#the breaks have ceased to function which is why you are now under this bus

[kid-sid]

the fav 

[popurikat]

Trying to make sense of parts of Future (Mystery Skulls)

Since my last analysis went so well I thought I’d make this post as well, especially because Future really did confuse me and I know others might be lost as well; so lets discuss this together! It will be lengthy as I am basically spewing my thoughts out right on the videos immediate release date (there will be a read more option after my first thought to avoid long positng). Well first things first, I wanna address that I've been curious about what kind of spirit Arthur's arm could be (since I am not too well acquainted with any canon on its background part at least) and I think I have concluded that the closest thing to it could be is a Tenome; which is a Yochai that possesses a man's body and moves the eyes to the palms. "found lurking in cemeteries, hands outstretched, as if he has only recently lost his vision and is searching for something. Get close enough, and you’ll find out in quick succession that a) he’s not blind, but looking with eyes embedded in his hands, and b) what he’s looking for is a snack." (fyi, most of my mythos information is coming from Wiki just as a heads up)

And sure enough he found a great source for his hunger. Something he has been EYEING since the start. Which now leads me to my next points on the video...

At first watch I was convinced that each strand found on Mystery’s heart represented a singular soul bond, I thought that blue was for Vivi, Green was for the hand, pink for Lewis, purple for Shiro, Yellow for Lance, Orange for Arthur, and black and white were unknown. Which, didn’t settle right for me. SO I went in and re-watched the clip a couple more times and saw this:

Vivi’s (blue created after she got hurt) and Shiro’s (white created after she died) strands were connected to the strands located next to them. A start and an end. Mystery’s promise to Vivi to stay at her side for generations as he was spared upon prior defeat of Mushi. And then of course we have the promise of power and sustenance for Shrio as they held a symbiotic relationship for most of their lives that was only severed due to an interference. These double strands of fate are especially clearer in the scene with Shiro in Future. As the black strand gets clearer the more she gets injured or emotionally hurt, it eventually leads to the leak of the white strand on her death. Meaning; Black/white=Shiro; Purple/Pink=Lewis; Blue/Green: Vivi; and Orange/Yellow: Arthur. And why am I inclined to believe Lewis and Arthur are apart of Mystery’s heart? Well that's because those two were the only ones fully streaming before Vivi’s and Shiro’s appeared. We know that Arthur lost an arm to Mystery and discovered his identity (ergo losing most of his trust in him) insinuating both strands to arise early on of his color scheme, as well as with Lewis’ death occurring under the protection of Mystery when they were grouped and having his soul go restless/ in pain. It wouldn’t make sense to add family members or side characters not included in the mainline story to this grouping unless they would play an important role in the finale, which isn’t likely since we have only one more video left as Ben stated it was going to be a 5 video series. I am also inclined to believe each person has two strands because of Kitsune lore: “ Kitsune keep their promises and strive to repay any favor. Occasionally a kitsune attaches itself to a person or household. They follow their word of honor. They become self-destructive if they break a promise, and when someone else breaks a promise, they become deadly enemies.” Plus, It would make sense as to why in this short battle Mystery sprouted his last 3 tails when it came to Vivi and Shiro and how their connections affect his power. (more on this in a bit) But, furthermore; if anyone else notices, the Band-Aids on the heart are also remotely located on the sections of Vivi’s and Shiro’s strands specifically because for both, Mystery has vowed to protect them and has failed. 

Now then lets talk about a few things on Mystery’s ultimate form shall we? The final form of a Kitsune, its celestial form as shown here is called a Tenko. (yes I am aware of the Kumiho, but that is a fully evil, flesh eating, 9 tailed fox that specialize in illusions and well Mystery has never been portrayed as human). The Tenko makes even more sense when taken into consideration that Mystery’s third eye (typically a form of wisdom connected to overpowering the mortality of ones self) opens. So how was this done in such a short amount of time? “Kitsune do not accept aid from those who are not willing. they do not ask for help, and as such, most aid must come from another's initiative. Kitsune are emotional and very vengeful. Kitsune will lose their temper at the slightest provocation. Once someone has earned a kitsune's enmity, the kitsune will begin enacting revenge that can become quite extreme. On the other hand, those who have earned a kitsune's trust and loyalty will see a friendship that can last through many trials. Freedom is very important to the kitsune. They do not accept being forced into something they do not wish, and do not like being bound or trapped. Doing so weakens the kitsune.” Mystery as we know is very much controlled by his emotions, going head first into things constantly based on reaction and his inability to control his power under distress. His tails arose in the fight sequence every time he fulfilled his oath AND used 100% of his form/power. Therefore, his tails grew because he wasn’t holding back anymore, not his grievances, not his appearance, nor his hesitance in his evident distress of being bound to two entities that both required his aid.  My last note on these images comes from a tumblr user’s reverse audio clipping (https://nebulous-rain.tumblr.com/post/633555549749952512/ok-so-yknow-that-one-reversed-part-of-future). The rewind of the clip of Mystery’s transformation plays “When I’m With You”, which yes, cool a possible Easter egg to the next song! BUT what is this song about? Let me just bring up the first line of the song: “You got me hanging by a THREAD...I wish I could turn back time...I wish I could rewind life...” and before the chorus “I’m gonna make it right”. We know that this can refer to rectifying the wrongs of Lewis’ death, but more accurately to do so we need to defeat the evil inside this mutt that is pulling the strings of this whole fiasco. And this might just be the intro portion of the next mystery skulls mind you as we’ve also gotten many false starts with the previous two videos where hellbent used “every note” and future used “enemies” alongside the main song. BUT WE HAVE TWO YEARS ANYWAY, WHY BABBLE ON ABOUT THIS. LETS MOVE ON!

Hearts in this series have not been just for identifying the dead or for aesthetic purposes, they are the life force of each powerful legend. I am actually surprised to see Shiro have a heart as she started off as a creation from Mystery and therefore her lifeforce is just his blood and without it she is nothing. I am curious about her color pallet though, her heart is purple and pink. Lewis’ is gold/yellow with touches of orange. And Mystery’s is just red, but it has a mix of everyone’s essence within it to keep it tied and whole. Shiro’s could be colored this way in reference to Lewis’ aid to help find her creator; which would explain why Mystery surrounds himself by color as he required outside help and how Lewis’ heart is yellow in reference to how recently Arthur helped him remember his friends/hidden memories. One thing we have learned about hearts is that they can be broken repeatedly and can be ripped apart from the body, but they can be repaired too through resolution/hope. Lewis restored his heart in hellbent by using Vivi’s flower petals and finding hope that he will get revenge, only for his heart to be repaired again through Arthur’s touch. Shiro may have withered away, but her heart is essentially not broken, she’d need Mystery to restore it as it was flung into space (and that again relies on Mystery finding his sanity and finding it in himself to even bring her back). And as for Mystery himself, he’s gonna need the whole gang to reach out to him to extract the parasite within and restore balance. I really want to know more about the heart properties and how they give their users their powers as well Vivi is able to summon her strength through a material connection (bat) that function in its own way as the vessel a heart does since its connecting her to her ancestry.

NOW to finalize, I offer you two queries:

WHO IS ARTHURS HAND REACHING FOR!? I know it seems like Mystery, but that would be counter productive for the hand demon if he has Arthur interfering with his control. Is it still after Lewis as we’ve seen previous times where his arm acts up only in Lewis’ presence and when specifically other “magic” is at play? If so, is the goal to ward off Lewis and Vivi from defeating Mystery? Is Arthur gonna use the arm to find his own power as we’ve seen when he is able to momentarily cease control of it he kinda ruins anything electrical he touches and well, electricity is currently running rampant in there.

and lastly, I am really curious how touch sensitive hearts are, We know that even the smallest of brushes can detect memory/links to the person holding it (as seen with how Shiro managed to get soul flowers in hellbent), but the fact that Lewis was so in touch with the feeling of Arthur EVEN THOUGH ARTHUR GRABBED HIS HEART THROUGH HIS METAL HAND MIND YOU!, that he still managed to feel the disturbance instantly. So my question is, is the touch sensitivity reliant on how close someone is to someone? I would like to say yes cause when Shiro touched his heart he didn’t react instantly, he felt her rummaging his memories and was awoken, but he didn’t kick her butt by fully reforming until after she had long since stepped on his heart and then forced the memory of Mystery to arise. But yeah, its a nice little detail.

Either way, thanks for reading! Feel free to add on, comment, or even dm me about more Mystery Skulls information and theories! Love to hear them!

[harryandmolly]

i could write it better than you ever felt it - two

Summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth -- 2007 Warped Tour style.

Warnings: Language, a lot of tongue

Word count: 5k

Valentina forgets, just briefly, why the fuck she agreed to this around the time she unloads the 30th box from the truck.

And then the gates open.

Val’s never been to Disney World despite the fact that she and her family have lived in Florida all her life. Her parents never thought of it as a suitable vacation or activity for their children’s growing minds. But she imagines this is what it looks like, feels like when the gates of the Magic Kingdom open in the morning.

She’s watching from afar when they start letting people in. Swarms of teens and young adults with multicolored hair and vibrant graphic tees pour in searching out solace and togetherness. They’ll find it here, she’s sure. She always did.

The first bands were on at 11:30am. She’s camped out at her now fully functional merch tent and the initial door opening rush has ceased. She’s officially back in the saddle, and officially exhausted.

Her feet are propped up on the table and her sunglasses are drawn low down her nose as she surveys the area and tells herself she’s not looking for that guy, the one she saw during load-in. The one with the legs.

A hand clamps down over her eyes and her instincts tell her to drop her feet and squeal. A low rumbling laugh falls over her shoulder. Her racing heart settles.

“Alex, you’re a prick.”

And there he is. All 6’1”, 130 pounds of him. Alex Gaskarth, lead singer of All Time Low, her second favorite goofball.

She looks over her shoulder at him and grins despite her grating words. He takes his cue to step around the table and present himself to her. He’s wearing a smirk and a douchey white snapback. He lifts his thick dark eyebrows.

“But I’m your prick,” he reminds her. She shakes her head and stands. He holds out his long, gangly arms for her to wrap herself up in.

She sways them back and forth and lands a friendly kiss on his cheek. “I can’t believe it took you this long to come visit. I half expected the bus would run over you when we pulled in here this morning.”

“Following you around the venue like a puppy is so 2005,” he chuckles, alluding to the not-so-secret crush he harbored pretty famously on her during her last fall tour with Streets. Despite the potential for awkwardness, Alex and Val remained friends. She even wrote with him sometimes when he was in the Miami area.

She claps him on the back and releases him. “What time are you on? Hurley.com, right?”

He grins proudly, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah, can you believe it? Fuckin’ Hurley.com! We’re on at 4 today.”

She bobs her head. “That’s a good slot. Long enough after lunch that people will be looking around for a set to catch.”

“Exactly. Rian’s out with the posterboard now walking the line.”

Val tossed her head back with a laugh. Walking the line was a time-honored tradition at Warped Tour for smaller bands. They designate members to walk around the grounds with a posterboard announcing their stage and set time. It’s a duty no one particularly likes because it’s hot and a little humiliating but the ATL boys always did it with gusto. Val’s pretty sure it had more to do with meeting girls than with the pride of convincing potential fans to come catch their set.

“I don’t miss that shit,” she admits.

He shoots her a look. “You must miss the rest of it, though. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“Psychoanalyzing me already, Gaskarth? Buy me a drink first.”

She gently backs him off with her sharp wit. The truth is, Alex knows more about her than she’d probably care to realize. He’s perceptive as hell, which makes him an amazing songwriter. But here, at the merch table, where she can feel the heavily lined eyes of 17-year-olds staring at them curiously, she doesn’t much feel like getting into her personal life. Especially since she knows he has the ear of Raf.

“I will definitely buy you a drink at the barbecue tonight!” he offers with a glint in his eye.

“The booze is free at the barbecue.”

“That’s perfect, free drinks are my favorite kind to buy. I gotta bounce, I’ll see you tonight, kid.”

He bumps her fist with his and jogs off, holding the saggy ass of his skinny jeans up with one hand as he waves at a giggling group of fans.

When the smell of his Axe body spray and sweat fades, the watchful eyes remain. Val is used to them, had gotten good at ignoring them, but she’s a little out of practice.

They feel sharper than she remembers. She blinks hard, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She swallows uncomfortably and reaches for a water bottle.

Despite the 50/50 male to female ratio of attendance at Warped Tour and the general understanding that women are more a part of the scene than ever before, female band members, especially female drummers, are not widely accepted. She was bothered by it for a time, unsure how anyone could mistake her drive to write and make music as a way for her to sleep with band and crew. She kept everyone at arm’s length, desperate to keep from gaining a reputation. But it never mattered. She got one anyway.

Val shoots a glance at the gaggle of teen girls in Delia’s jeans and Paramore t-shirts. They pretend to be doing anything but gossiping about her. She turns her attention back to her chipping navy nail polish and smiles. Some things never change.

+

Shawn pulls the fabric of his t-shirt from where it clings to his abs and pulls a face.

“I’m fuckin’ drenched,” he mumbles. Seth nods, squinting against the sun. They’ve just come off their first set playing to about seven people from the Smartpunk stage.

“California is hot,” Francis whines. Shawn beans him with a plastic water bottle. Francis grabs it out of the dust and throws it back, but it goes wide when he gets distracted by something behind Shawn.

Shawn turns his head to look. Through the straggling crowd, he sees Raf and Val Moreno at the Streets of Gold merch tent looking like the casual rock gods they are. Shawn’s smile is shy and cornered on either side by a blush.

“Should we go say hi?” murmurs Vince, their guitar and drum tech.

Shawn winces. “Well we shouldn’t stand here and strategize about it, that’s fucking weird.”

But they do stand there for another minute or two, quietly hoping Raf will spot them and wave them over so they feel like the kids getting invited to sit at the cool lunch table. But he’s embroiled in what looks like a heated discussion with his sister, so they slouch off for a break under the merch tent with Dan and his battery operated fans.

Shawn’s a little relieved. He’s not sure he can be around either Moreno twin without making an ass of himself. He knows Raf, yes, they’ve been first openers on more recent Streets shows when they’ve come through Toronto, but that doesn’t make him any less of a total fucking dweeb around him, given how long he’s been a Streets fan. And Val, Val he’s never met and probably never should. Shawn’s not bad around girls but he has a funny feeling he’d go full idiot motor-mouth if he got to look deep into the soulful brown eyes of Valentina Moreno. Maybe he can go the whole summer without talking to her? Is that possible?

He contemplates the likelihood under the tent with his eyes closed. He hears some female giggling and looks up. There are about six 14-year-old girls staring at them shyly.

“Hey, Shawn!” one of them greets, shoved forward by the others to be their mouthpiece despite the shakiness in her voice.

Shawn beams and stands, looming over them. “Hey, guys! Did you catch the set earlier?”

The leader of the group looks annoyed. “No, only Carly did,” she gestures to a petite Latina girl behind her who looks horrified that Shawn Mendes knows her name now, “We were stuck at soccer camp until noon and couldn’t get here.”

Shawn ducks slightly to seem less large and intimidating. He looks around a girl’s pink hair to catch Carly’s eye. “Did you have fun?”

Carly blinks and clears her throat. Her friends look awe-struck. “Yes. Yeah, you guys were great.”

Shawn bobs his head. “Thank you. You guys wanna take a picture?”

They agree and hand him a little pink Razr. They gather around him as he squats partially to fit them all in the frame. He turns the phone around and expertly positions it to snap the photo. With hugs and a couple purchased t-shirts later, they’re off to bask in the glow.

“Shawn Mendes: setting teenage loins on fire since 1988.”

Shawn smirks at Francis. “Are you jealous about the 14-year-olds, Frank? Do we need to have a talk?”

The band guffaws. Francis’s face goes flat. “Fuck off, you know I love older women.”

“I do,” Shawn chuckles, shaking his head.

“This year is the year I marry Hayley Williams,” Francis reminds them all. Shawn tips his head back and lets his eyes shut again, resting up before the first barbecue of the tour.

“This is the year I fuck Bigfoot,” Seth chirps.

It’s the last thing Shawn remembers hearing before he drifts off in a nice post-show nap.

+

Val can’t really explains the bubble of nerves she feels as she sits in the front lounge of the Streets bus with her make up bag. She’s freshly showered and applying a cat eye when Raf steps out of the bunk area with a resigned smile.

“You look pretty,” he comments half-heartedly.

“Don’t sound so bummed about it,” she chuckles, sparing him a glance as she raises her eyeliner wand with a steady hand.

“I’m not. Sorry. I’m just… I’m sorry about earlier. I was being weird,” Raf mumbles, collapsing into the booth seat across the table from her.

Val gamely lowers her hand to focus on him. She sweeps a wave of almost too shiny stick-straight hair over her shoulder and regards him carefully. “It’s ok.”

“It’s not. It’s not your shit. And I always make it your shit,” he sighs.

Val bites into her lower lip, flipping through her lip gloss options. After a moment, she looks up at him. “It’s just… it’s been a couple years, Raf, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Raf swallows and Val feels his embarrassment in her gut like it’s hers. She winces.

“I don’t know why I still can’t be around her. I feel like such a fucking kid,” he rasps. He nervously adjusts the Taking Back Sunday snapback on his dark curls and huffs.

“It’s not like there’s a rule. You and Bea, it was fuckin’ complicated. And it was so hot and cold and on and off for a long time. You’re not a robot, you can’t turn it off because you want to. And even if she pretends she can, she can’t.”

He looks up. “Did she say something to you?”

“Jesus Christ, Raf, stop. I’m talking to you now as your sister, not as Bea’s friend. I cannot be your informant or your go-between. We’re not doing that again.”

Raf held up his hands. “Right. Yes. I’m sorry. Old habits. Cool. We’re good.”

Raf stands and heads for the door without another word. Val opens her mouth to stop him but his long legs carry him faster than her brain can come up with something comforting to say. She wrinkles her nose and pouts at the magnifying mirror.

With any luck, she’d get her hands on enough Jack Daniels not to be worrying about keeping 15 yards between her brother and his sometimes-girlfriend. But if she wants any booze at all, she’d better leave now.

She follows stragglers from the bus grounds to where they’ve set up the grills and stereos. There’s something romantic about wading through trampled grass, following bonfire smoke and pop-punk to get to where she wants to be. And when she arrives, she’s welcomed with open arms and open containers of booze.

The New Found Glory guys and Bea pounce on her first, doling out hugs and swigs of gin. Val feels her heart pounding against Ryan Key of Yellowcard’s chest as she hugs him because she’ll never be fully over that little crush. She flips off the Streets band and crew as they holler at her from a stack of strategically placed hay bales. They’re surrounded by a younger band she doesn’t recognize.

She gathers a plate of food, high fives Kevin Lyman and snags a beer before she strolls over to join her family. As she stands over them, she sees a familiar face.

“Val, these are the Forefront guys. Guys, this is my sister Val,” Raf introduces, pointing out Francis, Bobby, Seth, Vince, Carter and Shawn.

Val slides on a smooth grin and plops down next to Shawn, Blue Jays skateboarding boy from this morning. Because when life hands you lemons.

“Hi,” she murmurs, fluttering her eyelashes at him when his eyes go wide. He chokes slightly on a bite of hot dog and mumbles “hi” through a mouthful of bread.

She’s undeterred. From this close, she can see the little freckles on the base of his neck and the way his sideburns are curly like the rest of his hair. It’s refreshing – curls aren’t a thing in the scene. It makes him stand out. That and the foot of height he has on anyone that comes near him.

She’s heard of Forefront from Raf. She knows some of their music. They opened a few shows after her tenure as Streets’ drummer, so her familiarity is limited. She likes his voice, though. It’s the kind of voice that makes you want to close your eyes and live in it for a while, let it take you somewhere. She has half a mind to close her eyes and just listen to him talk now.

But he’s gone quiet. She wonders if maybe she threw him off by planting right next to him. Val knows as both a confident woman and a female scene drummer she can be an intimidating presence. She doesn’t so much mind that, but it does throw off her game sometimes.

She drinks a little harder. He does the same. As he does, his body, previously turned away and closed off from her, opens up. He starts looking over at her when she laughs at something Francis said or when she makes her sly cracks that have the whole group roaring. Just once or twice she catches him staring just a little too long. If their faces weren’t bronzed out by the light of the fire, she’d catch his heavy blush.

Some of the group breaks off until it’s Francis, Shawn, Val and Naveen sitting around listening to Francis blabber over blink-182’s Take Off Your Pants And Jacket in the background. Shawn and Val are both picking at straw from a hay bale when the song changes to First Date.

Their heads shoot up like meercats. Val looks at Shawn with a grin. He goes noticeably pink at noticing the same song she has.

“I love Take Off Your Pants,” she confesses, “It was like, a turning point album for me.”

Shawn nods eagerly, tossing his straw aside and licking his lips. She watches the black ring bob distractingly. “Totally. God, Stay Together For the Kids? So fucking good.”

“Oh my god, legendary,” she agrees, pressing her lips into a gentle smile.

He gets his first good look at her for the night. He’s been trying to keep his eyes down, trying not to be weird, but she’s a little magnetic.

He notices her long, rounded fingernails and wonders if she wore them that long when she was still drumming. He wonders if she straightens her dark hair or if it’s that shiny all on its own. He looks at the fullness of her lips and imagines what flavor her lipgloss is. He stops himself when he realizes he’s thinking about how her flared hips would feel under his hands when she’s dancing to Beverly Hills by Weezer.

Now, though, since they’re talking, he has invitation to look at her. She’s a classic kind of beauty with a soft round face, deep, dark eyes and cupid’s bow-shaped lips. She’s kinda tall for a girl at 5’8” but still petite enough to make you wonder how she hits those drums so hard. Or, used to.

She’s beautiful. She’s been beautiful for years. He knows because he’s been a Streets fan since he saw them by happenstance at a little club in Toronto when he was a moody 14-year-old. They had only just gotten signed and were opening for Bayside at the time. He remembers quirking his eyebrows when she took the stage, that little hint of a smirk on her face, that look of “just you watch.”

She plays hard. She’s a damn good drummer. Naveen is a decent replacement, but Val Moreno was special. She is special. And she’s pulling on his hand.

“C’mon, Mendes, I need a refill,” she announces, tugging on him as she turns toward the tables of booze. His eyes fall to the snug back pockets of her hiphuggers. He licks his lips again and follows willingly.

“What can I make you?” he offers gallantly, holding his arms out to the bottles of booze.

Val’s eyebrows lift as she leans against a lamppost. “What is this, “Cocktail?””

Shawn grins at the reference and ducks his head. “I’m a bartender when we’re not on tour. Try me.”

This time Val’s the one licking her lips at the implication. Trying him doesn’t sound like a bad way to spend time.

“Whiskey sour,” she requests with a nod. He beams at the proffered challenge and reaches for a fresh solo cup, expertly whipping up her drink the way he makes them at The Copper Bar back home in Toronto.

He hands it to her with a raised eyebrow. She takes a sip, watching him as he watches her. She approves.

“That’s good. You know your way around a bottle.”

“I do what I can,” he says without a hint of false modesty. Her heart smacks against her ribs. She fights to soothe it as he leads her not back toward their friends but around the perimeter of the barbecue.

“So. First day. You shitting yourself yet?” she asks.

Shawn laughs and adjusts the backwards cap on his head nervously. She blinks and thinks of Raf for a flash of a second.

“Today was rough,” he admits, “We’ve been opening for some cool bands so we’ve had a lot of kids to play for recently. When they’re not trapped in front of you, when they can just walk past your stage to go catch Pennywise on main, I mean yeah, it’s disheartening.”

Val knows the feeling well but gets the sense the sage older sister vibe wouldn’t be appropriate here given how not subtly he’s brushing their hands together as they walk.

“I actually heard people talking about your set today,” she says. He lights up. She brightens up right with him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Some girls at my table said you were playing a keyboard. They acted like they’d never seen one before.”

Shawn shrugs. “I like the keyboard. Feels a little elevated sometimes. It’s different.”

Val slugs back another sip of whiskey and notices how light she feels. She hopes if she starts to float away he’ll catch her.

They make another turn around the perimeter and their cups are empty by the time they get there so they refill. By the time they come back again, Shawn is stumbling lazily, holding Val’s hand high as she twirls toward the table to grab a beer. She’s singing along, and not at all badly, to Pardon Me by Weezer. He watches her with a close-mouthed smile and sparkling eyes and he’s half in love and the other half is three sheets to the wind.

When they reach the table, she drops his hand and before he can feel dejected, she hands him a beer and drags him away from the rabble and the music and the cloud of weed and cheap booze toward the buses. It’s not subtle, it’s public, people are definitely taking note of who’s skulking off with who, and Val seems to pay it no mind. Shawn swings his head back to look at what they’re leaving. He avoids Raf’s watchful gaze and instead stares at Francis who looks a little impressed and a little fucking flabbergasted.

“Do you like touring, Shawn?” she asks, continuing to drag him by the hand like she knows exactly where they’re going. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t.

“I love touring,” he says honestly, hiccupping over the last word. She giggles and turns, walking backwards up the hill with a beer in one hand and his hand in the other. He wants to memorize this moment.

Val Moreno isn’t just looking at him. She doesn’t just know his name. She’s dragging him up a hill to god knows where with beers and it occurs to him there’s no bus call tonight because they’re only driving to Ventura in the morning. What the fuck is going on.

She’s plopping into cross-legged position on a patch of mud. He notices that she doesn’t seem to do much very gracefully, other than hit the drums. He lowers next to her and she releases his hand.

“I like touring sometimes. Other times it makes me… crazy,” she confides, narrowing her eyes at the fairgrounds below being broken down by venue staff. She blinks slowly. He watches her wet her lips and sip her beer.

“It can be a lot,” he agrees softly, unsure of how to answer. He finds himself wanting to be helpful to her in some way, in whatever way she might need.

He gets like this around girls sometimes. He wants to be whatever they want him to be.

She ignores his confused glance and drops her cryptic topic. Instead, she stares out at the floodlights painting the grounds pale colors against the charcoal southern California sky.

“Do you miss drumming?” he whispers.

She doesn’t blink, doesn’t hesitate. “Every day.”

He’s quiet for another minute. “Why did you stop?”

She looks at him warmly. He feels it down to his toes. She puts her beer down and turns to face him, shuffling between his bent knees. She plants her manicured hands on the tears in his black jeans and looks him over carefully. He feels himself go a little hard against his thigh under her study.

“Val?” he whispers.

“Hmm?” she hums, looking up from his impressive arms to his even more impressive face.

“You gonna kiss me?” he croaks, his mouth going dry.

Valentina grins wide. “You’re goddamn right I am.”

She doesn’t so much kiss him as maul him. She launches into his body, securing her hands by his where they’re planted behind him to hold them up. She plunders his lips, sucking his lower lip into her mouth, teasing the piercing to make him moan. She licks hungrily into his mouth. He pushes off his hands to pull himself up right and hold her tight against him, wanting to feel her chest against his, see if their hearts were pounding in time, if they were as in synch as their lips.

She sinks her fingers into his hair and tugs. His body tightens along with his grip on her. He whimpers loud into her mouth, sucking gently at her tongue. She cards her fingers through his hair like she’s desperate for something but he’s not sure what it could be because he’s given her everything he has in this kiss. He bites down on her lower lip when she makes to pull away to his neck.

She tastes like whiskey and beer and her hair is impossibly softer than it looks as he plays with the ends, the fingers of his other hand flirting with the hem of her shirt. She wiggles in his arms until his fingertips nudge underneath. His hands wander up over the perfect caramel skin of her back, over the band of her lacy bra, brushing the downy hairs on the nape of her neck. He thinks about lifting her arms and pulling off her tee but he resists, dropping a hand down to slide into her back pocket instead.

She gasps a little into his mouth at his teasing squeeze. She nips at his lips playfully, giggling into the kiss in a way she hasn’t with anyone in a long time. She knows she’s drunk, they both are, but this feels like its own intoxication.

She pulls back slightly to breathe, tucking her hair behind her ears. Shawn’s lips are swollen and his pupils are blown out. She flicks gently at his bottom lip with her tongue, enjoying the way his breathing hitches whenever she uses her tongue on him. She pecks at his lips, wriggling back into his hand as he experimentally massages her ass through her skinny jeans.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he hisses, grunting when she drops her lips to the freckles she noticed on his neck earlier.

Val smiles against the gently tanned skin, sinking her teeth in to hear him yelp.

“Oh, fucking Christ,” he mutters, gathering her in closer, unwilling to move his hands from her ass.

“Wanna leave a mark,” she murmurs, tonguing his throat. He nods without hesitation.

“Please, fuck, yes,” he rasps, already picturing how it’ll look in the mirror tomorrow morning, how long it might last on his sensitive skin.

Val nibbles and sucks like she’s got a formula in place and maybe she does but he definitely doesn’t care. It feels fucking good. It feels even better, somehow, when she leans back to survey her work and smiles. She likes claiming him.

“So sexy, Shawn,” she whispers into his lips through another sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He groans in agreement. Her teeth bump up against his piercing and she pulls back to lick at it playfully.

“This is sexy, too,” she comments, pecking at the corner of his mouth, feeling the enamel dig into her lip.

“Yeah?” he pants, blinking his eyes open to see her looking at him with a Cheshire cat smile and hooded lids. He licks the taste of her off his lower lip.

“I like piercings,” she tells him, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with her finger. It quivers under her touch. He keeps his eyes level with hers.

“What… what else do you like?” he nearly gasps. Her eyebrows lift.

“You wanna know what I like, Shawny?”

The low tremor of his voice has him nodding eagerly. He squeezes her ass again for emphasis. “Yeah.”

“I like your hands on my ass. And I like your tongue in my mouth,” she replies smoothly, hooking her fingers back into his curls and tilting his head to stroke her tongue against his.

He moans loud, obscenely, and tips back into the dirt with her on top of him. Her weight is comforting somehow, and the motion kicks up a breeze through her hair, sending a distinctly citrusy scent at him to overwhelm him further.

He hears himself speaking but isn’t sure why he feels the need to, especially since he’s literally talking into her mouth. “You smell good.”

She giggles and their teeth clash and Shawn feels a shiver rip up his back. It’s so casually intimate, feels couple-y and sweet, it makes Shawn a little dizzy. He grunts and tries not to rut into her like a teenager since she’s just lying on top of him and not making any moves to grind against him or take his clothes off. Which he’s fine with, he can totally handle himself. The raging hard-on in his cage-like jeans tells him otherwise, but fuck it. When’s he going to have this chance again?

Val likes feeling him solid and warm underneath her, between her and the briny-smelling dirt. She’s just interested in kissing him, in exploring the way their lips fit together and the noises he makes when she flicks at the tip of his tongue or scratches at the curls on the back of his neck. He’s not pushing her either, which is nice. He’s not yanking at her shirt or shoving his hands down her pants. He’s making her feel like he’ll take what he can get from her when she offers it. That’s kinda nice.

The flood lights go out below them. The party is over. The venue is broken down. They both jerk upright when the world around them goes absolutely dark.

Val pants. Shawn sits up with her between his knees. He groans.

“How are we going to get back? We can’t see anything.”

Val winces. “Yeah, bad planning,” She hops up and takes his hand, yanking him to his feet, “C’mon, baby steps.”

They do get back down the hill to where the buses are. It’s not easy, and they both fall a couple times, and by the time they reach the bottom they’re both certainly more sober. He walks her to her bus and swings her hand playfully, feeling like a kid dropping his date off and wondering who’s watching them from the windows as he kisses her goodnight. She gives him one last little peck on his lip ring before sending him away and crawling into her bunk.

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn​ @alone-in-madness​ @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena @randi-eve

[lookatthisdork]

Meditations of Jason Todd (Draft)

In the spirit of NaNoWriMo, I’ve made several attempts at drafting different fic ideas, which inevitably meant blocks of Batfam fanfic drabbles that don’t have any coherent plot, flow or continuity. They’re all basically unfit for internet consumption right now, except for this first attempt at writing in Jason’s voice. 

(Um, I’m still reading Pre-Crisis and 90s comics in my free-time, so the only canon Red Hood I have is his single animated movie. Since this is set significantly after that in his character arc, I’m not super confident when writing him. I have a problem writing characters I haven’t read the canon for, honestly.)

The problem with trading and selling drugs in a city like Gotham is that no matter how careful you were with recruitment, no matter how high your people’s morale and loyalty, you inevitably have to get your hands dirty to keep the money flowing. There are always incentives for both defectors and saboteurs to take pot shots at your stake. Offing a boss could mean a bigger piece of the pie for yourself, better job security (in the short-term, if your employment was tenuous), averting your boss throwing you under the bus for a job gone wrong. If the guy up top doesn’t maintain an aura of invulnerability, a willingness to crush any dissent under his boot, he quickly finds himself faced with with mutiny.

Dealing in drugs always ends in blood, one way or another. Jason was well aware of this. He was also aware of the fact that if you wanted to finance something really expensive quietly and quickly, drug money was the most sure-fire way of getting what you wanted.

(Actually, well-done white-collar fraud was the most sure-fire way, but if there was one thing he’d absorbed from watching Oracle, it was that fraud was never as secure as people made it out to be. It only took one individual with a computer and more skill than you to blow your operation to bits. Maybe it was old-fashioned, but at least drug-money was a physical object that couldn’t be “lost” with a few keystrokes.)

(Also, fraud was boring as a sole source of income. Too much time behind a screen, not enough explosions and punching people in the face.)

The Red Hood had been a damn-good drug lord, Jason liked to think. He’d run a tight ship, and the “severed heads in the duffel bag” shtick had quickly established just how out-of-their-league everyone else in the game was. Sure, he hadn’t stayed in business all that long for several good reasons (only one of which was Bruce), but extorting organized crime bosses was like riding a bicycle – really hard to forget. There was no practical reason for why he shouldn’t just recycle his old plan in a new city for some fast cash. Wasn’t like the shit-hole he was stuck in had anyone equipped to take him down.

Of course, striking fear into the hearts of criminals by decapitating their peers wasn’t the best strategy to use when your little brothers had front row seats to the carnage via helmet-cam.

He could just disable the cam for that part, of course. But the brats would definitely put two-and-two together and hatch some plot in response. An unnecessary headache when there was no Dick to foist them off on.

And...Jason wasn’t the best role-model in the world. He could admit to that. He used the phrase “little brothers” to refer to Tim and Damian very, very lightly in deference to the uncomfortable number of murder attempts among the three of them. Nowadays, he did regret all the stabbing and shooting and general dickery. Even though Damian was genetically engineered to be the most aggravating child on the planet and Tim kept stealing Jason’s alter-egos out from under him (unrepentantly now, the little shit). They were still better than uninterested-and-unhelpful-unless-I’m-sending-you-to-Arkham Dick and fucking Bruce. They didn’t deserve half the shit they were dealing with.

But his regret didn’t magically fix everything. There were 100-to-1 odds that neither kid saw Jason as anything more than “that one fuck-up that we don’t discuss in polite company.” Fair enough. Still, didn’t mean that the Red Hood had to live down to their expectations. He could do better – be the responsible adult, make sure they were fed and watered regularly, maybe (maybe) address their allotted emotional-expression-of-the-week.

Jason blamed his previously non-existent brotherly streak on Cassandra. She’d not only spoiled him by re-familiarizing him with friendly human contact, but she also subtly planted in his mind the idea that hey, you know who else would appreciate Jason’s company when Cassandra was busy? Tim and Damian. And you know who would benefit most from Jason’s unique perspective on life? Who needed a reprieve from Bruce and Dick and all of their frankly impossible expectations? Who could always use another person watching their backs, making sure they end up in an early grave?

(Honestly, Dick should watch Cass in Big Sister Mode and take notes.)

A soft huff of static came through the comm in his ear without warning, followed by the ridiculously-identifiable Damian’s click of the tongue. (Bruce was trying to train him out of doing it in costume so people wouldn’t catch on - with no success, of course.) “Todd, have your remaining neurons finally ceased to function? You’ve been standing outside the warehouse for five minutes. Are you ready or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” he said as he checked the indicators for the explosives one last time. (Still all green, ready and able to wreck a certain someone’s next fiscal quarter.) “I was just reminiscing about the good old days, back when we all hated each other’s guts and I still blew up drug dens with the dealers inside instead of out. Ever miss those times?” he asked, heavy on the sarcasm.

Tim’s voice was dry as a desert, even with the slightly-tinny reception. “I miss them as much as I miss the knife that was embedded in my spleen.”

“Well, you have to admit, a knife in your spleen was probably the most exciting thing that happened to you that week, even if it was bad for your health long-term.”

“Clearly Todd’s mental dysfunction is worsening,” Damian said. As usual, his tone gave no indication if that was meant to be a joke or an insult.

Probably both, actually. Kid got a kick out of riling people who weren’t Dick up.

At least it was a joke clearly aimed to get a chuckle out of Tim instead of a joke at his expense. If there was one thing this months-long jaunt into the multiverse was doing, it was driving the boys together through their shared survival instinct and the fact that Jason deprived them of all baked goods whenever he had to break up their fights.

(Bribing his brothers with freshly-made cakes and brownies in exchange for good behavior was really the only reason they were three months into this shit-show with no major casualties.)

“Ain’t that a shame,” Jason replied. “It’ll just be you and Tim, stuck all alone in Not-Gotham. What a perfect opportunity for you two to bond.”

No,” both boys said at the same time.

Then the sound of Damian trying to land a hit on Tim (and failing judging from the lack of a pained grunt) filtered through Jason’s headpiece. Because Damian couldn’t stand to agree with Tim on anything for more than 10 seconds without ruining the moment.

Well, whatever. The brotherly-bond was a work in progress. “Stop fist-fighting so we can finish this,” he said. “I’ve got Falcone’s heroin wired up to an irresponsible amount of explosives, and I’d like to get our racket money before dawn.”

What I just wrote makes no sense out of context, but since this is the only thing I have written for this AU, I’ll just explain here:

This is from the “Jason-Tim-Damian get stuck in Flashpoint” AU I mentioned at some point, a few months into their impromptu stranding. How they got there isn’t super important, and I’m handwaving intervention from standard Earth not being able to get them back home in a timely manner. (Note: Bruce, Dick, Cass and everyone else aren’t trying really hard to get them back; it’s just not working for Reasons.) 

After thinking about these three in a strange Not-Gotham for a while, I came to the conclusion that they’d lay low and avoid drawing attention to themselves instead of trying to approach Thomas-Batman or Alt-Cyborg or someone else. Things might be different if Dick or Cass were the oldest sibling on the ground, but Jason’s much slower to trust, as are Tim and Damian. A virtual stranger that also happens to be Batman would be the last person Jason would trust with his and his brothers’ safety. 

Naturally, that means the guys need to find a source of income and a place to hole up. The former, Jason gets by extorting the local organized crime - charging money to sabotage competitors and charging money to not sabotage his employers. Lighter on the murder than his first return to Gotham, but Tim and Damian noticeably don’t bring that subject up anyway. I imagine they picked a spot that was an auxiliary batcave on their Earth and fix it up as a temporary base where Tim is trying to engineer something to send them back to their Earth (funded by Jason’s extortion racket). Damian is stuck as the odd-jobs kid, which he handles with as much patience as he can. (Hint: he’s not a very patient person.)

It would be a waste of the setting not to get the three of them involved with Thomas-Batman and possibly even the main plot of Flashpoint, so this scene would be a sort of in-between-scene prologue before the status-quo changes. I’m leaning towards either Red Hood crashing one of the Cyborg-Batman scenes because he needs tech only Cyborg has or one of the guys interrupting Martha-Joker’s last crime.

Of course, this premise requires a long-form fic, which I’ve never written before. This is all wild speculation, really. I’ll probably never write all of this out.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

BUT IF I DO, you can count on Jason finding out that in a world with no Bruce and no Robin, he STILL ended up dead and resurrected. The multiverse just has it out for him, clearly.