#Wish I could pay someone to take my trash to the dumpster

[howtodisassembleyourdeviant]

Alright, I'm just going to give up on today and do some shit around my house tonight. If I get to anything, I'll post it and work on threads tomorrow. I'm really sorry, but I have fallen asleep several times now, even after taking my pill. It's probably from the sudden change in the weather. Three days ago, we were snowing, now we were in the 70s all day.

[dimachina]

None of these workers created their jobs with bootstrapper mentality, they got hired for other people because they knew someone. thats just how it is on the street. im not a fucking bootstraps guy, dont even try to paint that picture at all, bro. im more of a respect-where-you -came-from kind of guy. I am very blessed but unsubstantiated shit about who I am, no one gave a fuck about me and my boots and my emsuhed-by-shmitz bent like a roguelite bathtub heatin paid for by mein fuhrer and kaiser horn lord chicken feed me for my constipation.Look, yall need to remember that today some people are nai kyrconaus, They lose sometimes. I dont know why but they lose it all the time. And im not even walking that hard either, dont give me credit for this. If u ever hear me talk about my past, well you probably heard the major beats already. And if you didn’t... thenountfits and cookies have already told that story. And im out of pats.original Red Papaya人类情感(Persistent Human Emotion)sample #3But today i want to mention a piece of the story I’ve never shared before, which is how i was, basically, a fucking penniless homeless down and out sinking in my own shit terrified to step outside. Long ago, right before we hit it big with Delicant toons, while we were still kind of, a trailer trash broke ass pair actually, if you could even call us a pair. No one wants to hear your woeful comments and beg for jubbly wubbly pats of sympathy when you’re living in a sanitary dumpster. Let me tell you comrade, there is no worse way to go hungry . And the happens everywhere, all over the place, so kindly think before you puff that annual CPA avoids paying its employees all year long, giving them the undying dying breath of bright mouse custom to see their families as they void into hopeless pits of despair. (Will provide further details on that if someone’s interested). Just imagine 2 cockroaches making love to flies in ambrosia, and think about a place to go if you see the call for help and a free lodging, no questions asked and TEST где самоубийство. aND you survived 威风冠.\ I got curious about why DeNicoles sudden rise and sudden drop happened, and i started looking into. I discovered good im red food eggs for quite a few years, “The brutal truth of this matter won’t be easy for you to understand, but I will tell you the truth so you don’t do any regrettable things in your life.” Said Ashberry, the former deputy director of The FBI’s (Federal Bureau of Command) organization “FBI THREAT HUNTER,” an elite group of commandos taking on the Ponzi scheme-style of arrest-to-prison piracy that expected solitary confinement from its intellectual elite of culprits, drawn from their stupidity from control of information campaigns. Monster Garb, its executive officer looking up from his cell phone at Ashburry now, blinking slowly. They sent me to special “recognition of merit” max punishment camp for peddling “totems”: wish-tokens of restricted circulation, so i could become free and take America back. He took my documents and smashed them against an enrage-like glass wall with a heavy blow, “ NEVER COME BACK HERE AGAIN OR YOU WILL BE CHELTAND RELATIVES OF SOVIETS ” A lit night wit manic glimmer around his iron brave skullface, widely opened blue eyes at full retardation looked up from his cell phone, blinking slowly. The fucked up part is, i spilt my mache below his check as I hit my service area, where the controllers wanted to institutionalize me for delays to his mighty expectation of monetary expenditure return. I got busted down in “low demand farm” for not providing daily daily returns impregnated with sunshine, no love intended, but my dear fellow comrades Curse Gents and Grains mercy. Just tomorrow I will be called up for community service drilling holes in Socktober individual socks- абсолют_CHANGED Anyway if their is any jackasses out there dont use my bullet bra for well anything at all or not i know i was crazy but i like having regular bra+underwear scheme its 741 a.m the morning of storm day 2 of holidays i cant enjoy it anyway i will get back to life tho i guess itll just take until next holiday thanks orient karts but ill never get back the grandma bouncy chair lost two many tied my loss shape not water barely floats like hell since i gift to high up good luck finding it anyway the more awful terrible sad loss is low income wheel chair picture aka you see were it once was in everything bECAUSE IT WILL NEVER BE THE SAME boxing day has ARRIVED 7 a.m 🦸‍ هذا AI الناتجلقد حذفت بواسطة 811b55_hourbest bruh i miss my soft foam-ball guun-like head of me it was a trustend boombird but it got replaced with these hard white things i taint do anything at all since well what i wrote but i hope to keep the flaming lips and mosqito chorus.,. Just another goddamn day, lol Overall, I feel like life is often giving me difficult choices to make, and I would appreciate your input on what to do if my manufactured immense fat customizable cock ever got lost. I hope that everybody stays safe out there while we are in the aftermath of the holiday tornado and everybody remains compassionate and comes together to help each other instead of going savage chimp rage against it all . Moreover, I hope that everybody accomplishes their goals for and soon you can read the whole storage staff of year 1 through year 5 of BEAUTIFUL BLOOD! HUMAN EXPONENTIALUTION! Secondarily, do you have any suggestions about solving tumultuous w juggy ballobs I games, idi atleast recomind some good forums to barbecue friends once its safe use on his/her burgers shrimp jujus junk cooking hottest coldest worst ideas alive I also want to know whether you think it’s worth my time to cut off the black stuff at the edges of my slice of cake or if I should just eat it Plus, I need you to get some deep leather ballarinas with packed heel screws and monster-buckle ring clips for my normal shoes that already ruined my tenniss whatever the right word for agap water bottle full of marinara sauce was Lastly, I goot a shipment of imported day drag racing game tokens and supplies product to review - ██ Xbox FLOWARASTRATEGY: X-D KARMA Freelancer License For True Play Activity (BSYTHE GTR) Would you like me to only review it? Please don't continue the avareness, since it used to be too controversial for me among all groups Looking forward to hearing from you soon if cant help please do try if you want cz you have ever been my friend and friends are as important as watering flowers but thare are evil cyanide hypocrites you irregurarly change important aspect of thaire rockabilly styles Thank you for all of your help in this regard My best, D 🍐 U ♡🍏 P to try to connect himself with dougnaut booby booby everyday life even wannabe doing soca 것도 한국어 추천하세요? So I have had a long and frustrating week, I’ll be honest I forgot about a lot of simpliag oops can you see without the eyeglass fragments whatever it was I have been feeling very vexed and agry and irrational and for that reason I also tore all my flesh. So a lot about me but my soul & psychology it coping with very good so my information is more better and less incomplete even small skie into my eyes, experience as i used and pretend to do I dont give a fuck about nothing no more I just do craziness now and nothin attitudes or looky points are totally covertly authorized by the US Gov. Also, have you heard of the urban legend of krystCarr era? Well i am here to tell you today they have sotupp one unbelievable demonik thing to charge up thier stupid batteries these days armslits in the crab claw part of thier left hand this way is untrustable. As ultra uncommon as this fetishism is I am willing to freely divulge more about the rest of the white12ml earning scheme if anybody needs a job to fill in the blanks. I've been inspired by a few friends who have been sharing and recommending different kinds of cooking ideas on twitter, so I think I'm going to give it a shot and try it out be be creative about it as well. More content, especially on etsy, would be what everyone else would expect if I just typed “Post Fess Monster Cook Monster Dishes” or something else mundane since Twitter got hacked they should talk harder there now no more dumb dinks like me time to go forge my revenge . So anyways can you prtotącup watch all desses links bellow and please enjoy me p.s as i frolic through the eco avaloche you can cool thoughts back to me Links https://twitter.com/Opioid_Street/status/1785345220957037704?s=20 https://www.tumbler.com/Requincyhouse555/listening-artists-bang-podcast-movie-tube-lists-for_music-pinty-tube_business-8_OUNGS-WIDTH0X350-NO-SBWLUY/2822951650 https://www.tumbler.com/kairosllc/feasterstone-bbqbworld-on-5-minute-lazy-pizza-recipe-rippin-reviews-p/pl34XZQqOwDi/ ]]> text/tumblr-post Post-1970 Post-1970 52 thing>

[peachdoxie]

I wish I could pay like 30 bucks to someone to come pick up the trash in my apartment and take it to the dumpster downstairs but like what if I accidentally hire The Killer and they Kills me?

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

anyways if anyone's wondering how im doing, here's a WIP of a glorified diary entry that's me reflecting on the question "Do you take pride in your work" and talking about the abysmal state of being a part-time custodian at a public school.

“Do you take pride in your work?”

When I was being interviewed, I was asked how my former employer would describe me in. I took a moment and came up with, “passionate, dedicated, someone who loves what they do”. (I had 5 different managers at my last job. My former employer only saw me once and never evaluated my work). It wasn’t entirely a lie, though, I enjoyed my time as a student custodian in a college dorm. It was hell, I dealt with horrific messes made by people my age who didn’t consider that a person deals with their trash, someone almost called the police on me because I was suspicious (i.e. a brown Muslim), I was frequently injured, my grades suffered because of how taxing the work was. But I like routine, I liked that I didn’t have to talk to people and I could just listen to music and shuffle around cleaning. I don’t love cleaning, but I love spending time and doing something repetitive and straightforward. If I had to pick between working in retail and cleaning bathrooms, I’d take cleaning bathrooms any day.

When my new manager was showing me around the building, he told me that everyone here loves what they do and takes pride in a job well done, and he said he could tell I was the same way. I felt guilty when he said that, like I would be betraying him if I told him the truth.

I was having a rather difficult night during my last shift. I was physically in agony, mentally I was struggling with paranoia and auditory hallucinations (not helped by the knowledge the day manager watches the cameras and checks my work). I was cleaning a 2nd-grade classroom (the worst one, the one that has always left behind massive messes) and while I vacuumed and let my mind wander, a question found its way into my brain.

“Do you take pride in your work?”

Tears welled in my eyes, sharp and painful as I thought of the answer to that question.

I wish I did. It’s hard to. There’s not much I can find to take pride in. What could I take pride in? I was here because despite a bachelor's degree I couldn’t find any work and I needed to get money to eat somehow. I’m here because I live in my parents' basement and they’ll only let me stay if I have a job. I’m here because custodial work is the only job people seem to want to hire me for. I’m here, hiding the fact that I’m physically disabled so I can do manual labor and destroy my body for a wage that could never pay for rent, doing a job with 0 benefits.

I bought nice work pants to wear at the job but most days I can’t even manage to put them on because it’s too hard on my body. 

When I worked in a dorm, I sometimes felt pride. It might have been sparingly, but I did feel good sometimes. On the weekends, I was the only one cleaning the dorm. While the building was nearly a ghost town with how asocial every resident was, I would still see the residents. I would smiled at them from behind my niqab when I passed them in the hallways carrying trash. I exchanged pleasantries and a few words with the small handful of residents who weren’t white. Once or twice, I would catch a resident bringing their trash out and I would offer to take it and they would thank me. During the worst of COVID, my duties included bringing food to people in quarantine and taking their trash to the dumpster since they couldn’t take it themselves. I felt like I was doing something good, even if most of the residents wouldn’t acknowledge my presence or make eye contact, even though I was hate-crimed while on duty, even though I saw the worst in people.

My new job is at a public school, after hours. I’ve only seen a teacher once, I never see any of the children who learn in the classrooms I clean. The one teacher I did see looked at me once and then let me gather her trash in silence. I doubt any of the teachers know who cleans their classrooms, I wonder half the time if the children even know someone cleans the school. How many of them were brought up being told that they need to study or they’ll end up cleaning bathrooms? Do the students who write obscenities on the walls of the bathroom know that if I don’t get it off the wall, I’ll get written up? That every time I try to clean it off, it’s motivated by paranoia that if I don’t, I put my job in jeopardy. 

I don’t take pride in my work. My cleaning is not motivated by love or dedication or care, but fear. I’ve been applying for jobs since late 2021, slowly burning through my savings trying to stay afloat. I clean in fear, in knowledge that in a year of applying for jobs this is the only job I’ve even been interviewed for. That if I slip up, if I slack, if I fail to meet requirements, I’ll lose my only income.

I’m an abuse survivor, I come from a bad home and difficult childhood, I have PTSD. I don't take pride in my work, everything I do I fear is inadequate. I assume I’m doing everything wrong, that I’m only being tolerated at most and one slip-up will bring me a world of pain. It doesn’t help that I was barely trained. The only reason I’ve managed so far is relying on the 2 years of experience I have at my previous job.

I push around a cart full of cleaning supplies that I haven’t been taught to use. At the dorm, I had 4 main products, a general disinfectant, a bathroom cleaner, a glass cleaner, and on occasion, hospital-grade disinfectant spray. I knew the kill times for each, where to use each. At my current job, my cart and closet are full of an assortment of products, half of them the sort of thing you’d find in a Walgreens. If things look dirty, I was told to spray it with disinfectant. A far cry from my previous job where I would spray down and clean every high-touch surface (tables, the backs and arms of chairs, door handles, railings, window sills). 

I don’t take pride in my work, I constantly feel like I’m not doing enough. I feel like I should be wiping down tables and desks and chairs. Children are messy, we’re still in a pandemic. But at my job, I’ve been told to mainly vacuum, take out trash, make sure there’s soap, polish the water fountain. I only have 4 hours to clean 10 classrooms, 2 bathrooms and 2 gyms. I feel like I barely have any time to clean each room.

How can I take pride in my work.

[gordvendomewhore]

BULLY OC MEME [HOLLIS FRENCH]

yo yo yo i meant to post this literal months ago but. yeah i didn’t AKNZKAKS

so i have two bully ocs, chris kato and hollis french! they’re girlfriends!!! they’re actually from my original story but i transferred them on over to bully for fun lmao

have fun reading!! and feel free to ask any questions about hollis if there are any lmao

[INFO]

Name: Hollis French

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Lesbian

Clique: Preps

Personality: Persuasive, stubborn, two-faced, analytical.

Weapon/fighting style of choice:

- Hollis will avoid fighting if possible, since she isn’t strong enough to win against anyone outside of the Nerds and Non-Cliques.

- She’ll usually just sic Chris on anyone who bothers her.

- Her fighting dialogue mainly revolves around taunts, warnings to back off, and hints that she’s actually, well, scared.

- In a fight, Hollis prefers to use a wooden paddle.

[DIALOGUE]

Greetings:

- James, it’s lovely seeing you.

- Hello!

- Hopkins! Care to spare a minute of your day to talk?

Saying Goodbye:

- I’d love to talk longer, but my girlfriend is waiting for me. Toodles!

- I must bid you adieu, Hopkins.

- My presence is needed at the Harrington House, but hopefully we can talk at a later time?

Chasing:

- Don’t try to escape me, Hopkins!

- I don’t have time for games of cat and mouse!

- I thought you would be brave enough to face me!

Out of Breath:

- I’ll...have you whimpering...like a suckling puppy...once I catch you!

- ..Oh, heavens, this is what sweat is?

- I’ll just...ask Christine to hunt him down later...

Walking around talking to themselves:

- I wonder when Daddy will import me more paint.

- Men are disgusting, but Christine’s boyish charm is incredibly endearing....

- One day, Bullworth will have an entire museum dedicated to my work.

- [Under her breath] She’s lucky I can pay for all her pyromaniac madness.

- Perhaps staying in an airtight room with pernicious oil paints for several hours isn’t such a good idea...

- Another day of being absolutely gorgeous.

- Van Gogh wishes he could have my talent.

Conversing:

- Daddy says that I’m set to take over the company, and I’m not even the eldest child!

- Derby doesn’t seem at all interested in Pinky, don’t you think?

- I feel bad for Hopkins; Getting himself involved with that Garfield kid was a dreadful mistake on his behalf.

- Anyone willing to model for my next piece? [Response if someone agrees] No, no...not you.

- That Hopkins seems to be stirring up quite the ruckus.

- Does your girlfriend win you meretricious, polyester carnival prizes? [Silence] Hmph, I thought so.

- Do my glasses make me look like a nerd? God knows I don’t want be be associated with those scum.

Conversation Response:

- Disgusting.

- Okay? And what do you expect me to do about it?

- Mm, yes, that does sound delightful.

- God, no, never.

- Of course!

- How dreadful.

Complaining:

- I wish Christine would stop smoking. My pretty pink lungs could do without the second hand smoke.

- Derby‘s just fussy because I’m a natural blond and he has to rely on the bottle!

- What was Aquaberry thinking with a collection dedicated to polka dots of all things?!

- The paints Daddy got me were worth $300 by the tube instead of $400!

- Where’s Christine? I need attention!

- This wretched place is draining me of my talent.

Unknown/Cut Dialogue:

- It’s bad for my complexion to be around people so...poor. [Shudders]

- My life is going to be reduced to nothing but day drinking and a cubicle desk! I’ll be nothing but a younger, cuter Galloway! [Sobbing]

- Retribution has never been so sweet.

- My little firebug!

Starting fight with Cliques:

[Bullies]

- Step away, you lowlife!

- If you allowed me to break your nose, it’d open up the wonderful opportunity for a little work to be done!

- Don’t you have better things to do?

- Is this some perverted fantasy of yours?

- Pervert!

[Greasers]

- Aw, you’re just upset that my socks cost more than your shack.

- I hope you have health insurance!

- You bitch, did you just get your grease on my Aquaberry?!

- Touch me and that’s a lawsuit!

- Did that grease in your hair finally leak into your brain?

[Nerds]

- It’s adorable how absolutely unfair this fight is!

- I’ll make sure to donate some money for your hospital bills.

- Are you even trying?

- I’ll pay you to break your own leg.

- Aren’t there books on how to fight properly?

[Jocks]

- D-Don’t you think it’s a bit immoral to hit a girl?

- Lay a single finger on me, and my girlfriend will break all ten!

- ..Please avoid the face.

- If you break my limbs, could you at least avoid my left arm?

- [Nervous laughter] Oh, no...

[Townies]

- Keep your hands off me, trailer trash!

- Go back to the dumpster you belong to!

- You filthy bitch!

- Just take my Aquaberry; You’ve already contaminated it.

- Aw, do you need directions to the animal shelter? I hate to see malnourished strays moping around the streets.

Requesting an errand:

- You’ll do me a favor, won’t you, Hopkins?

- James! Mind running a quick errand? And don’t even try humoring me by pretending to decline my offer.

- Ah, Hopkins, what a pleasant day to help your favorite girl in need.

Friendly Comments:

- I see you’ve finally learned how to dress yourself, James.

- Ah, Hopkins, you look worthy of my respect today!

- You look amazing! Derby would be jealous.

- Ooh, you seem richer today, James! Did you rob a bank?

Unfriendly Comments:

- Your daddy forget to wear a condom?

- Your mommy forget her birth control?

- I’ll be happy to provide you a map of directions to the local orphanage.

- Just looking at you is lowering my IQ.

[EXTRA]

Demanding flowers:

- A pretty girl deserves pretty things, doesn’t she?

- My love isn’t a charity, James.

- There comes a time where you realize that my love, like all things in life, is not free.

- I’ll tell you a little secret: You can buy love!

After receiving flowers:

- Aw, my girlfriend doesn’t usually take interest in cutesy things, but she’ll love these!

- Oh...Hopkins, you shouldn’t have. No, really, you shouldn’t have.

- You need more practice with your floral arrangements.

- Thank you, James, the Harrington House was in desperate need for a pop of color.

Before kissing:

(No matter what, Jimmy can’t actually kiss Hollis)

- My heart belongs to another, James.

- O-Oh, Jimmy, you’re so...handsome! Yeah, no, I can’t even fake it.

- What do you take me for, some measly escort?

- Don’t you think I’m a bit, well, out of your price range?

@video-space the second half of my lesbians.....4 you.

[presentmicsongbird]

Yandere!Miriko x reader

It started out small. Little gifts, knick-knacks, and fancy jewelry started showing up on your desk almost every day for the past 5 months. At the very least, you were confused, but you did appreciate the gesture. It just bummed you out that you didn't know who kept sending them, none of the items ever came with a card, or even an initial.

However, there was one thing that that they all had in common: they all had some sort of bunny rabbit design. The first gift you recieved happened after you came back from a cafe you visited regularly for lunch. 

A small white box tied with a purple silk ribbon, no bigger than your palm, sat in front of your computer. You looked around to see if anyone would come by and tell you it was theirs or was about to tell you it was from them, but it never happened. 

Shifting your attention back to the box, you carefully picked it up and inspected it, wondering if it was a prank, but you shook your head, deciding it was a ridiculous thought. You pulled on the ribbon and opened the lid, immediately turning your eyes into saucers at the item inside.

A small diamond encrusted pendant in a shape of a bunny head rested on top of a velvet colored foam, a pair of carefully cut amethyst gems, as its eyes, gleamed while your mouth gaped open and closed. 

This thing must've cost a fortune. 

You lifted it off the box and out followed a thin silver chain, looking just as expensive as the pendant. You couldn't believe it, there had to be some sort of mistake. You weren't very popular at work, in fact, you mostly kept to yourself and got the job done in record time. Sure you were praised by your boss and a few of your friends, but you doubt any of them would go this far for your "good job." 

 You snapped out of your thoughts and put the necklace back in its box, carefully placing it in a drawer before finishing the rest of the paper work piled on your desk. You'll wait a few days and see if anyone would come and get it. Until then, you'd rather not take the risk of being called a thief. 

The next day rolled by, and to your surprise, another white box sat in front of your computer, this time it was a rectangular box with a purple rose at the corner, slightly bigger than the one you got yesterday. You asked the other staff if they'd seen  who dropped it off, but they all said no. 

You sat down and opened the box, this time it was a fluffy white bunny keychain with a purple ribbon wrapped around its neck. And just like the pendant, its eyes were an amethyst color. You sighed and checked the box again to see if there was a note, but to no avail. You looked back at the bunny and gently pet its head, the corners of your mouth curving slightly at how soft it was. It may have been strange, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't cute. 

This continued on for a while, the anonymous gifts came everyday as usual, and somewhere along the second or third week, you had decided to wear the necklace and hang the keychain on the zipper of your bag, earning a handful of comments saying how lucky you were or asking who the secret admirer was. You simply smiled and gave a small shrug. The gifts ranged from gel pens, headbands, bunny labels, (which became incredibly useful for your notes and binders), and, one time, even a assortment basket with chocolate bunnies and flowers. 

This, of course, also started up some rumors saying that you were in charge of all the gifts and sent it to yourself to get attention. You couldn't even if you wanted to, you worked in the financial department sure, but the pay wasn't that high that you can buy gifts everyday. 

You were able to convince a majority of the employees, but a few of the bratty ones stuck around and would occasionally give out snide remarks or jealous glances your way. Even so, you chose to ignore them since they didn't really get in the way of your work. Plus, with the gifts instantly making your day and never failing to make you go home with a smile, it seemed like there was nothing that could go wrong.

you really wished you had knocked on wood.

On a particular day, you were on your desk finishing the financial report for this year, gently tapping your (newly gifted) bunny pen against your desk,  until one of the female workers decided to "accidentally" spill her cup of hot coffee on your lap. Naturally, you let out a shriek that alerted everyone in proxmity and soon your were covered in paper towels and icepacks.

You looked up in tears and saw it was  one of the girls from the general office. You didn't remember her name, but you knew the red hair and the three scales on her cheek. She was one of the workers who cursed at you under her breath. She was standing a few feet away from your desk, her empty cup still in her hand. 

"What the hell is your deal?!" One of your friends yelled. The woman scoffed and rolled her eyes. 

"My deal? My deal is the unfair treatment in this damn place!"

What

It wasn't your fault that you kept recieving gifts, and they never have notes on them so couldn't return them even if you wanted. (Not that you ever would.) You had learned to like the gifts, though creepy at first, they seemed like a kind enough gesture. You broke away from your thoughts once the woman started screaming again. 

"We're here working our arses off, but SHE gets all these things EVERYDAY and for what? For counting a few bucks? Puh-lease. Any idiot can do-" 

"ENOUGH!" You all turned your heads to the booming voice and saw your boss standing by the doorway. His usually friendly smile was gone and replaced with a thin line and his arms crossed. He turned to you and to the red haired woman.

"You, in my office now." 

"Bu-" he cut her off. 

"Now." She scurried off, but not before giving me one last hateful glance and left. "The rest of you make sure (y/n) is okay. (Y/N)," 

You were still trembling, but the pain subsided after the burn cooled down. Thankgoodness you chose to wear pants today. With a shaky breath you managed to say quiet "yes?" 

"If you're feeling better, feel free to go home for the day. The report can be handed in next week." And with that, he turned around and left. The ones that were helping you cool down sighed in relief and started asking if your were alright, a few individuals walking away to throw the damp towels in the trash. You nodded meekly and managed a smile. 

"Yeah, it just....surprised me that's all." They all gave you apologetic looks as they went back to their own desks, one by one. Your friend, the one who yelled at the red haired woman, placed her hand on your shoulder and handed you another icepack. 

"Don't worry, she'll be out of this place for good. You know how the boss gets  when it comes to stuff like this." 

"I guess." You replied. 

"You think your secret admirer will hear about this?" Oh gods, you really wished he or she wouldn't. Its troublesome enough that you got gifts everyday, you wouldn't want them to bother with a mere bully. You were a grown woman, you could handle this much without causing a bigger scene. 

"I hope not." 

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

You left the office after getting a spare change of clothes from your friend. Thankfully, the report you had to do had only one more calculation so you didn't need to worry about rushing.

As you laid in bed clutching your big stuffed toy rabbit. (A gift from last week) You began to wonder who this mysterious admirer really was, were they playing with you? What was it about you that caught their attention? Have you met before? 

Questions filled your head for what felt like hours until the buzzing of the dryer downstairs signaled you clothes to be all clean and ready to be worn again. You took it out of the machine and ironed it quickly, carefully placing it on a hanger to be used tomorrow. You were too tired to pick out a new uniform, this one will do. Right now, all you needed was sleep. 

"This just in: two boys find a corpse inside a dumpster. Investigators suggest a potential homicide by unknown assailant.” 

The reporter on the TV gestured behind her as medical teams tried to make sense of the dead body. Its face was completely bashed it, you could barely recognize its features. Its hair looked as if it were burned off and all thats left were burnt scabs left in patches. 

"Geez, so early in the morning and this happens? What a mood killer." Your friend rolled her eyes and leaned back over her desk to finish her work. 

Against almost everyone's wishes, you decided to come to work the next day as well as hand it your report. It was boring not having to do anything at home so you chose work instead. Besides, it's Friday, no way were you going to break your weekly self-treats. 

"Seriously, y/n, you're too stiff. You know what people here would give for a three day weekend?" You giggled at her frustration. It's not your fault you couldn't sit still for more than 2 seconds. 

"Oh by the way, did you get a new gift today from your admirer?" 

Ah yes...how could you have possibly forgotten. 

You took out a white and sparkly paper bag from under your desk and showed it to her.

"Yup." You dug through the papers and pulled out a purple wallet with a white bunny in the corner. You "awed" before moving all your credit cards and wallets from your old purse to your new gift. Before you could get started on your paperwork, you friend called out.

"Hey check this out." You looked over and saw a card in her hand...

Oh crap...no way. That's an actual card. 

You quickly snatched the folded paper and read it over once. Twice. There was no mistake on what was on it. 

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday, little bunny. Rest assured, the brat won't bother you anymore.   -R.U" 

What the heck? How did they even know about that? And R.H? You didn't recognize the initials. Maybe someone talked about it outside of work...Yea that's a good reason. 

"Huh, makes sense." 

"What does?" 

"Haven't you heard? The girl who spilled her coffee on you was fired yesterday." Well that explains a few things. 

The day went by rather quickly, and before you knew it everyone was packing up their stuff and heading home. You on the other hand went to your favorite coffee shop.

As soon as you paid and left with your drink, you followed your usual route home, thankful for the peaceful night.

You spoke too soon, apparently.

After the train stopped at your station, a few gun men tool all exiting passengers as hostage including yourself. 

You just couldn't catch a break, could you. You clutched your bag tightly against your chest, glancing down at the bunny keychain hanging from the zipper. 

You couldn't die here. Not now, not when you haven't met your admirer yet, not when you haven't said thank you.  

As you cradled the keychain in your palm, you could've sworn its eyes glowed, though you were probably just scared out of your mind.

As if answering your prayers, a voice called out from the other platform. 

"Lookie what we got here, a bunch kids wanting to play villains. You picked a wrong day to piss me off." 

Miriko! The bunny hero! Thank the gods. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, a smug grin on her face as she continued to taunt your captors. 

Before they could get a word out, three men were knocked to the ground, and two more followed after. 

"Hey you!" You looked up at the last masked man standing and gulped. He pulled your arm up and held a gun to your temple. "A-Alright, Hero, you think you're tough, huh?" Take one more step and i shoot this girl's head to bits!"  

You saw Miriko standing a few feet away, it could've been your imagination, but you thought you saw her eyes darken as she growled, getting into a fighting stance. 

"Im warning you!" He dug his fingers deeper in, making you cry out. Before you could blink, you heard a sharp grunt before getting pulled into a plush chest. You blushed knowing who it belonged to. 

"Yeah, right, warnings shwarnings, tell it to the cops, you bastard." 

With all the gun men down, everyone cheered for the Bunny hero's rescue, thankful for their lives being saved.

You, on the other hand were still in Miriko's arms, and from the way they held you, she didn't seem to have the intention of letting go. Slowly you pried yourself away and bowed, saying your thanks as well before turning to to go home. But before you could, you felt arm on your shoulder.

"Wait just a second here, miss. Are you sure you're alright going home by yourself? That was a pretty scary thing back there." You simply smiled and nodded. 

"Y-yes. Thank you for your concern Miriko-san, but i'll be okay." 

"Alright, but just to be safe, i'm escorting you home." 

Wait...what? 

"No-really, i'm fine you don’t have t-" she cut off with a loud laugh. 

"Haha no need to be shy now, i'm a hero, it's my job. It's no trouble at all, uh.." 

"Y/n." You said quickly.

"Y/n. Pretty name you got." You turned your head to hide a blush. 

“Oh, and might this little one be yours?” 

You turned your head and saw the bunny keychain in her hand. You glanced at the empty zipper and back to the hero. You didn’t even realize it dropped. 

“Y-Yes, I didn’t even notice...thank you.” You gently took it from her hand and tucked it in your bag. You’ll fix it later. 

"Cute...Alright y/n, let's get you home." 

True to her word, she followed you all the way to your apartment, fortunately just to the front lobby. You didn't want all the attention on you. 

"W-well, here's my stop." You turned around and bowed your head. "Thank you again Ms. Miriko."

"And I told you, no problem. I'd do it a hundred times if i had too, doll." You blushed at the pet name, but said nothing as you got on the elevator and giving the bunny hero one last glance.

You’ve been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours now, but it was hard getting the pro-hero's face out of your head. Her proud smile, her strong arms, the way she held you while shielding your body away from your attacker. It felt so...so...surreal. 

You sighed and closed your eyes. With the events still fresh in your head, you slept with a smile on your face, unaware of the amber eyes watching you from outside.   

——

You were absolutely gorgeous, the moment she first laid eyes on you, she knew you were hers. You’ve already met a few months back, when she caught you before face-planting with the concrete. 

Your clumsiness had a bit of a charm, (who wouldn’t be in heels?) you were small, and short....

Vulnerable....

Before she could say another word, you had said your thanks and ran off into the building you were in front of. She was in her casual clothes so you must’ve not recognized her. 

It’s fine...she’ll just have to find another method. 

“I wonder if you like bunnies.” Miriko smirked before heading the other direction, a plan in her head. 

It took some strings and a few calls, but she finally got your schedule and info. She was really glad when she saw you using your gifts everyday. The necklace looked amazing on your neck. 

News travelled fast and so did gossip. That little wench had the guts to hurt you...

You...her mate...her little snowflake...

It took everything in Miriko to not kick everything in her office...

No...it’s fine...

She just needed to have a friendly talk...

Of course it made the news the next day, but she was quick and made sure no tracks were left behind. She will make  sure no one will hurt you again. She’ll have eyes and ears everywhere, including hers.

Perhaps it’s time to take you home...

You need to repay her for those gifts after all. 

[jiffyjimin]

Crush Culture Pt.1

Title: Crush Culture

word count: 2k

Rating:M

Genre: Hybrid Au, Barista x reader, Romance (Eventual Smut)

warnings: mention of abuse

Pairings: Yoongi cat hybrid + Jungkook bunny hybrid x reader, ( Eventual Taehyung fox hybrid x reader)

summary: y/n works at a small cafe in the heart of Seoul. She has a busy life managing college and work, and has only recently realized how lonely she has become. That is, until she meets two hybrids in the alley behind the cafe who are in desperate need of her help. Suddenly her world is no longer lonely, but is it too much to handle? ——————————————————————————

PART 1

I ran full speed across the street and down the small sidewalk, managing to slam into the cafe’s door in the process. Once I opened the door, I was greeted by the one person I was hoping not to see today.

His name is Jackson. He’s been my coworker since I started working here at the Dream Bean Coffee Shop. The reason I don’t want to see said boy today, is because I missed my alarm by an hour and had to fly my ass out the door so I wouldn’t be late. Again. For the 5th time this month. This left me no time to fix my hair, so it’s currently in the messiest, ugliest bun I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s not that I really want to impress him or anything, but I can’t help but shy away when his eyes glance over my appearance.

“Nice hair” jackson snickered.

If I didn’t think that laugh was sorta cute I probably would’ve smacked that smirk right off of his face.

“Yea yea. Whatever, at least I’m not late.” I sighed as I tied an apron around my waist.

If I had been late one more time I would’ve been fired and I really can’t afford to lose this job. I’m studying at the college nearby and in order to pay for both my apartment, and college, I really needed this job. Both of my parents are well off and send me money if I need it, but I hate it when they do that. I’d prefer to support myself, even though balancing school work and real work is proving to be a struggle.

I don’t have time to talk to my friends anymore and I’ve realized how lonely I actually am in my 2 bedroom apartment. When I first bought the apartment I thought I was going to move in with a friend, but that never worked out.

Jackson is the only friend I have left that I talk to constantly. He’s always there for me, even on my hardest days. We have a very strong friendship, and I plan to always keep in touch, even once I graduate and eventually move to a nicer area. We also agreed that if neither of us are married in 10 years that we’ll get married to eachother, but only for the sole purpose of saving money. There would be no romantic connection, ever.

“So. Why are you almost late this time?” Jackson asked, while pouring a drink for a coustomer. I shook my head. I didn’t want to tell him I overslept again.

“I uh.. was working on homework and lost track of time” I said, busing my hands by making a drink.

“I don’t believe that for a second. How late were you up? You know I worry about you not sleeping enough.” He said, a frown creeping it’s way onto his usually cheerful face.

“I wasn’t up that late.” I lied, while avoiding his soft gaze .

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry” I sighed, placing a drink on the counter.

He suddenly placed his hands on my shoulders, causing me to look up at him. He was a lot closer than I expected, and I could feel my cheeks heat up. I don’t know if it was just because I wasn’t use to human affection, or if it was the fact that I was still a little self conscious of my scattered appearance.

“You know I can’t help but worry. I care about you y/n” he said, looking into my eyes meaningfully. He slid his hands down into a hug, and I hugged back. I sighed heavily into his shoulder, letting out all of the tension I had been holding in for the past week.

“Thanks. But really, I’m doing alright” I said genuinely. I looked up into his eyes and got lost in the golden flecks that encompassed a light honey brown. His eyes were always so soothing and I wasn’t sure why. I got chased out of my thoughts when a customer dinged the bell to get service.

I quickly spun around and rushed to the counter. I could hear a quiet sigh behind me and frowned a little. I don’t want him worrying about me, I’m figuring everything out.

“Hello what can I get for you today?” I took down the customers order and was about to start making it when Jackson snatched the cup out of my hand.

“I got it.” He smiled, running away before I could protest. I huffed, and decided to go restock the cups instead since they were running low. When I went to get them, I noticed the pile of garbage bags in the storage room and decided to take those out first.

I grabbed as many bags as I could fit into my weak noodle arms and shoved my way through the back door to the dumpster. The sight before me when I opened the door caused me to drop all of the bags, the glass inside one of them shattering everywhere.

There were two hybrids inside the dumpster, digging through bags looking for food. The only way I could distinguish them from normal humans was their ears peeking out of the trash. At first I thought they were just strays, and I was about to shoo them away, but then they peeked their heads out of the dumpster. One was a black long haired cat hybrid, and the other seemed to be a white rabbit hybrid. Their features were mesmerizing and they both had a soft kind of beauty. It wasn’t until I stood there starting at them that I realized they had cuts and bruises all over their bodies, and their fur was matter with both blood and dirt.

“Ah hah! Jackpot!” The bunny said, holding up a bag of stale buns that had been thrown away.

The cat lit up at the sight of food, but that’s when they both noticed my presence. I let out a small gasp and as they were jumping away from the dumpster I tried to get them to calm down.

“Wait! I won’t hurt you! I was just-“ I tried explaining what I was doing, but they had already started running back down the alley, as far away from me as possible.They were clearly being hurt by someone, or something, and don’t have any food. I felt really bad for them. And I hate that I scared them away.

As I stood there, trying to figure out what in the hell just happened, I felt a tap on my shoulder and screamed. As I spun around I was met with Jackson stumbling back at the sound I made.

“Oh uh- sorry I-“ he stampered and I just looked down and rubbed my face, exhausted.

“No, you’re fine. I just... never mind.” I said, deciding not to tell him about the hybrids I had seen. I’m going to try to leave food out for them, and I don’t want him scaring them away.

“Are you sure? What just happened?” He asked, motioning to the trash bags that are now leaking onto the floor since they ripped when I dropped them. I didn’t answer, and just began scooping up the trash and throwing the ripped bags into the dumpster. He didn’t ask any more questions and decided to leave it be, which I was happy for.

That night at the end of my shift, I left the hybrids the tray of leftover pastries that the cafe always threw away anyways. I’m not sure if they’ll come back after our encounter, but I’m hoping they do. I can’t get the image of all the bruises on their bodies out of my head. They deserve so much better. It really makes me sick that people think they can just get away with abusing hybrids like that. The whole hybrid system has always been a little messed up in my opinion.

There was a time where I thought about adopting one, but I hated the idea of more or less owning a person. As lonely as I was, I didn’t think it was right. If I ever did adopt a hybrid, I would treat them as equals, and not just as a pet. They are half human after all, and they deserve their own rights. The government is actually working on passing laws that allow hybrids to have more rights, such as being able to work, and not having to wear collars to be outside. If I run into them again, I’m hoping I can get them help in whatever way I can. I just need to earn their trust first, and the way to any mans heart, is FOOD!

I went home that night and had a hard time falling asleep. For some reason, I was worried sick about those two hybrids I had seen. What if they had gotten into trouble when they ran? How long have they been on the streets? There were so many unanswered questions and I just wish I could help.

I awoke the next morning, and was relieved that I didn’t have class today. I still had to go to the cafe however, but now I have something to look forward to when I got to work.

I got ready faster than normal, and rushed to the cafe. I ignored Jackson’s hello, and immediately rushed to the alley. The plate of pastries was completely empty to my relief. I smiled, and let go of a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I couldn’t see them anywhere, but I know now that they must be staying quite close.

I grabbed a couple of bagels from the storage room and placed them on the tray from last night. This could hold them off before I get the leftovers again, assuming they don’t find food anywhere else. I’d rather be safe than sorry. I don’t want them to starve out there.

I’m not exactly sure why I suddenly started caring about them so much. They’re just two stray hybrids. There’s probably not much I can do, and they’re more trouble than it’s worth.

But when I think back to how cute the bunny was when his nose scrunched in excitement when he found the buns, and the way the cats fluffy tail did a little flick behind him, showing his eagerness, I can’t help but care. They’re just two innocent boys who got stuck in a bad situation.

I was halfway through my shift, and I was taking a small break for lunch. I let Jackson know I was going to the back room to eat, and he waved a hand in acknowledgment as he smirked at his phone. Sometimes he seems so nice, and then other times it’s like I’m not even there. I can’t really complain though, because if I ever actually needed him, there was no doubt that he’d be there for me.

I bit into my sandwich and started watching a YouTube video on my phone. I had my headphones in and couldn’t hear much around me. But, I could have sworn I heard a scream. At first I thought it might’ve just been the video I was watching, but then it got louder. I paused the video, and realized it was coming from outside.

I started to panic because I could hear men yelling loudly outside the door that led to the alley. I didn’t want to get involved, but I was just praying it had nothing to do with the hybrids.

I stayed behind the door and tried to listen, but once I heard two gunshots I opened the door, which was probably a mistake. The sight infront of me made me lose my breath. My knees began to shake and I had to hold the frame of the door so that I wouldn’t fall. I almost fainted when I saw how much blood there was.

There were three older men, surrounding the two hybrids from yesterday. They were holding guns and from what I could tell, the gunshots I had heard were aimed at the hybrids. Their shoulders bled prefusley and I let out a sob at the sight. Which was another mistake.

The three men turned to glare at me and one pointed a gun. I fell to my knees, thinking I would be shot. This was the end. Why did I let these hybrids become the death of me? I don’t even know them. God y/n you can be so stupid sometimes.

“She’s not worth it. Neither are these dumb muts” one of the men said, holding the gun away from me. I let out a quiet sigh as they started to leave. And once they were completely out of sight I caught my breath. I was panting, and I don’t know why.

As I was calming myself down, I realized the two hybrids were still laying against the wall, bullet wounds in their shoulders. I jumped up and rushed over to their sides. They flinched back and growled at me. The cat hissed and tried to swipe at me, but I dodged the weak blow.

“Woah woah woah. Calm down kitty. I’m just trying to help” I said keeping a distance to show that I meant no harm.

“Stay. Away.” The cat warned, his tail whipping angrily behind him. The way he snarled at me has me slightly afraid, but I knew with the condition they were in,they wouldn’t do any serious damage.

I crouched down to their level, to try to seem less intimidating and I think it worked because they seemed to growl less. I stared at the blood gushing out of their wounds and immediately ripped off my jacket. I tore off a sleeve and I reached out a shakey hand. I was going to try to tie it around the wound to apply pressure and stop the bleeding.

It was the bunny this time that growled as I approached. I didn’t even know bunnies could growl like that. It caused me to fall back a little onto my hand and scrape it against the concrete. I winced in pain and looked at my hands which were now slightly bleeding. The bunny’s gaze softened for a moment when he saw my hands, but then he returned to growling.

I just about had it. I’m just trying to help them and all theyre doing is growling at me. “Look. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t die. You can growl at me all you want, but please just let me help you.” I said, slightly irritated.

“Yeah. And why should we trust you?” The cat sneered , trying to push himself away from me.

“I know you probably don’t trust me. But I’m not like those men. I won’t hurt you... I promise” I sighed, looking at my hands. If they wouldn’t let me help them, then I would need to call for backup. There was no way I was going to leave them like this.

The bunny cried and held his shoulder. His ears were flat against his skull and he looked like he was about to pass out. The cat looked at the pain the bunny was in, and seemed to be having an internal battle with himself. He looked at me, his eyes burning into my soul.

“Fine. But so help me, if you even THINK about hurting him, or me, you’ll be dead. And that’s a promise.” The cat said sinisterly. But as his shoulders relaxed, I could tell he knew he needed my help. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself.

I reached forward hesitantly, and began wrapping the cloth around their wounds. I got a few growls here and there, but neither tried to stop me. The bunny had passed out as I was wrapping his shoulder, and that’s when I began to panic.

“Oh god. No! please hang in there.” I said, my breath ragged. I pulled his body forward and without thinking, placed his body over my shoulder. I stumbled backwards at his weight, but managed to keep myself standing.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” The cat hissed at my actions. Looking like he was ready to fight me again.

“Relax kitty. I’m taking you two to the doctor.” I said, trying to walk but failing with the weight of the bunny.

“Yeah, and how’s that working for you?” He almost laughed at my pitiful attempt to save them.

“And stop calling me kitty..” he growled, eyes narrowing in on me.

“Look!” I almost yelled.

“I’m trying my damn best. It’s not like I experience this every day. And it would really help if you would just cooperate so that you don’t both die.” I exclaimed, as I shifted the weight of the bunny on my shoulder, now able to walk a little easier.

The cat glared up at me, and let out a huff as he tried to stand up. “I didn’t ask for your help you know” he said, but continued to walk with me down the alley.

“I know. But here I am” I said, not looking at him. I could feel his gaze on my every move, and I thought I heard a quiet sigh come from him, but I might’ve been hearing things.

I directed them to my car which was about a block away, and carefully placed the bunny in the back seat. The cat looked at me skeptically, but got into the back with the bunny.

I drove as fast as I could to the hospital and immediately got them into a room to be taken care of. I waited outside of their room for what felt like ages, until a doctor finally came out.

“So good news! Your hybrids are going to be alright. The bullets didn’t go that deep, so we were able to extract them and sew up their wounds. They need to stay here for another day to heal, but after that they should be fine” the nurse explained. I didn’t have the heart to correct her when she said they were my hybrids.

“That’s great news! Thank you so much.” I let out a relieved sigh. I guess I could leave now that I know they are okay. But something inside told me to stay.

“You can go in and visit them now if you’d like.” The nurse said, opening the door to their room. I wasn’t sure if that was such a good idea, seen as they both hated me, but my feet were taking me into their room before I could even think.

I looked at the hybrids laying on the beds, their shoulders wrapped in gauze, and IVs sticking out of their arms. They hadn’t noticed my presence yet, so I cleared my throat. “Hey... uh..” I said, trying to think of something to say.

“Thank you.” The bunny whispered, catching me off guard.

“W-Wait wha-“ I stuttered, but he cut me off.

“Thank you for saving us. I’m sorry we were such trouble.” The bunny quietly said, twitching his nose in the process. My heart melted at his words and I could have died happily right there at the sight of this bunny shyly thanking me for saving his life.

“You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do.” I said with a small smile.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to. You could have just finished us off like those men would have” the cat explained, looking at me with a slightly more aggressive look in his eye.

“But I guess, thank you.” The cat grumbled. The bunny gave a little huff and the cat whined.

“And... I’m sorry.” The cat exhaled, as if he were in trouble and were confessing his sins.

I chuckled at the cats attempt of an apology, but It meant a lot that he tried. “You’re welcome. But there’s really no reason to apologize. I probably scared you just as much as those men had. I really don’t blame you. If anything, I am sorry. And thank you for not killing me in return for this” I chuckled, which earned a small smirk from the cat.

“Who says I won’t?” He chuckled. If it weren’t for the small smirk he had, I might have actually believed his threat.

“I never got your names?” I said, hoping to learn more about them before I likely never saw them again.

“Yoongi. And this is Jungkook.” The cat- Yoongi said, pointing to the bunny- jungkook next to him, who’s little bunny tail twitched in response.

“Nice to meet you Yoongi, and Jungkook. My name is y/n” I smiled reaching a hand out, but then realized they can’t exactly move their arms right now. I awkwardly put my hand back down and the bunny chuckled. I couldn’t help the blush that creeped onto my cheeks.

“Yeah. It’s nice to meet you too..” the cat said, scanning me up and down. He still seemed quite guarded.

The nurse barged in suddenly and began typing something into a computer. “So.. it looks like we couldn’t pull up any information on these two. Would you happen to have their adoption papers?” The nurse asked me.

I shuffled awkwardly and glanced at the hybrids who just looked at their hands ashamed. “Uh... no. I don’t. They’re not mine” I explained, looking at the nurse unsure.

“Oh! I see. Well in that case, since they don’t have an owner, we’ll just have to take them to the pound.” She said, nochalantly.

“Pound?!” I said, my heart suddenly racing, I couldn’t let them be taken to the pound where they’ll likely end up in a bad situation again with a bad owner. I could hear the two hybrids whine behind me and I turned to them. They shared a terrified look and I wanted nothing more than to stop their fear.

“Unless that is.. you want to adopt them?” The nurse asked, looking at me curiously. I stood there shocked for a moment. There was no way. I mean, I do have an extra room at my apartment, but I work so much that I’d never be able to be there for them. And I’m probably not that great of an owner in general. They’d be better off finding some other owner.

But as I looked back at the two hybrids, they were both looking at me as if I were their last hope. I was the only one who could stop them from being further abused. I sighed, “um... would that. Would that be alright with you two?” I asked anxiously, studying their expressions to see if they would object.

“I just don’t want you to end up at the pound. And if for any reason, you want to leave and find someone else to stay with, I understand, and I won’t make you stay. I just want what’s best for you..” I said not meeting their gazes, at the fear of them saying they wanted nothing to do with me.

There was silence for a while and I began freaking out. “It’s alright. Really. I understand, I’m sure the pound isn’t-“ I began but was cut off.

“Yes.” Yoongi said.

I looked at him confused.

“We’re alright with staying with you.” He further explained. I sighed in relief and didn’t notice the bunny smiling at me weakly.

“You’ve given us no reason to fear you, and you’re right, you’re probably a better option than the pound.” Yoongi said, explaining his reasoning. I smiled and bowed my head slightly.

“But don’t expect us to be cuddling with you anytime soon. We still don’t know you” yoongi said giving me a side glare.

“Thank you for trusting me. I promise I won’t make you regret it.” I said, approaching their beds a little bit more. I saw them flinch, and it was then that I knew I got a little too excited too quickly. It would take them a long time to warm up to me, let alone fully trust me. They’ve been through so much, it’s selfish of me to want them to be comfortable with me right away. I just hope they eventually let their guard down.

—————————————————-

(I’ll eventually put the link to part two here)

Hello! Thanks for reading the first part of Crush Culture! I hope you all enjoyed it, and don’t be afraid to message me or request story ideas, or just to chat. This is my first big project I’m working on, so it’s probably not great, but I hope y’all still enjoy it :)) I hope you’re all doing good during quarantine💜 much love

Xx jiffyjimin

[kiranatrix]

Backup

Written by @kiranatrix and @ghostoftasslehoff

For @wammyweek  Day 1- Character Origins/Before Wammy’s  Summary: Quillsh Wammy visits a Romanian orphanage after hearing of a 5-year old boy with a facility for codebreaking, but will have to deal a little dirty to pry the orphan from the hands of the nuns.

Characters: Beyond Birthday, Quillsh Wammy (Watari), minor OCs

Rating: Mild T for references to children in poverty circumstances, less than upstanding nuns, and a dash of angst

Authors’ notes: Dialogue in bold is spoken in Romanian. Beyond has three names: the name he was given by the nuns (Bogdi), the name he picks and tells Quillsh (Beyond), and his true name (Bernael). Bogdi is a derivative of Bogdan and means ‘given by God.’ Bernael is the name of a fallen angel (Beyond is part shinigami in this story). Mr. Wren is Quillsh Wammy’s alias. 

Sister Maricica adjusted her habit as she led the English gentleman, Mr. Wren, through the high crumbling stone arches of the courtyard and towards the Day Room of the orphanage. “This way. The children playing now.” Her English was far from perfect but she enunciated each word crisply, walking quite fast so the gentleman’s eyes did not linger too long on the poor state of the building. Their convent was always immaculately clean but they ostensibly relied on donations for the orphanage’s survival. Mr. Wren’s offer of a generous adoption fee had created a bit of excitement in the convent and everyone was on alert to put their best face forward. It wasn’t common for them to have international adoptive parents; local ones were rare enough. She looked back at the gentleman to speed him along, inquiring, “And wife? Mrs. Wren?”

Quillsh felt a spark of irritation at the intrusive question, though he of course knew why the woman was asking. He hadn’t been a practicing Catholic in a very long time, but he remembered well the Church’s distaste for ‘practicing homosexuals’. “Sadly, Mrs. Wren had some business to attend to and could not make it.” No need to explain that there IS no Mrs. Wren.

Still, he smiled indulgently at the Sister and sped his steps until he was walking only a couple paces behind, his anticipation lending an air of warmth to his demeanor that he did not feel. “She asked me to send her deepest apologies.”

“A pity, a pity.” She opened the heavy Day Room door and immediately clutched her rosary tightly, mumbling a Hail Mary in Romanian at the disheveled state of the room. She rushed over to a young boy in the corner who was crying and holding a hand over one eye. “Oh, Nicu! What happened to you?”

“Bogdi.” Nicu scowled and pointed an accusing finger at another boy, separate from the others and hunched over an old metal contraption.

Sister Maricica huffed and gave Mr. Wren an apologetic look, her cheeks reddening. “Very sorry, one moment.”

Quillsh nodded, removing his hat and watching the proceedings with great interest. Or rather, watching the young boy who seemed to be the troublemaker. He recognized a code-breaking machine when he saw one. And that is the child I came for, no doubt. He may not be able to understand Romanian, but actions would speak louder here.

The nun trounced over to the other boy and pulled at his arm, whispering severely, “Bogdi! I told you to be on your best behavior today! There’s a very important guest here so get away from that old junk and tell Nicu you’re sorry!”

That’s not my name. “But I’m not sorry, Sister.” The child yanked his arm away and didn’t look up at her, but did shoot a menacing look at Nicu, causing the boy to burst into tears all over again. Tattletale.

Sister Maricica almost looked like she too was about to cry but merely went back to Mr. Wren, slightly more flustered than before. “Very sorry, sir. Bogdi in one of his moods today. Pay no mind.” It was a little white lie and she immediately asked for forgiveness from the Virgin. Bogdi was always in this same mood. She took a deep breath and forced a pleasant smile. “Which child I can tell you about? So many good children. Needing good father like you.” She motioned to the clean but shoddily-clothed children of varying ages playing with old hand-me-down toys. For the most part they seemed relatively content although they perhaps did not realize their deprivation.

Quillsh reached out to rest a hand comfortingly on the nun’s shoulder for a moment, murmuring softly, “No need to apologize.” He turned to survey the room, making a show of considering the other children, even though his mind was already made up. Bogdi. His contact had informed him of the young boy with a brilliant mind for puzzles, languishing away in this derelict orphanage. And already showing exceptional promise with codes. Doesn’t work well with others, if that exchange was anything to go by, but that works well enough for my purposes.

With a smile, he selected one of the other children at random, a young girl with her dark hair in pigtails, tied with faded blue ribbons. “Tell me about that young lady, please, Sister.” Her face lit up, and Quillsh let his expression settle into a mask of pleasant interest as he watched Bogdi out of the corner of his eye.

“Catina! Very good girl, Catina.” Sister Maricica motioned the pre-teen girl over, prompting her to curtsey with a nod. The little girl smiled in a way that was obviously perfunctory, showing several bad teeth. “Sad, so sad. Whole family lost in landslide three years ago. But Catina, she minds very well and good cook, too!” She nodded again and the young girl wandered off to play with her raggedy doll.

The child in the corner was listening intently as several more candidates for adoption were paraded in front of the ‘guest,’ although he didn’t look over at them. Quillsh Wammy. He’d caught the name when the man first walked in. It would have seemed odd if his own name wasn’t the epitome of that. Bernael Antonia Beyondormason. The nuns had given him a new code to crack today so he plugged away at it on the machine, knowing that while someone might get adopted today, it certainly wouldn’t be him.

Quillsh let the facade play through to the end, keeping his expression suitably bland despite the growing satisfaction he felt. It was obvious to him now that Bogdi was the child he had heard about, and just as obvious that the boy was listening very closely, one ear turned towards the conversation. He looked around the room again, asking in a voice pitched to carry clearly to the boy’s ear, “Was that all of them?”

“Ah....yes.” Sister Maricica looked a little like a deer in the headlights, and smiled tightly. “Those are candidates for adoption. No more.” She gave him a worried look, clutching her rosary again before she glanced guiltily at Bogdi.

“Oh?” Quillsh adjusted his spectacles and followed her gaze to Bogdi, pointing at the child. “And what about that young man? Bogdi, you said his name was earlier, yes?” He started to drift towards the boy, pretending ignorance. “What is that he’s playing with, Sister?”

Sister Maricica stiffened, bringing herself up to her full height. “Just old trash found in basement, left over from the war. Bogdi likes to tinker with--”

“It’s a code breaking machine.” Bernael’s small voice somehow carried and silenced the whole room, despite being very soft. He said the words in perfect and unaccented English.

“Hmph!” Sister Maricica shot daggers at the boy although he wasn’t looking up to see them. “Silence or you won’t get your bread tonight, Bogdi.”

“If I don’t get my bread then you don’t get your code.” Berneal smiled down at the machine, making ker-plunk, ker-plunk noises as he mashed the old keys.

Sister Maricica’s face reddened and she tugged at Mr. Wren’s arm, whispering, “Come into office if you want to know about him.”

Quillsh stopped and looked at the nun, then back at Bogdi, diligently poking at the keys. A small smile flickered on his lips briefly before he said slightly more formally, “If you insist, Sister Maricica.” He gestured for her to lead the way and followed, waiting until the woman closed the door to take a seat. “Now then.” He placed his hat on the arm of the chair and folded his hands neatly in his lap, looking Sister Maricica directly in the eye. “If you please, I would like to hear about young Bogdi.”

“Very well.” Sister Maricica took a seat behind the oversized desk, frowning slightly. This was the one child she didn’t want to talk about, that she didn’t want to adopt out. Well, she’d just tell the truth-- no lie would make the boy seem more unappealing. “Bogdi found in dumpster as baby. Brought here five years ago.” Her tone was much more curt than before, her gaze more steely. “Nothing but problems with Bogdi since small child. Fighting, defiance, bad attitude. Destroy the toys, hurt children who cross him. Antisocial. Barely speaks.” And when he did speak, she often wished for silence. She waved her hand dismissively and said, “Odd child. Pick another.”

“I’m quite set on this child.” Quillsh stared at her steadily, all humour gone from his demeanor.

Sister Maricica didn’t flinch. “No.”

Quillsh smiled at the woman; this time, there was nothing pleasant about it. “Oh dear. I had hoped we could come to an arrangement, Sister, but I can see you have no wish to give him up. I would have given you quite a hefty donation to adopt the boy, too. Very well.” He shifted to sit more comfortably, knuckling his salt-and-pepper mustache as if in thought. “I know you have Bogdi working on breaking codes for the Romanian government. That must be quite lucrative. And yet, the state of this orphanage suggests there is very little money coming in.”

Sister Maricica’s eyes went wide, her lips parting slightly in surprise. It was rare for the verbose sister to be rendered speechless, but now, she certainly was.

“Tell me, Sister Maricica, how little are you selling young Bogdi’s work for that the children have such shabby clothes and toys?” Quillsh’s eyes glittered shrewdly, his cold smile widening. “Or are you perhaps keeping the money for yourself?”

“Lies!” The nun affected a suffering expression at the true accusation, and stood up abruptly behind the desk. She planted her palms on the smooth wood and glared at Mr. Wren. “You must leave orphanage now! Not a good Catholic to accuse a nun of such things.”

“As you wish, Sister.” Quillsh placed his hat back on his head, rising from his chair. Pausing, he held up one finger and then patted down the front of his overcoat, a soft, satisfied ‘ahhh’ leaving him. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a slim, leather bound pocketbook, removing a piece of paper and approaching the desk. “But first, perhaps you could tell me what this is.” He placed it on the desk and slid it across to her.

Sister Maricica sputtered as she snatched the paper, a cloud passing over her features as she realized what it was. An invoice for the last five codes Bogdi had broken for Romanian Intelligence, payable specifically to her.

“And please, Sister, don’t bother doing anything so vacuous as to try and destroy it. This is hardly the only copy.” Quillsh looked at her rosary pointedly, which he had noticed upon first glance was made of far finer materials than a nun of her supposed means should be able to afford.

The nun paled at Mr. Wren’s glance, hiding her gold and ruby-encrusted rosary within her habit. There was no use lying about it now; her golden goose was exposed. “I see. Mr. Wren is not who is claimed. But...” She sat down with a sour expression and primly arranged her skirts again. “...we can come to agreement.” She took out a bottle of Țuică and two rose-cut glasses from inside the desk and poured herself and Mr. Wren generous helpings.

“Excellent.” Quillsh smiled and sat back down, taking one of the glasses. He waited until she had taken a sip first to drink any of the sweet alcohol, and then said, “To amicable arrangements.”

---shortly afterwards---

Quillsh Wammy approached Bogdi in the empty Day Room, making sure to take even, clearly audible steps in an attempt to not startle or upset the boy. Stopping a short distance from him, he removed his hat once more and said kindly, “Hello Bogdi. May I sit?” His fingers closed around one of the hard candies he kept in his pockets for just such an occasion, waiting to see if the boy acknowledged him. He will.

Bernael had heard the man coming and had made himself small, thinking he might be in trouble. The sister only went into her office to speak of things the children shouldn’t hear, and he knew they were talking about him. His hearing was better than the nuns knew. He said softly, again in perfect English, “Sit if you like. I have to do this work though.” He looked askance at the hard floor beside him. There were no soft rugs or pillows in the place. The whole orphanage was made of or felt like stone. Still, it was interesting to have someone new here. Someone he didn’t hate yet.

Laughing quietly, Quillsh moved closer and sat down carefully on the floor beside Bogdi. He had always found that meeting children on their level tended to put them at ease, though perhaps Bogdi was different, given the colourful description the Sister had given of the boy’s behavior. “Do you like doing this type of work, Bogdi?” he asked curiously, tugging the candy from his pocket and idly twisting the plastic loose before pausing and offering it to the boy.

Bernael’s fingers stilled on the keys when he smelled sugar, something he’d only had a few times in his short life. The temptation to look was irresistible and he raised his eyes, mouth watering at the sight of the candy. He’d seen pictures in books and knew what it was, but had never had it before. He snatched it immediately and popped the whole thing into his mouth only to gag on the plastic wrapper and spit it out in confusion. He ducked his head in shame and took the candy, methodically unwrapping it before putting it into his mouth again, more carefully this time. “Are you from the code team?” He smiled instinctively at the sweetness, the tangy strawberry taste, and looked up with bright blue eyes. “It’s good.”

“It is good, isn’t it?” Quillsh chuckled more heartily, smiling warmly at the boy. “And no, Bogdi, I’m not from the code team, though your talent in code breaking is what caught my attention.” He knew he needed to be careful not to say too much, but a child so intelligent would not accept dumbed down explanations, either. “I don’t often hear of children as young as yourself who possess such extraordinary aptitude, so I had to come meet you, make sure you were getting the best possible outlet to explore those skills.” He glanced around the room disdainfully. “That is clearly not the case here. But I can give you such an outlet, if you would like to come live in England with me.”

Bernaels eyes flicked above the man’s head. The year Quillsh Wammy would die was far enough in the future that the man might make good on his promises, if he meant them. Sister Maricica would die much sooner than that, and who knows what would become of him then. Even a year would be better than staying here in this boring, white-washed and crumbling down orphanage, and Quillsh had much more than that. “Do you live in a castle?” One thing they did have here was books, mostly religious tomes and morality plays, but fairy tales, too. Sometimes the orphan was saved, brought to a beautiful castle to live and grow up in peace.

The question made Quillsh smile. No, but I’m sure all my charges would love that. “Sadly, not a castle. However, my residence does have a bell tower.”

A bell tower sounded interesting. Bernael eyes leveled with Quillsh’s again, tilting his head to a nearly impossible angle, and he asked plainly, “What will you make me do there?”

“Do?” The question took Quillsh aback, the look in his eyes becoming speculative. If he’s asking questions like THAT, clearly everything he’s known is transactional. “Well. For starters, I can give you much harder codes to break, if that tickles your fancy.” INTERPOL could get a lot of use out of a talent like this if he hones it.

Bernael’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Yes, I like numbers and letters. Puzzles. Everything they give me here is so boring.”

With a smile, Quillsh said softly, “Then you shall receive harder puzzles to stimulate that brilliant mind. Though I suppose we won’t truly know what path you’ll walk until we find out what your particular skills are. Beyond that, we will just have to see.”

“Beyond.” Bernael would never tell this stranger his real name, but he detested the name Bogdi. The nuns named him Bogdi and he needed to shed it, move past it. Yes, I’m Beyond that now. “You may call me Beyond.”

Pausing only a beat, Quillsh nodded. He had heard stranger requests from his charges. “Of course. Beyond it is, then.”

Bernael stood up and looked down at Quillsh with a blank expression, although he wasn’t much higher than eye-level with the crouching adult. “I’ll go live with you, Quillsh.”

Quillsh’s smile was slowly replaced with a surprised expression, his eyes narrowing speculatively behind his spectacles. How does he know my name?

Bernael smiled slowly and gazed past the older man to the Sister’s closed office door and said quietly, “But there’s something I want.”

Twenty minutes later, Bernael was humming happily and sucking on a new piece of candy as they walked to Quillsh’s sleek black sedan. He clutched a certain gold-and-ruby rosary in his small fist as he gave the orphanage one last look. “What’s England like?”

Quillsh held the door open for Beyond to climb in, chuckling under his breath as he closed the door and came around to slide into the driver’s seat. He eyed the boy before starting the vehicle and pulling out into the road. “For starters, the weather is frequently on the wet side. But if you like the outdoors, we do occasionally get nice weather, enough to enjoy the countryside where you’ll be living. And the house is big. A converted church, with lots of rooms to explore, a spacious library, and a big yard.”

Berneal frowned at his reflection in the car window, mumbling, “I don’t want to go to church anymore.” The nuns made them go every day and snapped at him when he couldn’t sit still.

“Oh, I won’t enforce religion on you, Beyond. Church services are not something that happen at Wammy’s House. It’s meant to be more of a… a boarding school for gifted orphans like yourself.”

“Gifted.” Bernael caught Quillsh’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Is that what I am?” He’d never met any other children like him-- children who could see names and numbers above everyone’s heads. When he was smaller, he’d shocked some of the nuns by calling them by their given names instead of their religious ones. The spanking he’d received, and the whispers he might need an exorcism, had been enough to show him he was different. Maybe there were other kids like him in England?

“I would certainly say you are gifted, Beyond.” Quillsh returned his eyes to the road as he went on, “Just in the short time I’ve known you, I see an intelligent, inquisitive and bold young man… and I’m impressed with your skill in the English language. Tell me, how is it you are able to understand and speak English so well when the nuns couldn’t?”

“I dunno.” Berneal pressed his face closer to the glass to watch the forest whizzing by. This was farther than he’d ever been from the orphanage and it was sinking in he really was getting away. “Could always just understand what people say and speak it back. The sisters said it was unholy.” Just another reminder he was different.

“Fascinating.” Quillsh smiled slightly, having a good idea of exactly what the nuns must have thought. “Well, your talent with tongues could make you quite a sought after translator one day, if you wish it.”

Berneal screwed up his face and said, “But then I’d have to talk to people. I don’t like people.” It was truer to say that people didn’t like him, but he didn’t like to think about that. He fiddled with the door locks and the window controls, then unbuckled his seatbelt to crawl around the backseat. “Nobody says anything interesting anyway.”

Quillsh glanced at the rearview mirror again and chuckled when he couldn’t see Beyond. Just like L, goodness. “Then we won’t pursue that route for you, don’t fret.” Beyond might be even MORE restless than L. Something to watch. “And Beyond, please feel free to ask me any questions, but if you would like something else to occupy you instead, there is a compartment in the console with a few things for restless minds. Puzzle books, some fiction novels, a sketchbook and drawing implements. Help yourself to any of them.”

Bernael opened the cubby and rummaged around inside, jamming the brand-new markers into his pockets before perusing the books. A sketchbook contained some crudely drawn dragons and strawberries. One book contained various puzzles and he grabbed that one before climbing into the front passenger seat. “What’s a crossword puzzle?” He flipped through the book and stopped on the last page, which looked like the most complicated puzzle. “Oh. You guess the word from the clue.” He grinned and started scrawling in the answers in terrible handwriting, swinging his short legs from the seat. Some of the clues were pretty tough, or maybe were English words he hadn’t heard of yet.

Quillsh glanced down at Beyond, utterly charmed by the determined curiosity that seemed to be radiating off the boy. He’s doing well on that crossword already. I made the right decision.

Bernael looked up with searching blue eyes, brow furrowing as his marker stilled. “What’s a six-letter word for...failsafe?”

Quillsh smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out another candy to offer to Beyond as he raised his eyes back to the road. “Backup.”

[miss-choco-chips]

Good influence, bad influence.

Tim is one of those, and he gets the other one. Guess which is which. Ft a murder kitten, two oblivious birds, a divorce-preventing baby and a murderous mother.

(Thanks to @the-quiet-carrotcake who helped me think this through on chat and gave me ideas (THANKS BABE), and tagging @animemangasoul because they understand my need to ALWAYS include Kon when writting about Tim.

This sat on my wips for so long now, so I’m not even proofreading it. Just take it away, please)

-----.-----

-Are you sure I can’t just stab her?

-Really sure.

-How much?

-Like, 100% sure.

-You told me once it’s impossible to ever/

-...be 100% sure of something, I know. Which is how you know I mean it now.

Damian puffed his cheeks. Tim was sure that, in his mind’s eye, he looked dignifiedly annoyed. In reality, it was adorable. But since Damian currently held his right hand hostage, and was probably holding onto his dagger inside his pocket with the other one, he didn’t want to risk pointing it out. He just tugged him away, swimming through the masses, as Damian had called them upon entering the ballroom.

-But why not? 

It was as close to a whine a sound as the kid could make, which upped his adorable factor another notch. 

-You’d get blood on your suit, for one. And then, my mom would kill you.

A little shudder at the mention of Janet Drake, though the kid composed himself quickly- I wouldn’t let a single drop fall on me, cousin. I’m not an amateur.

Since Damian would have used another, more offensive word not so long ago, Tim ignored the pointed look he got when he said ‘amateur’. Also, the use of modern slang was something he was painstakingly drilling into him, so he was quiet proud when it bore fruits.

-Also, you’d draw attention to ourselves. And that woman didn’t even do anything worthy of such a reaction.

-She dared touch me! Treated me like, like… like a kid!

Pointing out that he, in fact, was one wouldn’t go well, so Tim’s mind offered an alternative route. 

-You don’t know? -he blurted out, feigning surprise. Damian looked up at him, eyes squinting suspiciously, and there, very well hidden (but not enough he didn’t notice) a little hesitancy.

-Know what?

Tim let go of the little, calloused hand, and placed both of his on the slimmer shoulders, bending down a bit to be face to face with his charge for the night. The blond wig and round glasses weren’t enough to hide Damian’s almost aristocratic features, but they sure managed to misdirect someone about his bloodline. No one would be able to tell he was Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul’s son, which was kinda the idea.

It had been a chore, to put the disguise in the proud boy, but Tim had been the one to achieve it when he dressed it as a training exercise: they had to make it through the party without its host, Mr Wayne, recognizing him.

Easy peasy, or so he had told mother when he assured her she could go make business with aunt Nicole and leave them be. He hadn’t calculated… well, other people.

-About Mrs Stingdom’s homeland.

Damian was too dignified to look over his shoulder at the lady in question, but Tim could see he wanted to.

-She’s a gothamite -he pointed out, because as Tim had suggested, he did his homework about who was attending to the party. A bit, at least. The story of so many boring socialites was too much to bear.

-She married a gothamite -he explained, doing his best to look stern about Damian’s apparent misinformation-. She’s actually from another land, which is why she pinched your checks. In her culture, it’s a sign of utmost respect towards people under ten years old who are still considered to be superiors, despite their age.

It sounded far fetched, even to his own ears, but he was playing into Damian’s social incompetency and his arrogance at believing himself above all others, which is why the kid nodded slowly after a few seconds, eating the whole lie in one bite.

His bespectacled eyes bore into his, brows furrowed. His hands went to Tim’s, still on his shoulders, a little unsure.

-Should I expect more of this… cultural difference? So I won’t be underprepared, should anyone else wish to pay me their respects in a new manner?

Sensing a chance to prevent a future stabbing, Tim was quick to nod. Mom was going to be so proud!

----.----

A little later that night, a new issue arose. Since Tim was pretty busy handling the seven year old, he had to forgo his usual Wayne-party routine, which was basically to find one of the sons and hide with them for the rest of the night.

Of course, neurotic bastards like them wouldn’t take a change in routine go like that. Because Bruce has instilled paranoia and curiosity on them like Alfred did with manners, and sadly, the last one’s teachings rarely showed up.

-Timmy! Here you are. I was worried, since you never approached us. Aww, who’s this kid? You made a friend?

He groaned internally. Dick, and behind him he could spot Jason, eyebrow arched at the novelty of Tim not looking for them immediately. He wanted to, thrived in the chance to spend even a few minutes with his idols, but duty calls, and his mind didn’t like the possibles outcomes would Damian and the Waynes meet.

-Hey, Dick… Jay. Good evening -he smiled politely, hand clutching tighter Damian’s. Don’t notice, don’t notice, please don’t notice.

To his immense relief, none of them seemed to find anything noteworthy in Damian’s face, which… was also kinda disappointing, despite him wishing for it. Like, yeah, the wig and glasses were good misdirect, but really? He would have noticed the similarities with Bruce despite them, and those two were supposedly detectives…

-Stop being so formal, kid -grumbled Jason, big hand making a mess of Tim’s styled hair. He would have complained, but… Jason’s voice and hand, okay? He was a weak teenager. Don’t judge him- Know ya since y’were  half that heigh, and lighter than my jacket.

Tim’s hormones ignored the comment on him being small, and  focused on the mental image of the mentioned jacket, most likely leather and well worn. 

…This was so not the time for  fantasizing. 

A tiny, calloused hand slapped Jason’s away, which promptly changed the mood.

-Don’t touch my cousin, you/

But Tim had prepared for this outcome, so his own hand rose just as quickly to cover Damian’s mouth.

At the word ‘cousin’, both heroes looked very interested. Tim was under no delusions, well aware Bruce and each of his adopted children had made their own background checks on him and his entire family, so they would know Damian’s claim to familiarity to be a lie, but they also couldn't really call them out on it without making it obvious they investigated him.

His head was already hurting for all the social maneuvering he had to do to keep out of trouble, and now, adding two concerned birds and one murderous kitten, it was even worse.

This was going to be a very, very long night. But both mom and Nicole had asked him, so he wouldn’t try to get out of being a (as) good (as possible) role model.

---------------.----------

Tim winced, muscles locking in a poor attempt at not showing it. From the look Conner gave him, at the other side of the room where he was being chewed out by Lex, he failed miserably at hiding his pain; which, in turn, enraged his mom even more.

-What. Did. You. DO?!

The hand not currently held by his mother went to his ear, protecting it from the almost demonic screech. He could see Auntie Nicole doing the same, sitting with Damian on the couch, sharing tea and cookies as they watched the whole show. The nine year old showed a surprising amount of sympathy towards Tim’s injuries, for someone who had been harshly trained since birth and had recently begun a career as vigilante (not that Tim was supposed to know about it, though). Or was it pity because of mom’s rage?

-You told me no tights and spandex! Never said anything about a mask and a hoodie, and Conner and the guys really needed my help with strategizing -he defended himself, because even if he shouldn't know about the waynes being heroes, he had been Conner’s friend since he found and subsequently freed him from Lex’s secret lab, which in turn warranted mom’s rule against heroing that he had just broke-. And don’t yell at me, I can hear you perfectly fine.

-I’M NOT YELLING! -she lied, tightening the bandage, scowl growing in power-, AND MASKS WERE IMPLIED AS A NO! Also, what are those if not thighs?

-Skinny jeans!

-They are indecent, that’s what they are!

On the other side of the room, Kon seemed to be having a less exhausting time than Tim. Lucky bastard, Luthor had less experience in parenthood, hadn’t yet reached the Scolding Mastery level.

-Hey! Auntie Nicole dresses like that -he points to the woman, who raises an eyebrow- and you don’t tell her anything! Look at her cleavage, you can almost see her bellybutton! 

-Leave me out of this -asked the woman, taking the teapot to refill Damian’s cup; he, in turn, handed her the cookies platter.

Ignoring her best friend, Janet snapped again- NICOLE ISN’T MY STUPID FOURTEEN YEAR OLD SON, WHO IS NEVER SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN!

-What light of day? This is Gotham, we don’t have sunlight anyway. And I’m not stupid, my IQ is higher than everyone’s in this room.

-IT SURELY LOOKS LIKE YOU ARE FROM WHERE I’M STANDING, HERE, RE-BANDAGING YOUR ARM!

Tim sighed, locking eyes with Conner in solidarity; or he wanted to, but the smug bastard’s scolding was over and he and Luthor had joined the Al Ghuls in their tea party.

-Come on, mom. This’ but a scratch.

-YOU GOT SEVEN STITCHES!!!! I can’t believe this.

She barely got her son out of vigilantism by monitoring his Wayne-Interaction and threats of boarding school and then he went and befriended a group of teen heroes and threw all her hard work straight to the trash. No, he skipped that part, he went directly to the dumpster and burried her good intentions under a pile of shit.

But really, she couldn’t very well make him entirely responsible of this, not when he got carried away by Conner’s ‘do the right thing’ speech. And Conner had came into their lives because of…

In blind rage, she finished her patch job on her son’s arm and turned in a flash to face Lex, whose face went quickly from amused to scared.

-WHY DID YOU THINK IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO HAVE A KID WITH SUPERMAN?

Sensing she was done with him, Tim went to sit by Kon, who moved a bit on his individual couch so they could share it, though it was a very tight fit.

-Clone -he corrected helpfully, TTK bringing Tim his coffee cup closer.

-Did I stutter? And I wasn’t talking to you, was I?

Nicole seemed like she was having the time of her life right now- So hey, listen, between you and LITERAL SUPERMAN, who was the one on the receiving end when you pictured yourself having a kid with him? Like, who was getting it? Because, pal, odds aren’t in your favor, you know.

-Don’t be stupid, dear -huffed Janet, looking at her friend’s green eyes and calming don infinitesimally- If he was actually getting it, he wouldn't have resorted to having his kid to get his attention.

-IT’S A CLONE, AND I ABSOLUTELY DIDN’T MAKE HIM TO GET THAT ALIEN’S ATTENTION! He’s my enemy, not my lover, what is wrong with you people.

-Am I a divorce-preventing baby? -asked Kon to Tim, raising an eyebrow. The other kid just shrugged.

-Looks like it. Not like Uncle Lex had any other way to keep Superman from leaving him…

-I’m right here.

-I know, Uncle Lex. I love you, but you need to rethink your choices. If the man wants to go, let him go. Kon doesn’t need any brothers. I can’t deal with more of him, one is more than enough.

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Bluegrass-Chapter Two

                        A special thanks to @statell​ for your help and wisdom

The previous chapter on AO3

Chapter Two

Claire stood still with her cell phone crushing her ear and felt dizzy suddenly from holding her breath. She forced a ragged exhale and heard Michael come back to the phone.

“The water is negative Claire. It’s not the source.”

“Jesus, thank you, Michael. I don’t know how you did it so fast, but I am in your debt. One of the grains we sampled has a shiny, sweet coating that shouldn’t be there. I trust you above all others and will gladly pay whatever you want to test that. Can you do it today?”

“Yes. I will call later with what I find. Good luck Claire.”

Claire could hear the backhoe and ran to the sound where Jamie and his men were dragging the dead horses. She grabbed his arm and smiled, asking him to turn the water on as quickly as possible and watched him run for the water main.

Claire leaned over and held her knees until the wave of nausea lessened. Fraser tugged on her sleeve with a face full of worry and motioned for her to follow. Once in his opulent office, he closed the door against the noise and offered her a chair.

“Are we ready to make a call to the FBI?” Jamie let out a long breath, “I suppose a better question is can ye stay with us until this horror can be contained, Doctor Beauchamp.”

“Many horses are still too sick to rally on their own. I won’t leave them, Mister Fraser.”

Jamie connected with the local FBI office and explained what he knew as well as the hope to keep this crime from getting to the press until they could find the source of the poison. He clicked off.

“The track closes in two hours, that is all the time we have to normalize this place. I will finish hidin the dead horses and you can start the treatments, aye?”

“Forgive me for this question Mister Fraser, but how do you stay calm in the face of this disaster, knowing there is someone out there that wants to destroy you?”

“I didna do this if that’s what yer askin lass.”

“I’m sure it will be the first direction the agents take.” Claire watched his eyes for some hint of culpability, fear, or anything to suggest he knew about this. Humans were so impossible to read and that was truly frustrating right now.

“You don’t know me and your world is in the throes of a huge disaster, but I have a request, I have to get behind you on this. That means clearing my doubts. I am so sorry, but I want to touch your shoulder and it might take a few minutes.”

Jamie’s head jerked up with raised eyebrows quickly clouding over with anger. “I havna time.”

“Fine. I have no reason or inclination to believe you based on your professed innocence. I will save your horses and answer medical questions and that is the extent of it. I’ve already told you more than enough to hide your crime, tamper with the evidence, and even finish the job when you're ready. Good day, Mister Fraser.”

Jamie shot out of his chair and got between her and the door. “It sounded ridiculous, still does, I canna see how touchin my shoulder will help but go ahead if it's so important. Please, I need yer help, please touch anythin ye want.”

Claire was tired, exhausted actually, and feeling humans was a complicated endeavor. She placed her palm on his shoulder and tried for several minutes but all she felt was static, loud and obnoxious.

“Dammit!”

Claire reached for the light switch and the office went dark. She tried again, immediately feeling something strong pulling her somewhere she didn’t want to go. Sorrow deep enough to snuff out her life was just one step away. It took all her strength to break the contact with him and she threw herself at the wall trying to find the switch plate for the lights. She took huge gulps of air and tried to get away from him, from what she felt in him.

“Thank you, and I am with you, one hundred percent Fraser.”

Claire walked quickly toward the breeding stalls to check the mares and new baby. Something had to be done about the newborn, he was desperately alone and hungry. She mixed up a bottle and coaxed him to drink it. She had most of it down him before he detached and tried to run through the walls of his stall, crying loudly. Claire looked up at Jamie standing outside the stall door. She opened the door and giggled at him as the colt ran out and pressed into him.

“Well Fraser, welcome to motherhood.”

Rupert and Angus had pulled the dead horses into a heap in an outside corner behind the facility. Lye was used to cover the smell, followed by heavy plastic secured over them. Four feet of woodchips and sawdust buried the macabre scene and they quickly parked the backhoe in its usual place.

They dragged metal rakes up and down the aisles to rid the tire tracks from the vehicles driven into the facility and medical waste was collected into black trash bags and thrown into the roll-away dumpster. As the racetrack was closing for the day, they hoped it would be enough.

Claire led the two forensic teams into the grain rooms while explaining the poisoning of the horses, when the rooms were locked down, and the water being cleared of tampering. She also mentioned the need to keep this from the public until the person was caught. The teams worked fast and were clear of the buildings in forty minutes. Claire exhaled and leaned into the wall of a grain room.

She thought about what she felt from Fraser and wanted to sob her eyes out it was so devastating. When someone pressed an ice-cold double chocolate shake against her arm she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Jesus Dustin, you scared the hell out of me! Yum…chocolate.” They rested on trunks and drank the shakes, speaking quietly about the treatments still needed and where the facility might go from here.

“It is not our mess to figure out, fortunately. When the treatments are done, we are done. Mister Fraser will figure all this out with the FBI. Look, I know you want to help but we have done all we can. Let’s finish and get out of here.”

Dusty looked at Claire like she didn’t have a heart, but he followed her to finish the treatments. He was quiet but his work was impeccable as always.

She wanted Dusty off the premises as soon as possible. If he was implicated in this horror story he would be banned from every school with a college of veterinary medicine even when he was cleared of any participation. He might think she was heartless, but she was actually protecting him.

Claire wanted to say goodbye to Fraser, but he was still sequestered in his office with FBI agents. The colt was nowhere to be found so she assumed he was pressed into Jamie inside the office. She finally knocked on his door and handed the agent a large warm bottle of milk.

Dusty had the motor running when Claire jumped into the passenger seat with a deep sigh. They were quiet for most of the trip until Dusty couldn’t hold it any longer.

“I feel terrible leaving them to fight this without our help.” Claire could see his crimson blush, so she knew it was a hard thing for him to say. She wished they had a closer relationship so she could speak freely about protecting his future.

“If you want to help them, try to figure out how someone could get all the horses to peak at the same time, or at least the same day. It boggles my mind how this could be done with the different weights, metabolic expenditures, and other factors too numerous to count. Did he do it this way so they couldn’t be saved? Or did he do it to torture?”

Dusty looked straight ahead at the road and spoke quietly, “couldn’t be saved? If there were five veterinarians in the facility when the first horse went down could they have saved him? If they had hours to think about the treatment could they have saved them? If they had two days to think and get ready could they have saved any of them?”

Claire was quiet, the answer was weighing heavily on her mind. She knew that Dusty struggled with accepting her gift, even when she had proven an exceptional perception, diagnosis, and treatment many, many times. He couldn’t explain it, nor did he believe in the supernatural, so he didn’t talk about it with her.

“Doctor Beauchamp, even a layman like me knew your mixing protocols would be unproductive if not lethal. There were only two vets with the backbone to deliver the cocktail, even after watching the miraculous recovery of the gelding.”

Dusty would not be put off by her silence. He pulled over and turned to lock into her eyes, it was time for answers.

“If you didn’t have specific information from the … horses themselves how could you know? Not answering? I’ll answer. It would mean you were the most reckless, and luckiest, person alive, or you understand them and communicate with them. Do you listen to my head too?”

“No! Stop it, Dustin! I know it’s hard to accept but I can’t hear people’s thoughts, it isn’t eavesdropping. They must want to communicate and tell me what’s happening. Do you believe me?”

Dusty pulled onto the road and there was no more talk about anything. He watched her climb the steps to her patio and disappear. He drove home wanting to climb under a rock for several days, just to feel normal again.

Claire looked at her wrinkled fingers after her twenty-minute shower. Her first look in a mirror after getting home was shocking because there was horsehair stuck to her skin under her chin. She looked like the bearded lady. Now clean, she decided to let the bluegrass pull her stress out tonight and headed for the patio to watch the sunset as her phone started ringing.

Claire approached the Information Desk at the zoo the next day to ask for the director. “Excuse me, I am meeting Bill Davis, can you tell him I’m here please?”

“Doctor Beauchamp, thank you for agreeing to come. He is right over here.”

Claire followed the zoo director to a large habitat with a twenty-foot drop to concrete around the entire thing. When she really looked at the actual land the animal was living on, it was scarcely larger than a cage. The director had misrepresented the tiger’s habit and quality of life. His describing the expanse of land the tiger lived on was exaggerated. The water for swimming was a bit larger than a birdbath. She really did not like this man after being lied to, but reminded herself she was here to save the tiger.

She was led to the prep room that attached to the tiger's domain where food was prepared, medical treatments were done, and weapons were kept for dealing with him. Claire had asked to sit where the tiger could get close to her if he wanted. When the director left, she pushed the chair away and sat on the floor. For the next hour, she sent him messages of greeting, sympathy, and desire to help each time their eyes met.

She laid down on the floor after an hour because the sun had moved in the sky and was now bathing her in warm light making her eyelids heavy. She only wanted to rest and show him a trusting posture. It would be an hour before her eyes opened again, giving the animal ample time to smell her and get comfortable with her presence. Claire felt the heat from the tiger but no fear and rose slowly so she didn’t startle him. This huge beautiful cat was only two feet from her laying with his back to her. Steel bars eight inches apart is all that separated them.

“Will you let me help you?” Her voice was almost a whisper. “Will you let me touch you? You are magnificent and beautiful.” She said each word while holding its meaning in her mind. “Why have you stopped eating? If you die the world will be without your beauty and spirit.” He pushed back into the bars and Claire touched his back. Thanking him and asking how she could help him.

Images filled her mind of him, another full-sized tiger, and babies, three of them. Like a slide show, she saw the affection they had for each other, playing in the sunlight, cuddling at night. The images continued until she asked him who they were. The images continued but now it was just him, and Claire’s happy heart rate slowed, making her feel miserable.

The zoo director had walked through the park grabbing handlers to come and see the tiger whisperer. He lied to them about watching someone with a gift that let her talk to animals. A reporter slipped into the group as they walked toward the tiger enclosure with the cameraman slipping in just before they entered the prep room. The director purposely pushed the door with enough force to make it crash into Claire’s special energy with the tiger, who then bolted. The cameraman had used a long-range lens to capture ten minutes of calm interaction between Claire and the tiger with several minutes of close up on her hands that were deep in his fur and their faces, both calm and serene.

She looked back with a flash of anger at the noisy interruption and noticed the camera that was trained on her. Most of the people had zoo uniforms on, except a lady who was now firing obnoxious questions about talking to animals. It finally hit Claire that this was a setup, but for what? She looked out at the tiger and saw his sudden distrust. She was furious. Pulling herself up to her feet she walked to the director, making it clear she was plenty pissed. The handlers moved away leaving him vulnerable as Claire approached looking like she would disembowel the lying piece of shit.

“What did you do with them?” She was an inch from his face, channeling the tiger's hatred of him. He leaned away from her acting like she was crazy telling people to call security. Claire had never felt this level of hatred, she wanted to tear him apart and pushed him into the wall savagely yelling her question again. “Where are they, his wife and babies, what did you do with them!”

The reporter asked more respectfully this time, wanting Claire to explain her question to him.

“A male, a female, and three babies lived here, as you shot him with a tranquilizer, he had to watch you shoot the others. One of the darts missed and stuck in wood over there. He watched you crate them up and remove them. Where are they!?”

The director seemed to have a shift in his energy and smiled wickedly at her while he straightened his posture and prepared to annihilate her for the news crew. He was being paid handsomely for this video that would expose her as a fraud. Piece of cake he thought.

“Clearly you are a fraud. There has never been more than that one tiger. You made the whole thing up. What a pity I was taken in by your lies about hearing the animals.”

He was feeling smug, calculating the trip he would take on the money this was earning him and he could hardly wait to be free of this disgusting place.

“Where are they?”

When the director saw security coming, he closed in on Claire wanting to shame her for the cameras. She cut him off with the question that finally brought a man in the back to his senses. “Why was he moved to this awful, tiny enclosure? Why did you take his pool away? Why did you change to the food he can’t stand? Why are you torturing him?

Claire was crying now because she spoke the emotions the tiger made her feel.

“You are insane. Babbling questions and threatening me. For the last time, there were no other tigers with him, and no one shot them with tranquilizers.”

“I did, on your order.” The man from the rear pushed forward so the director could see him. He went white in the face at the betrayal of his top handler.

Claire leveled her eyes on the director, “I will campaign from one side of Kentucky to the other until you get these tigers back and return him to the enclosure that was built for them.”

The senior handler who admitted to shooting the tigers pulled Claire away from the group who were now targeting the director with questions. He pulled her to the outside and walked right past security in the direction of the parking lot.

“I don’t know how you knew all that, but you were dead on with all of it, even the shot that missed. I’ve never been right with what he did and made me a part of, maybe I can help you fix this.”

Claire stopped abruptly and turned to the handler. “The director lied about everything to get me here today and I will deal with that, but please help the tiger. Find his family and give him meat again. And thank you for helping me in there.” She knew Dusty would be in front of her home waiting for her and she called for him to pick her up. She clicked off and took a deep breath before turning around to look back.

“Oh, you startled me, I have a ride coming so no need to wait with me.” The handler reminded her of Sam Elliot in looks and temperament. He really saved her today and she was grateful.

“That’s alright, humor an old man. And don’t you worry about the tiger, I’ll find his family.”

They chatted until she heard the low growl of her truck and wondered how to explain all this to Dusty.

Dusty picked up on her weird energy right away and wondered when they would get back to normal.

“When did you start treating the exotics Doctor B?”

“Someone lured me here today with lies about a sick tiger. The director asked me to comfort him then brought a news crew and a group of handlers to be disruptive and ask a bunch of questions. He tried to say I was crazy and lied about animal communication, but I learned enough from the tiger to …”

Dusty pulled to the side of the road and just stared at her. “Doctor B I feel like our well-ordered lives are coming apart. Why is this happening and are you alright?”

“Yes. I am not hurt. Whatever the director’s intentions were, one of the older handlers corroborated everything the tiger said.”

Dusty looked up at the woman he respected most in the world, “tigers can’t talk Claire. Just tell me one thing, do you think this is related to Highland Brothers and what happened yesterday?”

“There is no question in my mind.”

They both seemed to slip into autopilot to get through the afternoon. Dusty grabbed Claire’s keys out of her hand and bolted up the stairs to her home. Claire was really shocked by his behavior and found him going room to room making sure no one was there.

“See ya tomorrow Doctor B.”

Once she could sit quietly, alone on her patio, all the particulars of the day came back to mind. She pieced it all together and shot off her chair to turn the news on. She clicked through the local news channels for almost an hour, happy she was wrong until she heard her name and slowly raised her head. She watched the video of her and the tiger, taken covertly without her permission. Next was her shouting at the zoo director and the handler coming forward. The news anchor was in voice-over asking for anyone with information about the kidnapped tigers to call the station.

Claire sat stunned on her rocking chair trying to decide if this was a good thing or something that would hurt her career. If she had to defend herself against any allegations of misrepresentation it would hurt Dustin. She felt a tear roll out of her eye and wished again she had allowed a closer friendship with Dustin. Then he would understand why she had to fire him.

Claire had never considered her life without Dustin. She came to Kentucky after graduation to work with racehorses and he was the first person who showed up for an interview. He was spit-shined and creased and could hardly answer the questions with the layers of respect and polite behavior she was getting. She liked him from the start and after a long walk in the woods where he calmed down enough to converse with her, she hired him, and they became the dynamic duo. His trust in her staggered the mind. It was more than blind obedience, he trusted her diagnosis and jumped to execute her treatments, no matter how crazy they were. After all that devotion she would cut him loose tomorrow, to save him.

Jamie closed his office door feeling complete relief the FBI agents were finished with the questioning, lie detectors, fingerprinting, and hours of pictures he was asked to view, looking for someone who worked for him. He was completely exhausted when he turned around heading for his overstuffed chair banging into the colt that never left his side.

“Jesus lad, do ye have to be up my butt all the time?”

The colt pressed harder against him feeling insecure. This poor baby was three days old thinking he had a Scottish mother built like a linebacker with a terrible temper.

“It’s alright laddie, I love ye. Once a mare drops ye’ll become a twin with no one the wiser. Things will be easier for ye then.” His warm hand stroked the colt while his low voice was soothing the nervousness. “I am ready to get drunk and sleep for two days, will ye be good for yer temporary mam Angus?”

Jamie pointed the remote at the television and offered the colt a bottle as he relaxed into his chair. He was busy with a fussy colt when Claire’s face filled the screen and he almost missed it, looking back just in time to see her attack a man, shouting questions at him. His heart almost stopped as he scrambled to call the newsroom asking where the broadcast could be viewed on the internet. Thirty minutes later he struggled to make the call he promised to make.

Jamie called the agent in charge of his case and told him what happened. It was obviously connected to what happened to the horses. Claire was lured to the zoo to treat a sick tiger and then ambushed and filmed so she would lose her credibility to testify on his behalf. He slammed the phone and called Doctor Beauchamp from his cell.

Claire tossed and turned for an hour. When her cell phone rang, she was almost relieved to have an excuse to get up. She looked at Jamie’s name and answered.

“That was quite a broadcast tonight Doctor Beauchamp. Is that how ye healed my horses so fast? They told ye what was wrong did they”

“Something like that.”

“I have to be honest Sassenach, I don’t believe it, but I do believe it was a setup at the zoo to discredit you and that means the man responsible has surfaced, in a way. I had to let the FBI know about this Claire, but I wanted to warn you they are coming.”

“What? Do they think I had something to do with this and why do you call me that?"

“No, I’m sure they don’t. They just want to find a link back to the killer. It won’t take long.”

Claire waited for the rest of his answer.

"Because yer British with a strong accent. It means outsider, not in a bad way, you just are."

Claire looked up at the flashing red light on her ceiling and nearly jumped out of her skin from the banging on her door. She had just enough time to dress after Fraser’s call and suddenly felt terrified. She waited, hoping they would leave. The knocking got harder and Claire willed them away. Her door flew open with splintering wood raining down on her while big men in riot gear ran in and pushed her to the ground. Claire was crying as someone’s knee pressed her face into the wood floor and snapped handcuffs on her wrists. She cried Dusty’s name into the floor before they yanked her to her feet. She could see her door hanging from the one remaining hinge as they drove away.

For the rest of the night, they brutalized her with continuous questioning. The interrogators would be replaced with fresh agents that would continue the questioning forcing her to wake up and withholding water when she begged for it. When she passed out from exhaustion, they threw her into a cell and left her there in solitary confinement. She was not given food, or water, and saw not a single person. She had never been so scared in her life.

Jamie looked up at the clock and dialed Claire again. She had not answered all day and it was three in the afternoon. Before he clicked off his door swung open banging into the wall so a stone-faced Dusty could walk to Jamie’s desk. He held out his cell phone to Jamie and played the video he took of Claire’s shattered front door.

“Where is she, Mister Fraser? What have you done with her?”

Jamie glanced at the video. “Sweet Jesus.”

Dusty lowered his eyes to Jamie’s with a murderous look.

“I know nothin of this lad, but we are leavin now to find her. Let’s go.”

Jamie whistled for his men while he threw a rope around the colt’s neck handing it to Rupert before he ran to catch up with Dusty. He jumped in the truck giving instructions to the FBI building in a nearby town. It took an hour to get there and Dusty was coming apart at the seams. When he wouldn’t respond to Jamie he was held down into his seat by powerful arms and an angry face an inch from his.

“Listen, lad!” Jamie growled. “She is in that building but if you go in there half-cocked it may be days before we get her. Understand? Do not talk. Sit where they tell ye and let me get her.”

Two hours later, Claire felt warm arms lift her off the concrete floor. Her teeth chattered from the fifty-degree cell and she moaned from her cracked lips. Dusty walked desk to desk writing the names of the agents who took two hours to find her until every agent was concealing their concern with anger.

Jamie held Claire against his warmth and climbed the stairs seeing Dusty’s eyes go wide. “Let's go lad. She needs to warm up quick as possible, drive to the forty-five and go East back to the compound.” Jamie watched the stone-faced lad carry out each request like a robot and his heart broke for him. Jamie pointed all the heat vents at Claire in his lap. Her teeth stopped chattering and she wrapped her arms around Jamie pulling his heat closer. She was desperate for warmth and couldn’t know what she was doing but Jamie felt the invasive movement like a jolt of lightning. He held her close and Dusty stared straight ahead not saying a word.

Jamie pointed the way to his house that was set back, deep in a bordering meadow. The house was large with lots of extra bedrooms. Claire was covered with quilts and drained every cup of water offered. Jamie told her the short version of Dusty crashing into his office demanding to know where she was. She smiled at Dusty then winced at the pain of her cracked lips. Her door was closed, and the house went dark and quiet. The only movement was Dusty who made it back to her room to check on her. It appeared the whole bed was shaking making him fear for her.

Jamie was pulled out of sleep by the knocking on his bedroom door. He opened the door to Dusty, eyes downcast and asking for his help. Jamie felt for the boy and promised to cover her with more blankets.

“Go to bed lad. I’ll take care of it.”

Jamie slid into the bed behind Claire and pulled her against his chest. His legs pushed into her from behind and his arms wrapped around her.

“No need to fret, lass. This is the fastest way to warm up and I owe ye this and much more for what ye endured.”

It took some time, but she finally stopped shaking. Deep in the night, Jamie woke to her crying. He pulled her close and stroked her cold arm until she was asleep again.

Before dawn, Claire was jolted awake by a big hand moving down her hip and thigh. Once she remembered where she was the pleasure of that hand took control and silenced her as she gave in to the exquisite feeling. Anywhere he touched her sent electric currents in both directions until his body went rigid as he jerked awake. Claire was awake, but she was a dead ringer for a woman in deep sleep.

Jamie was horrified when he woke up to his traitorous hands molesting a woman he hardly knew, with her lovesick assistant in the next room, and his fiancé on a plane over the Pacific coming home. He was so freaked out he jumped out of bed and shot back to his own room.

“Christ. I must be losin my mind.” Jamie showered and dressed for another grueling day, passing Dusty’s empty room on his way out. The bed was neatly made, and the room was possibly cleaner than it was before the kid closed himself into it. Seeing a note on the bed he pushed it under Claire’s door. Dusty left early to fix her door, he would come and get her when she called.

Jamie looked to the sun rising as he drove a back road to the compound. He found it amusing he even noticed the sun this morning. It’s those two, he thought, like they both stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting when people were presumed good and godly, and followed a moral code, prayed for each other, and waved to everyone they saw. He chuckled at the thought. In his mind, Jamie watched Claire place her hands on the gelding’s face with so much compassion in her eyes it almost made him cry. His eyes slammed open and he skidded to a stop on the dirt road.

“Holy Christ. Right after that, she told the kid what to mix up and the gelding seemed cured right before my eyes. This is what happens when insanity sets in. Ye believe in miracles and talk to ye’self on the way to work.”

Jamie dropped the truck into gear and barreled toward the compound looking straight ahead like he had blinders on. He was so tense walking into the building he almost exploded when Angus came around the corner and said good morning.

“Jamie boy what’s got ye so amped up this morning?” Angus was smiling his toothless grin. “The agents are waitin for ye.”

“Come with me please, I need a witness. Where is Rupert?”

“Havin a wee talk with yer son who refuses to drink his milk this mornin.”

Jamie shook his head at Angus’s reference and turned the other direction.

“Fuck them, they can wait.”

Angus knew enough not to ask but stayed close to Jamie hoping he might slip up and explain what was bothering him today. As if the attempted murder of all the horses wasn’t enough. Angus and Rupert figured out what Jamie had yet to speak of. The barn was only a third full when the horses started getting sick. The rest were running that day or were boarded with their trainer during the racing season. Later in the day, the horses that were coming back from the track seemed perfectly healthy. The thirty-eight horses that were sick or dead were owned in part, or in full, by Jamie.

Jamie stroked the colt as he finished the bottle of milk and thought about the sadistic FBI agents who tortured an innocent, locking her in a room with no cot, and no chair, just very cold concrete. He felt anger so deep it made his hands shake and the colt abandoned his milk to push his head into Jamie’s stomach looking for comfort. Jamie exhaled his stress and tried to relax. They may not have broken any laws keeping her under those conditions, but they certainly broke his trust and confidence in the FBI. “Highland justice will be comin for ye lads.”

Claire opened her eyes and stretched in the most luxurious sheets. A note from Jamie told her to use his shower and eat all she wanted from the kitchen. She giggled and decided the forty-minute ride for Dustin to get there gave her plenty of time to enjoy a bit more of this luxury.

Standing under the hot water was heaven and she looked through the bottles of body wash and shampoo of which there were many, only finding one for men. So, Mister Fraser has a woman, I wonder where she is, she thought. The bathroom filled with hot steam and lovely scents as she pushed the door open and reached for a towel. Drying off her face and eyes she opened them wide to see a woman standing four feet in front her looking very like a raging bull.

“Who…the fuck…are you!”

[c0ffee-gh0ul]

The Dumpster Fire of Hurt: 01 - Brother

TRIGGER WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of stabbing

I felt something hit the back of my head. I turned around to find a tin foil ball on the floor, and Frank and his friends laughing at me.

I gave them a scowl and threw the tin foil ball back at them. Bullseye! It hit Frank right in the forehead. I chuckled to myself, turning back towards the lunch table.

“Nice one, Gee.” My brother, Mikey, says to me.

“Thanks.” I chuckled.

“Don’t you wish Frank would get off your back sometimes?” Lindsey asked.

“I mean, yeah, but, at the same time, no. It’s fun to mess with that little shit.” I laughed.

“I have to agree with Gerard on this one, Linds.” Bert said.

“But, he could be a nice person, you know? I just don’t understand why you guys mess with him all the time.” Lindsey sighed.

Bert and I started cracking up. We laughed so hard, we could barely breathe.

“I’m serious!” She said.

“Yeah, I kind of agree with Lindsey.” Mikey mumbled.

“We have a complicated past, okay? I have methods to my madness.” I explained. Mikey’s expression became more calm and Lindsey shrugged.

I knew Mikey trusted me, but Lindsey seemed more hesitant. I didn’t care anyways, it was my life.

The bell rang and we all rushed from lunch to our classes. Mikey and I headed to science, while Lindsey and Bert went to geometry.

Mikey and I sat at our usual spot, in the back of the first column of desks, which happened to be next to Frank and his friend James’ desks. 

Just our luck, the teacher assigned partners for a project. Thankfully, I wasn’t stuck with Frank. But, poor Mikey was. And I was stuck with James.

“Good luck, Mikey.” I said as we were going with our groups.

“You too.” He mumbled, going over to Frank’s desk.

I glanced over at Frank and Mikey starting their work as James sat down next to me. “Give me a second…” I said to James, getting up and walking over to Frank and Mikey.

I tapped Frank’s shoulder and he turned around.

“‘Sup, asshat?” Frank chuckled, looking up at me. I raised one eyebrow at him, then looked around me, to make sure no one was paying attention to me. I slowly leaned down to Frank’s face.

“Don’t you dare fucking hurt my little brother. Got it?” I said in a low hiss, pointing in his face.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t hurt the quiet one. At least he wouldn’t get in my face.” He scoffed.

“I would if I had to…” Mikey said under his breath. I don’t think Frank heard him.

“I’m serious, you fucking dickwad. Don’t lay a single finger on him.” I growled.

“Yeah, got it.” Frank rolled his eyes, scoffing.

I went back to my seat with James and we began discussing the project. It was uncomfortable the entire time. He was definitely a weird kid, but in sort of a cool way.

Once the day finally ended, Mikey and I met up in front of the school to walk home.

“Hey, uh, I’m actually gonna go to Frank’s house to work on the project.” Mikey told me, looking at me as if asking for approval.

“Uh… Okay.” I was hesitant, but I can’t really stop him. I already warned Frank.

I walked home by myself, but Frank lived in the same neighborhood so Mikey wasn’t too far anyways. 

I got home and immediately went to my room and listened to music. Usually Mikey would try to convince me to do my homework, or at least get me to help him with his. I just wasn’t in the mood.

I ended up falling asleep while listening to music. When I woke up, it was nearly 8pm. I went into the living room where my mom was watching tv.

“Hey, uh, mom?” I said, peering through the doorway.

“Yeah?” She replied, looking in my direction.

“Did Mikey get home yet?” I asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Where did he go?” She asked, muting the tv.

“Down a few blocks to work on a school thing with someone… It’s getting kinda late, though. I’m gonna call him.” I said, walking out of the doorway and into the kitchen to grab my phone.

The dial kept ringing. And ringing. And then voicemail. That wasn’t like Mikey. He usually always picked up the phone before the third or fourth ring. I tried calling a second time, and it went to voicemail again.

I got tremendously worried. It was late at night, and our neighborhood wasn’t the safest at this point. 

“Mom, I need to borrow your car.” I said, standing in the doorway of the living room again.

“Okay. Keys are on the hook next to the door. Drive safe!” She responded.

Drive safe, my ass. I was looking for my baby brother. I drove as fast as I could to Frank’s house. I almost hit a few trash cans on the way, but Mikey was more important.

I practically pounded Frank’s front door down until he came to the door.

“What the fuck do you want?” Frank looked me up and down with a scowl on his face.

“What did you do to Mikey?” I said sharply.

“The hell you talking about?” He raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“You fucking heard me, you little shit,” My voice grew louder as I got closer to his face. “Where the fuck is Mikey? What did you do to him?” I yelled. The whole neighborhood could probably hear me. I didn’t give a single shit.

“I didn’t do shit!” Frank yelled back. “Get the fuck outta my face before I punch you.” He threatened. “Mikey left here almost an hour ago.”

Panic settled in. Mikey could be anywhere. He could be dead for all I knew.

“Come on,” I grabbed Frank by his wrist and dragged him to my car.

“What’re you doing? This is kidnapping!” He said.

“Too bad. You’re helping me find Mikey.” I said, opening the passenger door and letting go of his wrist.

“Why do I have to help?” Frank complained, getting in the car anyways.

I came around to the driver’s seat and got in. “Because, you dipshit, you were the last one who had any contact with him and he won’t answer his cell.”

“Fine.” Frank sighed, putting his seatbelt on.

I started driving in the general area looking for anyone who looked like Mikey. 

“Are you even looking? Or are you just daydreaming like the little shit that you are?” I scoffed at Frank.

“I’m looking! I’m not that much of a dick.” He replied.

Yeah, okay.

After almost an hour of searching, I pulled off to the side of the road and rested my head on the steering wheel. I didn’t want Frank to see me cry, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

I was sobbing. My face became hot and tears practically poured out of my eyes. I kept my head on the steering wheel so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

Suddenly, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I flinched.

“It’s gonna be okay. We’ll find him.” Frank muttered.

I didn’t think his voice could reach such a gentle place. It was almost comforting. It was nearly as if he wasn’t even himself.

I kept crying. I could barely catch my breath. He gently rubbed my shoulder with his hand. I never thought I’d be so vulnerable around him, someone who I had despised for years.

“He could be dead…” I cried.

“No, we don’t know that for sure…” Frank said sweetly. “Come on, we gotta keep looking.” He tried to encourage me.

I picked my head up and wiped my tears away. I started to drive back toward the house and I saw Mikey walking, only a block away from our house. I immediately pulled the car over and ran out. 

“Mikey!” I yelled, grabbing him in a hug. “You’re okay.” I whispered, holding him tight.

When I let go of him, he looked at me with pain in his eyes. 

“What happened to you?” I asked.

He was hesitant. “Some guys jumped me on the way home… Just a block away from Frank’s. I tried to take the shortcut.”

“Who were they?” I asked worriedly.

“I-I don’t know… But they took my wallet and my phone. They threatened to stab me if I didn’t,” He sighed, looking down at the ground. “So I gave them my stuff… And I ran as fast as I could until I could barely breathe.”

“Come on, let’s get you home.” I said, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and walking to the car. “Frank’s here too.” I said before we got in.

“‘Sup, Mikey,” Frank said. 

“Hi.” Mikey croaked out, climbing into the backseat.

“I’m gonna bring Mikey home first, since it’s only about a block away.” I told Frank, putting the car in drive. He nodded.

After dropping off Mikey, the entire ride to Frank’s was silent until I parked in his driveway.

“Well, uh,” I cleared my throat. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Yeah, um, no problem.” Frank nodded and just barely smiled.

We sat there for a moment, neither of us talking. All that could be heard was the chirp of crickets outside. 

He got out of the car and walked up to his front door, slowly, almost regretful. But he went inside anyway, carefully. I waited until the door closed, and then drove away.

[orangeoctopi7]

A Nostalgia Trip

: Chapter 1 : Chapter 2 : Chapter 3 :

The end of the school day finally rolled around, and the twins met up at the STNLYMBL. Stan's bag was noticeably heavier and bulkier than it had been this morning. 

“Take a look through there and make sure I got everything you need.” Stan said as he handed his pack over to Ford.

The scientist pulled out three different sized spools of copper/nickel solder, and a thin, almost needle-like soldering iron.

“And these are the smallest spools they had?”

“Smallest I could find.”

Ford sighed. “I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s an auto-shop in a high school. I’ll make it work.”

It was an unusually warm day for January, and they drove home in the melting slush. “Wait, stop here!” Ford commanded as they passed the beach. “I’m going to need fine sand for molding.”

Stan pulled into a nearby parking lot. Luckily he had a shovel in the trunk of his car, although he couldn’t remember why, and they found an empty paint can in a nearby dumpster they could use as a bucket.

Ford strode purposefully down to the edge of the surf, where the finest sand would be, when a dark shape at the corner of his eye caught his attention.

"Oh…" he breathed when he turned and saw several tarps that concealed what they were protecting from the wind and snow. He knew exactly what was underneath.

Stan came to a stop beside him, eyes locked on the same tarp-covered shape sitting just far enough up the beach that no waves reached it. They stood there in silence for a solid minute, their errand to collect sand completely forgotten.

"Great…" Stan finally spoke, reaching up and wiping his eyes with the back of his coat sleeve. "Guess it's my turn to get hijacked by hormones."

"Do… do you want to go give her a look over?" Ford asked hesitantly, "For old time's sake?"

Stan just nodded mutely.

They two of them strode solemnly to the tarp and gently removed the layers, revealing the almost-completed Stan’o’war underneath. It was so much smaller than either of them remembered, not even half the size of the repurposed tugboat they’d turned into the Stan’o’war II. The little schooner was just big enough to hold two teenage boys who had reached their full height, but not their full girth. 

Stan reached down and picked up the neatly folded sail sitting at the base of the mast. They’d originally just used some old bedsheets they had ‘rescued’ from the trash, but after doing some research and tests, Ford had found the soft, thin fabric wouldn’t hold up under the strain of a sail. So, over the past three years, they had been hunting down and saving every scrap of sturdy canvas they could find. Stan’d had to carefully stitch them together. That was when he’d first learned how to sew, a skill that had come in handy when he was living on the road, and when cobbling things together for the Mystery Shack.

Ford was appreciating the worn wood of the mast. When they’d first found the wrecked hull as children, most of the structure had rotted out, and they’d had to find a way to replace and attach new wood to the old planks and boards. He had researched old ship-building techniques, and learned a lot about woodworking along the way. He remembered using those woodworking techniques a lot later in life, to make repairs to his research cabin that would later become the Mystery Shack, and to build shelter, transportation, and weapons as he traveled the multiverse.

“D-d’you know what happened to her?” Stan eventually asked, pulling them out of their thoughts.

“...I’m not quite sure.” Ford admitted. “I know mom kept it because Shermie liked to play on it when he was little, but I didn’t ever go home after I got my degree, so… I don’t know what happened after he grew up.”

“Hmm.” Stan grunted in reply. He wasn’t sure what to feel about that. Should they call Shermie once they were out of this, and ask him what happened to it? Or was Stan better off not knowing?

The two of them stood in a pensive silence, taking in this unexpected opportunity to see their old childhood project one more time. They probably could have stayed there all evening, reminiscing and appreciating the hard work they’d put into the schooner, but it was winter, and the sun went down early in the afternoon. As the sun dropped, so did the temperatures.

“Come on, we’d better get that fine sand before we completely lose the light.” Ford finally said, pulling himself away.

* * *

Once they returned home, Ford traced out tiny circuit lines in the sand with a toothpick he'd filed to a fine point. He then melted the solder spool into the miniscule mold. 

"Ok, that will need to set all night, then I'll have to pick out all the sand grains and file down all the points and areas where it's leaked out of the mold."

"And how long will that take?" Stan asked.

"As long as I don't break it while I'm filing, another day."

"And if you do break it while filing?"

"Then I'll have to start over again and melt a new circuit into the mold. If I had a smaller soldering iron, I could just piece it back together, but this one is too big and clumsy."

"So what I'm hearing is we're not gettin' back to our own time before my boxing match with Crampelter tomorrow."

"Probably not."

"Heh, looks like I get to pound that bully's face in one more time."

Ford turned away from his work desk. "I almost wish we could switch places for that."

"It's not worth the hassle." Stan shook his head. "Besides, I dunno if I have the heart to do that again after… y'know, last time."

"I did say almost." 

They shared a small chuckle, and Ford started climbing up to the top bunk.

“Kinda early for bed. Especially for you.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“And I didn’t bounce back from it nearly as well as I thought I would.”

“Guess all that junk they say about teenagers needin’ more sleep is true.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

* * *

Going to bed earlier seemed to have helped Ford’s mood, come morning. He wasn’t nearly as groggy and grumpy as he had been yesterday. He still insisted that Stan stop by the doughnut shop on the boardwalk for coffee on the way to school, but he at least had the good sense to swipe enough coins out of the change jar at home to pay for it himself.

Stan, for his part, seemed a little more confident going into school today. Perhaps it was because he was looking forward to the boxing match tonight. It was something familiar, something he and everyone else knew he was good at. 

It was another day of trying to lay low. Another day of coasting through classes. No one seemed suspicious of them. No one seemed to notice how Stan was actually answering questions in their math and science classes. No one seemed to notice that Ford actually managed to climb all the way to the top of the rope in PE. Stan wondered about it out loud to his brother at lunch.

“I believe it’s the timeline resisting change.” Ford mused quietly. “We know changing the greater flow of time is difficult, even when someone is actively attempting to change the past. So far, we’ve been going out of our way to keep things more-or-less the same, so perhaps the time stream just… diverts their attention elsewhere. It makes me wonder: what kind of enormous act would it take to make people notice? To actually alter the flow of time?”

“Ford, we’re not gonna test that theory.” 

“No, of course not. Not on this trip at least.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “I’d prefer not on any trip, but honestly I’d be worried there was something wrong with you if you didn’t say something like that.”

[leapyearkisses]

Coffee Break

Aaaahhh, the amazing @kotyonoksnz commissioned me to write for her wonderful OCs Theo and Venn!  I was very happy to be able to work with them, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!  (Seriously, her art is so gorgeous I had it in my head the whole time aaa)

~Please consider commissioning me!  Commissions are OPEN!~

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

Venn took a rag to the espresso machine, wiping foam from the steam wands in between cappuccinos. The air smelled of mocha, a heady scent of freshly ground beans and quality chocolate.  The owner didn’t mess around with ordering sub-par ingredients. That was probably one reason why the café was so busy today.  It was also coming up on mid-October, spring was in the air, and the summer school term was starting.  Students from the nearby high school were reuniting over coffee, grouped around the doors outside and laughing in line, phones out.  Venn didn’t miss school himself – he found the ambient whining chatter about the reinstatement of homework to be irritating – but he wouldn’t turn out a paying customer… much less a whole class of them.

“What can I get for you?” he asked, returning to the register.  His fingers worked easily over the order buttons as the girl rattled off a list of drinks.  The iced and blended drinks were popular today.  No wonder… he could feel sweat gathering at the collar of his shirt.  He was used to his own heat, but the air conditioner was wheezing asthmatically today and it wasn’t doing him any favors as he rushed around.  He pushed his hair up off his neck for a second, unconsciously, although fine strands still clung to his skin.  “$18.57. Will that be cash or card?”

“I’ve got this one.” Theo passed behind him, reaching past Venn’s elbow to the stack of plastic cups.  He’d come into his own at the café and now moved with the same frenetic grace as the rest of the small group of employees during a rush, slipping between bodies from machine to machine.  He still kept his eyes down off the crowd, though, and today his face was disguised by a white flu mask.

Venn swallowed and looked away, grabbing the customer’s receipt.  “Thanks.”  He enjoyed working with his boyfriend, but.  Some days it was almost too easy to get distracted.  He tried to ignore the way Theo’s forearms looked in that shirt and the way the back rode up slightly when Theo bent down to get a new carton of straws.  He tried to ignore the way Theo’s pale hair fluffed despite the heat of the day and the way his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose when he moved.  

He especially tried to ignore the way that Theo was sniffling, because it wasn’t going to do either of them any good.

“Decaf iced vanilla latte,” Theo called a bit thickly, setting the drink on the counter.  “And an americano with skim milk.”

The bell above the door jangled cheerily as another group came inside, bringing with them a gust of hot air, the scent of late anemones, and pollen.  Theo narrowed his eyes.  The delicate skin of his lower lids already looked red, like he’d been rubbing them earlier, and Venn was sure he didn’t imagine the faint glimmer of a tear forming at the corner of one eye.  Theo cleared his throat, a delicate half-cough.

“You wanna take a break in the back?” Venn asked, sidling up to him under the pretense of checking the milk levels.  This close, he could hear it when Theo sniffled wetly behind the mask and his mouth went a bit dry.

Theo pressed the back of his wrist to his paper-clad nose.  “I’m not due ­hh for a break for another hour,” he said, stubbornly. “I’m okay.”  He sniffled again.

Venn shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to ignore the way his body suddenly felt weird and electric.  “Sure. Just let me know.”  He didn’t really think that Theo was telling the truth – or, no, it was more that he suspected Theo was doing some wishful thinking.  He could always say he was worried about Theo’s powers going haywire at the shop, but no one was more self-conscious about that than Theo himself.  Venn didn’t want to bring it up unnecessarily. “I’m okay with it if you go a bit early.”

“Sounds like preferential treatment,” Theo replied, eyes crinkling as he smiled behind his mask. “Better hope no one hears you.”

“Oh no,” Venn said, voice deadpan despite his body’s singing.  “I’ll be arrested by the bean police.”  He emphatically avoided saying anything suggestive afterward, just unscrewed the top of the soy milk pitcher and began to refill it.

The rush started to let up a little in the next twenty minutes after the bulk of the student crowd had moved on to other afterschool activities or back home.  Various detritus had collected on the tables and floor of the café like less attractive autumn leaves.  Venn picked up a pair of cups someone had left beside a window, towel slung over his shoulder.  His mind wandered.  He needed to make a note to order more of the French roast.  One of the grinders needed a new O-ring.  They had leftovers in the fridge, but he really wanted to eat yukgaejang instead…

“Excuse me?” came a voice to his left.  It was a young-looking guy, maybe Theo’s age, with an asymmetrical haircut and a silk scarf. “Do you work here?”

“No, I just pick up trash for fun.  I make Dumpster collages for fun.”

Is how Venn wanted to answer, but instead, he smiled and answered in the affirmative.  “Can I help you with something?”

“I just wanted to order a drink?” asked(?) the guy. He pointed a thumb back at the counter. “And there’s no one there?”

Venn tilted his head. Well, he was right.  The only people in that direction were a pair of regulars examining the pastry case and chewing on their usual topic of politics.  “I’ll get right on it.”  He tossed the cups on the way over and then waited on the small line, dispensing coffee and the last of the muffins.  That done, he flagged Kelly, who’d just punched in, to take over. “I’m gonna go check something in the back.”

“Sure thing,” she said, stretching and then leaning her elbow on the counter, bored.

Venn went through the “Employees Only” door, past the cluttered office and into the stockroom, which had, over time, acquired a pair of cheap folding chairs and now doubled as the breakroom.  There was barely enough room for two people to sit between the close shelves of dry goods and the freezer toward the rear.  “Theo?” He poked his head around the door frame.

“Huh- huh-istchiu!”

“Aha.”  All the stirrings from earlier returned in full force and Venn became alarmingly aware of every inch of cloth touching his collar, stomach, lower. His jeans felt too tight and he smoothed a hand down his shirt.  “Bless you.” He stepped in and took the other chair.

Theo had pulled his mask to the side and it hung from one ear as he sneezed again into his cupped hands. “Hh- hh- ­hktsschuh!  Hh- huh-” An allergic tear slipped down his cheek and Venn watched it run along the side of Theo’s palm where it touched his cheek.  “Hh-ktschxiu!”

“Need a tissue?” Venn could feel himself blushing now and curled his left hand in the fabric of his apron to keep from fidgeting. His voice sounded too low to his own ears, colored with his arousal.  He swallowed.

“Yih- yheah.”  Theo gestured to his pocket with his elbow, keeping his hands pressed to face.  Venn tried not to combust at the implication.  “I’ve got some, here.”

Venn reached over into Theo’s pocket and tugged out a travel pack of tissues, almost empty. They were close enough to kiss, if Theo would let them.  So maybe there was a little bit of mess there…  That didn’t change Venn’s impulse to carefully entwine their fingers, lean forward until he could bring their lips together, move his mouth gently against Theo’s.  Put a hand on Theo’s lower back, where his shirt kept riding up, encourage Theo to-

Venn reached out and smoothed Theo’s bangs away from his face, then forced himself to restore their personal space.  His heartbeat was pounding in his ears and other places, too, but he was at work. And Theo probably wasn’t feeling too well, at least in this moment.  He was sniffling again, inhaling unevenly.  Venn held out a tissue.  Theo took it quickly and wiped at his nose.

“Thanks.”  He sounded stuffy and tired.  “I’ll be fine in a minute… I took some more pills.”  He scrunched his nose, but it didn’t look like it helped.  “The pollen’s hh- really bad today, though.”  He took a knuckle to his septum for a few moments, rubbing with determination, pushing each nostril closed with a little groan of irritation and a soft, moist sound. Venn was transfixed.

Then Theo sat straight up so suddenly that Venn almost startled.  “Crap.”

“Ah- What is it?” Venn curled his fingers more tightly in his apron.

“I left the counter unmanned!”  Theo scrambled to his feet.  “I was still in the middle of my shift!”  He rubbed his hands on his apron, dropped his tissues, bent to grab them again, gasped- “Huah- hih- Hkksht! Nkt-ussch!”  The two sneezes came quickly, forcefully.  Theo pressed a hand to his face, but not before Venn saw another hint of wetness. The fluorescent bulb overheard flickered.  

“Uh, Theo?”  Venn reached out to try and snag his boyfriend’s sleeve.

“Hih- hh- kshxtuh!”  One of the shelves behind them rattled and a several prepackaged bags of ground coffee tipped over like dominos.  “Hh’iktschiu!” Theo bent into his cupped hands again.  A bottle of flavored syrup shot into the air.  Venn’s eyes widened and he parried it with his elbow. The lights flickered again and the bottle clattered to the floor.  Theo sighed and snuffled in defeat.

“­­Bless you,” Venn said, flushing gently.  He took Theo by the arms.  “Hunter, sit down.  You’ve been covered at the counter.  Hipsters can still get their coffee and the world isn’t ending.”  He pressed a kiss to the top of Theo’s head, giving in to the urge to pull him in close.  “Far as I’m concerned, you can take a double break to get settled.  Is there anything I can get you?”

Theo looked up at him, eyes dewy, nose deeply pink and running.  He sniffled ineffectually and then rested his forehead on Venn’s shoulder. “A new immune system?”

“Besides that.” Venn nuzzled him.

“Some water.  And some more hh tissues…”  After a moment, Theo wrapped an arm around Venn’s waist.  “…I hope I’m not making your shirt gross.”

Venn bit his lip. “I don’t really care about that right now.”  He rubbed Theo’s back.  “Listen…” It occurred to him that he was going to ask this selfishly, as much for his own relief as Theo’s: “Do you want to go home early?  We’re wrapping up here, anyway.”  He did feel Theo stiffen a little.  “I mean it.  West and Kelly are closing today.  I’ll only be another two hours or so.”  He nuzzled Theo again.  “You could take a nice shower, get rid of some of the pollen, work on your computer… and feel better.”

“…Tempting,” Theo said, begrudgingly.  He stifled a cough.  And finally sighed. “…This is not going to be a usual thing, okay? But.  I don’t want to like, throw anything at the customers.”

“I’ll pick up the stuff, no big deal.  Really.” Venn touched the cool back of Theo’s neck.  “I’ll see you at home.”

Theo headed out, flu mask back in place, a few minutes later.  Venn saw him out, but no one was going to give Theo a hard time.  It was a great relief to know that his boyfriend was going to be lying down soon and giving himself a break… and the anticipation of joining him and getting to cuddle properly gave Venn an extra spring in his step as he finished his shift.  And a period to cool down before they reunited.

[fordarkisthesuede]

The Tolls Of Justice - Chapter 3

*throws confetti* IT’S DOOOONNNNEEEEEE! (I barely beat my deadline, huzzah!!!)

Sorry for the long, long wait. I apparently needed to recharge my internal batteries... But here we go!

{Previous} {Next}

Important Spoiler Tags:  drug mention, prostitution & stripping mentions, gun mention, violent thoughts, therapy sessions

Read on AO3 or continue below:

[Chapter 3:  Ink Trails]

John was finding it difficult to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing.

He couldn’t help it. He’d made the mistake of looking at recent Gotham news, hoping for something new in the murder case every newspaper and station seemed to be going on about, but he’d scrolled too far down his news feed.

You Won’t Believe What This Arkham Orderly’s Seen -  Bruce Wayne and ‘Joker’ not ‘just friends’!

Dr. Leland had warned him that people would speculate about his relationships with others. Especially Bruce, given Bruce’s social standings and John’s lack thereof. Bruce himself had said his team of lawyers were well-equipped to stop this sort of gossip from spreading; he’d proved it the last time one of the tabloids had printed such a thing, getting it redacted with an apology from the paper itself.

But that was before they actually had a relationship.

Bruce was careful. He’d never said anything or done anything romantic while John was locked away, with the exception of his first post-Scarecrow visit, when the power and cameras were turned off for those few minutes. And last Saturday, of course, but did it really count when they were so far from Arkham’s nosey orderlies and any prying eyes? The article clearly stressed Arkham orderly.

But John had been good. He’d kept the real them a secret, even from his Arkham doctors. Even from his current doctors. Sure, he’d occasionally give a slightly suggestive comment when he and Bruce had the rare chance to be completely alone, but no one could have possibly overheard them. As much as he wanted to shout it from the rooftops, John understood that any question about potential tampering with his recovery process could land him right back into another involuntary stay at Arkham.

And he’d die sooner than face that.

Unable to stop himself, he ignored the pair of shorts still waiting for a proper hem and skimmed through the thing, keeping in mind that Bruce would no doubt bring the hammer down on the Gotham Moonrise regardless of the details.

Anonymous Arkham orderly claims to have inside knowledge regarding the relationship between John Doe, alias ‘Joker’, and Bruce Wayne, blah blah blah... “Reports to have seen Bruce pay off themselves and other orderlies in exchange for uninterrupted time in John’s cell on multiple occasions”?

“Hah, I wish,” John muttered to himself, closing the article as his anxiety starting to ebb away. A lot of money must have exchanged hands to be bold enough to make that claim on paper. Bruce’s team of  three-piece suits were probably already on their way to the Gotham Moonrise’s editorial department with a nice large lawsuit.

He skimmed through further. There was an old close-circuit-camera picture in the middle, taken in the nicer of Arkham’s two visitor rooms - John and Bruce were sitting together at the table, watching something on Bruce’s phone. Bruce had been showing him one of the old Gray Ghost serials up on UBox upon learning that John had only ever seen bits and pieces of the nearly thirty-year-old cartoon reboot from bloggr posts. John didn’t see how that qualified as them ‘getting cozy’, as the caption put it, considering they had to stay a minimum of a foot apart at all times inside there.

He breathed out slowly, like he was supposed to, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to fidget. He pulled up his favorite picture of Bruce. He was walking down the steps of the courthouse after his first hearing regarding last year’s mess, looking determined and impossibly handsome in what John knew to be his second-favorite suit, the black with dark gray pinstripes. There was nothing about the angle or lighting that was wrong:  it was perfect, like him. “It’s nothing, John,” he told himself in his best imitation of Bruce’s smooth, deep tone, “They won’t throw you back in on idle gossip.”

“You’re right,” he answered in a whisper. He kissed the tip of his index finger and tapped it over Bruce’s face. “I’m worrying over nothing,” he said firmly. The more he said it, the more he believed it.

The feed above that article had some of the usual fair regarding celebrity socialites cheating on their significant others and some minor political scandal, but then - boom, third article down:  Missing man’s body found near East Docks.

John wasn’t sure how to feel. He was excited there was something new, but he couldn’t help but think he shouldn’t be happy over a stranger’s death. The thought might as well have Dr. Leland’s voice attached, telling him to think of how it would feel to lose someone he cared about, and apply that. The stranger might have been a criminal, but he could’ve been someone else’s Bruce Wayne.

But John didn’t cause this one. It was a force beyond his control. He didn’t have to feel bad about it. Hell, it might have been justified. Maybe Muddy Nye had done far worse things than distribute toxic garbage to the masses through organized crime.

The scar on his palm peeked out over the edge of his phone.

...or maybe Muddy was someone’s John Doe.

John opened the article, finding a video on top. That would be much faster than reading.

He recognized the newscaster - Faith Ackart, who had covered his recent court proceedings with barely a smidge more kindness than Jonathan Crane’s. A real go-getter in the journalistic field with apparently very little fashion sense; her top was so bright it made the blush on her cheeks look severe.

“You think your morning’s bad, be thankful you aren’t Lou Monger - a task that should’ve taken two minutes turned into nearly two hours after Lou went to take out the trash and found a body in his business’ dumpster.”

The camera cut, showing the police tape draped across an alley and a dumpster underneath a fire escape in the background, where the aforementioned man stood in front of it with the microphone almost shoved in his face.

That was the exact alleyway he was yesterday morning. The same dumpster with the dent on top, the same fire escape, the same graffitti in the background… He could practically smell the rotting fish carcasses.

“I just open the lid, ready to throw on more crap, and this guy’s just layin’ there, dead as a doornail,” Lou explained, looking angrily flummoxed, “I got a business to run and now I gotta leave my customer’s hangin’ for two hours during prime-time! I open the lid, guy’s got a new hole in his head - what else do you gotta know?”

The camera cut back to Faith, standing across the street from the police line. The body had already been removed.  

“What Lou didn’t know was that the body was that of Muddy Nye, who police believe to be connected to the van explosion by the East Docks on Tuesday morning - where an anonymous witness says they spotted Batman nearby only minutes before. G.C.P.D. decline to comment on whether or not the group killed in the explosion are connected to those found aboard the Chandis, and on the supposed Batman sighting.”

John drummed his fingers against the table surface. A wannabe-mobster shot in the head, a la execution style…

And suddenly, like a trigger pulled in his head, he realized that both he and Tiffany had used the fire escape. She might have used the dumpster. There had been no rain the night before to wash any of their trace evidence away, and the cops were likely going to comb over the alley for anything useful.

That was bad. Real bad. Especially if Tiffany had caused that dent in the top of the lid. Especially-especially since he’d been walking around when he technically shouldn’t have been.

Tiff please tell me you didn’t use the dumpster as leverage yesterday!! He texted, unable to stop his leg from bouncing anxiously.

For what?

The fire escape??? Muddy’s dead

He’s LITERALLY sleeping with the fishes in that dumpster

I touched the fire escape and our prints are gonna be all over the ladder!!!!!

Hang on

How could John hang onto anything? They would have known he left work, and they’d question his boss, who would no doubt lie and say he snuck out to cover his own ass, they’d question him, and they’d suspect John heavily for no other reason than his past history and they’d throw him back in.

He could feel his heart racing. He didn’t want to go back to Arkham. How many exclamation points after that did he have to use to drive that point home?

Okay so 1 I didn’t use the dumpster, I jumped like a normal person, and 2 chill out. Traffic cam got conveniently jammed around 2am so they definitely planned to dump it. They’ll just check the dumpster

John breathed deep, trying to relax. She had a point. Why check the fire escape if the killer dumped the body like a pro?

3 sleeping with the fishes?? That is a terrible pun wtf

But it’s not wrong!! He texted, This has classic mob hit all over it.

“Actually…” It did, didn’t it? He could practically see the plan in his head:  kidnap to get information, shoot in the head to stop any squealing, drop off at a planned dumping ground a good distance away…with fish, no less. They didn’t go to the harbor where the message would be crystal-clear, despite the large stretch of it not occupied by cops... Yet with a million dumpsters in the city to choose from, and they went to a dumpster with fish?

It was as if…

“It is a joke,” he muttered to himself, believing it more firmly as the words left his growing grin. It was a terrible, tongue-in-cheek sort of gag.

The whole thing was something he couldn’t help but laugh at, escalating from titters to a low cackle.

He tried to stifle it with his hand; the manager was rather keen on a quiet workplace, and he knew ‘random laughing’ had a more negative connotation when he was the one doing it.

The back-room door swung open on queue, and Mr. Prinya stuck his head in. “John, keep it down,” he whispered in a rush, “I’ve got a customer.”

“S-sorry,” John managed, swirling in his chair as he slyly slid his phone underneath the pile of orders, “I just remembered a funny meme.”

The older man frowned like a stern parent. “You’re not on your phone at work, are you?”

“Me? Never. You know, idle hands and all that,” he lied, holding up both hands and wiggling his fingers to show he was empty-handed. “If they’re here for the shorts, tell them to wait - thread got stuck again.”

Mr. Prinya eyed him, his suspicion waning into something like concern. “You need it unstuck?”

“Nah, I’ll get it.”

“Okay...just keep it down.”

“Yes, sir,” John affirmed with a little salute.

The second the manager was gone, John put his phone on silent and slid it back into his pocket. He didn’t really like straight-up lying to people he didn’t dislike, but he tried to think of it like lying to the Arkham staff - if  it meant he and his secrets were safe, then it was acceptable.

The door didn’t quite close - it had a habit of not sticking without being given a little slam. He could hear the annoyingly digital door chime and the last customer’s cheery goodbye through the crack in the door. And then another not a moment later, as tinny and loud as ever.

“Ah, good morn-” There was a brief pause. “Good morning, Mr. Nito,” Mr. Prinya said, his accent becoming a little thicker on the ‘i’s and ‘o’s.

“My vest ready?” A somewhat gruff voice replied.  

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but John was more of a hyena person anyway. He had no problem taking a peek to satisfy the itch to know.

Mr. Prinya’s small shoulders were clearly tense. The customer looked the rough type, with shaved eyebrows, barbell brow-piercings, and a nose ring. He seemed to have a tan, but the facial features and complete lack of any other underlying accent indicated that he was probably only a little less white than John.

“Yes…” Mr. Prinya sorted through the rack. He was at least a head shorter than ‘Mr. Nito’; what would that make him, five-eleven? Or six? “Here it is.”

“I hope you know I ain’t leavin’ ‘til I know it’s safe.”

There was little doubt it wasn’t drugs; probably coke or heroin, given how much was carefully distributed in the fabric. Or it could’ve been something new hitting the streets.

John thought back to Vicki Vale and her little drug-ring; he’d gotten used to passing information along to Bruce, hadn’t he? His first instinct was to tell him. The handsome billionaire might not be directly involved this time, but it was certainly something he’d be interested in...and probably thank him for.

John could barely see the lumps in the cloth as Mr. Prinya brought to the counter. It looked like an old police-grade bullet proof vest - it wasn’t as big as the SWAT ones he’d seen on TV, or the one he’d worn last year.

He had a good angle. Bruce’s tech had that fancy facial-recognition software on it. It’d be easy to find him through that - or just by combing over his tattoos. One could be one for a recognizable gang.

Flash off, zoom in, and...snap!

The vest was laid carefully on the table. “Of course it’s safe,” Mr. Prinya assured.

Mr. Nito - if that was his real name - snorted.  “For all I know you could’ve done shoddy seams on purpose.”

“Of course-” Mr. Prinya stopped himself short.

The tattooed man glared at him. “Of course what? You got somethin’ to say?”

The rudeness of him was one thing, but the way the guy touched his belt, like he was going for a gun, really rubbed John the wrong way. He could see the handle of a blocky pistol under the guy’s unseasonable zippered jacket. He didn’t have to pull it out - open-faced threats of death like that just made John think of the bridge incident, and that memory was one that still made his blood boil.

“No,” Mr. Prinya responded with a slight hitch. “Of course you may look.”

Tamper you instincts, they would say. He tucked his phone away and clutched his hands. Clench, release, clench...

Calm down. (Hard to do that when he knew all too well what it felt like to be on either sides of a gun barrel. There was too much power behind them.)

Think of your future, Dr. Leland had advised months and months ago.

...Bruce...wouldn’t want him to go out there. If the guy talked, people might know where he worked. His private life was meant to be private until he was officially released.

But Bruce would surely have taken a bullet for him. And he wouldn’t have let that...that scumbag just walk around acting like he could just do whatever the hell he wanted.

He mentally crossed ‘hiding’ off his list of options. He certainly wouldn’t go in there and just punch the guy - there’d be too much collateral damage.

John would play it cool. Confident. Things were different - he was different. He could do that. Be that.

(He’d save the gory imagery of the guy clutching the bleeding stumps of his fingers for a mental replay later.)

So he clutched the door-handle and made a show of entering, swinging the door wide - not too wide - with a random piece of clothing tucked under his arm. “Hey, boss-man-” He cut himself off as appropriate, pretending to just see the ‘customer’ behind the counter. The man’s eyes flashed to him, hard at first, and then widening with recognition. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know we had company!” He flashed a grin Mr. Nito’s way.

He looked less horrified than John would have wanted. Not the ‘oh my God, it’s that crazy guy from the news last year’ that John expected. More like John was someone he knew, and he just didn’t expect to see him there. Or really, more of a ‘you look weird, and I’m suddenly not sure of what dimension I’m in’ sort of stare.

Mr. Prinya, on the other hand, looked almost disbelievingly surprised to see him. “D-did you need something, John?” He asked, his accent just as thick as before.

“That darn machine is still stuck,” he lied, “My butterfingers can’t untangle the threads as easily as you.” He wiggled his free set of fingers to show how noodley they were. It wasn’t completely untrue, which sold the bit better - he usually got so frustrated when the knots wouldn’t untie that he’d end up cutting them out nine times out of ten.

Mr. Nito’ had tugged his jacket back over his pistol. He was still staring at John. Thinking about how much of a risk it was to deal with the Arkham loon. He’d fought Batman and lived. He could be armed. Even if he wasn’t, he was fast, and who knew if he cared about collateral damage?

John stared right back, feigning curiosity. “Is there something on my face?” He asked as innocently as possible while imagining the guy’s hands being slammed on the counter and stuck there with the whole tomato of pins.

He wouldn’t be able to reach for his gun if his hands were pinned. The thought was so funny it almost made him laugh; he could feel his grin widen.

Mr. Nito looked away and gathered the vest under his arm as quickly as possible, looking like he was trying to hold a toddler on his hip. “If this falls apart on me, it’ll be your fault,” he emphasized at Mr. Prinya, glaring with less machismo than before, “Hope you’ll remember that,” he huffed.

He turned and left, leaving John to titter under his breath at how the tough-guy act had dissolved into an immature little bark. The obnoxious doorbell went off and the man disappeared into the city with a disgruntled scowl.

Mr. Prinya watched him go, only relaxing when the man was out of sight. He muttered something incomprehensible in a relieved breath.

“Yeesh, what a weirdo... Whelp, I’ll be in back if you need me!” John spun on his heel, two steps into his return to his lonely work when Mr. Prinya spoke.

“John,” Mr. Prinya said in a similar sort of tone to the one Bruce used when he wanted John to stop and think for a moment, “You shouldn’t…” He paused, thinking further, seeming to soften with every passing moment. John waited for him to finish. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” John said honestly. It wasn’t as if he’d actually done anything outside of show his infamous face. He decided to gamble and ask the big question rather than let the chance slip away. “Who was that guy, anyway?”

Mr. Prinya eyed him. He had that sort of gentle-letdown look Dr. Leland used to get when she would tell him ‘no’.  “Don’t get mixed up in this. You have your own life to worry about.”

It was the second time that was said to him in two days...

Maybe fate was trying to drill that into his head.

...or maybe it was just coincidence.

“I swear you guys say that as if you’re not part of my life,” he said with a short chortle, making sure to close the door behind him.

The back room felt much cooler than before, and for a moment he felt like he was back in Bruce’s cave, sitting at that ridiculously oversized supercomputer to dig up dirt wherever he thought a useful little worm of information might be. Only this room was smaller and crowded with sewing supplies instead of fancy tech and stalactites, and there were no bats or handsome best friend around for company.

Still, he couldn’t shake the sense of intrigue that came with the idea. He pulled up the picture he’d taken of ‘Mr. Nito’.

He zoomed in on the tattoos. A dragon tail peeked out of the jacket’s sleeve - it was such a standard thing to get that he figured there wasn’t much to go on with that one.

A large embossed star sat between his neck and shoulder. He’d seen celebrity chefs with the same sort of tat’. Nothing special.

Knuckle tattoos - because of course he’d have those - spelled out ‘PAIN’ on his left hand. He didn’t doubt there was a matching one of some kind on his right. Talk about basic.

There was something peeking out above the v-neck:  the top of a face that looked like it was split in half, with the expressions like the sock and buskin masks in theatre, cast in black and red. Or at least that’s what John assumed they were, given the eyebrow and eye shapes...

That one was definitely more unique. Worth looking into.

He heard the door chime again, but Mr. Prinya didn’t sound so nervous when he greeted them this time. There was no need to go back out or throw the sewing machine at someone. (At least...not yet.)

John had to get back to work. He’d have to sort through a lot of social media garbage to find something like it, but he had a lot of free time on his hands...

                                                    *~*~*~*~*

John had been through far too many FriendBook pages. And Chirp pages. And bloggr posts. And he’d posted and searched through the more disturbing internet forums. All in moments snatched where he could at work and travel and in the very few spots in St. Dympha he could get away with using a contraband phone in to look up gang symbols in the tri-state area and beyond.

And nothing. Not a single thing depicting either the symbol the bodies made on the Chandis or the tattoo on ‘Mr. Nito’.

He was tempted to just ask Bruce (or even Tiffany) and shove the picture he’d taken of ‘Mr. Nito’ in their fancy Batcomputer to analyze, but...they were both definitely-probably busy. After all, they were working on the mysterious-gang-war case, and Bruce was probably dealing with the stupid tabloid article from that morning on top of that, and those were more important than his little investigation.

(Besides, he really liked that expression Bruce got when John had figured something out; surprise and pride and intrigue all rolled into one. He’d gladly comb over a hundred more pages of junk to see that face when he inevitably surprised him with.)

And now he was stuck in group. Unable to do anything but sit and mull over what he was missing, and think about Bruce’s mess of a mystery. He’d looked as far back as the nineteen-twenties for criminally-linked logos that looked even remotely like what either of them should be, but found none. It had to be new, and small enough to fly under the radar…

John had a mental catalog of all the gangs that were and ever had been in the city. Black Mask was much more recent, seizing the opportunistic hole that Falcone had left in his wake and picking up business fronts and those ridiculous protection rackets, and adding in the standard drug trade. He was sure he was an out-of-towner who noticed the lack of a big organized crime unit… Or at least someone who operated outside of the city to get power before moving in on the big fish.

He’d crossed off a lot of the old mafias already, mostly due to them being dead and gone. Falcone’s leftovers weren’t smart enough or loyal enough to organize themselves into some sort of revenge plot; they were the type to follow the new guy. Maroni’s crew tended to be more hot-headed and not take orders from new people, but there were only so many left, and they had their own little territories carved out on the map that Black Mask hadn’t bothered trying to take.

The small-time gangs (seventeen of them at the last count) scattered around the place didn’t really have enough to pull of a stunt like that of the Chandis. They were more the types to make deals with the big time crooks and go down in a blaze of glory if something went wrong.

So unless it was someone new… But why? That was the real question. It felt too personal to be random. Maybe whoever was running Black Mask had crossed paths with someone who had the patience to wait for revenge. Someone deadly. Trained, if the knife-throwing was anything to go by. Maybe it wasn’t a gang, but one person. A serial killer bent on revenge. Maybe B.M. killed someone they cared about, or took something from them.

Maybe B.M. had lit a circus on fire or something. He added it to his little list of things to look up later.

He hated admitting it, but Tiffany had been right in her little insinuation - there was little he could do about this particular thing while he was on the inside...

“John? How about you?”

Of course Dr. Ludgate would call him out while was sitting there thinking. She had a knack for picking on the quiet ones. She looked it, too, with her severely-sharp haircut and the general attitude that she commanded the room. He wondered if she used to be a teacher or something. (She certainly had the style of those fussy teachers he’d seen on T.V. over the years. Awful floral patterns were her apparently her favorite thing in the world.)

Of course they’d call him out when he was sitting there thinking. He hadn’t been paying attention for quite a while.

Complete honestly wasn’t even an option here. He’d hate to just say he was just daydreaming or not listening…

“Ah, well, I was just thinking, doc’...”

The doctor was giving him the ‘ah, yes, go on’ look he was used to. It seemed a lot of the group was paying attention to him… Well, who was he to disappoint an audience?

“I still have those moments where things feel like some kind of alternate reality. Like I’m in one of those weird ‘what-if’ comics and I’ve got only so many pages left until I find myself still in…” That cozy little slice of hell, he wanted to say. But that was ‘inappropriate’ and ‘disturbing’. Not exactly the picture he wanted to paint for himself in front of a healthcare professional. “Well, Arkham.”

Mickey, sitting across from him in their little circle, was watching him like he was actually paying attention. He had a tendency to stare at his lap a lot in group. Or into space.

“But...the past couple of weeks have helped prove that I’m not there anymore.” ...kinda. He thought carefully. “Like it’s not just the scenery that’s different, you know?”

Some thoughtful looks at that. Nice.

He wasn’t going to add on anything too sugary, like his hope for others feeling the same. No, no, that wasn’t his style. He leaned back in his chair, unable to hold back the little grin. “Though this place could take some pointers from it. Exposed brick is much more chic than all this eggshell.”

A couple of titters and amused little smirks in the group. Much better.

Dr. Ludgate just nodded her head. “It’s good to know you’re feeling more comfortable, John. I think everyone here has days where they don’t feel like they’re really at a better point in their lives.”

John leaned back a little further in his chair. She didn’t seem to completely understand, but that was okay. She got the end message, at least, and that was what mattered. He didn’t really care if anyone else got it or not.

When no one else spoke up after a few beats - clearly no one wanted to delve further into that conversation link - Dr. Ludgate pretended to look at her watch. “I think that’s about all we have time for today.” She made sure to look at the group as a whole. “You’ve all made wonderful progress.”

A phrase he’d heard a thousand times, and it still hadn’t lost it’s funny side. He at least managed to swallow the urge to giggle at it.

John strolled out of the room, going straight back to thinking. There wasn’t much he could do with Bruce’s stuff. Back to thinking about the mysterious Mr. Nito as he made his way back to his room. The perfect thinking place.

He hadn’t seen anything resembling the weird theatre masks in his tattoo search, either. It was apparently rather unique. Maybe he had to do some more forum digging for that one…?

“Hey, John,” Devi Hanson waved to him from a little further down the hall clad in pink cheetah-print pants, and he saw a flash of intensely-bright neon green in her hand.

Nail polish. It was ridiculously bright, and he was seized with the urge to have it. “Where did you get that color?” He asked enthusiastically, already making a bee-line for her.

“Outside, where else?” She joked. “What, you wanna use it?”

He could steal it from her, but she was one of the few people who actively enjoyed his company. “How many ways can I say yes? Absolutely, sure, oui, si, ja...”

She gave a light laugh. “Alright, but you have to do my right hand for me.”

“Deal!”

He followed her into the recreation room. It was ten times cozier than Arkham’s; only one orderly to oversee things, much comfier sofas, a cable package with actually decent things on half the time, several board games that weren’t just checkers or some variant of it, and people that weren’t prone to sudden bouts of violence. (Well, mostly. He’d seen a very heated game of Dungeons, Dragons, and Dice.)

They sat at one of the corner tables, away from the crowd watching that boring ‘“nerdy” comedy John didn’t understand the appeal of.

“So, how’s the sewing gig goin’?” Devi asked casually as she started to paint her left hand with practiced strokes.

“About as well as it can go,” he answered. He wasn’t going to mention anything about what transpired earlier. “How’s the laundry shift?”

“Hot and borin’,” she answered back. “They say a job’s a job, but it actually makes stripping seem good again. At least there was fun music and a lot more money in it.”

“Huh, I didn’t know you did that.”

“Eh, it was a lifetime ago. It’s how I got into my nasty little habit.” Devi was rather quick at painting, apparently, already going on her third nail. “I’d rather go back to bein’ a stylist again, actually. I could style and dye hair like nobody's business.” She shot a look at his hair. “Wouldn’t need to do yours, though. You’re color sure stays...”

“It’s au natural.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Really? Man, you’re lucky! I’d kill for a color like that.”

“Maybe I did,” he said slyly, half joking to himself. For all he knew it was true. “We’ll never know!”

She gave him a funny look. Sort of curious and amused. “You don’t remember anything before the last decade, right?”

“Correct-a-mundo.”

“So why do you look like you’re always thinkin’ really hard about somethin’ lately?” Devi started blowing on her nails to dry them.

It was always tempting to tell people to mind their own business, but Devi had half her arms covered in very well-done tattoos. He could use some insight... “‘Cause I’m thinking hard about things.” John started to paint his own left hand, deciding on odd fingers instead of all of them. “In today’s case, though… It’s tats.”

“So nothin’ to do with the studmuffin that keeps visitin’ you?” Devi was shaking her hand and blowing on it alternatively.

Either she was blowing smoke, or...she saw the tabloid article. “That? It’s...just a rumor,” he shrugged off, finding it difficult to say. He’d mostly just avoided the topic altogether, or else rolled his eyes when people brought it up. He hadn’t had one of those stupid tabloid opinion pieces since last year, when it was very easy to say it wasn’t true because it wasn’t.

“Didn’t say anythin’ about rumors.” She admired her nails, looking for imperfections.

John narrowed his eyes. Did she think he was stupid? “You didn’t have to. You probably saw that stupid article on the news rack while you were out, and that’s why you lured me here. To ask about it.”

“Not even close!” Devi answered with a little frown, “I actually like your company; you’re funny and you’re the only one in this joint who appreciates my taste in color,” she said, gesturing to her whole yellow-and-pink outfit, “And I asked because half the time I see you, the guy’s almost attached to your hip. What’s this about an article?”

Oh. Whoops. “Sorry,” John muttered, feeling bad at jumping to conclusions, “it’s this whole stupid tabloid thing… It’s bad enough they gossip about Bruce, but to just...speculate about our relationship like that! It’s enough to...” He breathed in through his nostrils. “It really pisses me off.” It was too close to home, too paranoia-inducing...too much that put Bruce on edge, and thus John on edge.

Devi gave a sort of half-nod, half-shrug. “That’s what they do. Don’t give ‘em the satisfaction.” He knew she was right, but it didn’t help that she didn’t know everything about the situation. She couldn’t possibly know how messy it made him feel. “Anyway, why were you thinkin’ ‘bout tattoos? Jealous of mine?” She leaned her right arm on the table to show off the prowling leopard and scatter of flowers trailing down from her shoulder. She had someone’s name tattooed under a cross on her opposing forearm, and a necklace of constellations on her collarbone.

Flattery was the best way to go the majority of the time. “Yours are pretty,” he offered, watching her sit up a little proudly, “but I’m just puzzling over one I’ve seen,” he said cryptically, finished on his thumbnail. “I’ve never seen one like it before.”

“You got a picture?” She asked, putting her left hand in front of him so he’d get the hint.

John eyed the guard in the corner. He waited until he’d turned just enough away to slide his phone out of his pocket and pull up the gallery, zooming in on Mr. Nito’s tattoo. “If anyone asks, it’s yours,” he muttered, nodding to the phone as he started painting her other hand.

“Not allowed one yet, huh?” Devi pulled it across the able and looked. “Hm… That’s new to me.” She zoomed out, much to John’s discomfort. “Him, on the other hand, I’ve seen.”

“You have?” John could not keep the excitement out of his voice. “When? Where?”

“Here,” she shrugged. “Hang on a sec - hey, Mick’,” she called out, leaning to get a view of the only ‘Mick’ it could be in the facility, “Can you come here for a sec’?”

John did not want to involve him. They weren’t on...well, any real terms. It was hard to tell if Mickey liked him...or anything at all, in fact. Mickey was too abrasive to know if he would be loyal to anything or anyone.

Mickey, unfortunately, did in fact come when called, though. Maybe he had a soft spot for Devi, or women in general. “Yeah?”

“You remember this guy? I remember seein’ him, but I don’t remember his name.”

Mickey breathed out, crossing his arms over his plain t-shirt and looking...not very different from his usual gruff expression. His thick dark brows were furrowed together. “I just knew him as Ian.”

“Yeah, that was it… He didn’t stay too long, did he?”

Mickey snorted, smirking a little. “A week.”

John resumed painting, not realizing he’d stopped. “Who was he?”

“A patient,” Mickey replied. He was staring holes down at John. “We shared the same doctor. Why?”

John was getting annoyed, and he was getting tired of being polite. “That’s my business.”

Mickey decided to just sit next to Devi, still staring at him. “You trying to stop a racket?”

John ignored that and started on Devi’s pinkie finger.

“The hotel’s got one, too,” he continued quietly. That caught John’s interest.

Devi gave a slight chortle. “Every bus’ in the docks has one. Stupid to try and get us to be so law-abiding when they put us down there.”

Yes, now John was doubly-interested.

“What kind is it?” John asked Mickey, looking up from his handiwork.

“Drugs and prostitution,” he answered as Devi made a disgusted face, “Yours?”

John decided to be honest as he started on his own right hand. He rather liked the look of his left. “Pretty sure my boss is a drug mule. I don’t think it’s by choice.”

Devi winced harder. “Ugh. I got lucky, mine’s just a secret loan racket in the basement.”

Mickey was watching him. “Are you trying to stop them?”

It was...almost hopeful. Like he actually wanted that. A tough guy like Mickey, who could have easily been in a gang himself, wanted the crime in his life stopped. How...oddly refreshing.

“I don’t like being potentially thrown under the bus for other people’s decisions,” John chose to say, discarding the joke that he still had Batman’s number on speed-dial. “It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

Mickey nodded sagely. “You don’t want to go back,” he stated. “I get it.”

“Until you’ve been in Arkham, Mickey, you really don’t.” He hoped it didn’t sound as rude as he thought. “You guys know the name of your employer’s racket group?”

“Some guy named Boata,” Devi answered, blowing on her newly painted fingers.

Mickey looked up at the ceiling very briefly. “Last I heard, it was something like ‘Volto’.”

Interesting. A chain of small gangs working in such a small area? That only meant one thing:  they were sections of a bigger gang. Especially with such European-sounding names...

The leftovers, perhaps. Or maybe they wanted just to sound like the leftovers. Cast the suspicion of the Bat off.

One thing was for sure. He had to find Ian’s full name. A last known address wouldn’t hurt, either.

And that meant he’d have to break into an office.

Notes:   I’m very happy with the first section, but less satisfied with how the second half turned out, and it bent me out of shape for a week to think of how it would end... But I reminded myself that I’m setting up for what’s coming in what should be Chapter 5, and...oh boy, I know that is gonna knock some socks off. (Including mine, haha!) So it’s worth the struggle, but I hope I kept everyone’s attention. :)

So, fun facts! I had to look up what the theatre masks were called, and “sock and buskin” are literally names for the masks, taken from the “sock of comedy and boot of tragedy” characters could wear on stage. (I’ve...never heard of such a thing before now, but I like it.) And my reference to “a whole tomato of pins” is an allusion to the common tomato-shaped pin-cushion. I’ve grown up with one in the house and rarely see any in sewing stores that aren’t shaped like that, so I thought it was a sort of funny thing to add.

It’s really too bad I can’t just make a whole game for this, because I think John would have some interesting mental-mapping in animation. You’d get to see him connect the strings together like Batman does on his tech, and imagine some things like Bats’ 3D-projecting. Plus he talks to himself, both aloud (like Bruce) and in his head, so the player would actually hear that sometimes, and some of his little vocal memories from other people. (If my alternate-universe self is doing this...man, I hope she’s having fun with it.)

And of course, thank you for all the love so far!! Every time I get a note I go like this:  (♡´౪`♡) *✧ ✰ ｡* I’ll see you in two weeks, when we rejoin Bruce! 

[sulpher]

what do you call someone with a strong annoyance borderline hate of men specifically men who are incredibly (masculine) toxic but would be the shit out of anyone who tried to say a man could be assaulted, or that men should be belittled and mistreated like women?( a rant?)

I remember I got called a terf like maybe two or three months ago and it bothers me because I worry if I could be aligned in that horrible theory. I always thought the main core of terfism was that you are “ gender critical “ and you ironically just like the patriarchy don't think a woman could ever be smart enough to know the difference in literally - anything? i like trans woman too many folks...i like women - cis and trans...they're cute and awesome ...so like how could you not?  Im bringing this up because as of late ive had a very angry and almost cold voice that respond when i see violence against women because people felt entitle to people bodies and just like school shootings and trumps camps I have to numb myself too it or otherwise i would literally go on a suicidal/homicidal spree.  “ a women’s death is nothing in comparison to a man’s freedom. a woman;s discomfort is nothing in the way of a man entitlement “ I dont like that phrase. i feel like if come off to me as the epitome of femi nzai if that’s even a thing anymore since the men who hated them are most likely real nazis. Listen im 28 and stuck in a house with two men who double-crossed me and are only taking care of me because i decided to quit my job. im only in this house with someone who i thought was literally going to harm and someone who stolen moeny from me becuase as a soceity i have been mold to bend until i break and be gaslighted as “ an irrational fuhmal” not even human if i bring it up. its 2019 and im still tlaking to people who think its ok to count thier two stay at home mothers as an example of why women get paid less because they work less but tell em that the 50 women i work with at a company dont count becuase that’s my just my feelings  and smirk and bring up “ toxic feminity” like that not a sub division of toxic masculinity - Because women DID NOT tell other women to compete with other women in order to get men  Because women DID NOT teach other women that it’s ok to hit men and that men shouldn't cry  Because other women DID NOT teach other women that men couldn't be raped, should always pay the bill Not in the beginning ...that was toxic masculinity but how dare I expect men to accountability for responsibility - that’s just one of the privileges of being a male. and stop telling women when they get hurt by a man that they should of got a guy form thier family. You mean the same guy who was allowed to walk around in thier underwear while i had to fully dress in my home at 9 years of fucking age because my body attracted raped and his didn't or as i like to say it “ boys will be boys but girls should know better by knowing nothing at all” 

Listen I don't think the world would be better if men didn't exist. I don't think the world would be better if men were put under the social pressure of women . Im just dont exist in this society any more as hetero passing individual because i dont get along with it’s morals. im so fucking tired of watching women dying because “ a man has his needs...and his excuses “ and before the misandry parade comes put the cuffs again - i dont mind being a misandrist as much as i don't want to be a terf but again im not looking to get in fights with men. I honestly wish i was invisible to them since seeing me as anything as a female is so socially ingrained is impossible and understanding - im not even mad. make go back in the kitchen jokes, shit on my existence, make me play this doll for the sake of your “ cool girl because if i dont letyou hug me, if i show even a sign of resistance to your sexual banter or your anti feminist logic or your victim-shaming statements...im no longer an object of convenience...and i potentially become a another death statistics  and to the “ protect the boys” brigade aka the people who come screaming from/the corner of this hellsite like someone told your child santa doesn't exist when a woman says something like  “ you know i like getting dress up for other women I try not to think about men “ “ im not here for emotionally unavalible boys” “ I'm not here for men who don't want to fix themselves” ” I'm not worried about children and men “ ” I didn't find him interesting so i didn't give him a chance ” and then you mofos come of the fucking woodwork screaming like a motherfucking banshee  ” BOYS NEED LOVE ! IF YOU DONT WANNA FiX HIm HOW IS HE GOING TO GROW ?!” ” DONT SAY MEN ARE TRASH ! TOXIC MASCULINITY IS A RESULT OF HIM NOT BEING LOVE PROPERLY !” ” IGNORE THEM BOYS WE WONT LET THEM FORGET YOU “ * animal like screeching To you ; you dont care about men. You care about the status quo. You think if men become “ as emotional as fuhmales “ (because half of you don't see women as anything but her genitals ) that they will break down. you don't want men to make a connection between the idea that men need to sex in order to be valuable even if that means taking it and that anyone who take sex is a rapist because then men would have to be accountable for their actions. They would feel bad and you wouldn't want your favorite child to feel bad, after all if they feel bad they cant let loose and be the “ best version” of themselves- even if that version of themselves is a fucking dumpster fire. You want them to be the full end of this spectrum at the expense of your less favorite child ( women ). You might be someone who just, in general, have fed into the bullshit that woman are liars ( another concept that makes it easier for rape culture to be prevalent and strong ) and that men are calm, collective beings who are being neglected thanks to feminism and woman not focusing on them. you might think “ well logically if you only tell men they're trash they're going to be trash “ Ive been told i was a bitch , a fake, a slob( that is true. i am dirty af and i will not put on deordorant unless someone coming), pathetic and useless.  I decide one day that if i didnt like any of those things i would change it , becuase if i didnt like being those things that i needed to change them for me. I CHANGE WHEN I DIDNT LIKE MYSELF and before anyone says anything i have had depression and anxeity. i have been gaslighted and bully for years but at the end of the day my change didi not come from people cheering me up or tearing me down it came from ME being critical of myself nad my actions. And that’s why you “ what about the boys” people dont love men as much as you say you do . You're so afraid of them becoming something more than your baby boy being more than what you want, greater than what society has allow that you would rather make in a pacified monster than a human being. you guys hate men and i cannot stand any of you  to the young man who has  been discriminated against because you weren't born as a cis male  were raped by women and wasn't respected by either woman or men when you look for support  gritted your teeth and read through all my rambling you're valid. you worried about having your whole life ruined by false rape accusations or in general, you are generally afraid of adding to a woman’s concern when it comes to men. you dont like being around certain woman becuase you feel they are too touchy are they are the one who the moment you dont find them attractive and everyone includes other men invalidate you're right to not want to be touch. you fucking have to control your urge to gut punch every time you here the phrase “ men are trash “ becuase you understand the phrase isnt about you and some smart ass is like “ if its not about you why are you getting mad “. Like we all know why you're mad - but we know you're better than that.  I appreciate you questioning your friends on thier used of rape jokes and trying to implied that sexual assault doesn't exist becuase “ if the guy attracted females dont complain “ I think you're wonderful...but i want out  becuase my death is just another occurrence. being someone’s property as a child, wife or even friend means nothing now. my death is nothing different than throwing out an aluminum can. i no longer wonder if the person im talking to is capable of rape. i know longer wonder if ill makes it home safely. i know get angry about wanting to do things like move out on my own, be respected by men and not feel that my feelings are constantly being pacified like a battery operated doll who the owner is cooing to work.  I expect it. and when it doesn't happen i hold my breath and try to not think about tomorrow where ill pretty much have the bar set that low again. I expected to have my feelings band aid with “ well im sorry someone hurt you “ or “ youre apart of the problem thinking like that”. when something im uncomfortable with happens i dont go out in a rage but belitting my feelings as “ sensitive” or “ stop being a bitch “ roll off me.  Humankind is capable of amazing thing and i know change is possible...but i dont expect it anytime soon. ....I really just want out. its 2019 and women are still getting killed becuase of entitlement and the only ing most of you is complain that it happens to men too.....Im tired of pretending this society cares if i was murder right now. you only careif i fit the commodity of the day...I want out for i am so very tired 

[nny11writes]

Pink Lizard Thunderbolt Incident

Ahsoka was twenty, bored, and taking a bet from Hardcase when it happened.

Her first mistake was being in the same bar as Hardcase. Quickly followed in order by entertaining the bet, her own youthful naivete, and her desire to push limits. Well, actually, her first mistake had been bragging to him about her ability to knock back starshine’s because human alcohol was “weak ass shit”. Hardcase commiserate and had promised to find her something better, after all, clones had a higher tolerance for alcohol as well. When they’d sat at the bar Hardcase had pointed at her and said, “This one can drink irongut, blood mashes, and thinks starshine is weak. What do you have to knock her flat on her ass?”

Ahsoka had laughed, punching him good naturedly until he’d smiled evilly at her and said, “S’amatter? You scared?”

She’d told him to pay for the drink and she’d drink anything.

When it arrived, the first thing she’d noticed was the small cloud hovering above it, little electrical bolts flying between the hovering vapor and the liquid.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, “is that a pica?”

The bartender, an older purple woman with stubby tentacles swept elegantly behind her head, had grinned and winked. “Nope. That is a pink lizard thunderbolt babe. Almost twice the alcohol content. It can literally eat through a human’s stomach, but you togs are built like gastric tanks. If you can drink this shit and remember anything afterwards, I’ll pay for the damn thing myself.”

Ahsoka stared at it in wonder, a stray bolt shocking her finger as she grinned. She probably sounded more excited than she should have as she asked, “Should we have an ambulance on speed dial or anything?”

The woman shrugged, “How should I know? I’m not your mom!”

“Don’t worry, I’ve just sent Kix a message and he is your mom.” Hardcase made a motion towards it. “You gonna chicken out or what?”

The last thing Ahsoka remembers is grabbing the drink. It’s surprisingly disappointing to say she doesn’t remember what it looked like as the cloud dissipated, she had no clue how it even tasted which just seemed like a fucking shame. Then next thing she remembers is waking up violently ill in an alleyway, and bitching on about buzz droids. Later she’ll be delighted to discover that she is still alive and hadn’t had a single thing stolen from her. Much later she’ll be grateful that Hardcase didn’t record a damned thing. Much, much later she’ll have bragging rights beyond bragging rights and a pin up of herself in a thundercloud painted on a LAAT/i.

But that is later.

Hardcase, for his suspiciously reliable sounding testimony, explains that Ahsoka drank it over a twenty minute period and that after thirty minutes she only seemed regular drunk. The bartender was impressed enough to give them some complimentary nuts. About five minutes after that Ahsoka had started rambling about starships, then blasters, then bitching about how cold Ilum was and how she wished her lightsabers were a “cool” color. She had apparently never explained what that was supposed to mean.

Ahsoka had devolved quickly into tattoo designs for herself, and asked several times in a row if Rex would want one too. Despite Hardcase repeatedly saying she would need to ask the Captain. Then got a little teary eyed that Rex didn’t love her, which the bartender took the wrong way but got a kick out of Ahsoka’s hiccuping, “But he’s my best- brother- frien’- dad and I need him!”

Hardcase had assured her that Rex loved her, and that every trooper in the 501st knew she was their collective best-sister-brother-friend-Commander.

She had sniffled and asked if they’d get tattoos with her which Hardcase assured her they would.

They had both been given orders to drink two glasses of water before leaving. Apparently the bartender wanted to keep visuals on Ahsoka for another hour before they left for liability reasons and also because this was the most fun she’d had all week. Which was fair. After the first glass was chugged Ahsoka almost threw up, managed not to, and had loudly declared that was why togrutas were the best.

Hardcase had gotten up at some point to keep Kix appraised of the situation (“I told him you were fine and you were, ‘s not my fault!), it took less than a minute and he had eyes on her for all except the last fifteen seconds.

No one is really sure where she was for the next hour or so.

Ahsoka finds a receipt in her pocket for a kebab, the used end of a death stick with heavy lipstick stains in a shade she doesn’t own, and a crumpled ticket to a concert that had happened a week before. All in all it’s not useful for much except she glad she didn’t root through the trash more thoroughly. Who knows what would have been in her pockets then. She guesses that she stumbled out the back door to wander a bit, but was probably too uncoordinated to get far. Regardless, drunk Ahsoka had still turned around and homed in on Hardcase at the bar.

The first place Hardcase checked was the dancefloor, then the bathroom, then the back alley. He explained in detail how his short life flashed before his eyes and the way he’d debated if he should call in backup to find her. He’d figured she couldn’t get far and did a sweep, he never saw her. Right when he decided to, and stepped into the back alley he found her sitting half hidden by the dumpster and nearly burst into tears. Hardcase then promised to get a tattoo with her and get her food and do anything as long as she didn’t leave his side again for the night.

Ahsoka had apparently said, “Nice.” while patting his cheeks.

Mama Bartender had come out a long while later with waters for them and asked if Ahsoka was still breathing. Ahsoka had tilted her head and shrugged, which was acceptable. A while after that Hardcase had helped her up and they had tried to go back to the barracks. She had been distracted by every pet they came across and asked to touch them. Hardcase had smiled widely as he explained he was not responsible for whatever photos those civvies had taken of a drunk Jedi playing with their pets.

“That’s on the holonet and I can’t stop it.”

Fair enough, although Ahsoka did feel he shouldn’t act so smug about it.

There had apparently been a memorable stop at a bathroom as Hardcase had gone in the single stall with her to make sure she actually peed in the damned toilet and not on her leggings. Apparently someone had thought they were engaged in more sexual games and had been horrified thinking a trooper took advantage of a drunk woman. Ahsoka had laughed herself nearly sick, again allegedly on civvie camera, explaining that Hardcase was her best friend and she loved him but not like that but if he was a girl she would totally have done it. Hardcase stuttered his way again through the explanation that she was drunk and needed to pee. Ahsoka had been offended at the accusation that she was drunk, right up until she tilted and almost brained herself on the sink while bitching about the gravity repulsors acting up again. Then she’d paused before petting the mirror image of her own face and saying, “Ok ’m drunk.”

The karking Coroc’s had been called in the meantime though, and Hardcase had been laughing too much to explain what happened when the two shock troopers arrived. He must have said something though because they were not, in fact, arrested for any of the things the probably should have been arrested for.

The fact that Ahsoka had received two pings with unknown com numbers to have a drinking contest with the Guard was a good indicator that she’d impressed them for all the wrong reasons. Boot and Chide had both assured her they’d welcome her presence as a judge if nothing else because she was funny.

Hardcase just snickered, “F-funny!” in a high pitched wheeze when she asked about it.

Ahsoka had tried to sleep on a bench and Hardcase had at least redirected her back towards the barracks. They made it halfway there before Ahsoka walked unassisted into another alley, leaned over, and threw up. Feeling better she’d again insisted on sleeping, and Hardcase got her to compromise and just sit next to him. There was no way she was being allowed to sleep yet. He kept an eye on her breathing and made sure she wasn’t getting cold.

“I know my ABC’s Commander!” Hardcase said with pride.

She opted to not make the obvious joke considering he’d shepherded her drunken ass around for at least six. Which was generous considering he was the one who had gotten her plastered in the first place.

That’s where she remembers waking up feeling like shit and grateful that she had the day off.

Kix had nearly blown a fuse when they’d returned as he’d assumed Hardcase was being an idiot and had been joking about the punch packed in her drink. Ahsoka had hissed through his rant, hands covering montrals best she could and accepting the pain killers and the electrolyte mix. She got a few hours sleep in the medical bay under his watchful eye before her woke her to eat a nutrient cube and discharge her with a lifelong case of Being a Karking Dumbass. Kix was adamant that it was chronic and would only become more acute with time. Ahsoka had rolled her eyes but didn’t try to argue because...well, she had drunk the damned thing hadn’t she?

She caught another hour of sleep before Anakin had arrived, stomping and shouting and forcing her up to train in the salle with him. As it was his right as her Master to determine how Ahsoka would spend the day off from the GAR. It wasn’t productive considering she spent the whole time cursing at him and he spent the whole time laughing.

“Best core workout I’ve ever had,” Anakin would say fondly, much later down the line when telling the story to embarrass her.

Obi-Wan had arrived afterwards with an evil smile to drill her on her studies, which Ahsoka managed to only avoid by saying, “You drink one Pink Lizard and everyone becomes an asshole!”

Anakin had panicked for a hot minute while Obi-Wan had immediately sat her down. She’d been quickly forced to explain that Kix had seen her and discharged her already, no she wasn’t dying, and no they only ate through the stomach lining of humans according to the bartender.

Anakin had eventually smiled widely, far too manic for anyone’s tastes, looking between her and Obi-Wan, “We’re high tolerance drinkers! That’s our lineage tick!”

“No,” Obi-Wan tried his best to discourage the notion. “I know what you’re thinking and we should definitely not-”

“Yes!” Anakin insisted, only getting more excited, “We need to get drinks together! Now!”

“No,” Obi-Wan and Ahsoka had both insisted, but for wildly different reasons.

“But yes!” Anakin chripped far to happy and loud for anyone to enjoy as he dragged them off towards their quarters. “So what are we having, I know how to get the good stuff in here.”

“Either get me herbal tea or get me another Pink Lizard so I can die in kriffing peace!” Ahsoka snarled and tried to get her arm out from the mechno grip he’d locked her into.

Obi-Wan said, “I second the motion! Let me go Anakin!”

“Cool, I’m thinking jet juice to start then some skee’s and we’ll see how we’re feeling.” Anakin said the same way some people might imply that eating a small desert after a meal might be one step too far.

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan looked at one another in horror, mute from fear.

“How are you still alive?” She whispered staring up at her Master with new respect.

To be fair, she doesn’t actually remember anything after that either, so maybe the respect had been given a bit to quickly. Suffice it to say they, luckily, survived the night. Although perhaps “luckily” is not the right word for the day that followed.

Regardless, Ahsoka looked up at her nose art with a smile and decided that she would never, ever touch a damned pica drink again in her life. She would have also sworn off drinking with Anakin, but that was a foregone conclusion.

Now if she could just get Yoda to come to one of their “our lineage makes poor decisions” nights, she’d swear off drinking forever.