#and i do such a one eighty i become THE motherfucker it's great people love me

[vampiromano]

i reckon this process started sometime in late February but my Nothingness is only now Gone and I feel like a Person that Exists again and oy my god finally finally finally

[gaysimpsstuff]

Fatgum As a Dad

This was inspired by a conversation I had on a discord server, we all have daddy issues and want Fatgum to adopt us so here’s all the shit we collected.

There are some serious themes in here, mostly regarding the biological parents of the kid, but it’s vague as possible. If anyone wants me to add a trigger warning please let me know.

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It all started when he was a kid, when he learned what an orphanage was. One of the kids in his class mentioned being from one, so when he got home he asked his parents about it. 

“Mom, what’s an orphanage?”

“Well, Taishiro, it’s where children that don’t have parents go. Then people can come and adopt the children. Why do you ask.”

“A kid at school said he’s from one, when d’you think he’s gonna get adopted?”

“He might, not all children get adopted. Some of them stay in the orphanage until they’re adults.”

“BUT THAT’S NOT FAIR!” he shouted. “EVERYONE DESERVES A HAPPY CHILDHOOD!”

“Well, honey, life’s not fair. And not everyone gets a happy life. It’s how most villains are made, actually. They were hurt more than everyone else and couldn’t handle it anymore. Not all villains are like that but many are. I think you should stay away from that kid, Taishiro. He might turn out a villain.”

But he didn’t stay away. And he made it his mission to become a pro hero so he could make a ton of money and help as many people as he could. He’d help even villains, keep them from doing something dangerous and inspire hope in them.

Then, he’d adopt any kid who needed a father. All the orphanages and foster programs would be empty. Homeless children off the street and in his house, being fed and clothed. He’d care for each and every one of them, not wanting a single person to feel like they didn’t belong. 

He finds most of his kids at pride parades. He walks around with a shirt that says ‘FREE DAD HUGS’ and a box full of candy. He remembered one of the kids walking up to him slowly.

“Um.. are you Fatgum?” 

“Yes I am!”

“Can I have a hug?”

“Yes you can, Kiddo!” he got down, and the kid put his arms on his stomach (Fatgum’s too big for anyone to fully hug, the dude’s taller than Allmight!) he wrapped his arms around the kid before he heard sniffles. He looked down and saw that the kid was crying.

“M-my parents never hug me like this!” they exclaimed. “They haven’t since I came out. They want to kick me out when I turn thirteen!” 

“Can I have their number? I’m going to... talk to them.”

He ended up taking the kid’s family to court, and since the parents were going to just kick the kid out anyways, they let Fatgum adopt them, but they kept nagging him about how he was ‘going to be raising a little demon.’

“Then call me Lucifer.” he spat right back. Now, that kid’s grown up, has pride flags all around their walls, and doesn’t ever doubt that they’re loved.

Fatgum probably bakes with his kids. Helping them up onto the counter to mix ingredients and play with the dough. If they mess something up or break a glass, it’s fine. He doesn’t yell at them or sigh and shake his head, he just kissed the kid on the forehead and helps them clean up the mess. 

The food always turns out amazing, and Fatgum always tells the kids that. All of his kids are now Gordon Ramsay level chefs and have probably met Gordon Ramsay. 

No matter what their body type is, Fatgum tells his kids their handsome/beautiful and are model worthy. If anyone comments of one of his kid’s body, whether it be negative or... ‘positive’ in a creepy way, you can expect that they’re getting slammed into the ground. No questions asked.

One of Fatgum’s kids is really good at make-up. Like, really good. So Fatgum did the only thing a rational father would do. 

Ask for a make-up job.

It didn’t end all that well...

“Hold still.. I gotta get the eyeliner on.”

“Gosh, Kiddo it’s making my eyes water.” 

“I know, just hold still... aaaand...... done! Now don’t touch it or it’ll smear!”

“Wow, that looks great! You’re really good at this!”

“Thanks, dad- you smeared it already didn’t you?”

“....Nope.”

Fatgum: I'm not gonna do it, it just seemed like a good option. 

Fatgum not even two seconds later after seeing a trans kid crying: now carrying said child on his shoulders while his spouse is chuckling in a corner after signing adoption papers I did it.

This man would get his kids almost anything they wanted. Especially kids with ADD/ADHD/Autism/Tourettes/Anxiety who need stim toys.

Kid: chewing on their nails.

Fatgum: here take this stim toy, and this one, you chew this one so that might help-

Kid ends up with more stim toys than they can count.

Fatgum: just doing his job 

The Daddy Issues Gang: Hi dad- oh shit wait- Hi- I- fuck- trauma ensues. crying

Fatgum: grabs the daddy issues gang we're going to the nearest courtroom say hello to your new father its me im the father ok lets go.

Kid: um, dad can I talk to you? 

 Fatgum, turning around quickly: yes? 

 Me: ‘he moved so quick, he's mad at me, I'm gonna get yelled at’ Sorry, sorry! 

Fatgum: uh, no. I'm getting you ice cream and a new stuffed animal no questions asked

He'd just know when something's wrong, and he’d be great at comforting.

His usual style of comfort is to let the kid sit on his stomach and tell him what’s wrong. His body is one giant pillow for his kids to lay on, he can fit at least eight of them if they cuddle in closely.

Once filmed a commercial dressed as the Cool-Aid man, and all of his kids were in the commercial.

Fatgum: Busts down wall  “OH YEAH!”

Director: “And CUT! Okay, try a little more aggressive-”

Fatgum, in tears: “I don’t wanna scare my kids.”

As stated before, if anyone makes his kids feel bad he’s punching them to the ground, but sometimes he’s not in a position where he can do that. Like if a Karen mom ever comes over.

"Linda stop bringing lemon squares if you're going to talk about my son that way because they're just as sour as your attitude."

Fatgum but he slaps the toxic members of your family and tells them to do better or he's taking you.

Then takes you anyway because you prefer him.

Fatgum with a sweater that says ‘mr dad guy on it’

Fatgum definitely watches ATLA, and quotes Uncle Iroh daily. When his kids are minding their own business they suddenly hear

“Leaves from the vine... falling so slow...” 

INAUDIBLE CHAOS AND PANIC

Fatgum agency cosplayed ATLA characters on Halloween.

Fatgum was Iroh.

Kirishima was Sokka.

Tamaki was either Momo or Appa.

Maybe get a couple others in on it too, Mirio could be Aang and if Kirishima convinces Todoroki to join for a while he’d totally be Zuko.

Fatgum lets his kids squish his face.

Fatgum used to work with a hero who was hard of hearing, so he learned sign language to help them, and he’s got the skill saved in case one of his kids might be deaf.

So one day, Kirishima invites Bakugou on patrol with him, and we all love that headcanon of Bakugou going deaf, so when he gets pissed at something, he starts insulting everyone around him in SL.

Fatgum notices and starts signing back to him.

YOU’RE ALL MOTHERFUCKERS AND I HATE YOU ALL!

Hey, now, let’s calm down and not call everyone motherfuckers.

FUCK YOU TOO

Bakugou...

Everyone thinks that they’re doing magic, because they’re making all these shapes with their hands and keep looking offended at each other.

Now, Fatgum tries his gosh darn hardest to keep up with the memes, so when his kids come home with good grades, he says “That’s so pog, Kiddo!”

All of his kids are embarrassed.

In the middle of a battle, he throws Kirishima at a villain and they both scream “YEET!” the villain afterwords forever lives in fear of the word ‘yeet’ because he thinks it’ll result in a human rock being thrown at his face.

Fatgum can’t text very well, because his fingers are just too damn big-

sonhsisntextsblooklikehthis'

Translation: so his texts look like this

you learn to understand his texts

Someone better get him a large tablet instead of a phone

If he gets married after he adopts the kids, there’s going to be a huge competition over who does the rings and who does the flowers etc.

If any of his kid’s ever bring home a romantic partner, you can bet your ass he’ll be all over them.

“What’s your average grade?”

“E-eighty percent sir!”

“And do you take sports?”

“No sir, I wish to be a biologist.”

“I see, I see...”

“DAD, YOU AREN”T INTERVIEWING MY PARTNER, ARE YOU? YOU SCARED OFF THE LAST THREE I DON’T WANNA DEAL WITH THAT AGAIN!”

“SORRY, KIDDO! I’LL LET THEM GO NOW! I’ve got my fucking eyes on you. Don’t screw this up.”

Hope y’all enjoy this, if y’all want I can write some headcanons for if Fatgum’s kid becomes a villain-

[angrylizardjacket]

it's in the blood // this is tradition

Summary: Children inherit all sorts of traits from their parents. Not all these traits are good.

"My reputation preceded me before I was born."

[ charlotte & lola au ]

A/N: 2292 words. Halsey's new album killed me on the spot. i talk a lot about the next gen being mirrors of their parents, but i'd like to go into detail about that not necessarily being a positive. @misscharlottelee this made me feel things. i love these kids.

Warnings: overdose mention, addiction discussion, mentions of drug abuse.

Penelope Dingley-Lee

Tommy can count the amount of times he'd seen Razzle truly angry on one hand, and here and now he can see it again, written all over his neice's face. He'd thought she would look like Charlie when she's angry, and occasionally she does, the way her lip curls derisively, dismissively, that's very reminiscent of his cousin, but here and now, her blue eyes are hazy, cloudy, and her lips twist with an irate arrogance that is worryingly familiar.

Angry and high and wearing clothes that don't quite match, in this moment she's exactly her father's daughter.

She's been in the papers again. Her tits have been in magazines again. Tommy bites down on his instinctual desire to repremand her; she'd call him a hypocrite, call him an old man, tell him to keep his opinions to himself while she could still buy his sex tape out of a shady car boot down the street.

Charlie was like that too, on occasion, wit too quick for him to keep up with. When she got into a mood like this, Tommy didn't have to worry so much; usually Razzle would egg her on, but knew when to pull her back.

"It's my god given, motherfucking right to go feral -" he'd heard Charlie back in the eighties holler at three in the morning, high on amphetamines and waving a gossip rag above her head. Razzle would be on the sofa, equally fucked up, but gazing at her like she hung the stars in the sky.

"Lola gets photographed at least once a month stark naked along the strip like it's a sport, why is my Playboy shoot a national crisis?! My tits are fantastic!"

"They are, my love," Razzle nods seriously, and Tommy pulls his pillow from beneath his head, trying to either block out their voices through the thin walls, or maybe smother himself. The girl beside him, the groupie whose name he doesn't know, asks blearily why there's so much yelling. Tommy doesn't answer.

A week later, Tommy is the one to bail out Charlie and Razzle for public indecency, and they're both beaming from ear to ear.

Here in the present, Penny is draped out on the sofa, laughing low and pleased as she watches TV.

"TMZ blurred out my tits," she snorts, "cowards."

"Penny..." he can't help the faintly disappointed notes in his voice when he says her name.

"Thomas, I've read The Dirt," Penny fires back venemously. Hypocrite he hears in her tone, you have no power over me.

There's something hollow in her eyes in the photos he sees of her in the papers. She wears her father's inflluence and her heart on her crushed velvet sleeve, on the arm of a shallow, pretty, band boy who plays badly and loudly. But she laughs louder, though tthe sound is low and unconvincing if anyone bothered to listen hard enough, and Tommy wonders if he has enough dark hair dye left for when that boy breaks her heart.

Jupiter Lee

Tommy is proud to watch Jupiter on stage, but he is afraid.

Their anger is something he remembers from Lola, the way they cling to the past with vitriol echoes their mother, but on stage, they drink up the attention, get high off the love the audience gives, and he sees himself in those moments.

A child of addicts, Jupiter had drawn lines in the sand for themselves that they refused to cross; no alcohol, no drugs, and they'd stayed loyal to that. But highs come in all forms; they simply picked a different kind of poison without realising.

On stage, halfway between the gutter and a god complex, Tommy knows the smile they wear all too well.

Rebellion from Jupiter didn't shock the world like it did when it was Penny's name in the papers. Jupiter's trajectory was spot on in the eyes of the public, but rebellion wouldn't be the thing that broke them.

Once, so long ago that it's a miracle the memory survived, Tommy remembers asking Lola what she would be doing if she wasn't with the band. Lola gave him an easy, bleary smile, laughing sweetly when she told him that one way or another, she'd be here. In the moment it overwhelms him with love. In hindsight it breaks his heart.

"Come on, I think this is inevitable," Jupiter smiles on television as an interviewer asks them the same question; if they weren't making music what they'd be doing, "as if I'd do anything other than this."

'Don't you know where I come from?' is left unspoken, but Tommy still hears it.

He tries to picture himself in a life without the world at his feet the way he has now. No image comes to mind. Nothing else makes sense. Even if he wanted to do something else, wanted to grow up to be something else, he couldn't even begin to picture it for himself, tragedy and all.

They play their parts. They let history repeat itself. Jupiter makes mistakes Tommy and Lola had already learned from. Penny plays Jupiter's conciousness until the role grates on her nerves, diving head first into chaos, taking Jupiter with her with little convincing.

Tommy remembers this too.

When the world looks at Penny and Jupiter, they like to remember how Lola was seen as a bad influence on Charlotte, but forget that Tommy would have followed Charlotte in to Hell without hesitation.

Leo "Seo" Sixx

Lola has google alerts set up for her son, Seo, because he disappears for months without warning. Tommy asks how he is, and Lola looks to her phone with a tight smile, telling him that he's competeing in a skateboarding competition in Prague. She learned that from Twitter.

Seo comes and goes without warning, and talks to his siblings more than his parents. He loves them, but he hasn't allowed himself to stop for years. He doesn't know how. Then again, neither did Lola or Nikki.

"Jupiter thinks a lot about legacy, don't they?" He's in Tommy's kitchen, eating a poptart, when Tommy returns home one friday evening. He's waiting for Penny and Jupiter to finish getting ready, the three of them going out.

"Do your parents know you're in town?" Tommy asks with faint amusement, though there's a twinge of guilt in his gut when Leo considers that he should probably let them know. Says he forgot. Tommy's not sure if he believes him; like his parents before him, he tends to leave a lot unsaid. It's part of his charm, the world seems to think, but Tommy knows all to well how deliberate of an act it can be.

"Jup's got all this stuff in their head about legacy and who they should be," he continues his earlier thought, "which I guess makes sense, they tie a lot of themselves up in their identity," he shrugs, then, "I don't know Leo."

Tommy's not sure if he's talking about the grandfather he's named after, or himself.

"You've given this a lot of thought," Tommy says quietly, humouring him.

"I think a lot," Seo responds, "I've been thinking about going back on my meds, its weird being off of them." Of course this concerns Tommy, who knows objectively that Seo isn't his kid, but he's close enough that Tommy feels like he's allowed to be concerned. "I'm worried a doctor's note isn't going to be enough to let me compete at the Olympics on speed," falls too casually from Seo's lips, alarming Tommy in an instant. Though it must clearly show on his face, as Seo breaks out into an apologetic grin, "dextroamphetamine, for my ADHD. I've been trying to wean off it for the Olympics, it's been hard -" but his next words, said so blithe, so casual, have Tommy's heart stopping in his chest as he's thrown back thirty years, "I've been on them since I was like eleven years old; it was great, I could think, like the right amount, but now I... I think everything. I feel everything. Its a lot." He shrugs, like he didn't just become an echo of his father.

Seo's parents both died twice from overdoses, and now their son feels like he can't function without amphetamines.

Objectively Tommy knows that they work for Seo, that he's not abusing them he simply uses them to help him function, but the irony is not lost on him. It's a lot to unpack. He doesn't think to ask about the Olympics; it slips his mind until he sees Seo and a silver medal on his Twitter feed.

Lola calls Tommy in tears. She's proud, but she wishes she'd known, wishes she'd been able to watch it live, or go over and support him in person.

No-one in Seo's life seems to fully know or understand his intentions or actions, no-one can predict his next move. He puts up a bright facade, but like his parents before him, he does not trust the world to know him.

They don't know where he goes in the few months after the Olympics, all they know is that he doesn't come home.

Cerie "CerieThree" Sixx

Since she'd turned sixteen, Tommy has never seen Cerie Sixx without a smile. That is a very deliberate choice that she's made.

She's made a choice to rise above the percieved grime of her origins. She's halfway across the country, smiling for a camera she can control, editing her image before she lets it out into the world. Cerie Three - even the name the world knows reflects this; she's picked apart the context she was born into, disecting it, deciding which was useful to show the world, disposing of the rest.

She speaks warmly to her family, from what Tommy can gather, but the people on the peripheries of their life seem more like associates in the coldest sense of the world. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes half the time when she sees Tommy, and she shakes his hand when her brothers will hug him. The internet is closer to her than he is.

Cerie looks the most like her mother of all her siblings; she's 21, the exact same age Lola was when she met Tommy, but half the time he can barely see the resemblence. Lola had let the world see a villain at that age; Cerie had learned from that, had rejected that, rejected the cold, hard humanity of her mother's fronting. Cerie wanted to be perfect. Cerie had to be perfect, hyper aware of her own image, like her siblings seem to be, but the way she'd so effectively shaped her public identity was kind of terrifying.

Perhaps this was what it was like for people who didn't know Lola, only allowed to know the image she put out into the world, or people who only knew Nikki for his stage presence.

But the more Tommy thinks about it, the more he remembers just how effectively Lola had wrapped the band around her little finger when she set her mind to it, how she talked her way around exectives despite being dressed like she'd woken up in the gutter and fucked up on any number of drugs. Lola understood people, and it seemed Cerie did too.

Cerie Sixx, twenty one, doesn't stop creating content, doesn't stop studying, and doesn't stop smiling. Two of those three things are inhereted traits, inhereted determination, and the third is a choice.

Cyrus Sixx

Though Cyrus had inhereted much of his parent's musical talent, the same way Jupiter had, Cyrus had also inhereted a love of the high life. Even so, he's so full of love, kissing his mother on both cheeks before he goes out to get shitfaced in the bars she was decades before he was even born.

He works hard, at his job, on his music, but his partying matches it just as well. He knows exactly how far he has to fall before he meets the depths his parents' had sunk to, and though he doesn't voice this, his arrogance comes across in his actions.

There'd always be someone to pull him away from swan diving to rock bottom. He takes that for granted, and keeps getting closer and closer.

The only one of Nikki and Lola's children who still lives at home, he's the only one like them in the way they'd feared.

"He's going to have more success than he will ever be able to comprehend," Nikki had told Tommy, the day after Cyrus had been admitted to hospital after staying up for four days while high and obsessing over a song he had been working on. Nikki had found him having a fit after having fallen from his desk chair. Now, sitting on Tommy's patio in the sunset, he looks tired, he looks afraid, "if he doesn't end up killing himself first."

A month ago, the fire department and the police had to pull him, kicking and screaming and bareass naked from a tree in the middle of town. His parents had bailed him out, had felt a familiar sting of guilt as they find themselves reminded of their own youthful exploits. They repremand him, of course, but they both know the only reason they stopped climbing trees was because there had been no-one to pick them up after.

Nikki sees himself in his sons mistakes, but he'd had to learn concequences the hard way.

Tommy loves his family and all it's strange branches, as well as their raucous youth, but his closest friends were some of the most volatile people he'd known, and somehow he'd forgotten that as time as taken people and memories from him.

But these children were made in their image.

[aleapoffaithfiction]

VIII.

“And you? You my destiny.” - Shyne

“More wine Mr. Marshall?”

Whether you’re from New York City or not, we’ve all in some way, shape, or manner ogled over the renowned skyline and created our own fantasies of everything that it is supposed to represent. Whether we’ve fed into the brutalizing gangster narrative painted in The Godfather or tried to figure out life and love along with the famous four in Sex and The City, it’s meaningful and will always represent either a new beginning or the backdrop of your wildest journeys and dreams. Tonight, as I’m in the midst of its beauty, it’s serving as a testament to either a potential new beginning or a distaste of some sort. I’ve been too focused on the soothing waves lightly rolling along the Hudson River and the patrons dinning around me to be able to figure out which predicament I’m actually in.

“Bring the bottle.” As my lips curved, my eyes panned over to the barely touched glass on my side of the table and they eventually landed on him. I’m assuming that was supposed to impress me and it might of if we were a bit more acquainted with one another. I’ve never been cozy with overindulging with any type of alcoholic beverages while on a date, because I need to be of sound, mind, and body in order to properly comprehend body language and most of all, the dialog between myself and the person I’ve chosen to go out with. Even with this so-called history that Quinton believes we have with one another, I still don’t trust him enough to expose my comfort zone with him. He’s not Taylor.

The River Café. It’s uniquely right under the Brooklyn Bridge and literally over the river. I’ve heard more than enough people rave about it for it to be in contention as one of the elite restaurants in borough and there’s no hiding the reality that it is also one of the most expensive places to have a bite to eat. Its romantic ambiance sets the mood with the dim lighting and panoramic views but in my opinion Dom Salvador, the Brazilian samba funk innovator, is the true main attraction. I’ve found myself nodding my head and occasionally snapping my fingers along to many of the tunes the celebrated pianist played since we’ve arrived. Quinton deserves credit for taking my stomping ground suggestion into consideration. Being in Brooklyn is a reminder of where we’ve come from, but sitting in this stunning restaurant in the heart of Dumbo, is a testament of how far we’ve come. Touché.

“How is your fish?” I chose the black sea bass as my main course. There was something about it being sautéed with lobster brown butter that attracted me to it over everything else. It was served with grilled artichoke ravioli and fresh artichoke. It’s pretty good, I can admit. The gnocchi I had for an appetizer may have been slightly better, but I’m not complaining. Quinton began his dining experience with an ounce of caviar that immediately cost him a hundred and eighty bucks. Caviar tastes like shit, so I wanted no parts of that.

“It’s really good. I’m enjoying it. And your steak?”

“It’s decent. I’ve had better.” I didn’t expect him to show up in a suit, but he did, in politician blue. In that field, your head can never leave the game. Who’s to say that he won’t run into some multimillionaire that he may need some campaign contributions from or maybe he’ll shake hands and kiss babies with a few supporters before we call it a night.

“Have you eaten here before?”

“Once before. It was a business dinner.”

“It’s my first time here. I’ve heard about it, but I never kept it in the back of my mind to come. I’m impressed for the most part. The location is literally perfect.” That it is. I can even say hello to our France gifted Statue of Liberty from here.

“It is right?”

“Absolutely.”

“So, let me ask you this. Why sports?”

“Why not sports? Don’t get me wrong, the sports industry within itself has a lot of bullshit within it but what industry doesn’t? You just have to learn how to move amongst the vultures. Overall, I don’t think a lot people realize how sports are one of the primary aspects of life that brings people together. When you step into those arenas, stadiums, or fields, you see people of all ethnic backgrounds sitting together, uniformly, and basking in the moment. Sports drive our emotions, serve as our conversation starters and endings, are reasons for our road trips, and bring tradition within our families. They began lifelong friendships, cure pain, and have served as a shift within this country and many others for centuries. I fell in love with them. They’re what thrilled me ever since I was a child and I had a parent who advocated for that.” I’ve gotten that question a lot; sometimes in a sexiest manner and on occasion, out of genuine interest. I’d like to think it’s what I was meant to do. I have a high regard for our nation’s doctors, lawyers, business people, artists, and everything else, but I’ve never had a passion to be anything else other than who and what I am right now.

“I don’t know. I’ve always thought you’d end up being an actress or some type of model.” Should I be insulted by that? I don’t know. “Why?”

“Of course, you’re beautiful, but you’ve also always been great at speaking and being expressive.”

“So, then we can attribute that as to why I’m so good at my job now. Why politics?”

“It wasn’t always my passion. Initially, I wanted to be a forensic scientist. Well, now that I think about it, I guess I always wanted to be involved with the justice process in some aspect. I’d like to think that’s what politics is but just in a much grander fashion.”

“Justice? So that’s all you’re in it for? The justice aspect of things?” I find that hard to believe. Sure, politicians have power but, in my opinion, it’s typically for all of the wrong reasons when it comes to most of them. I’ll give credit when it is due to those who actually do bring about the shifts in culture, growth, and renewal that they speak of but other than that, I’ve never been drawn to anything about it. I’m no American flag waving, super patriotic chick. Most would say I’m living the modernized American dream since I have no husband or children within my home seemingly by choice, but what the hell is the American dream anyway? What makes it the ultimate goal?

“I’d be liar if I said that is the only thing on my mind. I do want to make a difference, but not only within this city, but also within this country. For me, that’s a duty much like it is for a military officer who willingly signs up to protect and serve, but politics comes with networking unlike any other and that’s the type of networking that I need so that I can continue to take not only myself but also my businesses to new horizons.”

“I see.”

“You sound displeased.” His soft chuckle followed the sound of his fork hitting the plate. He then took a sip of his wine and leaned in to get a better glimpse at my facial expression.

“I’m not displeased. I can’t or won’t knock your hustle.”

“My hustle?”

“Everyone has a hustle.”

“This is true. I haven’t heard that word in quite a while but we know it well, being from here and all. Let me ask you this about your hustle Sarai. We all know and see how well you’ve done for yourself. We’ve applauded it and continue to do so. But is that it? All that you want to do with that powerful voice of yours is use it for sports? You only want to lend your voice to analyze, occasionally critique, and celebrate a bunch of pompous athletes who will never do the same for you in return?” This man has a lot of nerve.

“I lend my voice to what moves the world no matter what is going on. As I said, sports are a vital part of the culture of not only this country, but the entire world. People turn on their televisions every day, tune in through mobile devices, tablets, and whatever the hell else, just to be able to hear what I have to say. Those pompous athletes you speak of approach me whenever they’re able to catch me out somewhere and they either thank me or humbly admit they can understand why I critiqued something they did. I have no problem lending my voice to them, because they’re ordinary people with once in a lifetime talent, who live their lives under microscopes of misjudgment and scrutiny. As a politician, shouldn’t you understand that? Aren’t you supposed to be a voice for the people?”

“Yes, for the people.”

“And they’re people just like anyone else is.”

“I see bigger things for you. I always have. Why do you think I’ve been so adamant about us having a moment like this? It’s not only because I’ve always been attracted to you and interesting in having something more, but also because I want you with me during this journey. I believe that we can really get out there and make a real difference within this world. The Obamas were just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to black faces like ours being in positions of power. I don’t want what Barack accomplished to be a one and done because that’s what these white motherfuckers are working their hardest to make sure of. No one’s pushing back enough as far as I’m concerned but I’m going to be the one to do so.”

“You just said that you saw me becoming an actress or a model and now all of a sudden, I’m Michelle Obama’s successor? That’s funny. Ultimately, I’d like to believe we’re both already making a difference. No?”

“We are, but we’re just in the early stages of it. We’re still gold fish in a world full of sharks. You want to get ahead in this world? Not only do you have to be a shark too, but in our case, we have to be the sharpest ones because we don’t get to slide by with mediocrity like the others do.”

“I agree with that in some aspects.”

“Sarai, I don’t want to do this alone and this country prides itself on the foundation of family. I need a family. I can’t continue running for these higher offices without a wife by my side and eventually, a couple of children too.”

“You just said Sarai I don’t want to do this alone, and then you went on to explain all of the political reasons why you need me. What am I supposed to be? A prop? I’m not into politics. I’m a Democrat by default and it’s only because it’s the lesser of two evils. That’s all I have in that department and as far as I’m concerned, I’m fine with it. In addition to that, is that what our foundation is supposed to be? You’d be sliding a ring on my finger, when? Tonight? Next week? Maybe a month or two from now? And it’ll all be for the sake of you continuing to catapult your political career? Excuse my French, but you must be out of your fucking mind Quinton.” The octaves within our voices hadn’t shifted whatsoever and if anyone were closely observing us, you’d think we were two people gleefully enjoying one another over a candlelit dinner and yet the reality is, propositions are being laid out on the table and underhanded insults were being slipped in somewhere in between them.

“Your mother said you would say that.”

“My mother? You spoke with my mother about this? Oh yeah, you are the idiot that I’ve always thought you were.”

“An idiot? So, you’re calling me an idiot for having yearned for you for all of these years while you deliberately ignored me? I’m an idiot for ignoring the advances of women of many different statures all for the sake of having Sarai Nazaire, the around the way girl, as my wife?” I nearly spit out the wine swirling around in my mouth onto the table in response to the manner in which he said my name. He’d said it like I was some damsel in distress who needed his rescuing.

“Are you blaming me for decisions that you made on your own accord? You chose to ignore those women. You could have done whatever you liked. Also, I wasn’t ignoring you. I had a lot going on and I wasn’t in a place to nurture a relationship.”

“But you were in enough of a place to be with Shamel?”

“I didn’t do much nurturing of that.” And neither did he. I tried. If no one will give me credit for it, I certainly will give it to myself. I tried to be a lot of things for that man but from his perspective I came up short in every category. There wasn’t a single aspect of me that he believed to be more than or even just enough for him.

“And even with our history, there isn’t anything about you and I that makes sense?”

“What history? Are you speaking of our friendship or the one time we slept together? I hope for the sake of us walking away from this table with somewhat of a decent connection to one another, that you’re speaking about our friendship.”

“I’m speaking about everything; everything that happened and everything that you resisted. You’ve never given me a chance.”

“What do you think I’m doing right now? Why do you think I’m sitting here? I’m trying to give you a chance and yet you’re sitting there propositioning me instead of courting me. Am I supposed to be flattered?”

“I am courting you. I want to court you. I’m not trying to jump into all of this as quickly as you assume. I’m simply letting you know my intentions. I don’t want to date you just for the sake of dating. I want us to work towards having a future together.”

“How can I feel good about hearing something like that when I know that it comes with a motive?” If he and I were to choose to move forward after this date tonight, I’d know that there may possibly be only a small portion of our union that has some authenticity to it.

I’ve never considered myself to be the hopeless romantic type of woman who idly sits around waiting for my prince charming to show up at my door in shining armor and sweep me off of my feet. I don’t even know what I want or need out of love. Far more than anything else, I believe that aspect of life is the most complex and it doesn’t seem to have the patience for me, and that’s alright I suppose because the feeling is sort of mutual.

Even in admitting that, I can’t fake it until we make it with Quinton. I’m not capable of smiling until my cheeks feel like they’re going to shatter, while I pageant wave at crowds of people as a figure within his enormous shadow. We’d eventually become something more corrupt than Watergate and more scandalous than Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. We’d unravel in a manner that this country has never seen a First Couple ever do before. He’s barely tolerating my resistance now, so imagine the reaction he’d have to it once his ego is unbearably and uncontrollably colossal.

“With the places that we’re at within our lives, everyone who we encounter that shows interest will have some sort of a motive.” I, too, have had thoughts that mirrored his. I’ve observed women toss out all of their integrity for a chance encounter with someone prominent and affluent enough to raise their stature within society.

I’ve had men offer to buy me a drink at bars just to be able to speak about their glory days as a high school athlete while noticeably slipping in desires that they believe I can help them with. There are family members who I’ve probably only spoken to once or twice since my birth who have given odd interviews to tabloids for a few bucks about aspects of my life they know nothing about. So, while his statement holds its truths, how can I ever live comfortably if I believe anyone who I encounter has it out for me?

“Well Mr. Politician, let that be so. I won’t applaud you because you’ve made your motive known, but I will politely decline your offer. You’re not a bad guy Quinton. You’re just not my guy. I don’t know who that is or where he’ll come from, but I’d rather wait a lifetime for a man that I’m going to actually have undeniable chemistry with rather than force something for the sake of political bliss. You’re asking me to sacrifice everything about who I am and what I stand for, for you. I’d never ask that of you or anyone else. As you said, there are women out here who would love to be on your arm. Stop turning them down and open yourself up to finding the one for you. Do that for yourself, because this is a cold world and I’d hate for you to have to lay next to someone at night who you don’t even love because you want to sit in the highest office in this country. It’s not worth it, at least for me it isn’t.”

While staring at him, I raised my arm to move one of my tight curls out of my face. Suddenly, my lips rose into a grin that quickly erupted into a giggle. The morning I woke up against Beckham’s chiseled chest with his arms tightly wrapped around my body, he joked about my hair being in his mouth at one point while we slept. As we lay there, he switched my name during every sentence that spilled from his rose toned lips. I was Diana Ross, Donna Summers, and Chaka Khan. He even joked that if I’m going to keep my hair like this, then I’d have to put on one of those bonnets that black mothers wear outside to embarrass their kids. I hadn’t laughed so hard since the last time we were together. It seems like all of my laughter comes from him being around him these days.

“You’ve made your choice. I guess I have to live with that.” He grabbed the bottle of wine off of the table and refilled his glass to the edges of the brim. He then tightly gulped it down while my eyes washed over the motion of his Adam’s apple. The tension radiating from his frame snatched what was left of my appetite. We certainly don’t have to bother with dessert.

“You’ll be living with a choice that’s what’s best for both you and I. You don’t want me. I’m sure if I allowed it, you’d climb into bed with me tonight, but anything more? It’s not realistic. I’ve never felt wanted by you and you’ve never felt that from me. We both deserve more. If you don’t believe so, then I do. I deserve someone who looks at me like I was born to be his. I’d prefer to be with a man who indisputably wants me and only me.”

“Well I hope you find that, Sarai.”

“I’m not looking for it. If it comes my way, then that’s amazing. If not, I’ll be alright.”

Silence fell between us and once again, my eyes were gazing out at the striking scenery surrounding the restaurant. As fucked up as it sounds, this would have been a beyond perfect date if that unknown man that I speak of were sitting across from me tonight. Instead of tension, there’d be flirtatious giggles and glances of affection. My heel clad feet would be intentionally grazing against his calves to entice him just as much as he’d be doing to me simply by existing.

While speaking, my ears would be listening to anything he chose to say while my eyes would be reading the clear message of him having every intention to have me gripping the sheets and crying out his name in our bedroom, within his. Not being able to take it anyone, we’d call for the check with half eaten plates in front of us and would waltz off into the night with a care or concern about anything or anyone other than one another. In a perfect world, that’s how things would be, but this world isn’t perfect and neither am I.

“Check please.” I guess he wants to get out of here just as bad as I do.

“Quinton, I’m going to go. I can cover this if you’d like.” I ruined his night. It’s the least that I can do, right?

“There’s no need for you to do that. You’re here by the way of my invitation. I have it under control. Enjoy the rest of your night.” Everything about his tone reeked of dismissiveness and yet I’m unbothered. I get it.

“I’ll see you around, okay? We usually catch one another at church from time to time.”

“I suppose so.”

Upon my arrival to the restaurant, we greeted one another with a huge hug and yet as I’m making my exit a few minutes short of an hour and a half later, I can feel his cold glare following my every move. I insisted that we meet here instead of allowing him to come and pick me up from my place. I’m not comfortable with too many people knowing where I rest my head at night. I know him well enough to know he’d surprisingly pop up at my door and that would easily leave a bad taste in my mouth, so I saved him the future embarrassment and myself the annoyance. With the way this evening ended, my driving here was clearly God being on my side.

Though the night was barely young, boredom coerced me into cruising around Brooklyn for the hell of it. It was my favorite past time in my hooptie Honda Civic during those summers when I’d be on break from college and had time to spare after putting in the necessary hours for whatever internship I was working for that particular summer. There’s something about it that makes me feel close to my father. I’d turn corners on familiar blocks and those great memories of the two of us taking this borough by a storm would come to the forefront of my thoughts. I’d remember the conversations we’d have with him endlessly dropping knowledge for me to carry with me on life’s journeys and the constant words of reassurance so that I’d always know how proud of me he was. We’d playfully debate about who is greater between Michael Jordan and Magic Johnson, why the Fresh Prince of Bel Air is better than the Cosby Show, and why Allen Iverson will never be my husband. In his neighborly manner, he’d speak to everyone sitting out on their porches and would even buy ice cream for whatever kids were outside if the Mister Softie truck was around. Though my mother would scold him for spending so carelessly, he did it anyway.

It’s cold now. The sidewalks don’t have girls jumping double-dutch, boys aren’t riding by on their bikes, nor are people sitting out on their porches scoping the scene and gossiping about what’s hot on the block. Those memories aren’t coming to me either. Instead, my mind is consumed with something or rather someone else. It’s funny how that works; do you call it a crush or infatuation? Interest or just simple attraction? I don’t know how to define it but this is the first time I’m learning just how out of control our emotions can be.

On the surface, you can put on a performance like you have it all together and absolutely nothing can faze you, but internally? There’s this train wreck on an endless loop. This doesn’t feel like a train wreck though. Instead, there are flutters within the core of my body. Chills trickle up my arms and onto the napes of my neck, and trigger goosebumps that linger around enough to unnerve me. My toes curl, chest tightens, and taking breaths becomes a task to focus on. My duties and concerns for those beyond myself now includes an additional person. How has it come to a point of me not wanting to fail him? How did I get here?

I don’t know how to navigate any of this. I’m a small fish taken out of a pond and thrown into an ocean of the unknown. What now? Do a swim and explore what may be one of the most beautiful experiences of my life? Do I stay right there in the one place I landed and resist learning or exploring everything out of fear? Do I hopelessly swim and end up getting viciously eaten up by something that is beyond me? Shamel was easy, frustrating as fuck, but easy nonetheless. Easy became toxic but in the midst of that, I never had to think this much. We just co-existed. I fear the expectations. I may not live up to the fantasy style of hype that circulates about me.

Just as Quinton had mentioned, I’m the cool around the way girl who can carry a conversation with the dudes probably even better than I can with the chicks. I’ve seen men on social media deem me to be the type of wife who can make the platter of hot wings and then come and flop down on the couch to watch the NBA Finals with my man. It’s possible, but I’m so much more than that. I have my baggage and bullshit with me too. Is that okay? When the make-up is off, my hair is up in the sloppiest ponytail ever, and a t-shirt three times my size with some socks and Nike slippers are covering my body, will I still be the fantasy? When I’m nagging about something that’s irritating me, having one of those days when I don’t want to be bothered with anyone or anything, or having some sort of a mood swing because Mother Nature is running her monthly course, will everything still be all good? I don’t know.

“Oh, fuck you Fantasia. Fuck you.” I’d been letting Apple Music do its thing by allowing my own playlists to flourish while I drive. Having the formatting on shuffle made the transition from Biggie’s “I Got A Story to Tell” to Fantasia’s “When I See You” completely catch me off guard. I’d quickly gone from being lost in my thoughts to listening to Fantasia sing them.

“Screw that.”

I switched to a playlist filled with the Best of The Bad Boy Records Era. I kept the sappy and moody vibe, with just the right amount of Hip-Hop added in for the drive back into Jersey. I saw my home in my rearview mirror as I slowly drove past it. Though I should have parked in my garage and called it a night, my hands remained attached to the steering wheel and my foot pressed on the gas to continue the journey to the person and place invading and conquering my every thought. In one of our many conversations we’ve had, we discussed how many cars he owns and all three of them were very much parked in their usual spots, but the additional cars were a warning that he had company in the house. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I knew that he did, and yet I’ve come here anyway.

I remained unnoticeably parked in his cobblestone driveway for minutes in an attempt to gather my thoughts. It feels like I’m the one who’s pursuing him nowadays. I’m the one in an odd chase.

Hey. Are you busy?

Seconds later, the bubble appeared at the bottom of the screen.

No. What’s up?

I’m not sure what vibe he’s giving. There’s something about that reply that seems short or rather standoffish.

I’m in your driveway.

And looking desperate as hell while at it.

Come in the house. I’ll have someone unlock the door.

I’d be uncomfortable and fearful of what could or would go behind the walls of his home. One innocent slip up with the wrong person could easily cause a world of trouble for me more so than him.

You think maybe you can come outside?

What am I thinking? The man is on crutches. That wouldn’t be fair.

Never mind. I know you have company and I don’t want to disrupt. I’ll just come by tomorrow.

It’s what I should have done in the first place.

Give me five minutes. I’ll come outside.

It was less than five minutes. Despite the crisp cold air, he crutched himself out of the door in a pair of Nike shorts and a hoodie. There was one Virgil Abloh designed Jordan I on his one foot and of course his protective boot on the other. I suppose the beanie hat covering his blonde curls is what is supposed to serve as his protective barrier from the chill. Once he opened up the passenger side door, he tossed his crutches into the back, and carefully slid into the front seat. For the sake of comforting his ankle, he used the side panel on the bottom of the seat to adjust it further back from the normal position it’s usually in.

“Sarai. What’s up?” He finally closed the door and I couldn’t be any more thankful. The fall air was beginning to win against the low heat I had going in the car.

“Nothing major. How are you?” His large hands reached up to readjust his hat as he responded with a shrug.

“Chillin’. Nothing major for me either. I went back home to Louisiana for a couple of days. That was cool.”

“That’s good. I’m sure it was good to get a change of scenery since the injury has had you so cooped up in the house.”

“Yeah, it was a nice little visit. I got to kick it with my brothers and my sister. We even did a family dinner and both my momma and my pops were there. That shit rarely happens these days, so, I’m pleased with how it all turned out.” 
“Did you visit LSU?”

“Not this time. I’m going to visit later on in the month. I’m designing an exclusive Air Force I with Nike and I plan on giving the whole team pairs. So, while I’m down there, I’ll probably kick it at a game.”

“That’s dope. I’m sure they’re going to appreciate that coming from you. Not only are you a hometown hero, but you’ve certainly cemented your legendary status within the LSU history books.”

“For sure. I care about giving back but in this case, I definitely care about inspiring those boys to know that I haven’t done anything that they aren’t capable of achieving.” His humbling spirit is a major part of the foundation that draws me to him. It exudes itself during any conversation he’s having.

“That’s real.”

For the first time since he sat inside of the car, our eyes met and he slowly panned his own down to assess every aspect of my frame. His lips flattened as he tightly pressed them together and with a slight nod, he turned his head forward just as it had been before.

“How was the date?”

Breathless; it’s how he left me. I opened my mouth to speak and whatever words I thought I mustered up to tell him instantly fell flat.

“You’re not wearing a dress like that to church.”

“It was thought provoking and extremely disappointing.”

“And that’s why you’re here?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here? Let me correct that before you assume. I’m not bothered by your presence. I’m anything but that. You’re just confusing. I spend a lot of time trying to figure you out and I feel like I understand some areas and I come up short in others. I’m just wondering if you’re here because things went badly with him.”

“I’m not here because of that. I already knew how things would go with him before I even went but I needed to, because he’s been in this weird state of limbo and has been filled with hope for years and I needed to know why. Now I know.”

“And that’s all it was?”

“That’s it.” It’s been years since I explained myself to a man. Shamel and I ended damn near four years ago and I despised explaining myself to him because I was made out to be a liar no matter what I said.

“So, you’re here now. Now what? We talk and you run depending upon the way the conversation goes? Or is this the official moment when you friend zone me?”

“Odell, I’m not friend zoning you.” A huff escaped my lips as my fingers trailed from the top of my head and through the curls cascading over my shoulders.

I couldn’t bear to look after him after blurting out what I’d been so afraid to say. Early on, I attempted to keep him as nothing more than a random figment within the professional realm of my life. That failed. I then chose to view him as an acquaintance I run into from time to time and that flopped before I could put it to the test. After spending all of those days in the hospital, the friend zone felt appropriate and as if it could be a success between he and I, but I’d been telling my mind a disastrous lie that my emotions refused to adapt to.  

“I just don’t know how any of this works. You say I’m confusing and I can be, but this is just as confusing.” I motioned between he and myself for emphasis.

“Well let’s figure it out.” The intensity of his glare silenced the mental clutter. The tone of his voice created a safe and comfort zone unlike any other.

The warmth of his palm met the top of my hand and I instantly flipped it over so our palms could meet. Our fingers laced, interlocking everything we weren’t saying and sealing a deal we’d yet to make.

As the faint music played, the clock grabbed my attention.

“I have something for you.”

“You have something for me? Like what?” His lips curved into that all too familiar smirk of his and his eyes blissfully gleamed. Rather than saying it, I exited the car and quickly made my way to the trunk. I’d been riding around with the box and garment bag in there for over a week and now I can finally cure my anxiousness.

“What’s that?” Again, I didn’t say anything as I leaned in from my side and passed them over so he’d be able to place them on his lap.

“Open the box first.” Once I closed the door, I turned the heat up just a notch more. I didn’t think fall would be hitting this hard. Usually the weather is all over the place, but this year, that shit seems to be no joke. We’re going to be brutalized with snow at the rate things are going.

“Okay.” Like a kid on Christmas, he rubbed his hands together in glee and quickly lifted the lid off. In an instant, he erupted into a booming fit of laughter. I had to join him, because it was so infectious.

I have decent friendship with Angelo Baque, who is more the former brand director of Supreme. We met two years ago at New York Fashion Week and we’ve remained in touch ever since. He even had me model in an ad campaign for the brand last year that was plastered all over New York City in anticipation for fashion week. So, though his Supreme days are behind him, it doesn’t mean that he isn’t in good standing with the brand. It ended up being fairly easy to have a custom Supreme x Louis Vuitton printed walking boot created for Odell.

“Sarai. This is fire.” He closely examined it with bits of giggles that eventually turned into laughter once again. It amused me just as much when I picked it up. It’s fashionably loud and just as gaudy as he can be sometimes. If he’s going to have to wear a big ol’ medical boot, why not make it something representative of himself?

“You like it?”

“Hell yeah. This is perfect. You already know that I sometimes get frustrated as hell when I look down at that boot and you just fixed that problem.”

“I know. That’s why I got it.”

“I love it. I love it so much.”

“I know you have so much of the collection in your possession already because I’ve seen it on your Instagram, but you don’t have this. It’s a sample piece that never made it into the collection. I asked your mom for your size and by a miracle, one of the two jackets of its kind can fit you.” I held the box to make it easier for him to unzip the garment bag and he pulled out the vivid red bomber style of jacket. Everything about it screamed his name when I laid my eyes on it and I had to have it for him, no matter what the price tag was for it. Luckily, it wasn’t as overly hefty as I thought it would be. It’s the perfect piece to pair with the walking boot. Just because he’s injured, doesn’t mean that he can’t be as on point as he usually is when he’s out and about.

“And I thought I had connects. Whew! This is crazy. And it’s a one of one? At least for me it is. I’ma have to stunt with this one. It’s only right.”

“I know a few people.”

“Shit, a few more than me. Sarai, this is amazing. You got me cheesing like a kid on Christmas right now.”

“I know.”

“Oh, so you know me huh?” Why did he have to bite his lip after such a question? My backside shifted in the seat as my thighs pressed together much tighter than they already were.

“I know some things.”

“I want you to know everything.” Our hands met again as I reached to turn the heat off. I didn’t need it anymore.

In an attempt to mask the fluttering radiating throughout my body, I slid further down into the seat.

“I’d like that.”

My eyes panned over to the clock once again. Just as I did, midnight was finally upon us.

“Happy Birthday Odell.”

All week long, I’d been contemplating how I’d go about acknowledging him on his day. I didn’t want it to be the typical call or an impersonal text message. It certainly wasn’t going to be some social media post with a long heartfelt caption like I’m sure he’s going to receive from many throughout the day. Since I’d be bearing gifts, I knew it needed to be done here, but the exact timeframe was a silent debate. Finally, I settled on coming right around this time.

“Thank you, baby.”

Like he’d been doing since he was finally able to trap me into his world at the Bleacher Report party, he leaned over to invade my space. As my head turned, his plush lips brushed mine in a fiery passion and demand. He took possession of all seven of my senses and shifted us into a place where only he and I exist. The warmth of his minty breath rid our space of any bit of cool air trickling into the car.

“Sarai.” He huskily whispered my name; savoring every syllable as if he’d never heard anything more beautiful. Our breaths mingled as his lips pressed into mine.

I would have thought after all of the footage I’ve watched, all of pictures I’ve looked over, and all of the time we’ve spent speaking that I’d know quite a bit about his lips because they’re certainly my favorite part of him to look at thus far, but absolutely nothing could prepare me for this. Nothing.

His tongue sensually brushed over both of my lips in a plea for entry and I granted it. The warmth of his tongue grazed mine and his arm wrapped around my waist and drew me closer in a ravenousness that could not be ignored. He awoken parts of me that have been ignored for nearly four years. I yearned for a type of touch that I haven’t been able to properly satisfy through my own store-bought measures. I’ve laid awake at night wondering how his kiss would feel and as he sucking on my bottom lip in a tease that is sure to send me to an early grave, my wonder didn’t have a chance of measuring up to what I’m feeling right now.

“Take me home with you.” My heart thrashed against my chest as I pulled my quivering bottom lip in-between my teeth. Dear, God.

“Not for anything more than just me spending time with you. That’s it.”

“You have company in your house. You can’t leave them.”

“Yes, I can and I am. Drive.” It wasn’t a request but rather an order.

He settled back into the seat and boldly pulled the passenger side seatbelt over his body and properly secured it. For the sake of my own comfort, he removed the box from my lap and placed it back onto his.

I gazed into his tempting dark chocolate eyes for just a minute to see if he’d change his mind, but he sat patiently waiting for me to make my move and so I did.

I slowly pulled around his driveway and drove off into the night.

[bronzeflower]

Who The Fuck Writes A Ten-Page Rant?????

Chapter 21: The Rappest Conversation

Also on ao3

It was your self-imposed day off, so you started the day by sleeping until afternoon. After making yourself breakfast and eating it, you played Slime Rancher for about two hours because it was a nice relaxing game that Roxy bought you for Gristmas last year.

Everything was peaceful. Nothing could possibly ruin this.

Oh look. John was pestering you. You hadn't talked to him in while, even though he was your best bro. You guessed both of you have been pretty busy lately.

-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

EB: hey, dave! EB: we haven’t spoken in ages!

TG: yeah man its been entirely too long TG: ive turned to dust while you were gone TG: ive become one with the desert and sand TG: im the sand on the beach that gets stuck inside an oyster TG: and the oyster is like what the hell are you doing here you dumbass motherfucking sand TG: im here to ruin your life oyster TG: thats basically my job TG: why are you doing this you tiny bit of sand TG: i already answered that question TG: okay fine be that way says the oyster TG: ill just turn you into a pearl so that youre no longer stabbing me everywhere TG: and then i was transformed into a dope ass pearl TG: the prettiest goddamn pearl in all the land TG: im turned into one of a pair of earrings that are sold for more that your life is worth TG: im bought by a rich woman looking for jewelry to show off TG: its passed down through the generations until the wealth they had dwindles and runs out TG: so now the earrings are sold for a dollar just to get the money for food that night TG: its a tragic tale TG: anyway TG: how are you doing

EB: dave, did you copy and paste an entire act of a play into this chat?

TG: what no TG: it is all natural and organic typing from scratch going on here TG: absolutely no foul play involved and to even imply such is an insult to my craft

EB: alright, fine! EB: i will not insult your “masterpiece” anymore. EB: if you can even call it that.

TG: oh wow sick burn TG: but like seriously speaking how is your stuff going TG: like the comedy stuff TG: have you yet to release an hour long special containing your hilarious jokes TG: and like half of the time is taken up by people laughing at them so its not even a true hour long special its more like a half hour long special and you didnt even manage to make it through all the material you had prepared TG: you know like you did in school where you accidentally prepared too much for a presentation and then get cut off because your time is up TG: and you still have like an hour and half left of material that youve collected that ended up just being a pile of wasted effort

EB: maybe not to that extreme. EB: :P EB: i haven't gotten my show up on netflix yet, but i am certainly planning on it! EB: watch out for it!

TG: do you still have that one person booing you at a bunch of your shows

EB: yeah, it is getting pretty annoying at this point, but i don't really want to do something like call security to remove someone for booing at my show. EB: that just seems as little bit over kill.

TG: i thought you were going to do a comedy sketch about them

EB: oh yeah! EB: i forgot about that.

TG: who are you jade harley

EB: what! EB: jade is great at remembering things!

TG: shes really not she just has a really fucking good system for making certain she remembers things TG: she has to build a physical barrier to her door so that she doesnt forget her keys TG: and she has so many keys to her house they are literally everywhere

EB: huh. EB: i guess i havent really visited jade in a while, have i?

TG: i would highly recommend going to her place at some point TG: and just hanging out with her in general TG: although youd probably have to plan a whole trip for it TG: just like TG: drop by or whatever next time youre where shes currently living

EB: messaging her might be a little bit more practical.

TG: yeah probably TG: anyway you really should get on writing that sketch about the lady I booing you

EB: yeah probably.

TG: yeah man how else are you going to get back at her TG: also when you finally do perform it please tell me what happened TG: or send me a recording of it TG: jk ill buy the recording TG: i always buy the recordings of your shows TG: but youll have to tell me which recording its in so that i can prepare myself

EB: maybe i won’t tell you which recording it’s in just so you're surprised by it. EB: like a schrodinger’s recording.

TG: does that mean you might be dead in one of them

EB: i hate to tell you this now dave, but i’m actually a ghost.

TG: shit ive been friends with a ghost this whole time thats actually pretty fucking dope TG: how do you do comedy sketches as a ghost TG: with the whole intangible thing TG: also with the people not being able to see you thing TG: wait TG: i wouldnt be able to message you if you were completely intangible TG: you must be a poltergeist or something TG: is there anything i can do to help you pass on

EB: yeah, you have to burn my body. EB: that’s what they do in all of the supernatural movies and shows where there’s a ghost.

TG: alright i am fully prepared to do that TG: i however have absolutely no idea where your grave is

EB: i know where your grave is.

TG: well thats not ominous at all TG: i dont even have a grave

EB: as far as you know.

TG: are you telling me that im dead TG: am i also a ghost

EB: i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner! EB: but yes we’re both ghosts. EB: i was supposed to wait for you to figure it out yourself, but it’s taking so long, so i guess i got a little impatient. EB: :B

TG: yeah but i still dont remember anything about dying or anything like that

EB: maybe you'll remember someday. EB: i’ve got to go right about now though. EB: i compromised my mission, and now i have to go through remedial training.

TG: ill wish you luck

EB: who needs luck when you have skill?

TG: okay then no good luck from me TG: i take it back TG: youve got this handled due to the sheer amount of awesomeness you have

-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

TG: oh no they got you TG: i know i said i didnt wish you good luck but i actually did TG: you cant give back a good luck TG: you can never give back a good luck TG: the blessing is yours now forever and ever TG: or however long you live i guess TG: thats going to take a butt load of time TG: anyway TG: i should probably get going too TG: instead of just having a conversation by myself after you left TG: and like go and have a conversation with someone else TG: maybe with jade TG: i havent talked to jade in a while TG: wonder how her pumpkins are doing TG: i wonder if shes harvested them yet TG: or if its even time for that TG: i swear i do actually listen when she talks about gardening TG: but i dont remember what half the harvest times for a bunch of the vegetables she grows TG: dont tell her that TG: or do TG: she probably already knows TG: shes always had a tendency to know things that other people would have absolutely no clue of knowing about TG: anyway TG: ill pester you again at some point eventually TG: ill go pester jade instead now TG: see ya

-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] --

-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] --

TG: yo jade how are your pumpkins doing TG: is it about time to harvest them or anything TG: or has that already happened TG: when do people harvest pumpkins again

GG: ive harvested them!

TG: awesome were they tasty

GG: of course they were!!! GG: i made pumpkin pie and roasted pumpkin seeds GG: and then i sold all the leftover pumpkins

TG: yeah what kind of profit did that turn

GG: quite a bit, actually! GG: especially with the fact that pumpkins are basically weeds GG: because they grow back no matter what you do GG: no GG: matter GG: what GG: but people fucking love pumpkins during the fall seasons

TG: yeah everyone goes batshit for that kind of stuff TG: got that pumpkin spice everywhere TG: and colorful trees and sweater weather TG: unless you live in the south TG: then there are just two seasons TG: summer and cooler summer

GG: those were basically the seasons on the island i grew up on too GG: im so glad i get to see snow where i live now!!! GG: i always wanted to play in it growing up!!!

TG: tbh we should coordinate and try to play in the snow together at some point

GG: yes!!! GG: but, no GG: :( GG: itd be way too difficult to coordinate that kind of thing

TG: yeah probably TG: but maybe one day if we happened to be in the same area and it happened to snow TG: we could get together and play in the snow and build snowpeople and snow angles

GG: dont you mean snow angels?

TG: i meant what i said TG: were gonna be drawing angles in the snow TG: forty five degrees sixty degrees one hundred and eighty degrees TG: well have all the angles right there written in the snow because no one can tell us what to do

GG: i still think id rather make snow angels though

TG: fair enough TG: you stick with your boring old snow angels TG: and ill have a fantastic time making all my fucking snow angles

GG: :/ GG: you do that, i guess GG: i still think making snow angels will be more fun!

TG: suit yourself TG: anyway im being messaged by someone else so ive gotta bounce

GG: alrighty, see ya!

-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] --

-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

GC: D4V3

TG: terezi

GC: H4V3 YOU S33N TH1S?? GC: F1L3.COM

TG: well it would seem that im being framed for murder and no one told me

GC: NO GC: 1N C4S3 TH4T H4PP3N3D 1 WOULD S3RV3 4S YOUR PROS3CUT3R

TG: wouldnt you be unable to participate in the trial because you have a bias because were friends

GC: Y3S BUT TH4T 1S B3S1D3 TH3 PO1NT GC: W41T GC: 1S 1T B3S1D3 THE PO1NT OR B3S1D3S TH3 PO1NT??

TG: no idea TG: does it matter

GC: 1 GU3SS NOT GC: JUST LOOK 4T TH3 GODD4MN M3M3

TG: nice

GC: H3H3H3H3H3H3

-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

CG: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

TG: so what stuck itself up your ass

CG: DID TEREZI SEND YOU THAT MEME?

TG: what meme i have no idea what meme your talking about

TG: i dont even know what a meme is TG: you could hear me say that but i pronounced meme as me me TG: because thats how little i know about memes TG: ive never even seen one in my life TG: you dont have any proof that tz showed me the meme that you are talking about like less than five minutes ago about the ten page rant that you sent to complain about my channel

CG: THAT’S REALLY SPECIFIC, AND IT MAKES ME SUSPICIOUS AND PRIVY TO THE IDEA THAT YOU ACTUALLY DO KNOW WHAT A MEME IS.

TG: please spare me i have a family

CG: I WASN’T AWARE THAT YOU HAD KIDS.

TG: youre right i dont have kids TG: not in reality TG: imaginary kids TG: all running around and being great and fantastic and not fucked up at all TG: thats the fucking dream

CG: DAVE, WE’RE NOT HERE TO DISCUSS YOUR INSECURITIES DEALING WITH THE POSSIBILITY OF HAVING KIDS OR WORKING WITH KIDS. CG: WE’RE HERE TO TALK ABOUT THE MEME TEREZI SENT YOU.

TG: why do you even care so much about a meme TG: its a meme and its harmless fun TG: even if it does include a picture of you topless

CG: EXACTLY. CG: I’M GOING TO NEED YOU TO DELETE ANY EVIDENCE OF THAT PICTURE, NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU WANT TO KEEP IT.

TG: why would i want to keep it TG: maybe i already deleted it TG: maybe i didnt even save it TG: also why do you want me to delete so bad TG: its not much in the way of blackmail TG: who could possibly use it against you

CG: PEOPLE.

TG: thats specific

CG: I’M NOT REALLY IN THE MOOD FOR GOING INTO TOO MUCH DETAIL ABOUT THIS, SO COULD YOU PLEASE JUST TAKE MY WORD FOR IT AND DELETE THAT PHOTO?

TG: k

CG: REALLY? CG: JUST LIKE THAT?

TG: sure if it really matters to you that much ill make sure to get rid of it TG: you can tell me why at another time TG: i get if its too personal to talk about or whatever TG: sometimes that kind of thing happens TG: there we go TG: deleted photo

CG: THANKS

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

-- arsenicCatnip [AC] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

AC: :33< *ac prowls up to the unsuspecting crow* AC: :33< *she asks meow the crow is doing!*

TG: *the crow says hes doing well and asks the same of the cat*

AC: :33< im fine! AC: :33< im meowstly just double checking the date and time we agr33d on for tea

TG: yeah im still on that day TG: just cant believe it in like a month and a half TG: seems like an almost unnecessary time to plan in advance

AC: :33< but it is a really meowfurlous tea place! AC: :33< its just a little exclawsive, so youve got to make reservations a bit in advance

TG: yeah i get that but the main question here is the dress code TG: can i show up in my jeans and hoodie or do ive got to pull out the singular suit i have TG: its bright red so i cant exactly wear it to black tie events

AC: :33< it s33ms more like mew should wear brunch attire

TG: khakis and a polo shirt got it

AC: ://< i guess thats brunch attire AC: :33< i would wear something a little nicer though

TG: so more like colorful khakis with a button down shirt that can hold cufflinks

AC: :33< yeah thats s33ms more appropriate AC: :33< mew could always ask kanya~a for advice on what to wear

TG: yeah im probably going to do that TG: also that cat pun in her name that you did was the best think ive heard all day ten out of ten would use again

AC: :33< thank mew! AC: :33< i like to give all meow furends cat pun names! AC: :33< its kind of hard to come up with them for some people though

TG: yeah im not sure how you can make a cat pun from dave TG: its pretty much impossible but if you do manage to do it i will be supremely impressed

AC: :33< meowbe a rhyming thing? AC: :33< like cavedave or something? AC: :33< but that makes you sound like some sort of caveman AC: :((< and thats not really cute

TG: maybe adding a hobby of mine of some sort to my name TG: like rapping TG: like rapnap dave or something TG: cause it sounds kind of like catnap

AC: :33< that certainly is a lot cuter! AC: :33< ill consider it! AC: :33< but ive got to go meow so we can talk later

TG: cool

-- arsenicCatnip [AC] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

Since you were clearly talking to all your friends today, you might as well see if Aradia’s online as well. You’re pretty sure she was, and since you probably won’t get to contact her for a while, you might as well message her now.

-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering apocalypseArisen [AA] --

TG: have you finally figured out how im going to die TG: or divined that kind of shit yet TG: saw it in the clouds or something TG: my hot as hell dead body floating in the water staining the fluid and polluting the river and making it muddy with red TG: taking a stabbing and falling and dying before i could ask if it was something i said TG: choking to death, clubbing to death TG: hit through the chest with some white magic TG: bleeding and crying as they take their last breath TG: its all just so horrible and tragic TG: having every single one of these dreams TG: but i think i know that theyre memories TG: had these nightmares since i was a kid TG: always wondered if it was something i did TG: cause they made me scared of clowns swords and puppets TG: made me too scared to watch even the muppets TG: but they’re not just mine cause it’s not always my body TG: lying on the ground looking super fucking shoddy TG: and all i can feel is the oppression and fear TG: of letting go of all we hold dear TG: stabbed with a sword we did abhor TG: all the death and the violence and blood TG: overwhelmed us like a flood TG: but try as we might we had no chance TG: we were always meant to lose this dance TG: alright im done that was a dope ass fucking rap thanks folks for listening to how awesome that was

AA: you will die on the twentieth day of april in the year of 2069 from drug overdose

TG: nice

AA: also your rap was both cool and concerning

TG: yeah im not sure if i actually thought at all about what i just said in that rap TG: so basically i forgot everything that i just wrote

AA: thats the beauty of a messaging platform AA: you can just scroll up and reread what you wrote

TG: im sorry im suddenly unable to read

AA: wow AA: youre really going to do this

TG: yes and i have no regrets TG: hi im jared im nineteen and i never fucking learned how to read

AA: your name is dave

TG: shit TG: caught in the lie TG: what time will i have to spend in jail officer

AA: well since im not a cop AA: none! AA: but im still curious about whatever the hell was going on with that rap

TG: maybe you should respond with the stuff thats bothering you in rap form TG: do a little rap battle TG: but like TG: with feelings and shit TG: you can talk about whats bothering you and then i can elaborate on the fuckery in my rap

AA: alright i dont see why not AA: it will probably help us both AA: my heart and my brains been pulled taught AA: stuck between work and the one that i love AA: cant help my job fits me like a glove AA: but i cant stop thinking about my matesprit AA: how hes gonna face it AA: cause he says he supports me AA: and he says that he agrees AA: with putting my job first and foremost AA: while he sits in one place and holds post AA: i didnt mind too much before AA: we had all i could adore AA: but since he proposed were going to be married AA: i just dont know if that life should be carried

TG: well that sounds like something you should talk about TG: because not doing so might leave you in a drought TG: in your relationship where miscommunications TG: might lead to decimation TG: or more likely just breaking up TG: but you dont want that to burn up TG: so just have a talk with him about your concern TG: and then your love will continue to burn

AA: did you just rhyme up with up

TG: dont judge me im trying to help

AA: your advice was good but i can still judge you for your lack of slam poetry skills

TG: hey ill have you know im the best in the business

AA: must be a very small business

TG: wow TG: i cant believe my own moirail would do this to me

AA: you know i had to do it to em

TG: i hate you and everything that you stand for

AA: likewise AA: aside from that AA: do you want to talk about those dreams you mentioned at the start of this conversation

TG: i will only answer that if you ask me in a rap

AA: what the fuck was up with those dreams AA: you seem to be tearing at the seems AA: with all the death and the dying AA: and it might seems like im lying AA: but ive had those too AA: hit in the face and bid me adieu AA: except im a ghost and dead AA: dont know how but i bled AA: then im a frog for some reason AA: it has something to do with treason AA: then a robot that i hated AA: someones kinks that were stated AA: then i blow up again and again AA: wake up in pajamas the color of cayenne AA: and thats when i know that im alive AA: and i know for a fact that i will thrive

TG: always thought that i was alone in this TG: but i guess im not so now ill remiss TG: on all these nightmares ive had TG: that were all really bad TG: i always thought it was because of my childhood TG: never thought that i would be old enough to get to my knighthood TG: thought i was going to die alone TG: thought they wouldnt even find a bone TG: thought no would care if i was gone TG: always felt like i didnt belong TG: i thought the dreams were a message, an order TG: to finally get rid of the disorder TG: that was me theyd promised id be free TG: but i still desperately wanted to be TG: alive and awake and active and happy TG: excuse me if this starts to get a bit sappy TG: but i wanted love TG: i wanted to be above TG: my bro who so obviously hated me TG: and everyone i know would agree TG: so no matter how much i wanted to die TG: there was always something just keeping me alive TG: a wish or a kiss or a day that gets better TG: a time when i get to open a letter TG: theres something to live for something to survive for TG: going and traveling and taking a tour TG: listening to music when i feel depressed TG: going outside when i feel repressed TG: reminding myself its gonna be alright TG: in order to tell myself not to go towards the light

AA: feeling alive is good

TG: yeah TG: it is TG: thanks for listening

AA: thank you for listening! AA: thats what being moirails is all about AA: listening to each other and doing our best to comfort each other AA: although i guess thats what friendship is about too AA: moirail is more of a formal title

TG: i get that TG: someones messaging me now though so i guess this is where we can end our convo

AA: dont be a stranger!

TG: not planning to be one TG: <>

`AA: <>

-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering apocalypseArisen [AA] --

-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

TT: Hello.

TG: yes just come up and start a chat using the most generic fucking greeting in the entire goddamn world TG: thats exactly how you start a conversation with someone youve known for years TG: start conversations by calling your friends a bitch like the rest of us

TT: I’m pretty sure I would like to have a little more class than that.

TG: ill bring you down to my level one day

TT: I will do my best to resist going down that low.

TG: listen TG: im pretty sure you dont have to go that far

TT: Wow. TT: Rude.

TG: thats a more appropriate way to talk to your brother

TT: I’ll be certain to use more crass language when greeting you next time I make the decision to start a conversation with you.

TG: anyway what did you want to talk to me about

TT: I would like to invite you to my party celebrating the release of my new book. TT: It takes place in a month at my house.

TG: you mean your big ass mansion

TT: Yes, I suppose that is an apt description of the location where I reside. TT: I suggest you dress formally for the occasion. TT: You can wear the suit that you had recently tailored for you.

TG: oh yeah the one kanaya made that feels like the softest goddamn plush toy in the childrens aisle

TT: Yes, please wear that one.

TG: alrighty sounds good to me

TT: Not going to argue about wearing jeans and a T-shirt instead?

TG: nah TG: not this time at least TG: im kind of excited to wear the one kanaya made anyway TG: especially since its the first suit that i actually kind of like

TT: Well, I look forward to seeing you at my party in a suit. TT: For now, I must go and give a few others personal invitations.

TG: k you do that

-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

You proceeded to play videos games for the rest of the day because it was, in fact, your day off. You had to spend some of it by yourself after all.

[tessatechaitea]

New Titans #102

Why couldn't this have been Starfire on the cover?

Or maybe because it would be hard to sympathize with Arsenal if he were screaming like this at a woman? Not that it's at all easy to sympathize with his terrible position. Screaming at a guy making salient points to just shut up and "lissen" to you? Maybe chill out a bit, Roy. Have you tried opiates?

I can understand how Roy would like to clear up this mistake that Sinn is a Titan. But I'd argue that he should allow the misconception. Sinn has now saved more New Yorkers from criminal harm than the Titans have in 101 issues! I think this situation can be spun in a positive direction! Roy should have been all, "Sure, Titans don't kill! And Sinn didn't kill these scumbags. They were merely killed in the commission of a crime against the people of New York. Sinn couldn't know they didn't have invulnerability! If you dress as a super villain to commit crimes, you have to expect that you're going to, at some point, be punched by Superman. You think people would blame Superman for killing somebody who acted invulnerable and was putting people in harm's way?! He'd punch that fucker into outer space without a second thought and be proud of the lives he saved. Why would anybody spend a second thinking about the dumb criminal who died doing dumb criminal stuff?! It's the criminal's own fault, really!" If you have any problems with that line of reasoning, don't argue them back at me! That was Roy Harper saying that stuff! I shouldn't even bother discussing the Titans and their adventures. Liz Alderman (I decided to finally use her first name because I think I'm the only one amused by the phrase "Councilwoman Alderman") and her male replacement, Leonard Quirk, quickly become the most intriguing aspect of Marv Wolfman's Teen Titans. Marv wants so desperately to create a public persona who condemns the Titans while obviously being on the wrong side of history. And yet, she's absolutely proven right every step of along the way. If one were to go through this entire series and count the number of times the Titans saved people from danger which the Titans were not ultimately responsible for, the number would be far less than the amount of story arcs within the last hundred issues. The Titans bring danger and destruction to New York City. Liz Alderman has valid complaints about their proximity to the city. She should be praised as a hero trying to save her community. Instead she's vilified and treated as a mere nuisance and public relations nightmare. Ultimately, I think Marv Wolfman realized Liz might be more sympathetic than he expected. So what does he do? He reveals that she's being manipulated by Raven gone evil. Which, when you think about it even a little bit (which is all I can generally muster), doesn't invalidate her previous complaints! It just shows she was under the influence of evil when she was trying to get the Titans shut down. But that doesn't mean the Titans shouldn't be shut down! It just means terrible reasons to shut down the Titans line up with plenty of good reasons to shut them down! They're a fucking nuisance to the city and they, rightfully, should be banned from New York. By the end of this issue, we learn that Councilman Quirk has been manipulated by Sinn! Oh no! Once again, good arguments against the Titans operating in the city will be overshadowed by the evil manipulating this poor man! The Titans sure do get lucky! New Titans #102: Once again, the threat to the city isn't actually a threat to the city. Sinn is actively targeting the Titans. If they weren't there, she'd be off doing something else. I mean, sure, maybe she would be murdering people and looting the city because it wasn't protected by the Titans. But that's just rampant speculation on the part of Titans' lovers! Ignore them and just acknowledge the facts! On the plus side which is actually another negative side but I'm trying to be more positive, Cyborg might soon get his personality back! Unless he already has it back? It's hard to tell because he's so fucking boring. The letters page is back and it's full of "did this person's brain get pierced by a screwdriver" compliments like this one by Jesper Christiansen: "The New Titans is definitely the best super-hero comic book on the market today. Marv Wolfman is an exceptional writer. While reading New Titans #97, I felt the same as when I was reading Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings; I couldn't get enough, and I didn't want it to end." Jeremy Norris sends in a list of questions and two requests, one reasonable and one because he loves boobs: "1) Is Solar Flare Red Star's new name? 2) Will Aqualad ever get a new name? 3) Can you please bring Speedy back with a new name? How about Longbow? 4) Please get rid of Cyborg. 5) Will we ever see Aqualad, Troia, Nightwing, Flash and Speedy fight side by side again? 6) I would like to see a Titans action-figure set that includes Starfire and Redwing." It sounds like Jeremy has an issue with some names! But Longbow? Ugh! One reader whom I think I'd probably get along with great sent this:

Not lose Changeling. Not change Changeling's name. Not even a "please" kill Changeling. This guy understands communicating thoughts.

[oelfinessend]

For all that you have thought

Time to dump my fic drafts here! 

Or, where Loki is an actual god and I explore the incomprehensiveness of the concept and differences in biology. Unbeta-ed and really, is very raw. 

Loki moves in his prison like a creature unknown, born in all the worlds and none, created among the stars with the sole purpose of being confusing. The guards try to not look at their former commander and thus miss the way he sometimes flinches and cocks his head and turns slightly to look somewhere past glittering walls.

The tickle is annoying at best, but mostly aggravating; Loki can’t pinpoint its source or origins, his mind constantly distracted by that same non-corporeal itch. Some days it’s almost gone and some he is ready to break something, not at all unlike a mindless brute, which is the only reason Loki keeps himself in control.

After one particularly intense bout of distraction he arrives to the conclusion that it is Odin who allows this - not the great punishment, but a mediocre, annoying distraction, that will, unfortunately yet unerringly, lead Loki’s vast mind into ruin. So he grits his teeth and focuses in it, trying as the process might be, catches the illusive thread and smiles as he finally, finally pinpoints it; it has been centuries since they were banned from Midgard, and even then, during his last stay there had never been a plethora of those who would call Loki their own.

But those who would, followed him always.

Loki smiles, inhales and pulls back.

For a lesser being, an ignorant As, or flighty Ljosalfr it would be impossible to right themselves and become the master of the summons, but Loki has been delving deep into knowledge lost and vaults forgotten, he has taught himself what Bor decided to bury forever under the bones and ashes of svartalfar, who had skirted on the edge since their suns were young.

Loki twists himself among the calling threads of rude, invading seidr, tugs at them gently and finally as soon as the oppressive presence of Hlidskjalf is no more on his back, Loki spreads his own will and might and is finally free.

He manifests a splaying shadow among the ruined, blood-soaked stones. Here, the ancient rituals are still carried in the very ground underneath his bare feet. At first Loki thinks that it’s a peculiar coincidence that the new blood awoke the old and he was called, but he cannot recall that place of worship, and he has never liked when all finesse and knowledge of proper calling was cast aside in favour of massive sacrifices.

There are three runes of his, even if arranged improperly, carved with unsure but strong hand in the altar; they are the ones that ensure that Loki hears the pleas, and old victims of this place only helped the prayers to reach him through the thick magicks of Asgard. They, and Odin’s own dismissal; Loki was released from Asgard’s numbers, cast from it’s seidr’s protective shroud and thus became immune to All-Father’s ban of influencing mortals.

Loki’s laugh is everything dark and triumphant as he makes himself visible above the stone. He is not a deity in this moment - so much more, fed by stolen worship-power and his own joy, and the disbelief and elation his summoners feel, the despair and anguish their victims fall into, it all is directed at him, in him, and Loki drinks it all, formless and bright in his blackness, like a sky of stars or nocturnal waters.

The summoner who crawls towards him, Loki knows, is babbling something, but even so drunk on power he is not mindless and so he turns his head - a nebula of singing movement - to the girl spread out on the hard stones.

  why her he wants to know and so his question is heard. The child is nude, and thin and hungry. Loki wished her mind was calm and so she sleeps, and sees the pink skies of Alfheimr shine with predawn.

  she is frail, small and lacking in knowledge Loki’s musings is more of a presence in mind than a voice, a sound wave.

  what is a higher being to do with such a gift and how to crown such a thought

Loki whispers on his many terrible legs across the blood-remembering stones and symbols calling for gods he knows not, recalls not and cares for not.

Eight mortals was given to him so far - five more are awaiting him still; but Loki has no need for blood, no desire for power, no lust for idle madmen’s worship.

He sighs - the water flows to sky from springs nearby and the altar turns to dust, the girl, still sleeping, covered with a blanket made of his will.

  children are but promises of future Loki finally deigns to hum, turning the ground he reclines on to glass, and the one who waited to put a knife to frail mortal skin just turns into nothing.

Among the frenzied, crazed thoughts bombarding him there is one of clarity; vicious and pointed, there is satisfaction, dark victory and even darker gratefulness Loki feels turned onto him, onto his shapeless, many-faceted being, That’s better.

Many burning, blackless eyes turn onto the man called Jake and Loki becomes Jake for as much as a frail and little mortal mind can allow; and so Jake becomes Loki, for as much as he can bear to witness the form not fit to shape itself on mortal, corporeal planes of Earth.

Jake is a simple man, an accountant who likes his job enough, loves his husband very much and their girls even more. Him and Mike have been planning this trip for almost two years and the twins were ecstatic, and he doesn’t want to die, having heard now every scream those motherfuckers wrought out of other people in their group; but Jake also is grateful it was him who got to ride in the second bus, and not Mike, because poor Isa is only a year and a half older than his girls, and he would have probably gone insane already if either of them was here.

He wishes every last one of those motherfuckers dead, surely but slowly, excruciatingly dead, for every scream they wrought out of poor Ann and Sarah - they were eighty, for fuck’s sake - and sweet little Rose (she was five, five, at five Emma was playing pranks at Sophie and driving both Mike and Jake up the walls) and her poor lab, slightly crazy Derek, Carl, that strange chick who had five names, so Jake didn’t address her and called That Chick in his head, Paul and Tom, unfortunate heirs to a frankly mediocre fortune.

But Isa is sleeping and smiling in her sleep and something has just swallowed the raving lunatic up or maybe disintegrated him, Jake doesn’t care; he wants them gone and to be finally at peace.

what peace is there while you still live The Voice again is in his head, knocking out thoughts and making room for Itself. Jake’s brain can keep up with what that mind part of him is perceiving - a shape among the roads paved with comets, a mind cradling his own and shaping the very air to make a room for Itself. The Voice is filling his body now, a herald of the Mind, which Jake is helpless to push against, but he is not going to - he is bared, so he can take in return.

He knows -

There was a man, a woman, someone, long time ago for them of everchanging Earth, who caught the glimpse of the Mind, like that, and accepted, fully, the knowledge of Its existence and presence, agreed to be the latch and burden.

A balance between living the life for themselves and being devoted to something you have to let go to fully grasp is the only sort of prayer Loki takes, covets, a greedy being, the benefactor of the scholars of Asgard.

Among the dirtied and craven shouts of blood-spillers, Jake’s thought is clear and aimed right at him, at Loki, so Loki will bow so, turn to him who has freed himself to see as much as was allowed; as such will Jake belong to Loki, now; his sight was claimed, his freedom, settled.

And that is fine, Jake knows, if fall, then why not onto the stars?

The flow of mangled seidr ends as soon as the last of madmen is crushed under Loki’s will; as such, he is no longer torn apart by their expectations of him, fear of him and greed for him, his own unwillingness to take a useless corporeal form, or which one to choose. The girl is sleeping still, the blanket turned into leaves, three mortals have become senseless somewhen after his arrival and only his Jake still stands and watches, somewhat detachedly, as Loki allows his form to settle into one he is most used to, then shapes the matter around him into clothing, nondescript but suited for him nonetheless. He may be disowned, he is not lacking in pride.

Thin trickle of awareness is still present - will be until the end of the mortal’s short life, Loki already knows - and it gives him warmth as nothing else.

“What, are you, like, my- my god, or something?” Jake stutters, watches him, pale and drawn, unsure.

“I am Loki, first, last and always.” Loki simply answers and that seems to settle the mortal.

They have a long way to go - there is already a restlessness rising in Jake’s chest, a desire to know what comes next, and as much as Loki can relate, he is displeased, because he laid claim and all questions not to him but about him have become redundant.

No matter, he shifts, yawning, into a canine-like shape and trods away from humans, sniffing at the air and spreading his seidr wide to catch a glimpse of a creature he can mirror.

In a few minutes, there is a howl, ringing through Venezuelan forests; in a few hours, a member of searching party glimpses some animal running from what appers a mutilated human arm, another four hours later, Jake is ushered into a shock blanket as he stares, unblinking, at the black and gold snake resting on the glass of the helicopter, seemingly not bothering the pilot. It opens its mouth, showing two rows of serrated but human-looking teeth, sniggers and twists, turning birdlike as it dissolves into goldish mist.

[thassalia]

Asks for the fanfic author: 18 and 46 if I could

18. Favorite pairing to write

Ever? That’s a tough one. I wrote eighty bazillion words of Farscape fic. So much fic. And I love John Crichton and Aeryn Sun. I love them so much. I love that they were able to negotiate a life together. That we saw them grow together, be unhealthy and healthy together, become better people because of each other’s influence.  And I loved writing that.  Writing the complexity of that pairing made me a better writer.

But there’s something equally glorious about writing Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanoff because while A relationship of some sort is MCU cannon, it’s complicated and tentative, and there’s also so much...space to play with. So there’s also the fantastic meta conversations around them to have, the worlds and scenes to build, the variations on their relationship, on their stories.  It’s freeing. 

Plus, I love them so, so much.

Plus, plus, and more importantly, writing them with @handypolymath is literally the best.

46. Share a scene from an unfinished fic

This is from the 99% finished camping fic I’m completing for WIP Big Bang. It’s mid-story.

***

Bruce had turned out his reading light once the shuffling began. But it didn’t sound like bears or raccoons, so once he heard the muffled, “Motherfucker,” that signaled Steve tripping over something in the dark, he just waited out the hijinks.

The quiet snick of his own tent unzipping should have been more of a surprise. He lets Natasha get all the way inside before he snags her ankle.

She stays silent, just flicks on her flashlight to shine in his eyes. He shields them with his free hand. 

“Don’t you think it’s a mistake to wake me up in the middle of the night?” His voice is a low rumble, throatier than he’d hoped.  

“You weren’t really asleep.”

Bruce grunts, doesn’t say anything else. She sits on her haunches, leaving him to move his hand or practically fondle her ass. He doesn’t move, waits her out.  It’s the story of the evening. The tent feels close and crowded in the dark, full of the warm scent of her skin. That she’s a few days past a bath just makes her a little muskier. Earthy. The smoke from the fire and the clean scent of dirt and night air are heady perfumes. He’d like to pant with the scent and feel of her, move his hand, slide it up her calf, her thigh.

Fondle her ass on purpose.

He clears his throat instead, and she finally moves the light from his eyes, resting it on the floor of the tent so that they’re mostly in the dark again.  Point, Natasha.

“So, what the hell is happening out there?”

He just catches the edge of her smirk in the ambient light, can hear it in her voice. “Panty raid.”

“Hmm. I don’t know if I want to be involved or just be glad I’m flying solo in here.”

Natasha leans forward so she’s on hands and knees.

“No real panties, I don’t think, unless Stark has wifi wired into his.” She pauses. “I suppose that’s a possibility.”

Bruce hums, all plausible deniability. He’ll never tell.

She crawls closer. “Hill’s on the warpath, determined to find all our little hidden secrets.”

“Oh,” Bruce says.  “Like what?”

“You know. Modern conveniences. Cell phones, radios, tablets, vibrators.” 

“Aren’t those generally battery powered? Plus, I don’t think they transmit...out?” 

Her laugh is low and rich. It goes straight to his dick. Goddammit, he’d made a stand and he wasn’t wrong, but here in the dark where he can’t see her face it feels like a futile gesture.

“Weapons, too.  Hill really wants this to be summer camp, not training camp. Even with all our training.”

As she says this, she pats around next to him and finds the opening of his sleeping bag by feel. She tugs down the zipper, laying her flashlight up by his pillow.

“I’m cold,” she says.  

“I can’t imagine that’s true.”

She reaches forward, unerringly finding his neck, and her fingers are cool enough to send a shiver through him. At least he blames it on the temperature.

“Hill,” he prompts, “Contraband.”

She’s so close now that he could take her by the waist, pull her forward, pull her down.  Her weight would be delicious.

“It’s another game,” she says, “I think.  Cover.  But, I know Maria. She can have multiple agendas.”

 “Cover?”

 “She’s also trying to get away with something.”

 Bruce smiles in the dark. “Are you?”

 The bag lifts away from his body with a rush of cool air.

“Maybe,” she says. “Plus, I’ve got my own contraband that needs hiding.”  She holds up what looks like a roll of quarters.

"Are you planning to do laundry or break someone's jaw?"

"They're bites."

 "Are you asking me to hold for you?"

 "No," she’s clearly lying, but it’s a play.

 He takes them out of her hand delicately. "Am I going to electrocute myself?"

 "Dunno.  How sweaty are you?"

 "I don't want to answer that."

 “You’ll be fine.”

 “Fine,” he says. “But this is a bad idea.”

 “This is a great idea.”

 Then she wriggles into the sleeping bag with him.  He’s wearing sweatpants and an ancient t-shirt, but they don’t help. He can feel the heat of her thighs through the thin material of her leggings. This really is such a terrible idea.  He puts a hand on the back of her neck to help them adjust to the confined space as she squirms.

Heat is pulsing off her neck, and it’s not just the heat generated between them.

“You’re burning up.” He reaches for the flashlight, but she stops him.

“It’s nothing. Sunburn.  It’ll fade by morning.”

He spreads his hand out, fingers grazing her neck, gentle, not wanting to hurt. Trying to soothe. She rolls onto him a little, angling so that the bag accommodates them both, if barely.

It’s uncomfortable. It’s amazing. He’s stymied. This is an epically bad idea. The roll of bites digs into his back and her breasts pressing against his chest, her hand on his waist.  She breathes against him, a soft puff against his mouth and he’s not sure he can stop himself from kissing her.  

She moves a fraction closer, and he angles his head, and the corner of the tent flap lifts open and a nose peeks in.  

“Can I hide in here?”

Barton.

“No,” Natasha says.

 “Yes,” Bruce says, and she pinches his side.

 Clint flashes his light onto Bruce, eyebrow shooting to his forehead. “That looks cozy.”

“I’m cold,” Natasha says.

“Maybe you should come out of there,” he says, “I don’t want to be traumatized.”

“I’m not traumatizing anyone,” she says.

“Untrue, I’m already disturbed.”

“I might be traumatized,” Bruce says. “This sleeping bag isn’t meant for two.”

 “Traitor,” she says. “I should call Hill, tell her about your lamp.”

 But she doesn’t go anywhere, and he moves his hand from her neck to the small of her back, fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt, then finally slipping his fingers underneath to span her skin, canting her hips towards him.

 He’s hardening between them. It doesn’t belie what he’d said earlier, not exactly. Bruce knows he’s the definition of mixed signals right now.  His throat is so tight with desire, with loathing, with the effort of holding tight.

 She’s everything he could want, pressed against him, and that’s the problem. He can’t deny the desire anymore. It’s not just for the luscious flesh, but for the bright, sharp, burning presence inside it.  He can’t afford to give in to her playing, not when he wants something more. Something he really can’t ask for. She owes him nothing, and he owes her so very, very much.

 Nat wiggles again, like she’s testing something and he desperately wishes he could just give in, enjoy this glorious gift she seems to be offering.

 “Do it,” the part of him he most hates taunts. “Give in. Let her use you, and leave you longing for more that she has no intention of giving. Leaving you pathetic and needy.” Bruce turns his head, feels the silk of her hair against his cheek, turns away.  She softens against him, a deliberate signal. Oh god.

 It’s Clint, cross-legged and hunched, who keeps him in check. Not his presence, but the look on his face like if they were just fucking he’d lay back and mostly ignore it.  Instead there’s something almost fraternal on his stoic face, and while Bruce knows the two spies are close, he gets the feeling that look is more for him.

 It shames him.

 Bruce curls his fingers into a fist tight as he can. Natasha stills completely, but it’s an exercise. He releases his fist, finger by finger, breathes through it, relaxes again so that he’s palming her spine.

 “Nat,” Clint says. “I think you’re good, if you wanna go back to your tent.”

“Go away Clint,” she says, then runs her nose along Bruce’s neck and that’s too much. Much too much.  He could have talked this out, but now, he’s too far gone. He needs space.  He tenses, stills, painfully aware that any stiffening on his part will signal something bigger for her. Warnings of his monster. They’ve been training for that very thing, after all.

 His limbs are rigid, fingers flat, no longer caressing her back.

 “Natasha,” he says, warning enough.

 “Oh,” she says, and her tone shifts. The softness disappears as her own limbs tense. Her knee angles, a potential weapon.

 “You need to go,” he says. He hates that Clint is seeing this.

 The lullaby protocols have been primarily between the two of them, bringing in the others only to familiarize them with signals and techniques, to test out situations and threats.  

 Clint is her backup. But he’s Bruce’s too.  And now he’s waiting, reading the tension.

 Spies.

 Fuck.  

 “Sorry,” she says to Bruce, moving off of him in one fluid motion.  He lets his hands fall to his side.  Turns his head.

 He doesn’t say anything, and she crouches at the edge of the tent closure for a moment.

 Clint murmurs her name, but she just slips out of the tent into the cool night air.

[tessatechaitea]

Detective Comics #952

The Bat Gang versus an army of Talons! I mean shadow ninjas!

Are we really still a society that is fascinated with giant apes? I feel like the 20th Century was America going through its twelve year old boy phase. We were into rockets and giant monsters crushing cities. The seventies and eighties were the discovery of boner magazines. The nineties were like a full decade spent hyped up on sugared cereal while watching Saturday morning cartoons. And then we hit the 21st Century and things had to change. Nobody wants to keep on being a twelve year old boy forever. But we were totally into playing soldier at that time, so we couldn't change yet! Just one more decade, mom! I felt like maybe we were growing once Obama became president (well, some of us. One particular ideological political group insists on remaining twelve year old boys. It sucks they're in charge now). I thought maybe we were going to mature into a woman that just turned twenty-one. Oh, sure! There are some issues that go along with that too! But at least we wouldn't be obsessed with boobies and monsters and war and giant apes, right?

Ugh.

I really don't get the fucking appeal of King Kong. Maybe Hollywood really is just a seer's crystal ball spamming portents of the future into the minds of the masses. This is just proof that the twelve year old boys are back in control and we're all fucked. This reminds me. I should probably send out letters of apology to everybody who knew me when I was twelve. I don't know how I wasn't just slapped across the face constantly. Yesterday, I experienced two moments that brought me unbridled joy. I heard Ookla the Mok's song "Viewmaster" for the first time. And then while walking back from the store (where I'd heard the song on my Shuffle), I watched as three crows followed the mailman from house to house to house down the block. I fucking love crows. But because they're birds, I often forget and leave them out in my lists of favorite animals. I usually just say cats, goats, and raccoons. Poor little corvids always get left out. The Review! For any fangenders wondering how powerful the League of Shadows are, they can stop wondering because James Tynion IV opens this comic with proof of how bad-ass they are. Not that it was needed. If you're a comic book reader, you know how it works. The current threat is always the most dangerous threat ever to be faced ever and will only be out-threated by next month's threat. It's why comic book story lines have escalated into this untenable place where every fucking conflict has the fate of all reality at stake. Okay, maybe it's not always that great. I mean, this is a Batman comic book so things need to remain a little more at street level. What Tynion does to prove the League of Shadows are a threat like no other the Batman has ever faced (aside from the Court of Owls but you should forget about them because they were New 52 and this is Rebirth and, anyway, they're nothing at all like the League of Shadows!) is to have Ra's al Ghul track down Shiva and practically beg her to keep her League from killing his League. But she's all, "No way, French name that rhymes with Jose because we're in France!" So Ra's attacks her with a small army. Now, you might be thinking, "Whoa! That is bad-ass! Even Ra's's League of Assassins can't beat the League of Shadows!" But if you are, you've jumped the gun! Because that isn't the part that proves how dangerous Shiva's League is. It's the page after the small army attacks Shiva!

Holy shit! She defeated the small army in ten seconds! Whoa!

Oh, also, Cassie is Shiva's daughter. I'm not sure if we were already supposed to know that or not. It's news to me! But then the story could point out that Tim Drake died recently and I'd be all, "Oh? Did he? I really wasn't wondering at all or caring about where he got off to." Back to the present where the Bat Gang have been ambushed by League of Shadows Sleeper Agents, Tynion reminds everybody that Cassie Cain is the baddest ass motherfucking bad ass ever ever. Even badder assier than Shiva (whom, if you remember from a few seconds ago, he just showed was a complete bad ass!). I'm using the phrase "bad ass" so much that I might be overdoing it. I'm certainly not being consistent with it being hyphenated or not. Cassie defeats most of the Sleeper Agents in one panel. She also knows that she's being watched. People know that's not a thing, right? You can't actually feel being watched. You can notice out of the periphery of your vision that it looks like somebody is staring at you but that's not the feeling of being watched. That's noticing somebody is fucking watching you. The "feeling of being watched" is a feeling that exists not because somebody is watching you but because you're fucking paranoid. And if you look up and around and make eye contact with somebody (who noticed you looking around and so glanced over), you feel vindicated in your paranoid feeling. Oh, but this is comic books! In comic books, you can totally feel you're being watched otherwise heroes often wouldn't be able to advance the plot. They'd just beat up all of these Sleeper Agents, dust off their hands, and say, "Well! That's that! Good work, everybody! Let's end this adventure and go home." Then the reader would be all, "Why is this comic book seventeen pages of ads?" Cassie might be doing okay because she's the best that ever was, having been born and bread into killing. But the rest of the Bat Gang are having trouble, what with being stabbed in the back and in the front even.

Don't worry! None of these people will die from these wounds! Although if they do, not Batman's fault! They should have found better doctors. And even if the medical bills bankrupt them and the only way to continue to exist is to continue a life of crime and they die trying to get out from under their medical bills by any means, still not Batman's fault. And it's not like it's Batman's fault if they die from an infection since he sterilizes all of his batarangs before sticking them into the chests of criminals. If they die from an infection, it's their own fault for wearing grimy clothing.

While Clayface turns into a bunch of Clayfaces to defeat the League of Shadow Ninja Sleeper Agents, Cassandra Cain sneaks up on Shiva. That's another bit to bolster Cassandra's reputation. But just in case the reader is too dumb to understand what it means (being that the reader is a comic book reader and probably of below average intelligence), Shiva says, "Nobody sneaks up on me." I don't think she means that in an offended way like "How dare you sneak up on me?!" I think she means it literally. Shiva and Cassie fight for a bit until Shiva grabs her by the throat and does that thing where a comic book character mentions something they shouldn't know about but obviously do because they're so remarkable. Shiva is all, "I know you see the hits!" Meaning she knows how every time the reader sees an assailant from Cassie's perspective, they have little hit boxes around their most vulnerable places. So Shiva is all, "I know you see the hits!" As opposed to just saying something like, "You aren't hitting me in places that would actually hurt and possibly kill me. Why are you holding back?" No. She says, "I know you see the hits. You see each of them, don't you?" Because that's the way Cassie's vision is shown to explain it to readers, Shiva expresses it in the same way. Whatever. What do I care?! This is the kind of thing that is written in a way that completely annoys me at the most superficial level. But it's the type of thing that, when you complain about it, fangenders will argue around the actual thing being said to explain how it makes sense. Like I just did. We allow it because we understand the bottom line. We understand what is meant by this. Shiva fights Cassie and realizes Cassie is holding back. But I don't care that we, as readers, can become lawyers for the writing so that we ultimately understand it. I still think the writing shouldn't be a fucking barrier to me enjoying the comic. But never mind all that! That's hardly a complaint at all, really! My real complain is that this is another fucking comic book dealing with killing versus not killing. I'm so sick of that philosophical debate being the backbone for so many fucking stories. It's practically 90% of the television show Arrow (the other 10% is Oliver fucking every female character on the show because why else would a female be part of his world if he wasn't fucking her?). It keeps cropping up in The Flash TV show too, even though Barry is the least likely person in the DC Universe to kill somebody. He's such a putz! And the stink of the constant and never ending philosophical debate is all over nearly every comic book in the DC Universe. Now we've got Cassie Cain trying not to kill anymore (mostly because she feels bad about killing Spoiler's mom and because Batman won't ever hug her again if she kills) but her mother, Shiva, is all, "You're pathetic! Killing is the best!" Anyway, I guess I get to read more of this shit in this Court of Owls story. I mean League of Shadows story! Batman comes to the rescue after Shiva gives Cassie the Five Fingers of Death (which isn't as sexy and incestuous as you're definitely thinking it is). It's a move that gives Cassie thirty seconds before she dies. I know that move! I also know a move which gives the victim one week before they die but I need a VHS tape to pull that one off.

This is another great way to make a character more powerful than the reader remembers. Just pretend they always lost on purpose in the past. Now Shiva is suddenly Batman's greatest foe and he didn't even know it! Surprise!

Shiva tells Batman she could kill him but she doesn't because she must be weak. I thought killing was good, Shiva! Later, when you think back on how Batman kicked your ass and destroyed your League of Shadows, you're going to regret not killing him! Just like superheroes constantly regret not killing villains and then I have to read another fucking story about whether or not they should kill! If you're into killing, you should fucking kill, dum-dum. When the League of Shadows disappears in the proverbial smoke bomb, Batwing and Azrael go with them. Oh darn. Too bad. I'm so upset. Could you tell by my punctuation and short, terse sentences that I wasn't really upset at all?! Oh, meanwhile? The Gotham City Police want Batman's head for the murder of Mayor Hady. So that's another cliché Tynion is forcing down my throat. No, I say, no! I don't want this! I don't consent to another story about how a hero is framed and turned into the enemy because the police are ignorant barbarians who are easily manipulated into hate and violence. We have enough of that in the real world. Later, Cassie gets a hug from Batman. That should make everything better. The Ranking! -1! Too many clichés for my tastes. And I generally love them!