He didn’t even like Mighty Mouse, had never seen the show. So why was it that the stapler meant so much to him? He couldn’t rightfully say. But the thought of getting rid of it-

He couldn’t do it. That stapler had been there through too many rough cases, too many cases that Tony shouldn’t have solved, by all accounts, but he still had. He’d used it on too many reports that he never should’ve been able to close. Maybe it was dumb, to consider a little blue and red piece of metal and plastic his good luck charm, but he did. Some cops had their St. Michael medallions, and he respected that, but he wasn’t Catholic, and he’d never really believed in the saints.

His stapler though. His stapler brought him luck. It brought him success. He loved his stapler. Even after it came out that the Captain was a dirty cop, Tony couldn’t get rid of his stapler. It had seen too much, had done too much for him. The stapler and he, they were a team. He wasn’t going to give up on it. It hadn’t given up on him.

S: How do they tell someone they’re sorry?

Rule 6 existed for a reason. Never say you’re sorry. So Tony had to find other ways to apologize when he screwed up, because he screwed up a lot. He couldn’t just not apologize and move on. Because while Gibbs may hate apologies, he also hated it when Tony ignored his mistakes, completely acted like everything was normal. It was a tricky game he was playing, a complicated dance, but he was figuring it out, slowly but surely.

He didn’t apologize anymore, not after the first half dozen times those words had passed his lips. No, now he owned up to his mistakes and sucked it up when the slap came to the back of his head, biting back the wince that was inevitable. Gibbs never pulled his punches with Tony the way he did with McGee and Ziva.

“Right boss. Won’t happen again, boss.” That’s what Gibbs wanted to hear, the only apology he would accept. It left a dirty taste in Tony’s mouth, but if that’s what Gibbs wanted, that’s what Tony would do. This wasn’t about Tony’s preferred method of apology, it was about what Gibbs wanted.

T: How quick are they to cry?

He didn’t cry after Kate died. He was emotionally drained, but he didn’t cry. He didn’t think that he could, too drained and angry at the world, at Ari, at Gibbs, at himself. He couldn’t cry. He could only think about revenge, about getting back at the bastard who had taken his partner away from him.

He did cry when Jeanne left him. He’d loved her, in his own way. Loved her as best as he could. But everything he’d ever told her had been a lie. Everything about himself, about their relationship, about all of it. It had all been a lie. How could he have loved her if he had lied to her constantly, if he hadn’t been honest with her? So why did losing her feel the way it did? He hadn’t ever slept with her but their relationship was something more, something emotional, something that he could just- it hurt to lose it. And he cried.

He wasn’t positive what he was crying for. Maybe it was the loss of Jeanne. Maybe it was the loss of himself. After all, he’d given up a lot of his own self respect and pride in order to go undercover the way he had. He’d sacrificed a lot of who he was in order to be who Jeanne knew. He didn’t even know who he was anymore, half the time. Maybe that was why he was crying. Maybe it was just the broken heart. He didn’t know anymore.

W: Would they be starstruck if they met a celebrity?

Growing up the way he did, he’d rubbed elbows with a lot of old money, people with names that would be recognized. He’d met a lot of people who others would consider famous, and it had been just another Tuesday for him. It wasn’t unusual for Senior to namedrop someone important, even today, wasn’t unusual for Tony himself to have connections that went beyond what a normal NCIS agent would have. He didn’t think anything of it.

He wasn’t the type to really care about somebody’s fame. Why would he, when he’d grown up around money? He’d gone to school with Frank Sinatra’s nephew, the closest he’d gotten to knowing the man himself, and he’d never once freaked out about it. The kid was a bully, and Tony hadn’t wanted anything to do with him, even if his uncle was one of the coolest singers he’d ever heard.

Maybe it was a rich kid thing, a money thing. Maybe it was a Tony thing. Fame and money just didn’t matter to him. Not really, not anymore. Maybe they never had.

#answered asks

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caspers-chibs-imagines · 5 years ago

Text

Redemption

Summary

Riley Teller and her son move back to Charming. When Riley returns however, she is faced with the fact that she had to take on her responsibilities as a mom better than before when they are apart of The Sons. Allies are made and maybe a little something more with a certain Scotsman.

____

Chapter Fourteen

I stood with Sack as Tig, Jax, Clay, Chibs and Juice all fired rounds into targets from the guns supplied by the Irish. I jokingly threaten to staple Sack's kutte to the wooden crate behind us and he shoved me away from him and I shoved him back as we laughed at one another.

Over the last three months, myself and him had gotten closer due to us both being in the same position as prospects and being made to do all kinds of random shit for the club. He was like having another kid. Tommy liked he too and would always want him to teach him how to fight - sometimes I wondered what the others would be saying to my son to make him want to learn from Sack.

Another thing that had been happening over the last few months was Chibs and I kept on whatever it was that we are. But around the club, I was simply a prospect and we wouldn't make any advances towards one another. He would come over the house a lot of the nights, sometimes Tommy would be awake and be happy that he was having a sleepover. Other times he was either with Mary and the kids or asleep and that left Chibs and me up to do whatever we wanted to one another.

As far as I was aware, mom was the only one that had caught onto me to and Chibs and she kept giving me knowing looks whenever he and I were alone in the clubhouse. But we knew better than to do anything in the clubhouse or we risked being caught by one of the other members. If anyone asked why he was spending so much time at the house, we would put it down to Tommy wanting to see his favourite member of mommy's club. Juice had taken offence to that when Chibs told him and whenever Tommy was around, Juice would be trying to win him over with sweets and allowing him to be used a personal pony.

I had also started reading the book that my father had written and seeing some of the things that he said about the club made me wonder what Jax and I were going to do about it all.

"Prospects!" Tig shouted and Sack and I stopped goofing around as we turned towards him. "New targets, let's go!" I shoved Sack one more time and moved to take down the ripped-up targets and replaced them with new ones. I finished stapling the last target while Sack struggled with his own as gun shots rushed past my head.

"Hey, hey!" I shouted as I ran out of the way to avoid being shot by Tig's sudden antics. Once I was out of the way, Chibs started to join in on winding Sack up as he shot his stapler gun back at them.

"Yeah, great job. You'll shoot off my one last nut. Great sponsor." He calls over to them as Chibs and Tig laugh. I shake my head at the pair before they all walk into the warehouse and leave me and Sack outside while they are talking to the Irish.

Before long, the deal had been made and Sack and I were helping to move the crates of guns into a black van. As I was helping Sack load one of the crates, I noticed the tension between Clay and Jax as they spoke to one another. Jax moved away from him and he nodded to me before he mounted his bike.

"What was that about?" Sack asks me as I turn back to him.

"Not a clue." I slap him on the shoulder before loading up the last of the crates.

Once they were loaded up, I walked over to my bike as Sack got onto his own.

"Wanna come and get my son with me?" I ask as I clip the strap to my helmet under my chin. When he agrees, we both reeve our engines and drive off to Tommy's school to pick him up. I told Sack to wait by the bikes as I went into the grounds to pick my son up. As I stood waiting, I noticed all the usual parents that stood on their own or with their babies - a couple of the parents stared at me with my prospect kutte on with dirty looks. I continued to wait as the children started to come out of their classrooms. But what caught my eye was the hooded man that stood by the school gates. I frowned as I look at him and tried to see who it was but with no luck due to how far he was.

"Mommy!" I turn around to see Tommy coming over to me and I open my arms for him. He hugs me and I ruffle up his hair before turning to walk back to Sack. I look over to see that the hooded man had left, and my panic didn't settle.

Once we got to the bikes, I gave Sack a look and he instantly knew it meant trouble. I got Tommy in front of me on my bike and put his helmet on and we drove very quickly - as quick as I was willing to go with my son on the bike - back to the clubhouse.

Pulling up alongside the other bikes that were parked, I looked over to the gate to see a silver car had pulled up on the other side of the road.

"Baby, go with Eddie into the clubhouse." I tell Tommy as I continue to look at this car after getting off the bike. "Sack, get Chibs for me." He nods his head before he and Tommy race each other to the clubhouse. I lean against my bike and light a cigarette as I continue to watch the car. There was two men inside, one was hooded and the other had a hat pulled over his eyes. I couldn't make out who they were, and it was beginning to really worry me.

Chibs emerged from the clubhouse and he walked over to me with a concerned frowned on his face.

"What's wrong, love?" He asks and I point to the car outside the gate.

"They've just followed me from Tommy's school." I reply and he curses under his breath as I take another drag. "If it's who I think it is, then I need to pull Tommy out of school until it sorted."

We both stood and watched as the car pulled off after a few moments and then I let the panic that was rushing through me release. I walked over near the boxing ring where the punching bag was and started letting out my frustrations on it. Hit after hit, I felt my body shaking with the adrenaline and I kept going until I was out of breath and Tommy had ran back outside to me.

***

"I haven't been able to say this yet on a club level." Clay started as everyone settled in their seats and looked up to him. Either smoking or drinking a beer - I decided to do neither for the time being. "We're all broken up about what happened to Donna. She was a great girl. I know how much you loved her. She sure loved you."

I started to tune out the conversation as my mind wondered over to the men that had followed me and my son from his school today. The men who had killed George knew where I was; they knew where to find my son when he wasn't with me.

"I want Jax and Riley." I snapped out of my thoughts to see Opie looking over to me. A pleading look in his eyes and I knew what he needed me and my brother for. Clay was pinning the murder of Donna on another man while the one who did it was sat in this room.

I nod my head to him, and a faint smile pulled his lips before it disappeared again. Clay called the meeting to an end and I went to get up and looked to Jax who gestured for me to leave. I walked out of the chapel and closed the doors behind me - leaving Jax and Clay inside.

Opie turned to me and I walked up to him before we hugged one another.

"You sure, you want me there?" I ask.

"Of course." He pats my back and then leaves to go outside. I watch him leave and then walk over to where Tommy sat with Sack at the bar. Tommy had his fists up and was blocking Sack's playfully punches. I quickly played Sack's arms behind him and he struggled against me.

"Quick Tommy, get him!" I cheered for my son and he started his little punches onto Sack. I knew he was okay because Tommy wasn't a fighter at heart, he was too gentle to be one. I let Sack go after a moment and he shoved me - earning a shove back in return.

Jax came over to me and tapped me on my elbow, giving me the signal that it was time to go. I turn back to Tommy and smile.

"Baby, mommy has to go do something." I start as I put my hands on his shoulders. "You are going to stay here with Eddie, and he will play all afternoon with you." When he hears this, Tommy nods his head and I pull him into my arms and kiss his head. I let him go and turned to Sack and pointed my finger at him.

"Do not, and I repeat not! Let him out of your sight." Sack nods his head and then I clap his shoulder and follow Jax after taking my kutte off - leaving me in my black hoodie - out to the truck and van.

***

I sat between Jax and Opie as we pulled up across the street of the man that Donna's murder was being pinned on.

"That's him." I say as I look at the photo on the report and hand it over to Jax. "Restocking his dealers."

"Elian Perez." Jax says he looks over the report. "Out of Corcoran three months ago, manslaughter. A Chinese menu of drug and assault charges." I kept a watchful eye on Opie as he glared at the man that sat on his bike. Tig and Chibs pull up next to us in the van.

"How do we do this?" Tig asks and Jax and I look around.

"Too many eyes here." Jax replies. Opie taps me and I see that the Mayan was on the move. I hit Jax and he starts to follow him. We followed around for a minute and that's when he pulled onto an empty street.

"This street is empty." Opie says. I look at the Mayan and then get an idea.

"Pull up beside him." I tell Jax and then climb out the back window and onto the bed of the truck. I look back at Tig and Chibs and wave for them to get ready. Jax does as I told him and drives up beside him. I take a deep breath before running and leaping off the truck to tackle the Mayan off his bike.

We both come crashing down onto the road as his bike falls. I roll on the road before I stop and get up with a groan. I run over to the Mayan and tackle him again before he can get his gun out and start firing. Jax and Opie come over and drag him to his feet as I get off him.

"What the hell, ese!" He shouts as Tig opens the back of the van and pulls him into it.

I take a step towards the truck and groan as I wrap my arm around midsection as a pain shoots through my ribs.

"The hell were ya thinkin', lass?!" Chibs snaps as he walks over to me.

"I was thinking of getting the bastard that killed Donna." I snap back and groan again at the pain. Jax comes over to me and stares at my arm with concern.

"You alright?" He asks and I nod my head. Chibs shoots me a look before going over to the van and I limp over to the truck.

We drive off to a more isolated spot so that Opie could do what he wanted to the man. I stood next to Jax as Chibs and Tig pulled the Mayan out of the van. They threw him to the ground and Opie went straight over to him with a gun pointed at his head.

"Tell me you did it." He growls.

"What are you talking about?" The Mayan panics as he looks up at Opie.

"Tell me you killed my wife." Opie snapped and cocked the gun.

"I swear! I don't know what you're talking about man!" The Mayan tries to reason. But there wouldn't be any reasoning here, he had to die for something he didn't do.

"Ope!" I shout and move forward to pull him away the man. Jax came to my aid and we pulled him away from the situation to let him breathe for a moment. Chibs followed us over and I stood in front of Opie as he shook with rage.

"The hell you doing man?" Jax questions him and Ope shakes his hand off his arm, along with mine.

"I'm not leaving here with any doubt." He replies and I take this time to step in.

"The longer this takes, the greater the risk." I tell him and he looks down at me. "Ope, just do the guy and let's get the hell out of here." Opie looks between Jax and I.

"You guys can go. I've got to do this my way." I shake my head at him.

"Opie listen-"

"If this guy hurt Tommy, you'd be ripping every last bone from his body." Opie snapped at me and then realised his words before taking a deep breath and then looked back at me. "I have to know."

I nod my head in response and I pat his shoulder. We hear a gunshot and instantly back over to where Tig and a now very bloody Mayan lay gurgling on his own blood.

"Broke loose and reached for my gun, had to blow him up man." Tig explains and I narrow my eyes at him. I knew he was lying; the Mayan knew he hadn't done anything but Tig didn't want him speaking anymore.

Opie looked back at Jax and I.

"No doubt, this guy killed Donna." Jax says and that was all it took before Opie shot the Mayan through the skull. He pulled out his knife and bent down to the Mayan. I looked away as he started cutting into the guys chest. I felt my stomach do flips and knew I was going to be sick if I watched.

"That's so Alvarez knows who and why." Opie says and I turn to see a giant 'A' in the corpse's chest. I shake my head and look to Jax.

"Get rid of those guns. You guys take the van, head back. I'll dump the body." He says and I instantly knew what he wanted to do.

"You're dropping him on Mayan turf. Ya can't do it on your own, Jackie boy." Chibs says and Jax tells him that he'll be fine. Tig, Chibs and Opie walk back over to the truck and van. I look at Jax as I turn to leave with them.

"We need to make sure this doesn't end up at our back door." I tell him and he nods his head. I walk back to the truck and hop in next to Opie. I grab my ribs again as they flare up in pain.

"Thank you." I look up to Opie as he drove us back to the clubhouse.

"No need to thank me, Ope." I tell him. "You would've done the same for me."

***

Tommy had wanted to stay with Kenny and Ellie again tonight and I wasn't going to stop him from going. I dropped him off and thanked Mary again for taking care of him. I returned back to the clubhouse to join the party for Bobby's return. There were loads of people drinking, smoking and laughing. I head inside to the bar and grab myself a beer from one of the croweaters working behind there tonight.

I then made my way back outside as I lit a cigarette. I sat on top of one empty benches and watched on over party.

"Ya took a risky move today." I smile as I hear the familiar Scotsman. He sits next to me and takes my cigarette to smoke.

"Just doing right by the club." I reply before taking a swig of my beer.

"Aye," Chibs sighs, exhaling the smoke from my cigarette. "But ya could've gotten yaself killed."

"But I didn't, so there's that." I reply and smirk. He knew I wouldn't let him win this argument and he just smirked back at me, throwing his arm around my shoulders.

We both looked up as a car pulled up into the lot.

"The hell?" I frown before getting up and following Clay over to the car. Four men get out and one walks right up to Clay.

"Garage is closed." He says to the man in his fancy suit.

"We're not here for, uh, car repairs. I understand you're a Camacho fan." The man speaks as he holds up a small box towards Clay, who doesn't even look at it.

"Who are you?"

"Just dropping by to give you a little friendly advice." The man in the white shirt spoke up. He looked from Clay to where I stood beside him. The look he gave slightly unsettled me, but I didn't let my face show that - keeping my jaw locked and my eyes narrowed.

"And what advice would that be?" Clay asked.

"We feel it would be best for all concerned if you stop dealing arms to the One Niners and the Mayans." At this most of the club starting chuckling and I joined them in the façade.

"We're just mechanics and Harley lovers, man. Got something against bikers?" I speak up and the guy in the suit looked down at me and smiled.

"Such a small girl like you?" He teases and I give him a sarcastic smile. I also feel Chibs step a little closer behind me as his hand touches the bottom of my back.

"That's one of Darby's guys back there." Tig tells Clay and I notice that the two men behind this prick were in fact part of the racist group among Charming.

"Mr. Darby is one of our supporters."

"Expensive car. Hell of a suit. All of your teeth. Must be the top of the Aryan food chain, huh?" Clay asked the man.

"What you do for a living is between you and your maker. I'm not here to adjust your moral compass. This is just a reality check. You're a criminal and you're done selling guns to colour." I heard Tig cock his gun then and Clay stopped him. "Are you gonna shoot me, Mr. Trager? With all these witnesses?"

"Look, uh, I don't know what Darby told you and, uh, I don't know what your angle is, but let me be real clear. Nobody threatens SAMCRO. And nobody tells us what we can and can't do. Black, brown or white. So, why don't you just climb back into your little German clown car and drive back to Nazi town? 'Cause the next time you piss all over my shoes, he will kill you. I don't give a shit how many witnesses there are." Clay threatens the man. I find my smirking at them and knew that everyone else would be too.

"My shop opens in a few weeks. Until then... enjoy." The man then puts the box down at Clay's feet before moving to get back into his car. I move with the others to circle the car and the one in the white bumps into me.

"Sorry." He says and I glare at him as he gets into the car. I turn back around to Clay and the others as Chibs picks up the box and passes it back to Clay. I walk back over to the bench that I had been sitting on and go back to drinking and Chibs joins me.

Not long after, another car pulls up into the lot, but we all know who it is and start cheering as Bobby steps out. Everyone starts hugging him and welcoming him back before Chibs helps him put his kutte back on and then I walk up to him.

"See you got some leather." He smiles and I laugh before hugging him and I welcome him home. I see Agent Stahyl and decide to go over and have some fun as Clay thanks her for bringing home Bobby.

"Why don't you stay for a while. Bet you could do some serious damage to a striper pole." I offer and she glares at the kutte that sat on my shoulders.

"Like you wouldn't know." She says before getting back into the car.

The party continues to rage on now that Bobby was back, and I kept drinking. After being around Juice, Chibs and some of the other charters, I felt like it was time to go home. I walk over to the bikes as I finish my cigarette and flick it away. I sit on my bike and grab my helmet.

"Leavin' love?" I look up to see Chibs had followed me to the bikes.

"I've welcomed the princess home." I tell him and sit still on my bike with my helmet in my hands. Chibs leans down and holds onto my bike after checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was looking our way.

"How 'bout I join ya." He offers as he leans down and presses his lips to mine. I smile into the kiss and bite my lip when he pulls away.

"Better get on that bike." I tell him and he smiles before moving to his own bike.

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