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necrotic-nephilim · 3 months ago

Note

"How else am I supposed to learn if you don't punish me?" With Jason x Bruce ship pls 🙏

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

fucked up BruJay my beloved. this is. honestly more emotional whump than physical and the romance is implied, but i do like this piece a lot, even if i struggled with it a bit. have 2.2k of Bruce and Jason struggling to get along. enjoy <3

Sometimes, Jason did it on purpose.

He knew Bruce’s patrol route better than anyone. Which was by design. Jason wanted to know where Bruce was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it with at all times. And really, Bruce didn’t seem to be stopping Jason from keeping tabs. None of Jason’s carefully placed trackers were removed, and Jason knew better than to assume Bruce had lost his touch. Bruce knew they were there, and he knew they were Jason’s.

So if Jason wanted to avoid Bruce, he knew how to do it. And when he really did want to get work done under Bruce’s nose, it was easy for Jason to dance around Bruce’s schedule and send him tail spinning just trying to keep up with Jason.

But some days, Jason didn’t want to avoid Bruce. He wanted the thrill of the chase.

So he got caught on purpose.

He picked a gang on the side of town Bruce always patrolled at this hour. He used the loudest guns he had with no silencers. He started the messiest brawl he could.

And he waited.

Jason didn’t have to wait long.

Like it always was with Bruce, the entrance was dramatic. Shattering glass as a large form with an unfurled cape descended from the skylight. Jason smiled under his helmet.

There were already at least half a dozen dead. The rest were running around like ants, either trying to get away from Jason or futilely trying to fight him.

“You’re late!” Jason shouted over his shoulder. He dodged a batarang thrown in his general direction. “I expected you to get here at least five minutes earlier.”

“Robbery a block away,” Bruce said brusquely. He turned to a few gang members with tire irons and shivs lifted, ready to charge Jason. “Run. Now.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

Jason raised his gun to shoot one. He wasn’t particular about who he picked. He knew it didn’t matter. The bullet wouldn’t actually hit them.

Because just on time as Jason squeezed the trigger, a batarang buried into his hand. He swore and dropped the gun.

“Enough, Hood,” Bruce said coldly.

Jason smiled under his mask. “Someone’s gotta clean up this city.” He lunged for another thug.

Bruce’s body was like a battering ram, slamming into Jason. He was heavy enough to knock the wind out of Jason, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Jason groaned, trying to throw Bruce off of him. When that didn’t work, he went for his belt, grabbing his kris dagger and flipping it around.

“Do you hold any value for human life?” Bruce demanded. He grabbed Jason’s wrist and pinned it against the ground. “These aren’t supervillains, they’re normal people down on their luck-”

Before Bruce could finish talking, one of the gang members bashed him over the head with a wooden plank. Bruce’s cowl was reinforced, but the little bastard had managed to hit hard enough to snap the plank clean in half. A grunt was forced out of Bruce and his whole body buckled.

Now that was just rude. Bruce was Jason’s meat, not some stupid punk’s. Possessive jealousy flared through Jason, watching Bruce wince in pain to a wound Jason didn’t give him.

“Yeah, they seem real grateful to their savior,” Jason sneered. He threw Bruce off of him and grabbed the gang member. A wiry thing, probably still a teenager. Jason twisted them around to hold his dagger against their throat with his fingers buried into their hair, holding them still. A horrified noise came out of them. Not that Jason particularly cared. He wasn’t the one stupid enough to try beaning Batman with some plywood.

Bruce was on one knee, looking up at Jason. “Don’t.” His fingers twitched toward his utility belt.

“You can’t stop me,” Jason taunted, pressing the blade against tender flesh until the person was squirming in his grasp and blubbering out incoherent pleas for mercy. “Hands where I can see ‘em, B.”

If Jason was anyone else, Bruce would’ve stopped him by now. A quick flick of his wrist to hit Jason with a tranq dart, was how he guessed Bruce would do it.

But he wasn’t just some rogue. He was Jason. And that made Bruce go still, actually listening to Jason’s demands.

“You’re just doing this for attention,” Bruce said carefully, keeping his whole body tense, but not moving it. “Let them go.”

“It’s working.” Jason shrugged, adjusting his hold on the stranger. “So can you blame me?”

“There are other ways to do it without-” Bruce briefly looked around the room at the bodies littered everywhere- “casualties. And innocent hostages.”

“Innocent?” Jason laughed. He turned to address the person he was holding. “Do you think you’re innocent? Why don’t you tell the Batman where these drugs were getting funneled.”

“I don’t- please, I just help packaging- I didn’t-”

Jason huffed in annoyance. “I’ll tell him for you. The middle school down the street. And if there was extra supply, the youth center just around the corner from it too. You remember that youth center don’t you, B? I slept there sometimes as a kid. It was warmer than the streets.”

Bruce’s mouth faintly twitched. His jaw was set. Jason could see him grappling with the rage of knowing exactly who these low lives were dealing to, while still wanting to tell Jason off for all the ugly murder.

How contradictory that nasty little moral code of his could be.

“Let them go,” Bruce spoke slowly, “and we’ll work together to figure out how-”

“Oh don’t even pretend,” Jason laughed. “Don’t pretend you would work with me for a second.”

“Let them go,” Bruce repeated. He seemed to pointedly avoid admitting to Jason’s point.

Jason let out a long hum like he was thinking about it. “I don’t know. What’s one more to my body count?” He started to press the blade.

Bruce moved inhumanely fast. He kicked up, knocking the knife out of Jason’s hand without hitting the gang member. His hands went for Jason’s throat and he managed to get Jason back on the ground. The gang member ran off, footsteps echoing until they were gone while Jason and Bruce grappled, trading punches and kicks until Bruce managed to pin Jason down. Blood was pouring from Jason’s nose and Bruce had human claw marks across his cheek.

Rough. Animalistic. Just the way Jason liked it.

“Why do you do this?” Bruce spoke through grit teeth. “Why do you make me do this?”

“Like you said,” Jason grunted, trying to twist out from Bruce. “I like the attention.” His struggles only got him pinned harder. Bruce forced Jason facedown against the concrete, with an arm twisted behind his back. Jason’s helmet was torn off and tossed to the side.

“I never want to hurt you,” Bruce actually sounded choked up about it. “Why do you have to take it too far every time?”

Jason would give anything to see his face, right now.

“Maybe I want you to hurt me,” Jason said. He looked at his hand resting against the concrete, blood still pouring out of the wound the batarang left. it was a bright, pulsing pain that danced across his reality, making his blood sing. He hoped it would scar. Another to add to the collection of ones he’d goaded Bruce into giving him.

“Why?” Bruce’s voice broke on the word. It was an ironic thing. How badly Bruce wanted to show Jason his mercy. His gentle side. And how badly Jason wanted Bruce’s violence. He wanted Bruce to fight Jason until Bruce’s knuckles were bloody and Jason was barely conscious. He wanted to feel Bruce’s violence down to the marrow.

Jason craned his head back to look at Bruce and smiled. “How else am I supposed to learn if you don’t punish me?”

Bruce stared. For a long moment, he was silent. Jason listened to his breathing like a lifeline. “You don’t actually believe that.” his voice was soft and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to concern.

Sentimental bastard.

“No,” Jason admitted. “We both know I’ll never learn.”

To prove his point, Jason grabbed a stray piece of glass from the ground and stabbed it into one of the weak spots on Bruce’s armor. It made Bruce’s grip loosen enough for Jason to roll free and try to kick Bruce in the face.

Bruce wasn’t fighting him. He only blocked Jason’s blows, and even then, let some of them hit. It was like fighting a brick wall. Hard and unrelenting.

It was starting to piss Jason off.

“Don’t be afraid to hurt me now, Bruce,” Jason said through grit teeth, throwing another punch. It sailed uselessly over Bruce’s shoulder when Bruce easily dodged.

“No.” Bruce’s expression was unreadable under his mask. “I’m not playing your game, Jason.”

“Damnit!” Jason could feel his anger threatening to take control. He kicked Bruce hard in the shin, forcing the man to his knees. Jason ripped Bruce’s cowl off. He wasn’t stopped by Bruce. Hard blue eyes stared up at him. Practically emotionless. “I know you hate me. I know you’re itching to rip my head off for…” Jason spread his arms, gesturing to all the bodies. “For this! For everything I’ve done.”

Bruce shook his head, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. “I don’t hate you, Jason. I could never-” He doubled over when Jason’s knee connected with his stomach.

“Well you definitely don’t love me,” Jason snapped, ice dripping from his tone. “If you did… if you loved me, you would let me have this.”

“Killing people?”

“Hurting me,” Jason corrected. He snatched his kris off the floor from where it’d fallen to. He stared at the blade. “I’m sick of your pacificism. I’m sick of you pretending you don’t crave hurting someone and pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“I’ve never pretended,” Bruce looked at Jason through careful, hooded eyes. “That want… that need has always been a part of me. I take too much pleasure in hurting people. Pleasure in believing they deserve it.” He studied Jason for a moment. “I never wanted it to consume you the way it consumes me. Because I know it’s something you can’t come back from, once it takes root.”

Jason hated it when Bruce waxed poetic. It was a whole lot of bullshit that meant nothing to Jason. It did nothing to fight the roar of rage building in Jason’s chest.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Jason asked.

He needed Bruce to say yes.

He knew Bruce wouldn’t.

Even if it was the truth. Which now, Jason wasn’t so sure.

Bruce was silent. He didn’t give Jason any answer, not even a change in expression. Bruce just pushed himself to his feet and looked at his cowl that Jason was still holding.

“I love you, Jason,” Bruce said. He grabbed the cowl, but Jason didn’t let go. “I want to help you. Please let me help you in any other way that’s not… this.” Bruce’s thumb brushed over the still bleeding gash on Jason’s hand.

Jason tightened his grip on the cowl. “I’m not giving you the free pass to sleep easy at night,” he hissed. “You can’t take back any of the scars you’ve given me. And we both know sooner or later, there will be new ones.”

Bruce tore the cowl out of Jason’s hand. Before putting it on, he started to reach out for Jason’s face, but seemed to think against it, hand abruptly dropping. He opened his mouth to say something. An apology, probably.

A muffled, crackly voice came from inside the cowl. A police scanner, by the sounds of it. Jason only caught the words bomb threat and hostages.

So much for Bruce’s attention.

“Come with me?” Bruce offered, pulling his cowl on.

Jason shook his head. “You know you don’t want me there.”

“I always want you-” Bruce cut himself off, seeming to realize how dangerously vulnerable his words were. “The offer to come to me will always be open, Jason. You know that.”

Jason’s fist curled and his blood dripped onto the concrete. “Go to hell.”

Like that, the intimacy was gone. Bruce put his emotional mask back on to go with his physical one and turned heel, walking away. Jason just watched him go, some part of him foolishly waiting for Bruce to turn back and say something. Anything. He could get any other hero to handle the bomb threat. He could spare Jason just a few more moments of arguing and fighting. Maybe even something more.

But of course, he didn’t.

#necrotic writings #ask game #whump #brujay #jaybruce #jason todd x bruce wayne #batcest #dead dove do not eat #this is pretty mild tbh? for me anyway #it's mostly just. jason being a lil masochist and bruce being unable to hurt jason.#fun lil vibes.#i hope to write another fic before i sleep but we'll see if the cards are in my favor for that #also not to be a loser but like #soft reminder it *is* kinda disheartening to get low interaction on some of these #but get a *lot* of requests #so like. likes and reblogs on these lil fics do mean a lot to me and make me less feel like i'm throwing content into an echoless void #and then being asked for more yk khjgfghgjhkj #so know that love for my content always means the world to me is all #ugh. i hate being vulnerable ew #back to being a cryptid in the void now.

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rosewaterandivy · 2 years ago

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Part 3. hopelessly hopeful

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: no use of y/n - reader goes by Trouble instead, depictions of heartbreak/grief, cursing, pop-punk slander by one Eddie Munson, Thanksgiving mention, protective!robin, scheming!nancy, sad girl hours continue

A/N: Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance. Here’s 3.7K of multi-perspective tension, sexual and otherwise; feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy!

series masterlist | playlist

previous || next

Then - Fall term, Thanksgiving break

There’s only so many days you can sulk in bed. Wrapped in a blanket swaddle of your own creation, it’s almost impressive; everything you could possibly need is within reach – snacks, drinks, and entertainment options.

“You alright?”

It’s cold.

Winter has well and truly arrived in Hawkins, frost dusting the windowpanes and an ever-present chill in the air. Brief winter winds hit the town, snow flurries dusting the streets but never enough to stick. Still too early in the season for that.

You bundle up all over - two pairs of woolen socks, a sweatshirt stolen from god knows who, and too-long sweatpants snatched from Steve or Eddie, a quilt gracing your shoulders like a cape. Your friends try not to chide your melancholy overmuch, but the stubborn part of you still misses him.

Miss his eyes. His hands. The steadying effect of his voice.

Barely a month out and you’re already slipping. Eddie took it upon himself to delete your ex’s number, socials, and whatever other vestiges of your past life he could find from your phone. Some nights you’re thankful for his pre-emptive measures, most nights you’re not.

You spend most of your weekend mornings sleeping in as late as your body would allow because any moment awake was another moment that your mind will wander back to him. You feel ripped asunder, oscillating between accepting the fact that your engagement and relationship is over, and then letting yourself grow frustrated for allowing yourself to fall into this trap in the first place.

You wish you had never said yes to him last December. Never gone to that party back in college, never given him your number, never kissed him, never made love to him. You still ache to think of him, and you can only blame yourself.

Under a heavy spare quilt (Steve’s, naturally), you shiver. Due to the cold or your heartbreak, who's to say?

Eddie heaves a sigh and joins you on the couch. “Okay, sad girl,” he says, curling you to his side. He’s gentle handling you, warm hands tucking the blanket around your prone body with light touches. You’ve been lying immobile on the couch for the better part of the morning, long enough to make it through Bladerunner: 2049 without falling asleep.

They’re all understandably concerned.

You cry at the drop of a hat now, it seems. You throw things in frustration and have a quicker temper. You stare viciously at the black hole of your phone screen. You adamantly refuse to look at yourself mirrors. You sleep fitfully at night, tossing and turning against the sofa in the loft. Only admitting defeat when Steve pads in and sleepily leads you to his room with slurred murmurs of “Jus’ take my bed, honey. S’fine.”

You hate that you sleep best curled alongside someone else.

And Eddie’s all the more concerned because he’s been keeping an eye on your Spotify activity. Too many emo playlists from high school for comfort. He’d nearly staged an intervention when he walked past your classroom yesterday and heard something off of From Under the Cork Tree. Luckily Steve was able to talk him off the ledge.

“Look, I know you don’t approve,” he said pulling Eddie into his classroom by the back of his shirt, “But I know that when she listens to this song–”

“The fact that you know it is cause for concern, Harrington.”

“Uh, it’s more concerning that you know this song, Munson.” He huffs and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. ”Regardless,” he pats Eddie’s shoulder, “She’s trying to move on and that’s a good thing, trust me.”

And sure, he’d give Steve the benefit of the doubt. But he still has half a mind to scrub your Spotify data and start from scratch. For now, he settles for sitting with you as the opening credits roll for the first film in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, extended edition, of course.

Nancy did it on purpose, but she’d never admit it.

Just booked the AirBnB she’d been eyeing after you’d mentioned, casually, that your parents would be in California with extended family for the holiday. You’d bailed to avoid any uncomfortable questions.

Friendsgiving it was then. Nancy and Jonathan would join the rest of you the day after Thanksgiving for a belated celebration. Until then, you had the cabin to yourselves.

A little cabin by tucked away in a forest, earth damp from the mist and air fresh with the scent of petrichor. The car slows to a stop and Eddie cuts the engine. Robin bounds out of the front seat, all flailing legs and arms, desperate to claim the best bed for herself.

You roll your head to release the tension in your neck and elbow open the backdoor to step out of the car. Steve jerks himself awake aided by the thunk of the trunk being slammed shut and Eddie’s whistling. You allow yourself a soft laugh watching as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, glasses forgotten in the mess of his hair.

Blinking blearily, he exited the vehicle to help Eddie load the groceries and luggage inside. Trying to outdo each other with how many bags they could carry with the least amount of trips. With a roll of your eyes, you follow them into the cabin taking care to wipe your shoes on the mat by the door.

Unfortunately, you were greeted by an unavoidable fact. Apparently, there weren’t enough beds. Four to be exact, two singles and two queens. Eddie and Robin had already taken the singles, while Nancy had specifically requested the room at the back of the cabin. Which only left the queen bed in the upstairs loft or the couch.

Quite the predicament.

You tell yourself that it’s only for a few days, then you’ll be back to Hawkins before you know it. Back to reality and the countdown to winter break. You just needed a little reprieve, a few hours drive from your small town and running into students at the grocery store. Some time and space to clear your head and get over this thing.

Taking a deep breath to settle yourself, and it’ll be fine. It’s just Steve. The guy you’ve known since you were in diapers, no reason to worry. He knows everything about you there is to know. Well, nearly everything.

A sharp inhalation of air as you trudge up the steps to deposit your duffle bag on the bed. That’s it then, you and Steve would take the loft and suffer through a few days of close quarters.

Not like you hadn’t done it before.

You’d been through worse; the camping trip of 2015 comes to mind.

“Huh,” he says after shutting the front door, shoots you a grin from the first-floor landing. “I’ll just crash on the couch,” he declares, “Give you some space.”

“No, don’t do that.”

“S’fine,” he insists, “I’m sure it’s comfortable enough.” He tosses his bag onto the sofa cushions, a plume of dust bursting from the fabric, motes lazily drifting through the receding evening sun. “Shit,” he coughs, hand waving the dust out of the air, “Maybe not.”

Your laughter is soft, quiet as if it’s just for him to hear. A shake of your head as you descend the stairs. “Not gonna happen Harrington,” and it’s a promise.

You lean in slowly, hand warm against his arm as you slip the backpack over your shoulder and turn to go back upstairs. Your free hand links fingers with his to tug him along. He follows you willingly, like he always has.

“I don’t like it,” Robin whispers to Eddie after dinner, arms soaked to the elbow with soapy water while she washes the dishes and passes them off for drying. He hums, taking a plate from her before wiping it down with a dish towel. “This forced proximity thing is not going to work out the way Wheeler thinks it will.”

“C’mon Buckley, would it kill you to be an optimist here? Harrington’s your best friend, after all.”

“Exactly,” she nods, “Which is how I know that this whole thing,” she gestures wildly around, soap suds flying, “Is going to implode. And we’ll be left to pick up the pieces.”

Eddie shoves his tongue to his cheek in an effort not to refute Robin, even though he vehemently disagrees with her assessment of the situation. If he had to come down on someone’s side, it would be yours, without a doubt. Sure, you were sulky and sad but that was to be expected - you were mourning for fuck’s sake.

Though you were crashing at the loft until the end of the year, just until you could secure a short-term lease somewhere, when he got up for work in the mornings you were not on the sofa where he’d left you those nights before. In fact, the only thing that did remain was the quilt you’d salvaged from Steve’s bedroom.

And speaking of Steve, his door was unusually cracked open, a sliver of morning light flooding across the hallway. Soft rises and falls of conversation sound out from his room, echoes amplified in the corridor. Your bright laughter quickly shushed by Steve, the sound of rustling sheets.

Eddie smiles at the memory, setting the plate in the drying rack by the sink and turning to Robin. “I think it’s sweet,” he admits, “And I think they both need something to hold on to right now.” He leans back against the cramped kitchen’s counter, elbows bent and fingers wrapped under the edge. A shrug of acknowledgment, “Just so happens they’re holding on to each other.”

Robin sighs, knowing that he’s right. She subconsciously mimics Eddie’s posture, fingers gripping the edge of sink and eyes falling to the dishwater as she faces the basin. “I just–” she breathes, eyes flitting up to him, wary. “I’m afraid he’ll get hurt… hurt, again.”

She shakes her head and pulls the plug of the drain, water groaning its way down the old pipes. Keeps her voice low, whispering, “Eddie you’ve been there, he’s in this endless cycle with her.” She grabs the towel from him to dry her hands, “Just over and over again while she’s completely oblivious to it.”

He nods in sympathy, hand coming to her shoulder and giving a squeeze. “Rob, I get where you’re coming from. Really, I do.” He tongues his cheek once more, searching for the right words. “And as much as we care,” he gestures between them, “At the end of the day it’s still their choice.” He pulls her in for a hug, chin resting against her head.

Robin allows herself to lean on him, groaning as her head knocks against his chest. “They’re just such idiots Eds.”

She can feel the vibration of laughter from his chest, “They sure as shit are, Buckley.” He draws back, looks her in the eye, “Luckily for them, they’ve got us looking out for ‘em, hmm?”

“Yeah,” she grouses, with no real heat behind it, “Lucky.”

Steve has to all but drag you to bed, thanks in no part to the cans of hard kombucha Eddie kept sliding your way. “You’re such a punk,” you pout, completely limp in his arms as he schleps you upstairs, “Was havin’ a good time, don’t wanna sleep.”

“Right,” he grunts, dragging you up the final step into the loft, “I’m the bad guy because I stopped you from crushing cans against your skull.”

“Yeah,” Robin joins in, phone in hand as she documents what she calls ‘clown chronicles’ and Steve has half a mind to be offended at his inclusion; he may be slow on the draw but you are an actual fool, hand to god. “Why you gotta ruin my blackmail material Harrington?”

You hurumph in displeasure, purposefully wiggling to make his life even more difficult. He drops you on the wooden planks in retaliation. “Rude,” you scowl petulantly, struggling to get your arms and legs working again.

“Well, if you’re gonna be a brat about it…” Steve trails off, distracted by searching your luggage for pajamas. He makes his way through socks and pants, a shirt you swear you didn’t steal from him in college, “What the hell—“

A bark of laughter, as if you just remembered something, “Would you believe,” you can’t stop yourself from laughing, “I packed three coats and no pjs!”

Steve halts his search, annoyed. Drops the articles of clothing unceremoniously in the duffle bag. Turns to you, hands on his hips and disapproving, “You’re a walking disaster.”

In that time, you’d wedged yourself between the top of the second floor landing and the dresser, slumped against the wall and were, yup, about to tumble down the stairs. He grabs you around the middle, hefting you over his shoulder and praying you wouldn’t upchuck at the sudden movement.

You giggle and squeal, legs kicking against his back and chest as he plops you down on the bed. He begins to peel the sweater from your torso as you bat his hands away with a lazy smile, “If you wanted in my pants Stevie, all you had to do was ask.”

Steve sputters at your innuendo, choking and coughing over his own spit like an absolute imbecile. Mutters, “Fuck you so much,” under his breath once he can think again.

“Atta girl!” Eddie shouts from the landing by the stairs, “Make him work for it, Trouble.”

“Not helping dumbass,” Steve calls out, hand scrubbing down his face tiredly.

Eddie and Robin say their goodnights and make themselves scarce. Flopped back on the bed, he watches your breathing even out with the rise and fall of your chest. How did you fall asleep so quickly?

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve says, fingers snapping to wake you back up, “C’mon, gotta shower and get ready for bed.”

“No,” you whine, eyes screwed shut, “S’comfy and I’m tired.”

It’s hard to convince himself to rally and get you up again. Sprawled like a star-fish across the bed because you’re, yeah, an asshole who takes up the entire bed. His gaze is fond as you rustle against the sheets, breathes out a sigh of relief.

He sits at the foot of the bed, knocks against your leg, “Hey, wake up.” A slow shake from your head that’s currently smushed into a pillow. “Mmm, that’s too bad,” he sighs, “Guess I’ll just go ahead and prepare a bath for myself then.”

Earlier, he’d noticed the upstairs bathroom had a nice clawfoot tub. And you are, if nothing, a slut for a good soak in the bath. It was the only way your family could convince you to go camping and backpacking in the summers, by dangling a stay at a hot spring or spa for the trip home.

Steve stands back up to really sell the idea, and wanders into the bathroom. Bless the AirBnB host because the sink and tub are well-stocked with every kind of toiletry you could want. Glass jars filled with various bath bombs ranging in color and scent, shower gels from Le Labo, and skincare from some brand called La Mer.

He turns the hot water faucet as far as it’ll go, because you like a bath “hotter than hell and twice as steamy.” Runs his fingers under the water, gauging the temperature and turning the cold water tap as he hears your footfalls against the tile.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” he says, winding an arm around your waist. Rolls a sleeve up to his elbow and plugs the drain deeming the temperature sufficient.

Pulled against Steve’s side, you rub at your eyes and survey your surroundings. And, true to his word, it’s a fucking nice tub. Technically, it’s a tub/shower combo with an extendable shower head, a tasteful shower curtain pushed to one side of the basin. He nudges you to pick a bath bomb and tosses it in, colors melting into the water as it fills the tub.

“Not so bad, yeah?”

Setting you back against the sink as you nod, Steve opens his dopp kit and grabs a toothbrush. You’re quiet as you watch him squeeze some toothpaste on the bristles and brush his teeth, his eyes meet yours in the mirror and he winks.

Easy laughter as he turns back to you, jaw holding the toothbrush in place while he helps you pull off your sweater and tosses it into the bedroom. Stumbling briefly, your palm lands against his chest where you can feel the warm beat of his heart. His brow raises, are you good?

A shake of your head, you shiver at the new sense of chill in the air, skin reeling from its loss of warmth. “Cold,” you supply with a small shrug. Gone was the buoyant, cozy happiness from dinner and the after-dinner drinks hour. A brief reprieve from your sadness that seemed to follow you like a little storm cloud.

He finished brushing his teeth, arm guiding you along as if you’re a marionette doll and he’s the puppeteer. Not that you mind, his warm hands skating up and down your arms absentmindedly. He tucks his chin on your head and sighs.

“How d’ya wanna do this, honey?”

Reaching behind you, you quickly shut off the tap, steam from the tub dampening your arm. Hooking your thumbs in along the waist of your leggings you push the black fabric downward, hips canting from one side to the other. You feel his quick intake of breath before you hear it, the air stuttering in his lungs.

Hips successfully freed from their confines, you grip his shoulders once more to stabilize yourself. His hands settle safely at your waist, mouth open in a pant. “What do I—“

“If you could just—“ you both speak at the same time. Huffs of laughter as you compose yourself, “I’m gonna fall over if I have to wrestle these off myself.”

He swallows drily, willing his gaze not to wander too far down. “Kay, so I just—“

You chuckle, guiding his hands to the rucked up fabric at the tops of your thighs. Your fingers weave through his, thumbs leading him to the thick band. “Hook your thumbs in and tug.”

He nods dumbly, giving a cursory pull at the lycra and nylon weave. You sway at the effort, uneasy on your feet, palms steadying themselves against his shoulders.

Standing as stark still as you could, you watched silently as he descended to his knees on the tile. Head glancing back up to you while he rolls the leggings from your thighs.

The sight of Steve kneeling at your feet nearly steals your breath.

He swallows thickly, trying desperately to look anywhere but right in front of him. It’s not like he hasn’t thought of you before in this way. He definitely has. Because he’s a grown man who's in control of his desires, he tries not to. But because he’s a man semi-living in close quarters living with a woman he’s attracted to, he can’t help it.

It certainly doesn’t help that he’s close enough to smell you, see the damp patch of silk on your thong, near enough to taste it, if he wanted. He bites his cheek and focuses on the metallic tang of iron in his mouth. Distracts himself with thoughts of you – your friendship, your ever-present teasing with an edge of flirtation that causes the blood in his veins to rush.

He’s too far down now for your hands to reach his shoulders comfortably, instead, your fingers glide through his strands of hair; he bites back a groan when your nails lightly graze his scalp, tugs the leggings further down, your knees knocking together at the effort.

“Sorry, Stevie,” you rasp, as if every cell in your body is attuned to the way he responds.

The nickname that rolls off your tongue certainly is not helping, his jeans becoming tighter as he works the fabric from your legs. He’s not sure exactly when it happened — when the friendship turned into something more for him. Somewhere between the wet plush of your lips shivering against his after the Homecoming dance freshman year, and the ABC frat party in college, he’d realized that the way he felt about you was more than friends should.

In fact, it was borderline unfriendly.

You hiss as he drags the last bit of fabric down your calves and off your ankles; the joints pop softly as you roll them out. He chucks the leggings through the doorway and rises to his full height, your mouth is open and panting — pink and wet.

“Thanks.”

He nods, eyes trained on yours, face coloring from the effort in the heat of the room. He brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, “No problem,” swallows the saliva collecting in his mouth. “I’ll let you uh—” he turns to leave.

Your hand reaches out for him, cool fingers against his forearm. “You’ll come back, yeah?” Voice but a whisper against the rushing of his blood, “When I’m settled?”

Steve curses his timing because when he turns to respond, he catches sight of your back as you lift the tank-top off. Skin dotted with beauty marks and the occasional scar, his eyes open wide. The soft curve of your breast against the cage of your ribs, the delicate slope of your waist and hips.

He has enough sense to turn away when you hook your thumbs into the band of your thong. But goddamn if it doesn’t pain him all the same. You fling the silk elsewhere and he hears the water give way as you step into the tub and slide down until the bubbles cover your form.

Casually pinning your hair up in an effort to not get it wet, some bits fall to your face and have gone wavy in the heat, curling up against your chin and cheeks. “Stevie?”

He thinks you look like some sort of Raphaelite muse.

“Come back for you?” He asks, repeating your earlier question as his back slides along the basin of the tub where he sits, sighing when your hand tangles in his hair, “Always.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #fanfiction #stranger things #reader insert #steve harrington #teacher!steve #the kids aren't alright - rosewaterandivy #cee writes

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llorom4nn1c · 8 months ago

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♡ Underrated bands! ♡

🎀 Snow White's Poison Bite Favourite songs: Serial Killer Girl, Will You Meet Me In The Graveyard, Valentine's Doom

This band is so good that I actually couldn't believe that they only had 30,000 monthly listeners when I first found them. They're a horror punk band with all of the aesthetics of an emo band but combined with some horror aspects too. It's really sad that they're disbanded because they were a really good and unique band. I think they're a great band to check out if you like Get Scared, Ice Nine Kills, Misfits, or Motionless In White.

🎀 Make Me Famous Favourite songs: Blind Date 101, Inception, It's Now Or Never, Make It Precious

Make Me Famous was a Ukrainian metalcore band that was formed by Denis Stoff, who was also Asking Alexandria's lead singer in 2016. I know a lot of people didn't like them because they thought the band was copying Asking Alexandria, but I really love their music and I hate that Denis's greed made them break up. If you like metalcore, specifically Asking Alexandria, then they're a great band to check out.

🎀 The Birthday Massacre Favourite songs: Looking Glass, Alibis, Happy Birthday, Lovers End, Remember Me

I know they're probably the best known band here, but they're just so good that I had to include them here. I was first drawn to them by their aesthetic and the fact that they're a female fronted band, but then I ended up really liking their music too. They're a great band for if you love the mall goth aesthetic but don't want to listen to something very heavy. I also just really love Chibi as you can probably tell. If you like Evanescence, New Years Day, or The Pretty Reckless, then I'd definitely recommend checking them out. I also just realised that they're the only band in this post that's still together.

🎀 The Black Box Recorder Favourite songs: Child Psychology, Ideal Home, Kidnapping an Heiress

Their song Child Psychology is pretty popular, but I don't think their other songs get as much attention as they should, which really sucks because they're a really good band I love how bleak and depressing their lyrics are and how Sarah's accent bleeds into her singing. If you like Ethel Cain, Fiona Apple, or Lana Del Rey, I'd highly recommend them.

🎀 The Young Veins

Favourite songs: Dangerous Blues, Cape Town, Nothing Matters But You

I know a lot of people know about TYV because of Panic! at the Disco, but I feel like they don't get enough recognition aside from being 'Ryan Ross's band.' They're lyrics and music and everything are just incredible, as is expected for a band with Ryan Ross, and I wish they were still together because Jon and Ryan are both so talented.

That's it, byeeeee! ˚｡⋆୨୧˚♡

#emo #girlblogging #scene #pink scene #scemo #snow white's poison bite #make me famous #the birthday massacre #tbm #the black box recorder #the young veins #denis stoff

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pplatonic · 1 year ago

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Baby's First Pride

I'm 16 and a half years old. I came out to my parents inspired by a story at my school's GSA - just walk up the stairs and call it out. I was terrified, but they were accepting, and I learnt that my brother has trans friends and that Mom even experimented with girls when she was a teen. It's 5:10 PM, so it's probably time to go to the pride event Mom has been talking about all week. She said her boss told her about it, and that it's all ages. I get dressed in my Hatsune Miku cosplay, drape my Aromantic pride flag around my shoulders, and tie the ends in a reef knot around my neck to wear it as a cape.

I go downstairs, putting my Miku wallet in my bag, and take a short video of me twirling around to send it to my friends captioned 'ARO MIKU IS GOING TO PRIDE.' When I get outside, my parents and Mom's friend coo at my outfit, saying I look nice. They say goodbye to Mom's friend and they get ready, and they stop at Walmart to buy 'pride gear' to try and match my look. They get me pins, because they know I love pins.

I listen to my playlist of Magical Mirai albums as Dad drives us to the pride event. He does an illegal U-turn, and I tell him cops aren't allowed at pride, so we're okay. We park.

When we get there, the first thing we notice is all the food trucks. We ate before we came here, because they didn't think there'd be food. The first thing we do is Mom and Dad get alcoholic canned drinks, and they later buy me a cold vanilla latte at a different booth. We start walking around.

Mom's more interested in the concert being held by a queer artist who's name I didn't catch, and she jokes about us going to mosh there. I tell her it's dangerous and that I'm wearing my binder right now, and my dad comments that he didn't even notice.

While we're standing and waiting around, Dad perplexedly exclaims that there's a bar. I tell him as a joke that of course there's a bar, this is pride. He doesn't get it, so I explain the history of gay bars and the Mafia and all of that, and tell him the original pride parade was a protest where parking meters were uprooted and bricks were thrown at cops.

We start walking around to the several booths of queer creatives selling their art, and my eyes are battling between scouting for pins and looking at all the kinds of people here. It's truly all ages, from seniors to toddlers. I see as many visibly disabled and plus-size people as I do visibly abled and skinny people. When we first started walking in to the event, we saw a person in a cutesy lolita-styled outfit with cat ears and tail in the trans colours, in front of someone embracing their trans flag.

As I look around, I see various flags: bi, pan, lesbian, trans, nonbinary, genderfluid. On a couple people's shirts I see the ace flag. But as far as I'm aware, I'm the only person here in this entire crowd wearing the Aromantic flag. It's bittersweet, to be the sole representation of your people.

I see people in all styles of clothing as well: goth, punk, alternative, grunge, trendy, cute, casual, retro. I see some people standing out in absolutely fabulous outfits with sequins everywhere. I see a dog in a gay-coloured tutu, and a person with pride-coloured butterfly wings on their arms. Half the people here have dyed hair of some kind.

We sit down and take a break. It's near the mini waterpark nearby, which makes it fresh and cool-feeling and perfect for a break. A child with endless joys in their heart ends up spraying us with water, and we get a move on. I go around to multiple booths and buy an assortment of pins, one that says "I'M SO GAY I CAN'T EVEN THINK STRAIGHT" and one with a fuzzy Aro-coloured animal on it.

When we sit for a final break, I find two dirty books on the ground as Mom hands me a progress flag pin she found. I pick up the books. One is a 'queer history tour' of Edmonton brochure that has multiple locations of down-town and their associated queer histories. The other book is a mental wellness book targeted mainly at Indigenous folk, but I decide to take it any way since a lot of it advice applies to everyone. I show my Mom the page on ableist language, that talks about replacing words like 'crazy,' 'insane,' and 'psycho' with words like 'wild,' 'bananas,' and 'ridiculous.'

When we start walking back to the car, we see a group of four dressed ridiculously. One of them has massive, bouncing balloon tits, and they stand out the most. I'm afraid of what my parent's reaction will be, and this is what I told them to be nice about before we came, because pride was and still is a protest. They laugh and move on. I'm a little surprised that they're so cool with it.

We stop by the truck at the very start of the walk as Mom comments on it. It's a kink gear store. I stare in awe at the bear pride flag and leather puppy pride flag, telling my family about them. I have to ask one of them to confirm it's the leather puppy flag because I'm not wholly sure, and the people running the truck smile as they teach me about it.

We drive home, and as we walk back to the house, I think about Mom and Dad's reaction to the person with the balloon tits. I think about how they laughed kindly at one of the biggest displays of societal norm defiance I've ever seen. And then I think about the openly disabled people I saw with their pretty canes and wheelchairs, I think about the punks with fishnets and leather jackets and high boots, I think about the emo kandi kids with their black-and-rainbow stockings and vibrant kandi cuffs, I think about the booth run by African black people that stood for trans black liberation, I think about the truck run by kinksters decorated with historical flags, I think about the two feminine-presenting people I saw kissing and the transmasculine gay couple I saw holding hands.

I think about all of us, the societal outcasts that we are, proudly displaying what outcasted us in the first place, without a single person yelling that we're faggots, or trannies, or cripples, or fatasses, or freaks.

And for the first time in a long time, in all my childhood where I was ostracized from the girls for being too tomboyish from the boys for being born a girl, so badly until I started ostracizing myself, I know that I'm safe and welcome, somewhere in the world.

#pride #queer #trans #transgender #gay #pride events #queer writing #creative writing #queer community #queer pride #lgbtq #lgbtqia #f slur #t slur #c slur

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vital-information · 1 year ago

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“AN INCOMPLETE LIST:

No more diving into pools of chlorinated water lit green from below. No more ball games played out under flood lights. No more porch lights with moths fluttering on summer nights. No more trains running under the surface of cities on the dazzling power of the electric third rail. No more cities. No more films, except rarely, except with a generator drowning out half the dialogue, and only then for the first little while until the fuel for the generators ran out, because automobile gas goes stale after two or three years. Aviation gas lasts longer, but it was difficult to come by.

No more screens shining in the half-light as people raise their phones above the crowd to take photographs of concert stages. No more concert stages lit by candy-colored halogens, no more electronica, punk, electric guitars.

No more pharmaceuticals. No more certainty of surviving a scratch on one’s hand, a cut on a finger while chopping vegetables for dinner, a dog bite.

No more flight. No more towns glimpsed from the sky through airplane windows, points of glimmering light; no more looking down from thirty thousand feet and imagining the lives lit up by those lights at that moment. No more airplanes, no more requests to put your tray table in its upright and locked position—but no, this wasn’t true, there were still airplanes here and there. They stood dormant on runways and in hangars. They collected snow on their wings. In the cold months, they were ideal for food storage. In summer the ones near orchards were filled with trays of fruit that dehydrated in the heat. Teenagers snuck into them to have sex. Rust blossomed and streaked.

No more countries, all borders unmanned.

No more fire departments, no more police. No more road maintenance or garbage pickup. No more spacecraft rising up from Cape Canaveral, from the Baikonur Cosmodrome, from Vandenburg Plesetsk, Tanegashima, burning paths through the atmosphere into space.

No more Internet. No more social media, no more scrolling through litanies of dreams and nervous hopes and photographs of lunches, cries for help and expressions of contentment and relationship-status updates with heart icons whole or broken, plans to meet up later, pleas, complaints, desires, pictures of babies dressed as bears or peppers for Halloween. No more reading and commenting on the lives of others, and in so doing, feeling slightly less alone in the room. No more avatars.”

— Emily St. John Mandel, Station Eleven

#quotes #writing

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springtimebat · 2 years ago

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Mosh-Pit Gothic

Today, we visit the local town’s mosh pit:

The practice of moshing isn’t as accepted anymore, so the venue for tonight is buried deep in the old country.

You stop on the edge of marshland and clumps of sand, where the dirt is heavy, curling in on its stomach, creating twisted craters on the ground.

The pit itself is built underneath an old church; one of the old models where the steeple seems to transcend the bruised skies.

“It was used by pagans a fairytale’s time ago,” A girl with electric blue eyes claims, “They practiced their Rabbit Religions in the confession cells.”

Opposite the church, two gas stations wait; one empty, the other far too full.

There’s no point buying snacks because moshers keep coming and going, buying badges, posters and streamers.

The attendant lives beneath the cooler. He has two black eyes and asks each customer for their mugshots as they pass him.

A protester crouches outside of the abandoned station. His beard glows in the dark when he asks you about God.

The entire area smells of well-worn socks and Sulphur.

The protester screams as moshers flock into mass, ironically unable to enter the house of spirits himself.

Someone stops to humor him but he begins to stammer nonsensically when he realizes they’re wearing a Mouldy Peaches shirt of all things.

The interior of the church is decked out in old memorabilia. Slogan stickers have infected the restroom, Pink Floyd and Blondie shirts hang from the rafters and the cashier in the gift shop displays bobbleheads of Nixon for you to decapitate at your leisure.

Guys with greasy mullets are selling sugared donuts behind the church pews. They speak quietly and wear capes to look mysterious and attract potential customers.

The actual pit is in the basement and you move as a herd through old, stone corridors. “Take us to your leader” is sprayed onto the ceiling.

Despite what was advertised, no bands you’re familiar with play.

The Stand-in “tribute” band is a “girl-punk-rock experience of a lifetime”. The singer is the only girl and she looks tired.

Their music is strange; a mixture of folk and religious hymns.

Some of your favorite songs are “Make like a tree and DIE!!!” and “The Corn Threatens to Drown You!!!”.

Halfway through the set, a peculiar woman in a bright pink pantsuit climbs into the basement through an unnoticed tunnel. Everyone eyes them suspiciously until she shouts, “Avon calling!” into the abyss. The next time you see her she’s as high as a kite, swinging from a LED light with a bandanna wrapped around her head.

There is only one mohawk in a sea of hair dye and mop heads that make up the pit floor. It’s a guy called Aurelio. He looks up, takes in his green spikes, and huddles in a dark corner to cry.

There’s an alcove to the right of the stage which leads to a bar. The bartender shakes as he pours cocktails and screams in time with the music while he prepares liquors.

The show ends rather unexpectedly, when a figure emerges from the pit with a smoke machine. The stage is covered in smoke and once it is clear, the band is gone.

You make your way back to the surface. The air outside is different, somehow. The wind smells of rotten bones and melting skins.

Your friends are supposed to meet up with you but you doubt they even showed up at the pit tonight. You ask a friendly-looking regular but they just tell you to pay attention to the breeze and its mechanics.

Plucking up your courage, you ask someone for a ride back to town. As you leave. A mist begins to surround the old, abandoned church once again.

The next morning, a news report informs you that the church collapsed late last night. You shut the t.v off in the middle of the reporter’s sentence. You know they’ll find your friends in the basement.

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inkribbon796 · 1 year ago

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Egotober 2023 Day 1: I Just Want to Help

Summary: Silver wouldn’t go as far to say that he has a “biggest fan” just that he has someone who sees him as a “biggest inspiration”. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem, however Silver is a superhero with two dangerous supervillain enemies who run a massive criminal organization.

Prompt: Cape

A/N: Been a while, dealing with some serious writer’s block brain rot. Hoped to return early but didn’t happen. So I’m dropping off some Egotober stuff and hopefully some other stuff but I make no promises. This Egotober I’m going with an additional theme that was highlighted in: Six Ate Seven. So for some people it’s been a while but this works in that former reality. Where Patton is still a Lost One and deals with those characters. This is in the timeframe where they’re all still kids (teenagers to be exact). So you might see teen Ethan running around too.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31

Over the city streets of Egoton, Silver was keeping a watch on the town.

While he was conducting a sky patrol he heard someone calling out to him on the top of a fire escape.

“Hey, Silver!”

Silver looked over and saw the rather common sight of what looked like a kid wearing a mask. They were maybe a teenager in bright blues, a sweater and a pair of jeans, and a black domino mask that looked like it’d been brought at Spirit Halloween. A bright blue cape on and a shock of dyed blue hair.

A kid looking like a superhero was common. He and the rest of the Coalition saw it all the time. What was uncommon was one standing on top of the fire escape.

“H-Hello?” Silver said, coming to a stop to float mid air.

“I’m here to help,” he had a huge smile on his face as he half jumped up on the top of the rail and balanced on it.

“I don’t think the Coalition can legally add minors,” Silver tried to say. He didn’t wanna just crush this kid’s dreams right out the gate. Maybe in ten years they could set something up, but not now.

“No, I can fight bad guys, I can do this,” he said with a huge smile.

Silver floated over closer.

“Come on, kid,” Silver said. “This stuff is really dangerous. You can’t just be running around in a domino mask and a sweater. Wilford shots people on a whim. Dark flays people apart with his shadow aura.”

“And I have powers,” the young man said. “I can do this and I’ll do it with or without you.”

“You’re like what? Ten?” Silver asked.

“I am fourteen,” the young man boasted. “I’m a man.”

“Oh yeah, fourteen, that’s so much better,” Silver said. “You know what I was doing when I was fourteen? Playing video games and being too chickenshit to talk to girls. That’s what I was doing.”

“Yeah, because you were wasting your powers, I have them and I’m going to use them,” Ethan said.

And then he ran off and Silver’s heart was beating a little too fast. This kid was going to be the death of him. Either this kid was going to kill himself, or Mark was going to do it for him.

Silver tried to catch up with him but the kid had disappeared. Which was probably the most terrifying thing. He had to get this kid home safe and he couldn’t find him.

Silver hit his communicator. “SAM, we got a teenager running around trying to fight villains.”

“Seems like a you problem, Silver,” an automated voice said.

“No, no it’s us problem, you ass. He can turn invisible.” Silver began flying around.

Silver wished this had happened last week when Marvin had been in town. They had absolutely no one in the Egoton branch who could follow aura trails. Maybe he could get Marvin over stateside for a while, or they could find someone who could see aura trails. He’d take anything at this point.

While he was flying around, starting with the fire escape and radiating out from there. He called his entire team out to track down one fourteen-year-old kid.

“APB, we have a fourteen-year-old punk running around and trying to be a superhero. I need help finding him before Wilford kills him. He turns invisible.”

“I hear you,” Wade said, he sounded like he was in the middle of a crowd or his mic was broken again. “Why are you chasing a child?”

“In-vis-ible, invisible, dipshit,” Silver said. “Is there some toy or tool that the Septics left last week that we can use?”

“I think I have something,” Bob said. “Marvin was testing some weird shit out when he and Average were in town.”

Silver began a mad chase through the city, which unfortunately eventually led him to the Warehouses. The superhero hoped desperately that the kid wouldn’t be here. He could be in and out and that he’d just gone home.

Silver tried being stealthy, and for a second he caught sight of the teenager he’d been chasing. And Silver’s heart sank as he started following him.

In front of one of the warehouses in the cluster was Wilford.

Silver’s literal worst case scenario.

There was someone, maybe a teenager, with him in a tweed suit. With a matching dark green hat on his head. They seemed to be talking about something, Wilford talking with his hands rather animatedly.

Then Wilford’s eyes were tracking something and Silver’s heart managed to beat even faster.

“Oh, ho,” Wilford smiled as he reached out and grabbed something. “What have we here?”

A few things happened at once. One was the teenage hero turned visible again as he fought for air against the grip on his throat. Silver flew closer, trying to get to them before Wilford shot the teenager. And then there was the far more worrying thing to happen: Dark showed up.

The kid in tweed was pulled through a portal, worrying Silver, and Dark emerged in their place. Oozing purple, blue, and a little bit of red aura, dripping off of him like toxic waste.

His eyes met Silver’s mask and he looked braced to attack.

Then his eyes tracked over to the kid. “Wilford, what are you doing?”

“Little tyke has a neat party trick, I only plucked him out of thin air,” Wilford smiled.

“Hmm, release him,” Dark said and to Silver’s amazement the madman did so.

“No fun, Darky,” Wilford frowned.

The teenager began backpedaling towards Silver, who was all too happy to push him behind him but kept a hold of his arm.

“Who’s your friend, Shepherd?” Dark’s head tilted.

“Not my friend, I’ll be escorting him back home,” Silver said.

Dark’s eyes moved between Silver and the teen behind him. His head tilted and he looked a little smug. “Is that yours, Silver?”

“No, I’d have to have been ten, if he was mine,” Silver said.

“Interesting, I would have thought you were older, but now that I think about it, you do sound twenty-four,” Dark smiled at him.

“Nope,” Silver tried to sound casual. “Not that young, I’ll take him, and we’ll be out. Forget you saw either of us. Just go back to doing illegal shit.”

“Oh, we will,” Dark smiled at him. “Now run off. And take your little child with you.”

Silver did just that, dragging the young man along but keeping an eye on Dark and Wilford.

Bob and Wade were waiting for them in costume.

“Gatling, Drowned,” Silver greeted stiffly and lifted the young man’s arm up.

Within seconds a bubble enclosed around the young man.

“Hey!” He shouted.

Bob was looking at the teenager beating his fists against the bubble.

“So this is your little Syndrome, huh?” Bob said.

“If this kid turns into a supervillain, I think you deserve it,” Wade smiled at him.

“I’m going to be a superhero and you can’t stop me,” Ethan said. “I don’t need you three to do it.”

“I don’t know, Silv, I like this kid’s moxie,” Wade said. “Maybe we can keep him around.”

The young man smiled at Wade.

“Absolutely not,” Mark said, flying up with a careful but firm grip.

He signaled and Bob made a handle grow out of the top of the bubble. Silver grabbed it and began flying off. “C’mon, before Dark follows us back to the kid’s place.”

“Not a kid!” The young man shouted.

“You’re four-fucking-teen,” Silver shouted. Which reminded Silver. Dark had seemed to know that. But . . . That sounded off.

How did Dark know what a fourteen-year-old even looked like? As opposed to a thirteen-year-old or a ten-year-old. Dark hated kids, always looked at them with some kind of disgust.

It took some time to get both the kid’s name and his address from him. Mostly under threat of demasking and scanning his face and start calling up different schools to figure out who he was.

They arrived in front of a house in some suburban neighborhood. Not the biggest house, but no one could compete with Dark’s Hilltop Manor.

Silver knocked on the door as he popped the bubble barrier and grabbed Ethan Nestor by the arm.

“I just want to help,” Ethan glared at him. Still in his mask and costume.

“We can talk when you’re eighteen,” Silver said. “This isn’t a game. Just because I can get thrown against the wall and keep on ticking doesn’t mean everyone should be doing it.

Ethan was about to respond when the door opened and a worried looking woman opened the door.

“There you are,” she said.

Silver held up Ethan’s arm. “Ma’am, I believe this is yours.”

Ethan pulled his arm away. “I’m not going to stop.”

“You should,” Silver said. “If this was anything else I’d say follow your dreams, but Wilford is a madman and a murderer, and so is Dark.”

Ethan took off his mask and stormed inside.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just try and talk some sense into him,” Silver said. “Have a good night, ma’am.”

She said goodbye and the door was closed and Silver flew off, going back to scanning the city and hoping he wouldn’t run into Ethan again.

He was wrong of course. He’d see Ethan several times over the next couple of weeks, and then more often over the next couple of years.

In the Manor, however, Dark was chewing Wilford out.

“What was that?” Dark held Wilford against the wall, his arm barred across his chest.

Wilford smiled at him.

“No,” Dark cut him off. “You had Illinois with you, within sight of the heroes.”

“It wasn’t that bad, Darky,” Wilford said.

“Only because I was watching,” Dark said.

“At best, I’m one of your enforcers,” Illinois said.

“Don’t, or I’ll just let Arthur and Kay be enforcers and you can stay behind.” Dark gave him a look and turned back to Wilford.

“J.J is the single biggest threat the heroes have against us, and I need that time traveling bastard to stay in England dealing with Anti and not in our city.”

“Jay is fun, Darkling, come on,” Wilford smiled.

“No, and that’s final, if I see J.J in town anytime soon, you will regret it,” Dark said.

Then he let Wilford go and steered Illinois back to the living room where the rest of the Lost Ones were playing games.

Both Ethan and Illinois returned safely home.

#Egotober 2023 #Masks and Maladies #Superhero AU #silver shepherd #ethan nestor #Darkiplier #wilford warfstache

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randomvarious · 1 year ago

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Today's compilation:

Fat Music, Volume 4: Life in the Fat Lane 1999 Punk Rock / Pop-Punk / Skate Punk / Hardcore Punk

Fuck, man. I don't listen to nearly as much punk rock as I used to when I first started this stupid blog, but this is a CD that really makes me want to go back to exploring it regularly again. Here we have a late 90s dispatch from the Fat Music sampler series, which was put out by the prolific Fat Wreck Chords, the label run by Fat Mike of NOFX and his then-wife, Erin.

Now, two of my favorite things in punk rock—especially mid-to-late 90s punk rock—are melodic anthems as well as the really speedy skate stuff that comes with rapid, always changing, and mashing drumbeats. And when those two things get combined, as happens somewhat often on this release, I am fully on board. Plus, I also don't know how many of these bands actually hail from the SoCal area, but the ones that do seem to kick the most ass out of all of them 🤘.

Lagwagon, from Goleta (a town just outside of Santa Barbara), open up this comp with "May 16," a song that hooks you right in with its power chords as the band's two guitarists lay down a thick bed of noise and vocalist Joey Cape soars above in his own satisfying high pitch; then the speediest demons from Simi Valley, Strung Out, cruise at 120 in the left lane across the unfortunately named Ronald Reagan Freeway in "The Exumation of Virginia Madison," which also includes a pretty gnarly solo in its second half; and then LA's own NOFX, themselves, deliver an exclusive called "The Plan," a song that ridicules the willfully politically ignorant and seems to serve as a possible precursor to their famed, 18-plus-minute opus, "The Decline," which begins with an iconic pair of questions that pick up from where "The Plan" left off: "Where are all the stupid people from? And how'd they get to be so dumb?"

Never actually dug into this Fat Music series before, but judging by the quality of a bunch of these tunes here, it looks like I might need to check more them out 🤔.

Highlights:

Lagwagon - "May 16" Frenzal Rhomb - "Do You Wanna Fight Me" Strung Out - "The Exumation of Virginia Madison" Avail - "Taken" NOFX - "The Plan" Snuff - "Keep the Beat" Me First and the Gimme Gimmes - "My Favorite Things"

#punk rock #punk #rock #pop punk #skate punk #hardcore punk #music #90s #90s music #90's #90's music

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rubykgrant · 2 years ago

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I was thinking about my next-gen Kanto Gym Leaders again, so I'll just ramble about them haha-

Sam; new Viridian Leader, and the original Rival's grandchild (he's now Prof Oak, and the one who gets called Gramps~). She began training early, and became a Leader at age 12. Rather than focus on one specific Type, she trains multiple Pokemon, to represent everything found on earth, so it suits the Earth Badge! Usually, she battles new Trainers with something that counters their Starter with her own Bulbasaur/Charmander/Squirtle plus her Eevee. For more advanced Trainers, she has stronger teams. She's not quite as antagonistic as her grandpa once was, but she's very head-strong and pretty rough-n-tumble (her name is an homage to her great-grandfather, Sam Oak)

Cassandra; Brock's daughter, new leader of the Pewter Gym! Like her dad, she trains mainly Rock Types. She's got an easy-going personality, but is also very confident and determined in a casual way. The area between Pewter City and MT Moon has been expanded after the discover of Fossils (similar to the desert areas in Hoenn and Unova), and she helps introduce new Trainers to the concept, as well as giving them a tour of the Pewter Museum (her name includes the pun "sand")

Chelsea; new Cerulean Leader, no relation to Misty, but learned from her as an apprentice before taking over the duties. The Gym has moved to the Cerulean Cape, using the lighthouse as a location. She waits at the top, and challenger battle her Junior Trainers on the way up (the former building for the Gym has now become an Aquarium, where people can look at various Water Types from other regions). She's a charming young lady, very compassionate and takes great care to set a good example as a Gym Leader (her fashion style is a vintage sailor-style dress, and a beach sunhat, and her name includes the pun for "sea")

Victoria Surge; the grandchild of LT Surge, and new Leader of Vermilion! Decidedly more of a punk than her grandfather, she's every bit as intimidating as he can be, but embraces the idea of being wild and free, like a storm (her Gym is no longer a puzzle you solve with methodical trial-and-error, but instead different little tricks that encourage challengers to think outside the box and do the opposite of the obvious). The Gym building has also been re-designed to include a roller-rink and skate park! She's a skatergirl (her name is meant to symbolize "victory", one her grandfather definitely picked out for her)

Heather; the new Gym Leader for Celadon! No relation to Erika, but clearly loves gardening just as much as her predecessor. When she isn't at the Gym, she's working in Celedon City's new Musical and Contest areas, and preparing the famous Celadon Shopping Mall to include spaces for Avenues! (she likes to combine casual clothing and "grunge fashion" with pretty floral accents. her name is both a pun on the heather plant, and with added letter rearranged a bit, it become "wreath")

Hattori and Kotaro; twin great-grandkids of Koga, and the grandkids of Janine! They are the new leaders of Fuchsia, and challengers must Double-Battle them for a Badge (they have 3 main Pokemon each, so use 6 all together). They're both fun-loving little pranksters, and being trained as ninja by their family makes them very good at sneaking around (they aren't mean, but they can be annoying). Hatori is a bit more talkative, but better at staying hidden. Kotaro is quieter, and will openly show himself, usually as a distraction/deception (their names are inspired by Hattori Hanzo and Fuma Kotaro)

Charlie; the new Cinnabar leader, no relation to Blaine, but initially helped build a new permanent place for Cinnabar Island that was a safe distance from the volcano, and eventually took over as leader. The location for Cinnabar is now on that stretch of land near where Pallet Town opens to the ocean (in one of the last eruptions, Moltres was seen flying through the explosion of lava, seemingly enjoying the volcanic activity. when the Legendary Bird landed to rest for the night, it created a trail of lava that cooled in the sea, making a small archipelago and expanding some land mass). Before retiring, Blaine created a new Game Corner for Cinnabar, and Charlie designed a re-creation of the famous Mansion to hold his new Gym. He's a very responsible young man, a bit more serious than the original Leader, but also very motivated and encouraging to others (his name contains the pun for "char" or "charred")

Benjamin and Matthew; a duo who are joined Leaders for Saffron City, now the location for the final Badge. After Sabrina retired, a Fighting Type Trainer worked hard to be Saffron's Leader again, as it once had been before Sabrina. Later, a Psychic Trainer took their place, creating a pattern... because Benjamin and Matthew had always worked together, they decided to share the Gym Leader title, and use BOTH Types of Pokemon! Benjamin uses Psychic, and Matthew uses Fighting. After some remodeling, the two buildings at the top Northen entrance to Saffron function as the Gyms (former Sabrina's Gym on the right, and the Fighting Dojo on the left). They have no Junior Trainers, but each use full teams of 6 Pokemon. You must Defeat them both to earn the Badge. Benjamin is very cheerful and a little brash, while Matthew is more calm and reserved (their names are a pun on "mind over matter", BnejaMIN and MATT hew)

#pokemon #gym leaders

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metalshockfinland · 14 days ago

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WE KILL COWBOYS Unveil New Single + Video 'Burn The Witch' from Upcoming Album

Prepare to be set ablaze as Cape Town’s powerhouse quartet, We Kill Cowboys, unleashes their fiery new single, Burn The Witch, from their upcoming album Back From The Dead, due for release in early 2025 via Mongrel Records. Known for their intoxicating fusion of psychedelic rock, punk rock, grunge, and stoner blues, We Kill Cowboys bring both grit and finesse to their unique sound, making waves…

#WE KILL COWBOYS

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elfmoon3 · 2 months ago

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A Shadowy Mist Chapter 41 (Transformers Animated story)

Pairings: Prowl x Oc, Bumblebee x Oc, Optimus Prime x Black Arachnia, Oc x Oc

Summary: Miss Olga came back with the costumes for Shadow Mist, PixelSpark, and Black Arachnia. And the Halloween party is now on.

(I know it's not Halloween yet. It's just a really long fanfiction. And I'm adding lyrics from Sally's song)

Location: The Autobot Hideout

Miss Olga came back to the Autobot Hideout, with three big crates holding in the costumes she made for the femme bots. She saw Bumblebee's costume in disgust. "What are you wearing?!" She yelled in question, "I'm wondering that too." Prowl said as they saw Bumblebee wearing a devil costume. "What? If my Pixie is going to be an angel, I should at least be a devil, I'm already a speed demon." The speedster said. "But there's no pizazz!! Ugh, I can't even look at you!!" Olga yelled. "Relax, Olga, it's just a costume." Meagan said, Olga sighed, "Fine, I'll let it slide. Though I am impressed by Prowl's costume." She said, Prowl was dressed as a vampire, but with a more fancier look than what Bumblebee wore last time. He had to remove his modifications and helmet to put it on. The other three males weren't that bad either. Optimus was dressed as a George Washington. Bulkhead was Frankenstein's monster, and Ratchet was a soldier from the Second World War. "Meagan sure did help us with these." Bulkhead said. "Better than painting your horns red and making a tail and wings out of scrap." Meagan said. Then the femme bots came back with Black Arachnia, who was still wearing the magnetic broach Meagan gave her. PixelSpark looked at her sparkmate with confusion. "Um, Bumbly Bee, what are you wearing?" She asked. "It's a devil's costume made of scrap." He said sadly, "At least you tried." PixelSpark said happily. "Where's BreakDown?" Bumblebee asked. Then, as on cue, BreakDown came in wearing a trench coat and sunglasses. "I am the one." He said. Bumblebee giggles, "Um, what costume is that?" He asked as BreakDown raised his sunglasses. "I'm the hero from that cool movie Meagan's brother showed me." He said. "Very simple, but still stylish." Olga said, "Now!" She said, clapping her hand as the crates reveal the costumes for Shadow Mist, PixelSpark, and Black Arachnia. Shadow Mist's costume is a mad scientist costume, PixelSpark's costume is an angel costume, and Black Arachnia's is a spider queen costume. Each costume has a button on it. "Go ahead, don't be shy, press the buttons." Olga said the three females did it without hesitation, and in a flash of light, they had their costumes on and looked at a huge mirror that the three crates formed into. "Whoa! This is amazing!!" Shadow Mist said excitingly. "Cute!" PixelSpark said. Black Arachnia looked at her outfit and smiled. She turned to look at Optimus, who was staring. "What do you think?" She asked, "I can not tell a lie. You look incredible." He said, smiling. Prowl and Bumblebee look at their sparkmates with amazement. "So, shall we head to the party?" Meagan asked now in her cyberpunk vampire costume. "The others are waiting for us." She said.

Later, at the party in the abandoned town

The Autobots made it to the party thanks to two big rigs dropping them off. The reason is that the costumes would get ruined if they transformed. All the guests were in costumes. Fanzone and his men, on the other hand, weren't due to being security for the party. The other agents were there, too. The Angels Have Fallen band were dressed as zombies, Scottie was a cat girl, Mary Shelly Black was a nurse, Grim was Azrael, the angel of death, and Crusher was a caped superhero and Patrick is dressed as a masked serial killer. "Where's Sari?" Bumblebee asked. He then noticed Sari in a steam punk costume. She noticed the Autobots and ran towards them. "Hey guys, glad you made it." She said. "Nice outfit." Meagan said, "Steampunk?" She asked, "Yup!" Sari answered. "What's steampunk?" Bulkhead asked. "It's a combination of the Victorian era clothing and modern-day technology." Sari answered as her father came by wearing a similar costume. "And all of your costumes look amazing, too. Bumblebee's costume looks the most creative." She added. "Thanks, Sari." He said, thanking her. Then the mayor and his secretary came by wearing Egyptian costumes. "The mayor would like to thank you for coming. We even have some oil for you guys in a separate area from the refreshment table." Miss Adrias said on the mayor's behalf. "Thanks, Miss Adrias." Shadow Mist said.

Later at the table

Meagan was getting some punch when she felt a tap on her shoulder and jumped. She turned around to see a woman in white. "Oh, hello, nice costume. Enjoying the party?" She asked, "art thou fooling around while the flying metal giants are planning something?" The woman asked in a colonial accent. "Wow! You must be really into your costume." Meagan said as she grabbed another cup and poured some punch. "Would you like some.." She turned around to see the woman gone, "..punch?" Meagan looked around in confusion. "That's weird. She was just there." Meagan said as Grim came by. "Who was?" He asked, "The woman in the cool ghost costume." Meagan answered as Miss Adrias came over, too. "What woman?" She said in concern. Meagan explained to them about a woman who speaks in a colonial accent telling her about flying metal giants. "I thought she'd be around." Adrias said. "Who?" Grim asked. "Remember the story I told you and Prowl? The witch that cursed this old town?" She asked him, "Yeah, why?" He questioned. Miss Adrias sighed, "Well, the reason she was deemed a witch was because of her ability to predict the future." She said, "And the flying metal giants, Decepticons." Meagan said in shock. "She's probably giving us a warning about whatever the cons are planning." She added. "I have to tell Optimus." She said, running to the oil area. The Autobot was drinking some oil until he saw Meagan. "Optimus, ghost, warning, flying metal giants." She said, trying to breathe. "Slow down, Meagan. What's wrong?" He asked, Meagan takes a deep breath and tells him of her encounter with the ghost of the old town and her warning. "If you don't believe me, at least take it under consideration." She said. "Well, other humans have noticed a woman in white looking at them. She may have noticed you with us and thought you could help." Optimus said. "I'll keep an optic out for this mysterious ghost woman." He said, "But try not to worry about it and have some fun." He added. "Ok, thanks, Optimus." Meagan said, heading back to the party. He turned around to see the ghost woman in front of him, and she seemed to be floating. "Thou has heed my warning well. But does thou know of what these decepticons were planning?" She asked him, "Do you know?" He asked the ghost. "Me vision is fuzzy on the details, but thy enemies are planning something big. And I suggest thou to stop it. Before it's too late." She said, vanishing, leaving him with more questions than answers.

Back at the party

Bumblebee was on the dance floor with PixelSpark, Prowl, and Shadow Mist on the other hand were talking. Ratchet grumbled, for some guest brought their kids. Mary came to him. "Everything alright, Ratchet?" She asked him, "I'm fine. Just not having fun is all." He said. "Have you spoken to your father?" He asked. Mary sighed, "Yeah, recently. I told him about the party, but he couldn't come. And I know the reason." She said sadly. "Don't worry, Mary, you'll find a cure for him." Ratchet said, smiling at her. "You know, you remind me of a femme bot I met during my war days. One who sacrificed her memory core in order to save information from the decepticons." He said as he started a conversation. Meanwhile, Black Arachnia looked at BreakDown, who was talking to Patrick. She then felt a servo on her shoulder and turned to see Optimus. "Everything ok?" He asked, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just don't know what to do at the moment." She said. Meagan then came by excited. "Guys, there's a karaoke machine with Halloween songs downloaded into it." She said. "Do you know how to sing?" Optimus asked, "Yeah, I do." She said, going towards the huge karaoke machine on stage. It had options from a single singer to a group. Then she had an idea and ran back towards Black Arachnia and Optimus. "Hey, why don't you try Black Arachnia?" She suggested. "Me?" Black Arachnia asked in worry. "But I haven't sang since the incident." She said. "I don't know if my voice sounds good." She added. "I think you'll do great up there." PixelSpark said as she and Bumblebee walked up."Better than me, at least." She added. Black Arachnia thought about it and heads up to the stage. She picked a song that looks promising on the machine and starts singing.

I sense there's something in the wind

That feels like tragedy's at hand

And though I like to stand by him

Can't shake this feeling that I have

The worst is just around the bend

And will he see how much he means to me

I think it's not to be.

Everyone listens to her as Black Arachnia sang beautifully, Optimus felt something about this song. Something he was clueless about since she quit the decepticons.

What will become of my dear friend

Where will his actions lead us then

Although I'd like to join the crowd

In their enthusiastic cloud

Try as I may, it doesn't last

And will we end up together

No, I think not, it's never to become

For I am not the one

The song ends as the guest claps for her, and she quickly leaves the stage. Optimus followed her. "Arachnia, wait!" He said, stopping her. "That song, have you heard it before?" He asked, "I've heard it from an earth movie I saw in a drive-in theater. It was beautiful, but I didn't think I'd be able to sing it that well." Arachnia answered. "Well, you were known to have a beautiful voice during our cedet days. And you still do." He said sheepishly. She turned around and smiled. Her organic spark beats as he got near her. "Optimus, thank you." She said softly.

Later that night back at the Hideout

Everyone came back as the Autobots removed their costumes. Mr. Richards came to them. "No sign of the decepticons coming to the Hideout. We protected it as you requested, Meagan." As he, Prometheus Black and Cyrus Rhodes got up from the stone couch. Meltdown looked at his daughter and smiled. "So how was the party?" He asked her. "It went well. Ratchet told me old Cybertronian war stories." She said. She wanted to hug him but still stayed back. Black Arachnia sighed as she saw the button that held her costume. "Do you think Miss Olga would come back for these?" She asked Shadow Mist. "She said she'll pick them up tomorrow." She answered. The energon scientist then noticed the technorganic staring at Optimus. "There was more to that song you sang at the party, isn't there?" Shadow Mist asked, Black Arachnia looked at her with a glare, telling her that it's not her business to mettle in how the technorganic feels for the Autobot. "I'm just asking." She said, going to her room, checking her notes. She sighed as they're still there. That party would've been a good opportunity for the decepticons to steal them. But they haven't taken them yet.

To be continued...

#tfa blackarachnia #tfa bumblebee #tfa ocs #tfa sari #tfa optimus prime #tfa bulkhead #tfa ratchet #tfa prowl #tfa meltdown #tfa #transformers animated

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