#but in cold reality I am just so fucking afraid to sell myself and hear “that's way too much for this”

[lynbeck]

I need someone else to decide commission prices for me because I feel straight up allergic to the idea of assigning a monetary value to my work when I can't even guarantee what style I draw in

[redhoodieone]

Wrong Number Part 3

PLOT: When the reader walks home late at night from work, three frightening men follow her which causes her to panic and call Jason for help; even though they have yet to talk on the phone. Jason rushes to save her, except he’s going as Red Hood. But the reader doesn’t know Red Hood, and she may end up falling for him.

WARNINGS: Frightening situations, Attempt Rape, Language, Fluffiness, and Flirting.

“Bye Stacey! I’ll see you tomorrow!” I called out, as I walked out from the diner. It was almost midnight and I was off work; Stacey had to stay after to clean before she could go home.

Bundling up in my black hoodie and baby blue scarf, I smile and make my way out of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. It’s another cold night in Gotham, but I was loving the weather. It always gives me the excuse to wear my tan UGGs, dark jeans, and sweaters.

It’s sweater season. I love it so much.

Continuing my way down the sidewalk, I notice not a lot of people are out. It’s silent. It’s peaceful.

It’s frightening.

Passing by an alleyway, I immediately sense someone behind me. Glancing over my shoulder quickly, I notice two strange men coming from the same alley and are following me.

 Maybe they’re just going in the same direction as me. Maybe it’s nothing.

But then suddenly, another man joins the two of them. They’re getting me closer to me than before and they’re watching me intently.

 “Oh shit…” I whisper. I begin to breathe hard. I’m panicking. I’m thinking of horrifying scenarios that could play out.

Maybe they’re serial killers.

Rapists.

Kidnappers who plan to kidnap me and sell me to the Joker.

I choke on gasp to remain silent and somewhat calm. Slowly and cautiously, I slip my cell phone from my back pocket and find someone who could help me. Unfortunately, I don’t have a father who’s alive and could rescue me, and even beat the shit out of these guys for stalking me.

I don’t have any brothers.

I don’t have any male friends.

I don’t want to call Stacey and worry her.

I don’t want to call the police because they’re never around when they’re needed.

I don’t even want to scream for help because no one would want to come and help a stranger like me.

With a deep breath, I call Jason.  

Wait, why am I calling Jason?

How is he going to help me?

What the hell am I doing?!

It rings three times until I hear a deep, but attractive voice. “Hello?” Jason answers, almost sounding as if he just woke up.

My eyes widen and I freeze up. A shockwave of amazement and adoration runs through me.  I’ve never heard a voice as attractive and intriguing as his. A tingling sensation shoots down from my stomach to my pussy. The feeling and sound of my heart pounding brings me back to reality when I realize we’re going to actually speak to each other.

And hear each other for the first time.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Jason asks me. He sounds fully awake now and concerned. It almost makes me feel important and that I matter to him, despite never seeing each other or meeting each other, period.

“H-hi Jason. I-I am so sorry for calling you right now, when we didn’t even talk about if we were ever going to talk on the phone or anything, but-but I’m just leaving work right now, and-and there’s these guys following me. It’s probably nothing, but I’m really scared right now, and I have no one who could help me,” I ramble on with tears running down my cheeks. The fear is hitting me hard now. I can’t breathe because my throat is tightening.

“Wait Y/N, where are you right now?”

“I-I’m across from The Iceberg Lounge. It’s okay, Jay. You-you probably don’t even live in Gotham, and you probably can’t even help me. I…I just needed to hear your voice,” I sniffle. I look over my shoulder and see them getting closer.

“Sweetheart, listen to me. I need you to run down to Crime Alley,” he instructs seriously. I swear that it almost sounds like he’s moving around in the background.

“What? Why?”

“Stay on the phone with me and run. Now.”

Gripping my phone tightly against my ear, I pick up the pace. Starting out with a jog, I then force myself to run like hell, as if a clown with a knife is chasing me down. I can hear the men running fast to catch up to me. I breathe hard and gasp for air every time I feel like I’m slowing down.

But I’m getting closer to Crime Alley. Jason told me to go there, and I’m listening to him. The voice in the back of my head plagues me with questions.

How would Jason know about Crime Alley? What am I supposed to do once I get there?

A small part of me trusts Jason. I want to trust him. But the fear of uncertainty hurts me.

I slide across a rain puddle and turn into Crime Alley.

“Y/N, are you still there? Talk to me. You’re scaring me, sweetheart,” Jason asks me nervously, breaking the silence.  

“I-I am here, Jay! I’m in Crime Alley! What do I do-”

Oh fuck.

The call drops.

NO!!!! JASON!!!!

I come to a complete stop. Fear overtakes me. I’m instantly shoved to the ground, landing on my side hard and into a large puddle. I whimper and silently cry. Looking down, I notice my cell phone is in the water. I can’t help my bottom lip trembling, and I find myself trying to crawl away from them.

One of the men pulls me back from my legs. I hear a belt being removed and pairs of pants being unzipped.

My fingers dig into the concrete to try to keep escape from them. The pain causes my nails to rip apart and my fingertips to bleed.

“Please…please don’t do this. Please let me go,” I cry out.

Neither of the men speak, but a deep voice above us roars like thunder.

“HEY, YOU ASSHOLES!”

The men and I jump in fright and look up to see the Red Hood, standing on the edge of the rooftop staring down at us.

And in seconds, he leaps off the roof and lands near us. Slowly, the Red Hood rises from his kneeling-landing position and stands before us. He pulls two guns from behind him, cocks them, and aims at the three men.

Two of the men slowly back away from me with their hands up. One man doesn’t.

“Now, I’m going to give you fuckers three seconds to get away from her. Starting now,” Red Hood threatens. His voice is noticeably disguised from his helmet, a voice changer perhaps, but it’s frightening nonetheless.

The brave man steps closer to me. He quickly grabs my arm, brings me up to my feet, and twists my arm behind my back. I wince in pain which causes the Red Hood to take a step forward to me.

“How about you just go fuck yourself and leave me alone with the girl, huh?” the man laughs darkly, before he caresses my tear stained cheek. “Unless…you want a go with her first?”

The two other men snicker loudly. My body trembles in fear and I shut my eyes; I’m ashamed I’m even crying despite the fact that this isn’t entirely my fault.

“How about I just shoot the three of you in the kneecaps, so you fuckers won’t walk again for a long time?” Red Hood mocks him, before laughing darkly at them. “Unless…you want a bullet in your lungs instead?”

The man holding me gasps. Six rounds of gunshots startle me enough to fall to my knees to protect myself. Once the noise stops, I quickly turn around and see the men on the ground, crying and screaming about their bloody, wounded knees.

It’s gross. The Red Hood shot their kneecaps and he obviously wasn’t kidding about doing that. I stand up carefully and notice he’s standing behind me.

I should be afraid of him. I should run away.

But for some weird ass reason…I don’t.

Despite the men behind me crying like babies, I lick my bottom lip and slowly approach Red Hood. My eyes look over all of him: his tall, muscular frame, those big arms, thick thighs, and the big red bat armor across his chest. Looking up at his mask, I slowly reach a hand out to touch his chest but his gloved hand stops me.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’ll get shocked,” Red Hood says.

“Then how am I supposed to say thank you for rescuing me?” I ask softly. I silently applaud myself for not looking stupid or for being a coward and not say anything at all.

I can hear Red Hood’s sharp intake of breath. I smirk at that.

“Do you trust me?” Red Hood asks quietly.

“Now I do,” I reply honestly. I don’t even hesitate. 

He quickly wraps an arm around my waist; taking me by surprise in case I changed my mind. I look up at him with complete wonder and faith, as he looks down at me with no expression on his face because of his helmet.

“I trust you Aladdin,” I joke softly.

 I hear a quiet chuckle from Red Hood, as he pulls out a device that he aims up and shoots. It’s a grappling hook that’s strong enough to help us soar fast and high into the sky. The second we’re up in the air, I gasp and wrap my arms tightly around him. My fear of heights kicks in, but the adrenaline rush and holding onto Red Hood calms me a little.

And I don’t fail to notice how he holds me a little tighter, too.

[theexistentiallyqueer]

"but he murdered people”

This is a post about Goro Akechi, murder, its aftermath, trauma, and two things that are in real short fucking supply around here: critical thinking and empathy.

Listen, I’m a veteran of the Dragon Age fandom. If you want to talk about toxic fandoms, they’re your Bible. As far as your Judas Iscariots and Nebuchadnezzars go, I was one of them. I’ve seen it, I’ve done it, and I’m done with it. It’s exhausting to carry that much rage inside of you, to live it actively every second of every day, and to inflict it on other people and laugh about it. So I’ve been disengaged, largely, for a few years. 

And now I’m in the Persona 5 fandom and find myself enthusiastically appreciating Goro Akechi, because who doesn’t love complex, morally flawed, ambiguously gay-coded characters? Shit, maybe you’re not on board, but I’ll sign right up. I’m a relative newcomer, despite being a longtime Persona fan and playing P5 around when it came out, because I didn’t engage with the fandom then. I jumped back in with the Royal announcement and absolutely saturated myself in this vibrant fan space. Invested in the idea of Akechi being explored as a fully fleshed-out character, I find myself following Goroboys. Which is great! Because so far, they’re all great! Nicest bunch of people you could ever hope to meet!

Except there’s Discourse. There’s always been Discourse, I find, but this is my first exposure to it in this fandom. This weekend was my first week of seeing Goro antis active, seeing people I follow, people I like and appreciate and some I considering genuine friends, actively attacked and harassed because they like a fictional teenage character who killed some other fictional people in a fictional world where you, playing as the main character, have the ability to perform a metaphysical lobotomy on people who literally can’t consent. Here I thought the only people who hated Akechi were white cishet men who saw his rage against a parent and said, “Nah, too bitchy for me,” because they’re too afraid to look in a mirror and see Masayoshi Shido’s fascist, misogynistic mug staring back. 

Are you awake yet? Have I woken you up to the fact that Persona 5′s premise is a wish-fulfillment fantasy of “what if I could make the person who took advantage of me when I was a teenager apologize in front of the entire world by using an alternate fantasy dimension to completely violate their brain”?

I see my friends saying, “Wow, it’s amazing how people who hate Akechi can’t leave people who like Akechi alone,” and within an hour they have replies saying MURDER IS MURDER as if they know what murder actually is.

We’re about to get real personal up in here because maybe, only then, will some of you people take the hint that your behavior borders on actively bullying other people on the internet over a fictional character.

Ready? Here goes.

Murder is your mom picking you up from summer camp three weeks after your ninth birthday, driving you to your grandparents’ house, and telling you that when daddy was at work today, someone tried to steal the money, and they had a gun. Daddy was brave and Daddy died.

Murder is blacking out when you’re nine years old and coming to to yourself two houses away on a neighbor’s swing set with crickets chirping in your ears and the crushing reality of never seeing your father again turning your brain into static.

Murder is asking your mother if she asked for the death penalty, and your mother telling you, in a pleading voice, that she didn’t because he was mentally ill and it didn’t feel right. Murder is feeling angry afterwards because you feel like something was taken away from you, and something should be exchanged for that. Because that’s how fairness works, right? If you steal candy from the store, you have to give up your allowance for the next five months.

Murder is realizing you’re an atheist at fourteen and driving past the cemetery where your father’s remains are interred, and having the gut-punching, soul-suffocating realization of what never ever ever actually means. Murder is building an internal cosmology where forever means my atoms and yours, creating new life in perpetuity as the comfort you drag out of the west’s cold, uncaring atheism that never found its own poetry.

Murder is your first two years in college, when you discover social justice and realize the world is bigger than your own life experiences, and that violence at the bottom is a reactionary symptom against violence at the top. Murder is understanding the fact that the man who killed your father was himself a victim of a racist, ableist, capitalist society with a morally bankrupt healthcare system, and that every single one of those things is in and of itself is more hateful than the act of your father bleeding out in the parking lot, in the ambulance, on the operating table.

Murder is your mother confessing to you in college that your father was physically abusive of her and that she had threatened him, only weeks before he was killed, that she would leave and take her daughters with her if he didn’t change. Murder is knowing that your father ran after an armed robber because he was raised by a Sicilian father in a household overflowing with toxic masculinity, and what killed your father wasn’t a man with a gun: what killed your father was the patriarchy whispering in his ear, This theft emasculates you. 

Murder is looking your own mother in the eye and telling her that one day you want to visit the man who killed your father and open your heart to him, because all you can think is, He didn’t plan this. He can’t have wanted this. What must it feel like to kill someone without intending to and then have to live with that for the rest of your life with no one to help you? Murder is the sound of betrayal in your mother’s voice when she responds, disbelieving.

Murder is spending years wanting to at least write to him, and then forgetting, and then going back, because you are a fluid, impermanent, imperfect person with your own flaws and failures and mental issues that hold you back from being the paragon you want to be. Murder is throwing yourself into the left and embracing prison abolition so hard it hurts, because you know that if the state can lock up someone who doesn’t “matter,” the state can lock up anyone. 

Murder is throwing away or selling every childhood thing you ever possessed because you are not by nature a sentimental person, but never giving up that doll you were gifted, the doll you coveted and wanted more than anything else, three weeks before your father was shot and killed. You have no pictures, no mementos, no nothing, but she sits at the top of your bookshelf to this day, a weighty child goddess, the symbol of your torn and labyrinthine childhood.

Murder is having to see a bunch of petty-ass people using actual trauma that real life people have experienced and continue to experience to directly and repeatedly harass your friends online (and yourself, indirectly, by tagging their hateful shit) because you and your friends like a fictional fucking character who, by nature of being fictional, did not actually murder any real existing people.

Murder is building your entire identity around how you sympathize, deeply, with the person who killed your own father, because that takes hard work and deep empathy and the ability to see past a lot of bullshit just to get to that point, and having some fuck-ass anons act like none of that matters because there is (apparently, I must assume) some omnipotent god of justice saying “Fuck you and everything you’ve been through” that apparently only these bullies can hear.

Murder is seeing fandom moralizers talk about murder like they understand it. Like they’ve read this, plus the last ten-plus paragraphs, and decided they know best anyway because mommy and daddy always told them Criminals Are Bad and walked wide-eyed and innocent into a social network overrun with TERFs, exclusionists, and a rotten segment of the political left that acts like some extras straight out of The Crucible.

I have never once been triggered by anything relating to my father’s murder. I cried at the Resurrection Stone scene in The Deathly Hallows, I cried when I completed when I completed the DA2 DLC Legacy after the end of act 2. When I see a parent die, I have an emotional reaction, because it’s familiar.

But the Akechi antis who all say “but he killed people!”, The Akechi antis who say “murder is still murder”?

The murder of my father is still murder. The man who killed him, his murderer, is still regardless a human being, the man who killed him deserves sympathy and compassion and understanding and respect and, above all, a chance.

I am a living example of what’s left behind when someone is murdered. You can walk into the mausoleum where my father is interred, face his headstone, and let the earth open up beneath you and drop you into hell.

So most sincerely, from someone who lost their father to gun violence, to armed robbery, to murder: Stop fucking using our lived experiences as your justification to harass and bully people online for committing the Grave Moral Sin of just liking a video game character.

Between the fact that the American government is keeping real people in concentration camps and a bunch of strangers on the internet liking a twiggy teenage anime boy who used a fantasy world to kill people who don’t exist, which one is actually important to deserve your moral outrage?

You’ll die eventually; fascism won’t kill itself.

[localrobosexual]

hewwo my fwiends it's currently real Loving Seaside Hours™ again as spurred by talking to a blessed pal of mine earlier today about our comfort characters, so as I'm tryina ride out this thunderstorm going on outside so I can actually go to sleep I'm just gonna take a moment and gush about this robot and how and why he means so much to me, that alright w y'all lmao

putting a breaker on this bc I already know it's gonna get long and ramble-y lmao. Not gonna mind if u skip this over and don't bother reading it, I just wanna kinda shout into the void about my ocs a bit, don't mind me!

HEY SO YEE I JUST RLLY RLLY LOVE MY BIG DUMB ROBOT SO SO MUCH AAAAAA HE MEANS THE WORLD TO ME AND I COULD NEVER SELL OR TRADE HIM EVER AND I JUST WISH I HAD MORE DISPOSABLE INCOME TO USE TO JUST BUY MORE COMMISSIONS OF HIM BECAUSE GOD EVERY TIME I DRAW HIM AND EVERY TIME SOMEONE ELSE DOES TOO MY HEART JUST FUCKIN SWELLS W LOVE AND HAPPINESS!!!!! THIS ONE LITTLE TRANSFORMERS OC DOES THAT MUCH!!!!!!!! AND ITS GREAT!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAA

ok but. For real now, besides my initial screams that I had to get out hksjdks. Y'all wanna hear some insight into what all went into making him and why he means so much to me and all. Strap in bc it's gonna get Real

let's start with something pretty well known. Maybe not coming from me but a well known fact regardless lmao. Truth be told I wrote out from the paragraph below this one to the bottom without writing an introduction first and I'm too tired to try to come up with anything good now so uh. Hopefully this isn't too jarring hkshdksk my bad y'all my bad.

Anyways. Mental health! Fucked mental health! that's so much fun right!!

Haha yeah. Nah. We all know this. Being depressed is rlly wack y'all. It fuckin messes up ur head big time. I still don't know if I have downright depression, because I still haven't been properly diagnosed, and I never rlly associated my symptoms and the way I was feeling with depression bc it didn't line up with the stereotypical symptoms of depression, so I was (and still am) just calling it my "existential crisis". That was rlly the only word I could use to describe it. And it was dark and it was lonely and crushing and so, so awful. Despite the fact that I had an extremely loving and supportive friend group, I was always, ALWAYS afraid of speaking up about it. Despite them and all, I still felt super SUPER alone in the way I was feeling about life, my future, and my general purpose. This was all just reinforced by my parents and other adults in my life who I tried to come to in the past who would brush me off by saying I was overreacting, or that I'll "figure it out, because everybody does", or just generally not really understanding or showing any empathy at all. It took my entire life up until SENIOR YEAR ENGLISH CLASS when I went to my teacher about how I was feeling about a certain project that was triggering my symptoms, and that was the first time in my life when any adult had actually shown any sort of understanding or sympathy towards me and my feelings. That was the first time in my life where my mental struggles were validated by someone I respected and held to high regard.

But I still felt so very very alone, with no one to really talk to or who I knew was going through the same thing as me. So I ended up just,, , making someone who did.

Fun fact, before I really went ham on his development, Seaside was just gonna be a one-off oc with a happy go-lucky attitude and not much else about him. It was only until I heard the song What We Will Never Know (which later ended up becoming one of his theme songs bc of this) for the first time that I decided "WAIT,,. ,, BUT,, , WHAT IF,,. , ,,, , I MADE HIM SAD TOO" pretty much hkHKDJDJSK and that's what kick started his development!!

here I was, this sad, depressed, deeply lonely bitch with a love for making characters who played on extensions of myself, finally able to make something to cope with how awful I was feeling all the time. And that's what Seaside kinda was to me at first, he was my coping mechanism for working through hard bouts of my existenial crisis. I crafted his backstory to fit EXACTLY what I was going through at the time. He was content but never truly happy with how his life had been for as long as he could remember, then something exciting and new happens and he's suddenly thrust into a brand new world with so many new possibilities, but as he starts to settle in he realizes just how lost and alone he truly is in this new environment and he doesn't know where to go or what to do with himself. This is literally, EXACTLY a point-to-point retelling of my experience going through high school, graduating, and trying to figure out what to do with my life all with my mental health rapidly deteriorating around me. And having someone like that in my life, even fictional, even one I literally made up myself, made me feel better. I'd daydream scenarios of of us going on little adventures at the beach at night where no one else would see him in robot mode (gotta keep up the disguise aspect and all), but mostly it was just us hanging out, usually cuddled up to each other bc it gets cold on the beach at night, looking up at the stars, chillin and talking and just taking comfort in each other's presences and knowing that we weren't alone in our struggles. And I KNOW that sounds super stupid and cringey and dumb but like, that's genuinely what made, and still does, make me happy and it's what I used to help me hold on just a little longer to get through some of the really rough periods of my existenial crisis. When it got super bad, when I still even couldn't tell my closest friends about how low I was feeling, I still at least had Seaside with me to help me cope.

it wasn't until it got to the point where I was pretty much (lovingly) forced to wake up to the reality that I was rapidly becoming genuinely suicidal that things finally started to change, even just a little bit. I only very recently finally started to get my mind right, I finally told my parents the whole truth about how I was feeling, I got put on some meds that are honestly doing WONDERS for me rn, and I'm definitely in a much better place mentally then I was just a few months ago. I certainly still have a long way to go, but for now I'm just trying to enjoy the ride and just soak up and relish in the fact that I'm, for the first time in years, genuinely going about my days just happy to be out here living life without constantly being weighed down by the soul crushingly empty sorrow that hung over me 24/7. (and to said close group of friends, if you're indeed reading this, this may be the first time you're hearing about what I've been going through all the time, and if that's the case, I'm gonna have to kindly ask that you not come to me about it. I'll know when I'm ready to talk about this openly, but now I don't think I am. I'm really sorry to have kept it from y'all for so long, it really was just eating me up inside, but I think I explained myself well enough)

so now that I'm doing much better mentally, Seaside's outlook has kinda changed, but at the same time, not really?? he's still my comfort character for sure, always will be, but now he's not so much a coping mechanism as he is just a solid source of happiness and peace to turn to every now and again. This one little transformers oc just genuinely makes me really really happy, and I love to just soak it all in and feel every little thing!! We still share the not knowing what we're doing with our lives aspect of ourselves, but now it's a little less completely lost and anguished and hopeless and a little more hopeful and reassuring. Things are gonna be ok. We'll figure this out at our own pace. And we'll still have each other to turn to at every step of the way.

there's a lot of different kinds of comfort energies that many different kinds of comfort characters give off, and different ones resonate more with different people. The most common one I'll see at least is a kind of is parental comfort, someone you can come to for guidance in life because they have the experience to advise you on what to do and can be almost a better pseudo-parental figure. Mom friend types, loving dad energy, that kind of thing. Someone to protect you and give you big strong hugs and stuff. Seaside gives off a similar yet very different kind of comfort energy to me. It's not parental in any way because he's far too young (relatively, even in Cybertronian standards. He'd be like, mid to late 20s in human years) and inexperienced, and, frankly, still a little too naive and unknowing about a lot of things to really be someone to turn to for guidance or just generally be a pseudo-parental figure, but instead, he's just a good friend. He's a perfect kind of friend that'd stand by your side and will always be there for you through the ups and downs of life, someone who knows how to cheer you up when you're sad, someone you can share a solidarity in where you know you're experiencing the exact same struggles. He's just a good shoulder to lean on and a constant reminder that I'm never alone. And I couldn't ask for anything better tbh

so yeah. There's my ramble I guess lmao. To sum it up rlly I just love this big dumb robot w all my heart and soul and I'm so so glad I made him 💕💕💕

[myspookysunshine]

Original Poetry Dump Post

These were written under dustyirish, my other url, so I promise I am not plagiarizing myself. Bad poetry, but what the fuck. It was heartfelt at least. : )

NYC

I got your number. NYC; confusion, cacophony, crazy smell of taxi exhaust inexplicably smothered by the smell of roasted beans mocha latte grande whatthefuckever just give me Coffee boring and hot you laugh and it sounds genuine but my hearing isn't what it used to be. the horde floods past, fighting for air threatening to sweep us up in the flow you stand firm and vanish them with a drawl southern magician in a Ramones tee your hand brushes my arm accident or promise? that pinky sure felt like promise. yeah I got your number better yet I got your smile.

*************************

Discordance

Every night, 9:00 a solo goose flies overhead, late to the party offering his lonesome song to the night he's easy to single out the notes are slightly strange; a hoarse, desperate honking not quite like the others waiting at the pond 9:00, on the nose, I hear his tone deaf journey I always look up and smile. I can relate.

******************

Yarrow

Dawnlight breaks across the land birds call on the hill but in the valley down below the farm lies strangely still cows low crossly, needing milked morning chores gone unattended wash forgotten on the line a rocking chair upended bright flowers bent and broken by a shadow come to pass something that is not paint spilled upon the blades of grass wheat sways gently in a breeze that reeks of secret sorrow and last night's sin lies waiting amongst the fields of yarrow.

****************

Grandmother

You laugh at the sky. The picture's in black and white, but I know that ugly blue bathing suit scuffed in the rear from years of poolside sitting one strap permanently twisted from some washing machine trauma I was mortified by it then; I would give anything to see it now. You laugh at the sky, carefree and wild/beautiful, wind whipping dark hair into something approaching chaos Bettie Page on the edge of a hurricane. Your arms reach for me; I, that sepia child, race for them. As I recall, there was an embrace and promises of baby bunnies but memories are funny things; they seek one another, merge, then hide themselves away in corners.

You're in color now, though the room is kept dim machines beep a monotonous rhythm that some dark part of me wishes would just go silent. I stand, arms outstretched, waiting for my embrace. Time and tubes and coma be damned. You're still laughing at the sky.

************************

Solitary Duck

Eighteen months and here in this youless reality tattered grocery lists become relics tears are shed over cow slippers a stray Butterfinger wrapper lies under the bed, coiled, ready to strike I would pick up a sword to protect a voicemail I would sell my soul to still believe in ghosts.

They said malignancy I became five again; all I wanted was my mommy I settled for sharing the news with a rectangle of sod and a solitary mallard on the duck pond.

Isn't it funny how shared laughter sounds like music the same joke, told alone, sounds like madness

I live to pluck words from the ether The most elusive (and the one I fear most) is goodbye.

Leprechaun

It was a day for celebrating. Exactly what was being celebrated she had forgotten (if she ever knew) but attendance seemed to be required.

So she went.

She took a deep breath, steeled herself and walked into the gathering.

A shirtless leprechaun sat in the corner, softly crooning The Doors 'Love Street', plucking out the notes on a tiny piano held in his lap.

He was no Jim Morrison, granted, but was anyone?

She stepped further into the room and the atmosphere changed.

Whisky bottles were festooned with shamrock stoppers, green beer flowed freely from taps, a musky green scent perfumed the air.

Pretty people getting ugly drunk.

A shoving match broke out between a tall man and a misplaced clown. She side-stepped the melee with ease.

She had crafted invisibility into an art form.

In the center of pushed-back chairs, couples danced to contemporary music. Their bodies moved to the pulsing rhythm but their eyes were dead.

She tried a bit of everything on offer, musky green burning between her fingers as she retraced her steps, back towards the known.

No one asked her to dance, and this was not necessarily a bad thing. She was afraid to be swept up in their nothingness.

There once was a yesterday bride seeking happiness somewhere inside she was dimly aware that the spark was still there But that fucker, it knew how to hide.

In the end, she returned to the leprechaun.

His head rested back against the plaster, hair flowing in loose curls to his shoulders. He had moved on to 'Soul Kitchen' and he was suddenly beautiful.

She slid to the floor beside him, lay a hand on his ankle and closed her eyes.

What she lacked in visibility she made up for in imagination.

********************

Three

His kiss is wildfire, eager and consuming Yours a gentle rain to temper the flames laid down together they alter my landscape forever make way for new growth

(you both taste of conviction)

His eyes shout for desperate truth Yours whisper questions and secret pain combined, they stare into the depths of me clear my path to perception

(you both see into the shadows)

your breaths mingle on my skin which touch is which has lost meaning there is no division here oneness rough and smooth sharp and drawl chaos and peace the differences blend into something nearing perfection Twenty fingers twine, seeking my heart

finding my soul

I take you both into myself and in doing so perhaps I can absorb his laughter and your tenderness

(you are both strength)

two men, one woman evolve into the unknown.

******************

Knotted Noose

I was there when the songs formed in basement band trial and error in beer and sweat and frustration in epiphany I slipped away then you Slipped Away I never heard the music that was formed after you lost yourself among the masks and pharmaceuticals you've been gone so long now memories have faded down to driving, pulsing bass a worn high school jersey and the places where you liked my tongue.

*******************

Cancer

I look in the mirror my silhouette is off-kilter I stand, lopsided and pining for something I never thought I would miss. Two hours under the knife equals twenty years of aging biology isn't supposed to work that way the math is wrong, goddammit. Now, even in my dreams, I am unwhole I am old there is hesitation in reaching hands there is hesitation in my reaching back If I could ask this disease one question it would be this : Was that truly necessary; couldn't you have left me my dreams?

***********

Cowboy Prince

Full Texas moon tinged with blood above a half-gone bottle of Jameson rolls in time with your hips your balled-up army jacket cradles my head your heartbeat cradles my senses your body is the only warmth I need against the chill in the air Zombie on vocals backed by coyotes we merge in this wonderland where a rusted out Silverado becomes a horse-drawn carriage you are my cowboy prince and a hi-top sneaker turns to glass.

******************

Yo--Ville

was what we called it I don't know why but it seemed to fit

(maybe it was a vibe thing)

music never ceased within its walls 24/7 lullaby the tunes created weren't good

(but the intentions were)

tofu was a confusing concept to my young mind and I rode on the back of a Harley in a miniskirt

(that scar is all I have left)

a drifter lived silent in the corner bedroom he carried his life in a backpack he could speak but chose not to

(and nobody thought it was strange)

The singer was a woman who dressed in tattered tie-sye she was angry and mysterious and beautiful

(I wanted her desperately)

Jesus was a man named Bob He never walked on water but we all believed he could

(if he could only find the ambition)

I was on a path back then and somewhere between there and here I strayed and lost myself.

********************

Perspective

Yes, it's true.

There are scars under my fingertips when they whisper along your thigh I run my tongue over teeth that aren't aligned with precision I have to pause ecstasy for a moment to kiss stray tears from your cheeks My arms stay around you in sleep to ward off demons I can't see

It's all true.

But what you don't realize is that your imperfections make you my perfect.

***************

Lesson

don that mask, hide yourself away whisper sweet lies in my ear lay your heart bare to be trod upon drown yourself in fear side with monsters, fight the light let the decades take their toll be the bringer of Death if you must but never whore your soul.

************

To The Unknown

Here you sleep, under cold pink marble and sentiment - well-meant but generic - in lieu of identity. I never knew your heart; if it was nurtured with kindness or made to hide away and beat in fear. I never saw your smile; if it was a shy, sweet blossoming or if it burst like sun flare, lighting up your eyes. I never heard your voice; if it was soft and melodic or booming and brash, filled with mischief. But oh I wish I could hear it now, whispering a name to etch upon this stone.

*************

Effigy

The scent of you lingers on pillowslips the mattress still holds your shape I use an old flannel for a nightshirt an acoustic guitar for a teddy bear I'm left with all the pieces that don't make up a whole You are only here in effigy and I can't find a match.

**********

Zephyr

I was numb before I met you soul shot full of novocaine I'm numb after I left you it's a numbness of the brain you whispered soft instruction a curriculum to maintain you first taught me oblivion then you taught me pain nothing much left standing now only crumbling walls remain you came in like a zephyr and went out a hurricane.

***********

Wish

Last night I discovered your words tucked away among dusty knickknacks on a back garage shelf.

I wish I knew how they had come to be hidden. I wish they had found a more dignified resting place. I wish you could have spoken them aloud. I wish I didn't understand the whys. I wish I had opened that box earlier. I wish I had never opened that box.

Last night I found your goodbye and today I wish I was still unaware that a heart can break twice.

*************

Taboo

The only two left floating high and exhausted in a sea of beer-swept men couch springs prod your spine but he is familiar comfort his lap a favorite pillow a slight shift of your head a slight shift in your friendship and lips are tracing denim steel you know the unspoken language of him you are fluent in his groans this one screams fucking finally fingers catch in your hair ghost along your inked bicep interpreting the coded message

'Break glass in case of emergency'

his cock pulses against your tongue your own thrums in time a driving, crescendoing drum beat he belongs to someone else you don't belong even to yourself together, here, you belong Wrong? Forbidden? Taboo? you wouldn't know as the taste of him floods your mouth words have ceased to exist.

***********

Horse

We flew, you and I, across years wind in my hair, dust in my nostrils wildfire under my skin we rode on trails of deception under the illusion that I held the reins.

One day you balked and bucked me hooved death came down beside my head knocked some courage loose I corralled you, slammed the gate and limped away bruised but triumphant.

I never was good at mending fences.

You've broken free and galloped back whinnied softly against my ear and I can only savor the ride as I settle into this well-worn saddle molded to the shape of me.

*************

Just Be

I first saw you on your rooftop sanctuary hiding tears behind a cigarette you'd forgotten where you put your laughter but managed to find where I'd put my soul your shadow was beautiful Just Be, I whispered you sobbed against my shoulder smoke and cologne and tears and I fell, far more than the three stories to the ground fear of not being everything Just be, I whispered, and guided you into me and it was imperfect perfection I can be strong enough for both of us the sanctuary of my mind the lesson held even if we didn't I saw you yesterday, up on stage doubt in your eyes I closed my own and whispered Baby, just be.

**************

[fandomcentralcity]

Beautiful Surprise.

Lena sighs.

All she wants to do is go home to her girlfriend and her dog. That’s it.

Instead, she’s here listening to some fucking old, sexist, pimple of a man rant about her new technology that she introduced today.

“… that’s why we shouldn’t have let a woman run this company! … She has no idea what she is doing… She is putting this company at risk…”

Lena tunes him out and starts thinking about when she gets welcomed home by their dog Krypto. He’d jump on her, might knock her down if she didn’t take her shoes off quick enough too.

She chuckles.

There would be boxes everywhere, too. Kara had said yes when she asked her to move in and Lena couldn’t be more excited. After 2 years, it was time. The compromise was they would have to wait a month in order for Kara’s lease to end, AND Kara wasn’t allowed to use her powers. Lena always wanted the experience of moving in with someone, the laughs, and yes even the fights.

She smiles, she can’t wait to get home.

Finally, she’s brought back to reality…

“LEX WOULD BE ASHAMED TO SEE WHAT THIS COMPANY HAS COME TO!!!”

That’s the moment that she loses it.

“Mr. Buchanan, I don’t know how many times I’ve said that this company is nothing like the one that my brother ran. We do not invest in chaos, war or hate. I, for one, am very happy with that fact. I will never run this company like Lex did. Furthermore, I am sick and tired of your sexist, anti-alien, testosterone-driven rants about my technology and the way I’m running this company. Now, I’ve dealt with it for three years and I’m finally done.”

She stands up and glares at him.

“Here’s what I propose: you either step down or I will leak all of your indiscretions, and ALL of your investments to the media.” She states as she slides a packet to him.

Within the packet are pictures him being intimate with women who are not his wife in a dingy hotel room, alleyways, massage parlors, and even in his own bed. There are lists of his investments and how much he’s invested in them. Most of them are… shady, to say the least.

“You wouldn’t- you can’t just- you won’t do-” He sputters as he looks through the contents.

She interrupts him “I can and believe me when I say, I will. Not only will your wife leave you because of the pictures, the people will turn against you, your investments will be gone, you will be ostracized, bankrupt- because we all know it’s really your wife’s money that you are spending- and you will be forced to step down from this board. As much as I would LOVE for that to happen, I believe myself to be above that. So, I give you a choice. Take it or leave it.”

She pauses, and looks around the room.

“Does anyone else have a problem? No? Good. Mr. Buchanan, you can let my secretary Jess know your answer by 8 o'clock tomorrow morning. A second later, you will be seeing all of this information on national news, and do not think you can escape it. I have contacts you can even begin to dream of having.” She picks up her things, and with a "Good day gentlemen.” she storms out of the room.

She is beyond angry. She has had to deal with these incompetent, hateful beings for as long as she’s been the CEO. She is completely done with the whole board, some of which have been here since before she took over. A few of them are still loyal to Lex, like Mr. Buchanan. She has been trying to get them to leave, but that is proving difficult. The only ways they can go are if they step down, or get voted off. Most of the old board she blackmailed out, of course, there are no records of her doing so, nor are there any credible witnesses. Her word is better than theirs, especially if she leaked a scandal or two.

“Fucking idiots.” She numbed as she walks by Jess and into her office.

She grabs her coat, and packs up her things.

“Jess, I’m leaving for the day. Cancel my appointments, and then you can go home.”

“Yes Ms. Luther.”

Lena stops and quirks her eyebrow at Jess.

“I mean, Lena” Jess replies with a smile.

Lena smiles “Better. Enjoy the rest of your day Jess.”

“You too!”

Lena practically runs to her car, eager to go home and leave her awful day at work behind her.

When she gets outside her apartment, - THEIR apartment- she takes a minute to collect herself. She lets her anger from the day go, and eagerly opens the door. “Hey Babe! I’m home!”.

She hears a bark and quickly throws down her stuff and takes her shoes off before a blond blur jumps on her.

Lena laughs, “Hey Buddy, ohhh, I missed you too!! Was today good?! Mine wasn’t as god as yours I bet! Thank you for all the kisses!” She gushes, as she loves on her adorable dog. After Krypto calms down a bit Lena asks, “Where’s your other mama??” Wondering why Kara hasn’t greeted her like she normally does.

Krypto barks and runs down the hallway to the master bedroom where Lena hears Kara squealing.

Lena opens the door, “I’m almost afraid to as-” 

Kara excitedly interrupts as soon as she sees Lena, “I didn’t know you had baby pictures!!!“You were so freaking cute!!!! Well I mean they aren’t baby pictures, but they’re of you as a child and I thought you didn’t have any!!! But you do, and I HAD to go through them because you went through mine. I thought it was okay, but you’re not saying anything so I’m assuming it’s not? If I crossed a boundary-” Kara’s rant stops when Lena holds up her hand.

"Love? Say something please, or emote, because you normally have a reaction when I’m doing something you don’t like. But right now, you’re just… there.” Kara worriedly states.

Lena doesn’t say anything as Kara is talking. She picked up a few of the pictures and started to look at them. She drifts to the floor as tears form in her eyes.

Kara notices and superspeeds to Lena wrapping her arms around her, knowing something serious is going on.

“Hey love, what’s wrong?” Kara asks softly as she turns Lena’s head towards her and gently brushes the tears from Lena’s eyes.

Lena looks back down at the picture in her hand. It’s of her and Lex at the zoo when they were 8. A monkey is on Lena’s shoulder, her dad is handing it a piece of fruit. Lex’s arm is around her, her eyes are on the monkey, and Lex is laughing at her.

She remembers this day. it was her first trip to the zoo, and it was magical. Her favorite part was the otters and the monkeys.

Kara rubbing her arm brings her back to reality.

“That box,” gesturing to the box that the pictures came out of, “is from the Luthor Mansion.” She says as she tries to hold in her tears. “I always assumed that Mother didn’t save any pictures of me, because I wasn’t Lex. She was always very cold to me. In her eyes, I never did anything right. I honestly thought she never loved me. Apparently, I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.” She whispered as she looked to the multitude of pictures around the room.

She looks up to Kara, “She did love me. I always figured she only said that because she wanted something from me; but it’s true. My mother actually loves me.”

Kara held her tighter. “Turn the picture over” she whispers to Lena.

Curious, Lena does, and her breath hitches.

On the picture it said, “May 6th, 1999. Your first zoo trip. You loved the monkeys and otters the most. You absolutely despised the snakes after the King Cobra hissed at you. You hugged me at that moment because you were scared. You smiled more today than you have since you been with us. I love you my darling angel, Momma.”

Lena covered her mouth with her hand.

“They’re all like that” Kara whispers in her ear.

Lena shuts her eyes as tears flow out.

Kara holds her till her body stops shaking, carefully wiping Lena’s tears when they stop flowing, and kisses her forehead.

Lena takes a breath, and looks up, “Can we go through these together? I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

Kara nods with a smile, “Of course love. Do you want to move to the bed first though? I’m getting uncomfortable and I’m an alien. I can only imagine what you’re feeling.” she grins.

Lena chuckles, “Yes, Yes, the puny human is also uncomfortable.” with a kiss, she helps Kara up. Lena starts collecting the pictures from the ground as Kara moves the box closer to the bed.

That night they share laughter, tears, pizza on their bed (“Just this once” Lena states), and memories, becoming closer than ever before.

As they are going to bed, Lena starts thinking about her day. "You know, that was a beautiful surprise to come home to. I had the worst day at work.” she states, slipping on her pajama bottoms.

"Oh? Do tell.” Kara replies.

“Well Buchanan was raving about how I don’t run the company the right way, my technology will never sell, and then he finished his rant by saying Lex would be ashamed about how I am running the company.” She says, getting annoyed again.

“Oooofff, wrong move buddy. What did you do?” Kara asks, slipping under the covers.

“You know that information packet on him I’ve been amassing? Well, he has quite a few indiscretions, and a lot of investments that don’t make him look very good in the public eye. So, I gave him a choice.”

“Good for you! He needs to go.” Kara exclaims.

Lena looks up from brushing her hair, surprised, “I thought you were against me blackmailing them off?”

“That was before Dummie Number Three tried to assassinate you. Twice.” Kara gripes, “You’d think they would learn better by now.”

Lena chuckles, “Yeah, I have a super girlfriend that is always there to protect me, and catch me when I fall.” she winks as she climbs in next to Kara.

“And a super-cool mom that loves you.” Kara adds.

“She’s still the head of Cadmus.” Lena replies, looking at the picture on her bedside table of her family at the zoo.

“Yes, but she loves you. So, there is still hope.” Kara says as she puts her arms around Lena.

“That is true, she does love me.” Looking at all the pictures around the room, all with handwritten notes behind them. 

“You know who also loves you?” Kara asks. “Me.”

“You’re a dork.” Lena chuckles as Kara’s lips meet hers.

“Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight Lena.”

That night they fall asleep in each other’s arms, with Lena’s childhood scattered on the furniture in the room, with their dog at their feet.

They didn’t get through all the pictures, but they will. After all, they have the rest of their lives together, and Lena couldn’t be happier.