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art-blogge · 20 days

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Sparks and Ashes

Mistakes happened. It was a completely understandable human error. A single bad call earlier today had lead to a domino effect of pain for the team, and now they were reaping the consequences.

Most of those consequences were claw wounds and lightning strikes, with a side of friendly fire. Dante would be feeling all of those later.

They'd grown unfortunately used to catastrophic losses. It happened. They would claim it was their fault, then Outis would argue otherwise, and then someone would end up injured somehow in the ensuing argument. It was almost a guaranteed formula by this point.

What didn't normally happen was the Alleyway Watchdog turning its attention towards Dante.

<"Oh no.">

Even if they blared as loudly as they could for help right this moment, the backline Sinners wouldn't make it over fast enough. Worse, Dante still had no idea how to defend themselves! Faust wouldn't let them learn for whatever reason.

There's several different types of "pain". Mental pain, emotional pain, physical pain, soul pain, and Reviving-The-Sinners pain. Dante admittedly didn't do well with any of them.

The Abnormality kept staring with its three heads. Dante considered making a run for it, but that might just make it chase them. They were not outrunning an electro-powered canine. They certainly couldn't treat it like an actual dog- Don Quixote had already tried that to no success. Outis had also attempted it after berating her… and Dante had to feel the agony of getting fried that day. Dante especially didn't want to be Actually Fried- They weren't even sure if they had a brain or a memory chip. Not that it would matter. Mental damage was mental damage. And then there was the physical side of things, which they didn't even want to consider.

There was no chance Vergilius would come save them. There was only one choice.

They'd have to try and fight.

Dante slowly bent down to pick up Ishmael's shield. They figured they could prrrrobably copy some of Ishmael's bashes. It couldn't be that hard. It was just an arm swing. They'd watched Ishmael fight enough. It wouldn't be enough, but it would be something. As for her EGOs….

The Watchdog, much less thoughtful, chose to lunge while Dante was distracted. Dante barely managed to scramble out of the way in time, letting the canine eat dirt. Ishmael's EGOs were scattered, most rolling far away from Dante. They scooped up the Ardor Ember Star EGO and backed away as the Watchdog prepared to pounce again.

Right. Electricity would always course through the body before it moved. Dante watched and waited for the telltale sparks for what felt like eons… And dove to the side just before electrified claws ripped past them.

Okay, maybe that wasn't efficient when they were the one in combat!!

They barely had time to even think. A set of the Watchdog's jaws snapped frighteningly close to their head and Dante unthinkingly bashed it's nose with Ishmael's shield.

<"Bad dog!"> Dante honked, winding up to smack it again.

Bad idea. Every single available attack the Alleyway Watchdog could make was now trained on Dante.

Could they feasibly clash?

A single glance at their device answered that question. Absolutely Fucking Not. Their own Offense was only 3. They were clashing NOTHING. Their only hope was to use the EGO they'd picked up to clash and hit the Stagger.

Dante hesitated, rolling the EGO around in their hand. The last time they'd used one, it'd made problems for everyone and they'd struggled to turn it off. What if they couldn't turn it off a second time?

They could hear the backline Sinners approaching, but they were still too far away to help effectively. Dante didn't have much of a choice anymore. Fine. This was a battlefield and they needed every boost they could get.

Time seemed to slow as the foreign will of the Ardor Ember Moth washed over Dante, and it immediately became a struggle to keep control.

"Aren't you cold? Join me in my cocoon. We will burn together."

No. No! They couldn't stop the cocoon from closing around them, but Dante decided then and there that they'd succeed.

"Executive Manager!" someone shouted in the background, but Dante and the Ardor Ember Moth both ignored it. Something here needed a warm embrace of fire.

<"Aren't you tired?"> Dante asked the Watchdog as they emerged from the fiery cocoon. They easily fluttered up to the Alleyway Watchdog's faces, unfazed by the resulting growls. Despite this, the Watchdog didn't attack. All three of its heads seemed to be entranced by the embers flying off of Dante's head and wings.

Slowly, Dante wrapped their arms around the Watchdog's middle head. As they gently hugged the Abnormality, they could feel electricity running just under them. Their coat was doing an excellent job keeping it away from them.

<"Settle down. We can't reach the future if we burn out now.">

If Dante was able to look at their device, they'd see the Watchdog's Offense Level drop by three.

Pressure was building up inside of their head, but Dante stayed calm. They would be fine. The future would be bright, and they would be there to see it.

<"Burn bright for the future,"> Dante ticked, pressing their head against the Watchdog.

The pressure exploded inside and outside of them, propelling them away from the Abnormality while it caught fire. Inconveniently, the EGO wore off before they could land, causing them to tumble down helplessly and land on their face.

The backline Sinners finally arrived as Dante shook off the impact. As five of them rushed past to take down the stunned Watchdog, Outis knelt down to speak with her ash-covered Manager.

"Excellent work, Executive Manager, but don't you think that was incredibly dangerous?"

Dante let out a slow whistle as a response. It had been, but they needed a moment to collect themselves before responding. They also took the opportunity to wipe some ash off of their face so they could see better.

<"I'm sorry. It was dangerous but it was a last resort.">

Dante tipped their head to Outis. Outis accepted this and started to walk past them.

<"Wait.">

Outis stopped and looked back at them.

<"I enjoyed doing that. Can you hold onto this EGO until Ishmael's alive?">

"I can't do that. That would be holding two-"

<"Right, sorry. Go on, then. Give it hell.">

Outis rushed into combat to get some hits in before the Watchdog regained it's footing.

Dante didn't bother taking their device back out. Combat was about to end.

Despite the growing dread from needing to revive six Sinners, Dante still felt okay. Their coat was still a bit warm, so they opted to curl up into it, and… Oh. Oh, that felt nice. It was warmer than they thought it was, and it didn't usually feel this soft. The fact they could feel the coat's texture despite their gloves never even registered.

……………..

Oh, right. Work.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!!!!!!

The pain was more agonizing than they'd expected, and they rolled onto their side in a tightly curled-up ball. In moments though, the pain faded faster than it ever had previously. Was it the warmth? Dante had no idea and didn't care. It was comfy…

"Sanity up by twenty-five points," Faust stated, reminding Dante that they were in-fact STILL working, "And Sloth affinity damage up. The Alleyway Watchdog lost three Offense Levels before taking fifty points of Wrath damage from Ardor Ember Star."

Something was taken out of Dante's pocket, and they irritably glanced up. Ishmael had taken her EGO back while Faust was reading stats off of their ash-covered device. Ah. It must have fallen out of their pocket at some point.

"Huh, weird," came Heathcliff's voice somewhere to the unseen left of Faust, "So that Sloth up is givin' them a real lazy time, is it?"

"That is certainly a way to put it, but yes," Faust confirmed.

<"I'm not being lazy,"> Dante lied, making no effort to move, <"I'll move when I'm ready.">

"Sure, and the Lassie will lift the Frenchman."

Don Quixote was distantly audible and attempting to now do just that. Everyone ignored it.

The side-effects finally wore off, and Dante immediately got back up. That'd been weird. It'd felt nice, but they thought they were in control of it. Guess not.

<"New note. I'm not to use that again. I enjoyed that far too much. Someone teach me to fight so that doesn't happen again.">

"Denied."

Well, they tried.

#limbus company #dante lcb #writing tag

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ceph-the-ghost-writer · 1 year

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Apophenia 0.5 Pt. 2

Summary: Isaac comes to understand what he's in for.

Words: 1750

Content Notes: Captivity, physical assault (shoved, thrown, gripped by the throat), interrogation, magical hypnosis/induced trance, disorientation, being pinned/restrained, being blindfolded, threats of severe bodily harm, swearing

Patreon :: Ao3 :: Story Intro/Table of Contents

He woke with a snort, his cheek coated in something warm and wet. Wiping at it with one hand, Isaac discovered the gag had been soaking up drool while he lay comatose. Groaning, he rolled over and pulled the cloth away from his lips. Paused and sat up when he realized his hands were free. That upright position lasted all of two seconds before blood flooded into his head and drowned his sense of balance. He wilted back onto the soft surface beneath him, the world in spin.

Dark. Were his eyes open? No, something pressed against them. A tentative touch to his face found a blindfold. Not just any old rag either. A leather domino mask that buckled around his head and underneath his jaw, like blinders on a trained hawk. No matter how much he scrabbled and scratched, he couldn’t get the metal clasps to loosen. His struggles revealed a second surprise: a collar on a chain. Isaac followed the links with shaking fingers from his neck to where the end had been welded to a bedframe.

“Motherfuck,” he whispered.

Ten years. He’d been a field researcher on the Coven’s payroll since he was nineteen. Since the pale werewolf’s claw and teeth marks had healed into a jagged network of scars crisscrossing his back. He’d thought he knew monsters, the kind with four legs and some with two. Ghosts as well, thanks to Elfy dragging him along to be her ears. Field guides, half-remembered semesters of courses that didn’t relate to his department. No amount of reading had prepared him to deal with being penned up and waiting for slaughter.

Okay, okay. Isaac fought to control his breathing. In to a count of three, out to four, like Dr. Acosta had suggested when waking up from the worst of his nightmares. His heartrate eased down a gear. He was alive. That meant he had a chance. Injured? A host of aches and pains introduced themselves as he did a careful pat down, but nothing more serious. Isaac pushed himself—more slowly this time—upright. Mattress under him, crisp sheet and soft comforter over. Soothing scent of lavender throughout the fabric. At least he hadn’t woken up in a basement chained to a pipe. Every posting about unregistered made it sound like living through a horror stream. Maybe bloodborn had standards and practices for keeping livestock, same as any farmer. Clean conditions made for clean eating. Goosebumps rippled across Isaac’s skin, and he shuddered. He bent his focus toward exploring his surroundings.

To his right, he could only get four steps across the carpet before his leash pulled tight. A bare nightstand with his sneakers and socks set neatly beneath were his only discoveries. No sign of his jacket. At least the room or wherever he’d ended up wasn’t too cold for just jeans and a t-shirt.

One and a half steps on the other side of the bed, he bumped into a door. Mouth a grim line, he gripped the knob. Caught his balance with a little stumble when the whole damn thing swung open. Heart hammering, he patted around the inside wall. Cold tile. Light switch, useless to him now. A rectangular projection of metal and glass—medicine cabinet. He’d found the bathroom.

Isaac had just smashed the thinner mirror of the cabinet with a towel wrapped around his fist when the sensation of being watched crept over him. He paused winding terrycloth around one of the larger shards. No noise. Just a subtle current in the air that told him he wasn’t alone. Not chilling it, like a ghost would’ve. Warm, almost electric, from someone physical. His hand tightened around the makeshift handle of his brittle weapon.

“Who’s there?”

Silence. Then, “I see you’ve kept yourself busy. Good.” A note of genuine amusement in the bloodborn’s voice said he meant it too.

Fight or flight weren’t the only two responses hardwired into the human brain. Isaac had played out dozens of scenarios in his head while toiling away. Now that the moment of truth had arrived his body froze, unable to do more than hold the shard out in the vague direction of his foe. As if some primitive part of him believed that staying perfectly still long enough could convince a predator that he wasn’t there.

A brutal yank on the collar snapped Isaac’s head back, neck bones popping. He stumbled forward, slashing wildly at the air in front of him before falling to his hands and knees. Weight dropped onto his back, and his breath flew out in a painful rush. Expecting fangs to sink into him at any second, he scrambled to lever his arms under himself, to roll and throw the bloodborn off. Fingers slid into the curls at the back of his head, gripping tight and jerking to the side sharp enough to make him gasp. Something narrow and unyielding dug into his temple.

“Stop squirming. You’ve got a cute face, so it’d be a shame to ruin it with an exit wound.”

“You’re not going to get away with this.” But he went still. Maybe he owed horror stream characters an apology. Clichés were apparently just part of the fear response.

A thoughtful hum. “I’m not sure about that. I mean, I’ve gotten away with an awful lot over the years.”

“How many?”

“Well, I’m pretty young by our standards. I was…ten? Ten when California sank. About twenty-three when I—”

“No,” Isaac blurted despite a spike of morbid curiosity. Holy shit, this bloodborn had lived through the break—that’d make for one hell of a report to add to Coven archives. “How many humans have you killed like this?”

Silence except for the muffled thud of his heartbeat in his ears. Then, “Sixteen here. On the property in general, that is, not just this room. Whether the score goes up by one depends on you.”

“What’s…” Isaac struggled to swallow past the dryness of his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The press of the gun’s muzzle vanished from his temple. “If I let you sit up, you’ll behave yourself, won’t you?”

His hesitation was for display purposes only, not because he had to consider the offer. Carpet tickling his cheek, Isaac nodded. The weight pinning him eased off. Before he could move, hands gripped him under the arms and peeled him off the floor. He flailed a bit. Stiffened to get himself back under control. Joints locked like a mannequin he was set on his feet. The hands nudged him forward until his knees bumped into the mattress.

“Sit.”

He obeyed. Jumped when fingers pressed against the back of his skull again. The bloodborn fiddled with the buckle to the blindfold, there was a soft click, and Isaac blinked as light and movement flooded his vision. Hands set on knees, the bloodborn stooped so their noses were inches from each other.

“There. Not so terrible, was it?” Dimples appeared on either side of a friendly, fangless smile.

Isaac wiped clammy stress sweat from his face with his sleeve and glared. “What do you want from me?” Sure, he already knew—bloodborn, said so right on label—but he wanted to hear the bastard admit it.

“Let’s start with introductions.” He pressed a hand to his own chest. “I’m Renato Faria Dimas, he, him, by the way. And you are…?”

Right. Now they would shake hands and chit-chat over coffee. But Isaac’s mouth opened anyway, and his shoulders relaxed from a defensive hunch. It was just his name. Wouldn’t cost him a thing. No point in fighting over something minor. He was already so tired, his limbs leaden from adrenaline crash. He’d tell this horrible creature anything if it’d get him to quit staring with those lambent eyes and let—

With a hypnogogic jerk, Isaac broke from the trance. Dropped his gaze from the bloodborn’s. Fixed it on the black service pistol holstered to his hip instead. Definitely larger than the .22 Isaac had passed his required six months of self-defense with. He’d handled a .45 a few times, though. No sweat if he accounted for the kick.

Isaac’s lunging grab got him as far as slipping a finger through the trigger guard before a vice-like grip captured his wrist. He squeezed frantically. Nothing. Safety was on, like it should be. The bloodborn’s still smiling lips parted a fraction, finally flashing a hint of fang tips, as he dug his thumb into the delicate bundle of bones and nerves just below the radiocarpal joint. Tiny shocks sizzling up and down his forearm, Isaac let go with a yelp. He couldn’t track the bloodborn’s next movements. For all his human brain could tell, Renato Faria Dimas’s hand teleported. It switched from slowly crushing his wrist to lifting him by the throat and launching him across the room.

All his organs slammed against the front bars of his ribcage upon impact with the opposite wall. Isaac crumpled to the carpet, bits of drywall raining down on his back and hair. His stunned lungs refused to work. He couldn’t even manage a groan as weight pinned him again.

“I see your predicament hasn’t quite sunken in yet.” Metal jingled. “Not to worry, my bold little friend. I can be patient, and I’m more than happy to help you understand.”

His arms were lifted. Placed behind his back. A spurt of adrenaline from his reserves kickstarted Isaac’s respiratory system with a cough. He squirmed and bucked, but his strength had burned out. The bloodborn slapped a pair of handcuffs on him and buckled the blindfold back into place with barely any trouble. Hauled him up by the chain attached to the collar and shoved him onto the bed. While his captor went about clearing the broken glass from the bathroom, judging from the clinking sounds, Isaac exhausted his repertoire of insults in English, then Spanish. He would’ve gone into ASL too if not for the restraints.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” the bloodborn told him when the noise ceased. “Have a nap in the meantime maybe. It will improve your mood. Ah, and don’t get clever again, okay? The punishments Hawthorne hands out are enough to scare anyone, of course. But consider: Hawthorne isn’t here. I am. Running away would be much trickier with broken legs, don’t you think?”

“Hawth…wait, what?” Isaac asked, voice ragged from shouting and bone-dry from terror.

But a deadbolt in the door had already slammed home.

Taglist (Ask, DM, tag, etc. to be +/-): @thecyrulik @k--havok @cljordan-imperium

#dysthanasia #urban fantasy #paranormal fantasy #vampire story #serial fiction

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wormholxtreme · 1 year

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@ppctts | Plotted Starter for Sophie!

Shrouded in darkness, a haze over Kaylee’s mind. The same haze that’s been plaguing her for the last several months. There wasn’t any doubt she was enjoying herself. The power that coursed through her veins was beyond anything she’d ever felt before, even when she would harness the energy around her and max out her strength, it paled in comparison to the Titan magic that released Extremis to its full potential. The very thing her father always feared came to pass and it was his own flesh and blood that did it.

Kaylee donned a silk robe, the hood up as she scanned the waking world around her. Another planet to succumb to her power. She looked thoughtfully to the general by her side. Striding hand in hand, she squeezed his. “We will make this world quake and cower just like the others darling.” she mused gently. All this time, he was still an anomaly to her. Not in the sense that he’d confuse her, but rather in the sense of destiny. So much of her life was a series of dominos being set. A chance encounter with Hydra at a young age. Maybe not so much of a chance now that she thought about it. The scars from her stint ran deeper than she ever knew until the day electrical burns crept back into her arms.

It frightened her in the beginning. She thought maybe she was going insane, watching black lines crawl up her arms and pulse with a purple hue. Black tar oozing from her fingertips, covering her hands with such putrid filth she’d choke on her screams. But another glance in the mirror and they were gone. She wracked her brain, searching for the catalyst to her transformation. Hydra had planted the seed, had branded her with the mark of one of Death’s horsemen but what exactly broke the seal?

Questions that had little purpose of being answered now that she embraced this new found power. Still she wondered, if Ezekial Stane had never waltzed into her life, had he not taken his own version of extremis and twisted it and tainted it to give himself the raw power to make her father suffer. If Zeke hadn’t broken her heart and shattered her into a million pieces. If he hadn’t painted the blood of innocent people on her hands, would she have been the same woman as before?

A tragic thought. Had those dominos not been placed by fate she never would have been set free. Sure, Lady Death had plans for her. Plans that involved the arrangement of her relationship with the man at her side. Plans to bring about the apocalypse and have every soul in the known universe bowing before her. But who was up there, standing beside Lady Death’s throne, praised for her hard work? Kaylee.

There was a freedom in being seen, in being known so fully. There was freedom in knowing what to expect in return. It was so much better than constantly jumping from one person to the next, putting her heart on the line, only to have it shattered again and again. It was heaven to not have to pretend to be something she wasn’t. The perfect daughter, the protective big sister, the CEO in training, the Avenger. All of these labels and all of them tortured Kaylee in one way or another. Until the label she was born for: Pestilence.

Kaylee released Athan’s hand as the purple lightning bolts cracked under her skin, pouring black ichor from them until it oozed down her finger tips. The one person in the universe she dare not touch with her sickness. Not that Athan couldn’t handle it, but Lady Death had destined them to be together, and Kaylee would never dare her touch to cause him pain. She leaned up to her tiptoes, pressing a feathered kiss to his lips and hopped away, the pupil of her eyes expanding into the white space until there was only darkness remaining. “Hmm I bet my body count is higher.” she hummed with a playful spirit to her partner.

With her feet slightly hovered above the ground, Kaylee took off. With grace and speed she glided - - no danced - - through the air. Those she called friends and family fell below. The black clouds rolled in the sky, blocking out the hope of sunlight. The winds picked up, raindrops flowing sparsely before flying heavily down to the ground below. A single green speck flew up to meet her. Red hair flowing across her face. Kaylee gave a haughty sneer. This is who they sent to fight her? She was hoping for a better fight.

#ppctts #[character thread; kaylee danvers stark]#((I really donno what to trigger warn this XDD))#((It wasn't really that bad))

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codshopping · 2 years

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Electric Domino Train Blocks DIY Automatic Laying Toy

Electric Domino Train Blocks DIY Automatic Laying Toy Pakistan Electric Domino Train Blocks DIY Automatic Laying Toy Pakistan. With this motorized lights and sound domino train, setting up your dominoes is easier than ever. The little train with headlights help to stimulate children’s intelligence, improve hands‑on ability and patience. The domino chain reactions is attractive to both children…

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mighty-ant · 3 years

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Sing Me Home

The doorbell rings on a muggy Thursday evening.

On’s grateful that she trained herself out of her instinctive flinch, otherwise she would’ve sliced right through a coupon for five dollars off her favorite laundry detergent.

Teera is in the kitchen, washing the pans from dinner. On hears him cooing at Domino, who must be weaving between his ankles pleading for leftovers with her unblinking gold eyes, wide and staring in a paltry mimicry of innocence. She knows her husband will give in too, willfully forgetting that the ridiculous thing dragged his best dress socks into her litter box just that morning.

She hears a squeak as the water from the faucet is lowered enough for her to hear Teera clearly. “Was that the doorbell?”

“I’ve got it.” On sets her scissors and coupon book down on the coffee table, and her knees pop as she stands. The sounds in the kitchen resume, even the singing, and she lets it carry her out of the living room and toward the front door. The dread that settles coldly in her chest is so familiar she can almost ignore it.

Five months ago there were endless, frantic calls, half the neighborhood crammed into her kitchen. There were flashing red and blue lights through her windows, bright to the point of burning, lingering like a brand on the back of her eyelids. The faces of the officers have blurred in her mind, flat and featureless, and it is the same words repeated that she remembers, carving into her brain until they lose all meaning, carving into her chest until cavernous emptiness is all that remains, wounds bleeding with every breath.

No news.

No sign.

No hope.

On used to sing, too. Terrible cheesy love ballads from the lakorn she and her mother once devoted hours to, sitting inches from the television with her schoolbooks open on the floor and her arms sore from an evening of chores. They sang then too, talentless and happy about it, and when On brought her dtaa his lunch he claimed her singing could drive away every frog in the swamp.

She sang, knowing that her husband would join in, and that a voice would shout through the doorway of a bedroom neither of them entered anymore, mortified by every minor societal transgression in the way of all pre-teens, “Oh my gosh, Mom, the neighbors can hear you!”

On hasn’t sung a note in the last five months.

The doorbell rings again, and her heart gives an answering pang. But she affects annoyance, most of it genuinely directed at herself. The bulk of their visitors have been neighbors and coworkers crowding in to spirit Teera away to a bar as their wives cajole On into half a dozen rounds of pok deng, friends doing their best to distract them both in a situation where all are powerless. These visits outnumber the ones filled with silent strobe lights consuming her living room, reminding them of their uselessness, their loss.

She ruthlessly silences the part of her mind that quietly reminds her no such plans have been made tonight.

On opens the door.

The heavy, dry air of a Los Angeles summer has begun to cool, and a dense layer of smog paints a sunset of burnt orange over the tops of homes on her street. One of those electric cars she’s been seeing everywhere drives leisurely down the road.

Standing on the front stoop is a sight On is unable to comprehend.

It’s a child—no, a teenager now, taller than they were last but then they grow so quickly at this age, gangly as saplings. Thick brown curls that never did well in humidity, long hours in front of the bathroom mirror attempting to tame it before relenting and tying it back with a glittery scrunchie, instead have leaves and twigs tangled there now, and they look so natural they might as well have grown out of her head too. A worn school uniform, repaired by careful stitching in an unfamiliar hand, the mauve skirt practically faded to gray. All of it beneath a golden breastplate with delicate engraving that catches the dying sunlight with a glint that is otherworldly, like something stolen out of time.

She recognizes these individual pieces, but can’t make sense of the unified whole.

On staggers under the weight of the body that collides with her, unused to the shape of her daughter in her arms after five eternal months. The child shudders against her and On’s embrace tightens even as her mind spins away from her, her vision tunneling, breath stolen.

“Mom,” her child, her child, her Anne, sobs against her. “Mom.”

Her knees weaken, and On falls in the doorway where she stands, cradling her daughter against her. “Anne,” she says, the words torn from her breast, and her eyes burn with tears she’d thought herself no longer capable of shedding. “Anne. Khon dii. Anne,” On chants, like a prayer, repeating the name she and Teera have thought without end but haven’t been able to utter without shattering.

On’s hands go to Anne’s hair, a bird's nest if she ever saw one, tangled and matted with dried blood at her temple. The sight of it chills her and On leans back, brushes the hair from her daughter’s face and cradles her cheeks between her palms.

She searches for more injuries, but what she finds is almost more disturbing.

Anne’s face is blotchy with tears and there are scars and scratches that were not on her daughter’s face before. She’s lost some of the baby fat in her cheeks, and the twiggy limbs she used to lament have thickened with muscle.

“I left them behind,” Anne is saying when On is able to focus beyond the warmth of her daughter beneath her hands, too real to be a dream. “Mom, they’re—Sasha, M..M-Marcy, I left them with him. She saved us, and I-I left her, a-after he…”

Anne trembles, her words in confusing disarray, and On attempts to shush her, to calm her. Overwhelmed, On doesn’t know how to start reassuring her before a short figure emerges from behind her daughter, and all thought flies from On’s head for the second time that evening.

“Anne, sweetheart, it’s not your fault. There’s nothin’ you coulda done.” The creature is like something out of a fairytale, with orange skin that glistens in the glow of her porchlight and massive webbed feet. But the expression on his wide face is human in its kindness and his voice creaks with age. Despite her alarm, On is willing to accept any manner of monster on her doorstep if it means Anne is back in her arms.

“On? Are you okay?”

Teera is as slow on the uptake as ever and On tilts her tearstained face back, looking heavenward in a bid for patience. “Impossible man,” she mutters, as she has dozens of times before, and Anne’s giggle might be a little choked but it is the sweetest sound On can recall hearing.

There are footsteps behind them and Teera exclaims, “Âao! What’s—is that a giant frog? On, what the he—”

Anne peers around the cradle of On’s arms, her swollen eyes brimming with a new wave of tears. “H-hi, Dad.”

A plate Teera had brought with him from the kitchen slips out of his numb fingers and shatters on the floor. “Noi Anne,” he says, voice breaking over her name.

“That was one of your mother’s plates,” On chides with a quavering smile.

Teera crosses the living room and falls to his knees beside them, gathering both her and Anne in his arms. His expression is as shattered as the plate and he stares at Anne like he half expects her to vanish into mist. “My little girl.” Teera cups her cheek, and On watches him take in the same changes in their daughter as she had moments ago. He laughs, half hysterical, and On tightens her grip around Anne to prevent doing the same.

“Do we have giant frogs to thank for bringing you back home?”

The orange elderly creature who’s remained at her daughter’s side looks sheepish, and a rustle outside her door has On craning her neck around to see a smaller, pink frog and another even smaller creature with a charred yellow bow peering back at her from the bushes on her front lawn.

So much like her father, Anne laughs to the point of tears. “It’s a long, long story.”

On drinks in the sight of her daughter, so changed as to almost be a stranger. Fear catches in her throat as she looks upon Anne’s battered face, the terror that still makes her shake in On’s arms, and the glaring absence of two more missing children, Anne’s stalwart shadows since before grade school.

“Please, khon di. Please tell us,” she asks of her daughter as she never has before.

Painstakingly, she does. And On’s despair deepens.

#ant writes #amphibia fic #amphibia spoilers #amphibia finale #anne's mom is named after creater matt braly's who's voiced her so far #anne boonchuy #hop pop #I may continue this?

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

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Stalker X Stalker, Part 2

First part

Perma tag: @nathleigh

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades

Tim wheeled his bike into the alleyway nearby and set the alarm to call him if someone messed with it beyond the normal ‘must touch cool thing’ instincts.

Once he was sure that his bike couldn’t be easily stolen, he turned back to where Marinette was waiting for him.

She struggled with her phone with her gloved fingers. His lips twitched into a grin and he took a moment to school his face into a neutral expression before he started over.

After a second, her head turned to look at him and she flashed a wink, pocketing her phone.

“Cheers!” She chirped, flashing him a wave.

Tim raised an eyebrow at her behind his domino mask. “I hate to break this to you, but that’s a British thing.”

He could only see the top half of her face, and yet he was sure she was pouting. “Kwami, this is Canada French all over again.”

“Canada --?”

“They speak the language all wrong,” she said, as if that made it make more sense.

“I feel like you’re implying that I speak English wrong.”

“Would you rather I say it outright? ‘Cheers’ is a cute word and it sucks that Americans don’t use it.”

“Is this really a hill you’re going to die on?”

“Not just a hill I’m going to die on, it’s the hill.”

He scoffed lightly at that, then turned to get the door for her. The moment they stepped inside they tensed. The silent stares pressed in on them on all sides and he felt Marinette shuffle just the slightest bit closer to him as they took their place in line. The Gothamites continued watching them -- no, they were watching her -- warily, and of course they were (new people in costumes usually meant pain for them).

Well, he could assure them she was safe, at least.

He slowly, carefully, threw his arm over his shoulders. Marinette’s hand twitched towards the arm on instinct to throw him off, but otherwise she didn’t give much indication that what was going on was weird. There were a few more tense seconds before people turned back to what they were doing, visibly relieved by the fact that she was apparently on the good side. Chatter started back up.

Marinette relaxed slightly under his arm and he gave her shoulder a little squeeze in a weak attempt at comfort.

“Kwami, I forgot how much being a new hero sucks.”

“Vigilante,” he corrected her absently.

She rolled her eyes. “At least try and make it sound like you’re not a cop with a bird theme.”

He sputtered, pulling away to cross his arms over his chest. “Hey!”

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes!”

She rested her hands on her hips.

“We break laws!”

She snickered. “So do cops.”

Tim… didn’t have a retort for that. Luckily, he didn’t need to have one, because it was their turn to order. Neither of them hesitated and within a minute they had their drinks and were out the door. They waved for the few cameras pointed at them on their way out, false smiles lighting up their faces, and then quickly ducked back into the alleyway to have their drinks in privacy.

“I’m going to start going places as Red Robin more often since it seems to mean I’ll get served quicker,” joked Tim as he leaned against the wall.

She gave him a puff of laughter and then pulled the bottom of her mask up to take a sip of her caramel frappe. He watched her expression for a moment and then decided that it must have been good because she didn’t instantly recoil. He pulled his coffee to his lips and took a confident gulp, only to choke.

“Shit,” he hissed, fighting the urge to spit it out.

Now that he knew what to look for he could see the pain behind her eyes.

“It’s really bad,” she informed him, purposefully just a moment too late in her warning.

He huffed a little, looking at the cup in his hand. It’s an iced coffee! How do you even mess that up?

There was a beat as the two vigilantes considered their options, before giving each other shrugs and downing their drinks. It may have been bad, but at least it was caffeinated. Marinette, lucky her, had an easier time of it because she’d gotten whipped cream with hers. He was tempted to snatch the drink from her hands to have something to wash down the cup threatening to sully the good name of coffee for him…

But he didn’t have to. She smiled and offered him the last of her whipped cream. He squinted at it suspiciously as if expecting it to be poisoned. After the coffee incident just a moment before he wasn’t about to take any chances.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s actually good, promise.”

“If you’re lying I’m taking back vouching for you to Batman,” he told her.

Her eyes crinkled with mirth.

“I’m serious! If it’s terrible I’m marching back to the Batcave --!”

“All the way back?”

“Yes! All the way back to the Batcave! And I’m going to revoke my vouching!”

“Oh noooooo, not the vouching!” She said, bringing her hands to her cheeks in mock terror. When he continued to ‘glare’ at her she snickered and assured him that: “It’s fine, I’m pretty sure it’s from a can.”

He squinted at her, because canned whipped cream was still far below his normal standard, but he did end up taking it. It was… okay.

“See? Not poisoned.”

“Very suspicious thing to say unprompted but okay.”

She grinned, reaching over to swipe some cream off his nose. “You’ll die in exactly four hours”

He rolled his eyes. “Hm. I guess I should go home and work on making an antidote, then.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that. I’ll see you later.” She leaned forward and pressed her mask to his cheek in a sort of kiss before heading off.

He watched her leave, smiling to himself. He leaned back against his motorbike absently, thinking.

Well, he supposed he didn’t need to watch her to make sure she was safe anymore. She was Ladybug, she could take care of herself in a fight…

But then a thought occurred to him: she couldn’t detect him when he had been watching her earlier. He bit his lip anxiously. Sure, he was trained to evade detection but did he really want to chance it? In a place like Gotham the ability to tell when you’re being watched is an absolute must.

Okay. Fine. He’d watch her just a little longer…

Marinette frowned when her phone rang while she was doing some late-night work.

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, M’lady?”

A wide grin stretched across her face and she fell back in her bed. “Chaton! And here I was thinking you would never call!”

Adrien laughed. “Well, our time zones don’t exactly match up and I forgot that your sleep schedule is less of a schedule and more of a suggestion.”

“Fuck you, too, then.”

He laughed and she could hear him shifting around on the other side. She heard him zip something up on the other side and she lit up. “When’re you coming over?” He sighed and that was all it took to let her know that he had bad news. The momentary silence afterwards as he tried to figure out what to say was a good indication, too.

“I can’t, unfortunately. The Son of Hawkmoth moving away right after he gets jailed isn’t a good look. The United States Government isn’t that eager to have me, either.”

She wasn’t about to give up that easily. “Just steal the horse miraculous from Fu and come over illegally.”

He snorted. “Yeah, no, straight up disappearing is even more suspicious, thanks.”

Marinette frowned. She supposed that made sense…

She pulled her cat plush over so she could rest her head against it. “It’s so boring without you.”

“You’re making new friends, right?” He questioned, concerned. “I saw on the news that you’ve met the other vigilantes already.”

“Yeah, I guess… but they clearly don’t trust me.”

“Well, did you trust me when we started out?”

“No…”

“So give them time. They’ll realize you’re the best person on Earth soon enough.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, obviously. They’d have to be blind not to notice that.”

“Well, one of them is called Batman --.”

“I’m hanging up on you.”

He laughed at her and she smiled as she burrowed into her plush.

“Thanks, Chaton.”

“Anytime. Now, go to sleep.”

She rolled her eyes and hung up on him without promising him anything.

He leaned against the concrete of the roof, head on his arms to prevent scratching up his chin as he watched her through the window. He kind of worried about her having the blinds open like that, anyone could look in at her, but at least she closed it at night.

Still, he couldn’t deny that it certainly made things easier for him. She did most things by window light -- to save electricity, he theorized -- so he didn’t have to work all that hard to keep track of her.

Currently, she was working on stitching some pieces of an outfit. Her tongue poked out of her mouth a little when she concentrated, he had learned. A tiny part of him wondered if she did that as Ladybug, too, and he just couldn’t see it under her mask.

He kind of wished he could ask. Maybe one day he would (if they ever got close enough for him to reveal he’d been watching her without her knowledge, of course).

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts, and he groaned to himself as he synced his earbuds and picked up.

“Yeah, B, what do you need?”

Listen, Marinette liked her job. She had the privilege of designing most of the outfits she did and that was a lot of fun -- certainly more fun than working solely on commissions -- but… sometimes she just wants to be told what to do. Artist’s Block is real and it fucking sucks.

Thankfully, Gotham gave quite a bit of inspiration. The difference between Gotham and Paris was striking. Paris was pristine; lots of tourists meant keeping the city in a constant state of newness, all bright colors and surfaces so clean you can see your reflection in them. Gotham, on the other hand, felt exceptionally lived in; graffiti, decaying buildings, cracked sidewalks…

She found a nice vantage point that overlooked the city and looked out over the horizon. That was another difference between the two: the height of buildings in Gotham was far more varied than those of Paris. It was more interesting to look at, she thought.

(It had been a point of annoyance at night as she could no longer jump from rooftop to rooftop with ease, but that’s not the point here.)

Maybe she could do something inspired by all the different heights. Audrey would probably like a dress like that.

She smiled walking to a nearby gargoyle. Red graffiti dubbed them Charlie, and who was she to not use his preferred name?

“Hello, Charlie, may I sit on you?” She joked quietly.

Charlie did not answer, not that she really expected him to.

She perched herself on the gargoyle’s back and pulled her sketchbook from a secret pocket in her leather jacket. She hummed tunelessly as she sketched out the shape.

Layers of different lengths -- and different colors, too, of course, she thought as she pulled out some colored pens (what’s the point of different layers if you don’t make it rainbow?) -- and oh it definitely had to trail a little in the back for the drama…

Artist’s block hit her like a too-high wall on patrols as she stared at where the bodice needed to be. What should she do? Obviously it needed to be relatively simple otherwise she risked the dress being an eyesore but…

It was just her luck that the moment she came to a decision about what to do for the bodice and accessories is the moment the first water droplet hit her sketchbook. She pulled her gaze to the sky and noticed the storm cloud overhead.

Shit, it was starting to rain.

She looked back down at her sketchbook, irritation spiking under her skin.

Option one: tough it out and continue drawing so she doesn’t risk forgetting the idea she’d had.

Option two: don’t risk her outfit (or her health, she guessed) and just head inside like a sane person.

… Marinette chose option one. She wouldn’t be herself without the occasional bad decision.

She drew her jacket over her head and hunched over her sketchbook as she continued sketching out her design.

Except, after a few minutes, she didn’t feel the beat of the rain on her jacket. She blinked a few times because she could still hear the rain nearby and she started to wonder if she had died somehow before she caught the sound of someone moving just out of her seeing range.

She turned her head to see a man holding an umbrella over her head, her jacket falling back to rest on her shoulders.

She gave him a once over. It was a little paranoid, she could admit, but she was in Gotham; it paid to be cautious. He was wearing a thick trench coat and gloves, which was a big red flag. He also had open posture -- more open than was natural, actually -- what with his slight slouch and hands spread wide in a somewhat placating gesture. The only good thing was that he was keeping a respectful distance, even standing a bit in the rain in order to avoid crowding her.

… well, he had an umbrella, at least.

She gripped the gargoyle tighter with her legs just in case he decided he wanted to try and push her, then turned to face him more.

“Hi,” she said carefully.

“You know, it’s illegal to be up here,” he said, flashing her an almost blindingly white smile.

She grinned. “You’re breaking the law, too, then.”

“Yeah. I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me.”

She reached a pinky out and, after a second’s hesitation, he returned the gesture.

Deal made, he wiped some of the water away with gloved fingers and took a seat beside her.

He clearly trusted her more than she trusted him, even allowing his legs to hang over the side of the building. She wondered why, vaguely, but she couldn’t exactly go and ask...

So, instead she smiled and said: “Thanks for the help. Water stains are a bitch to get out of leather.”

“You’re welcome, but I really can’t believe you went out without an umbrella in this city of all places.”

She shrugged sheepishly. “I’m a little new here, to be honest.”

She watched him carefully out of the corner of his eyes. The man frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by her laughter.

“I’m kidding, I’m not stupid enough to genuinely tell someone that. I was just going for the Manic Pixie Dream Girl aesthetic.”

His shoulders relaxed in a way that would have been imperceptible if she hadn’t been trained to check body language. She let herself relax her grip on the gargoyle a little as well; he had been concerned about her right then, he was probably pretty safe. Safe enough to not strain her legs too much, at least.

“Well, I do like your aesthetic,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “The Manic Pixie Dream Girl stuff, my outfit, or what I’m drawing?”

“All of it. But mostly the outfit.”

She felt a faint blush rise to her face but she brushed him off with a: “Yeah, thanks, but I’m not about to start taking fashion advice from a guy in a trenchcoat.”

He gasped and brought his free hand to his chest in mock offense. “Excuse you, this is peak Gotham fashion!”

“It’s shady, that’s what it is.”

“That’s what Gotham fashion is!”

She couldn’t have rolled her eyes harder if she tried. And she did try.

Her gaze fell back to her work and she sighed as she pulled out her pens and started working on finishing up her sketch.

“So, what’re you up here for?” She asked because she didn’t want to risk him getting bored and leaving with the umbrella.

“Hm? Oh, I do photography in my spare time. Figured I’d scope out some new areas.”

“Know all the best places in Gotham?”

“You have no idea.” The man flashed her a grin. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone in person, though, so I figured I’d get some update shots.”

“Well, if we both need to go sightseeing around Gotham for our things, why not do it together?”

He raised an eyebrow at her but she could see the way his lips twitched downwards with concern. “Trust me that much already? We’ve just met.”

“Well, you seem like a nice guy...” She smirked. “And I could totally beat your ass.”

He scoffed and unbuttoned his trenchcoat to prove to her that he did, in fact, have muscles hidden beneath all those layers and she laughed before she noticed the shirt he was wearing.

Holy shit. She’d made that shirt. He was wearing one of her shirts. She could see the gold stitching partially hidden beneath his collar, and fuck maybe she was concerned about all the wrong things.

Her eyes narrowed in on him just slightly. He clearly wasn’t actively hiding the shirt and didn’t seem concerned that he had shown her, which meant he:

a) didn’t know she was MDC,

b) saw her as just another artist,

or c) was showing her on purpose so she could make an informed decision about being his friend.

So… he didn’t seem to be a threat to her.

Maybe she could do some checking up on him, though, just to be safe.

She smiled. “I realize I never got your name. Probably would be a problem if we’re going to be spending more time together from now on.”

He grinned. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to be friends with someone if you don’t even know their name. I’m Tim Drake.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she said, watching his expression carefully.

He remained impassive. She wasn’t sure what that meant -- or if it meant anything at all, for that matter.

She pulled out her phone and offered it to him, taking the umbrella so he could type his number in with both hands. That done, she stuck the phone back in her pocket and smiled up at him.

“I’m stealing your umbrella, by the way,” she informed him, grip tightening on the handle in case he tried to take it back from her.

He grinned and made no move to do so. “If you must. Can you at least walk me inside the building before you run off with it?”

She giggled. “I guess I can do that, yes.”

It had been a long time since Tim had fanboyed this hard.

If he was any younger, he would have fallen back on his bed and squealed like a person in those old movies. As it were, he still wore a dopey smile.

He had MDC’s number! And not her work number, because he’d already had that, this was her real number!

And, even cooler, she might just let him go with her to get inspiration! Who wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to watch one of their favorite artists do their thing?!

… oh, yeah, also the protection thing, obviously. That was the whole reason he was doing this, after all.

It would be so much easier to protect her if he went out with her on these excursions. Just being around men tended to ward off potential assailants. It was perfect!

Which meant he wouldn’t have any reason to follow her for her own protection anymore…

Wait, what about when she needed to go out for chores like groceries? She’d still need to be safe for that! Gotham is a scary place! What if someone tried to follo -- what if someone tried to mug her or something dangerous like that? No, she still needed his help!

Yeah, no, he has to do this. It’s for her own safety.

#haha this took forever dont @ me #timinette #timari #shutterbug #timmari #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #maribat #stalker x stalker

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liquid-luck-00 · 4 years

Text

Wayne Gala/Father-Daghter Dance

Bio!Dad Bruce

Day 14: Wayne Gala and Day 16: Father-Daughter Dance

Ao3 ~~~ First ~~~ Previous ~~~ Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Knock, knock.

"Come in" Mari called, taking a shaky breath smoothing out her gown.

She was wearing a blush straight flowing skirt. The top was a 3/4 sleeve that was covered in silver lace and stones. Her hair was in loose waves falling over her shoulders. It was held back only by a twisted braids forming a crown around her head.

"Nervous?"

"Maybe a little" she laughed turning to face her dad.

He was wearing a simple fitted black suit with golden cuff links. His tie was a soft gold with hints of a caramel brown.

"We don't have to present you if that's what is worrying you" he wore a slight frown and worry laced his voice.

She gave him a smile "That's not it. It's just... I've never done an event like this"

"Oh. Well that is an easy fix"

"How?" she tilted her head.

"It is a masquerade, after all" he had picked up her mask and set it in place on her. It was silver form to look like a swan on her right eye and it’s head resting on her temple while the other one is beautiful filigree. There were gems on it which were all A pale rose color, this one shifted from its tail to its head silver to light blush and its beak.

"Oh" she giggled.

"Besides I won't be to far and neither will Selina." she began to smile. "Your brothers may end up not letting you out of their sights" she chuckled at this. "Besides I doubt Jon will leave your side."

"Dad!" she blushed furiously and he gave her a smirk.

"See nothing to worry about. We are all here for you." he kissed her forehead and lead her into the ballroom.

---

"Okay Dick. Spill" Jason sighed already done with the night. As he walked up to his brother who was watching the entrance.

He was in a charcoal suit with a crimson shirt and black tie. He was wearing a black and silver and white rabbit half mask covered with small swirls.

"Spill what Jay" Dick answered still smiling like the cheshire cat.

Dick was in a midnight blue fitted velvet suit accented with silver that matched his tie and a Bluejay sculpted it half mask.

"You look like the cat that ate the canary and if that's not guilty enough you keep scanning the room looking for something or someone."

"I'm not" he didn't finish that sentence.

"You are and unless you don't want to see this night through you'll talk."

"Okay, okay" he conceded. "You know how I spoke about getting Mari a date for tonight"

"Yeah... Shit Dick you didn't" great now I have to fix this, maybe the replacement and demon spawn will help keep this idiot's plan from succeeding.

"Two actually" Dick was now grinning like an idiot.

"And how sure are you that either will be right for our sister?"

"Well she did give me the names herself."

Okay not what he expected. "How?"

"She mentioned she had a crush on each of them. So I contacted them and they both agreed. Funnily though they were both on the guest list already" Dick began to ramble.

"Dick" Jason called getting his brother's focus again. "You said had. What were her words and think carefully."

"It was something about 'what a mess she was around them' I think. Why?"

"Was that's past tense" he nearly face palmed.

"Ya so?"

"Past crushes not her current" he holds Dick by his shoulders nearly shaking him.

"What's your point. Oh. Oh. I messed up" Dick finally seemed to realize.

"Ya you did, now let's see if we can fix this. What are their names?"

"Luka Couffaine and Adrien Agreste"

"Let's get the other two and try and fix your meddling if we ever want our sister to speak with us again." Dick nodded and the two of them went to find the demon spawn and replacement.

---

Jon found Mari not long after he had entered the ballroom. He was in a simple royal blue suit with a light gray shirt and silver bow-tie. His had on a domino mask which was a royal blue and mimicked a starry night sky, accented with silver clock gears, emphasizing his electric blue eyes.

"You look amazing Sunbeam" she gave him a smile.

"Thank you, but I've got to say you look great too." and he returned the smile.

"Would like to dance?" she giggled and was about to take his arm when someone called out.

"Marinette" he looked towards the voice and saw a blonde in a black suit and tie with a green shirt. His mask was a dark evergreen almost black and resembled a cat with ears and golden painted markings.

"Well look what the cat dragged in." Mari mocked and hugged the boy.

"I haven't been dragged anywhere." he put on an expression of mock hurt, reminding him of Dick, "Besides if I was dragged in this suit I would be avoiding you" she laughed at that. "You must be Mari's date, name's Adrien" he extended his hand towards him.

"Jon" and they shook hands.

"Just a warning. If you hurt her, even Batman will never find the body" he switched to a serious tone, but sounded more like a joke of a threat.

"Adrien" Mari hit his arm. "he is harmless to everyone but himself."

"Hey" Adrien pouted. "Let's just find Luka so we can start messing with your brothers" he grumbled.

"I hope you know what your getting yourself into right? Because I for one do not want to be on the wrong side of any of them" Jon warned.

"Trust me. After this Dick will never meddle in my love life again." Mari deadpanned a hard edge in her eyes as she explained their plan as they searched the room for the other player in this game while avoiding the bat boys.

"There he is" Adrien announced a few minutes later. "Looks like he's with Jagged that might be a problem.." Adrien frowned, the other boy had black hair with the tips dyed teal. the was in a black suit with a smoky actual shirt and gold tie. His mask was a white cat the left eye left in a dark blue and the left eye had a dark blue lightning bolt outlined in a hot pink with an electric blue unicorn horn.

"Leave Jagged to me" Sunbeam answered confidently.

"Tim is heading towards him." he added "Wait how are you going to handle Jagged" her smirk was the only response he got.

"The question we should be asking is how is she going to shake her brother and get away from Jagged?"

---

"Hello Luka" she stated plainly as she met the small group. "Hey Jagged, Penny"

"Marinette it's Rock'in to see ya" Jagged scooped her up in a hug. While Penny gave her a smile and pat her head. Jagged was in an electric purple blazer with white slacks, and a black shirt. He had a bronze untied tie and his mask was inspired by Fang in the same bronze as his tie. Penny's dress was an off the shoulder gown fading from white to purple to black at the train. The purple and black was lifted with bronze stars. Her mask was a fade between white and purple but it was completely made with glitter.

"Mari! Finally I found you" Tim had finally made it to their group. He was in a black suit and a light gold shirt with a red bowtie. He wore a golden half mask resembling a dragon with twisted horns. Jagged's arm was still over her shoulder. "And who is this?"

"Oh sorry, introductions" she clapped her hands.

"Melody would you like me to introduce us?" Luka offered.

"No its fine... This is Tim one of my older brothers" she smiled. "Tim this is Luka Couffaine, Penny Rolling, and this is Jagged Stone ” she finished.

"Mari if Jagged is your Uncle, Dad I think that means you have a nephew now" Luka added with a small smile in his eyes.

"Blimey you’re right" Jagged let Mari go and hugged Tim not letting him get in a word. "Any other sibling I need to meet Marinette?"

"Plenty" she laughed "But you should know Tim here is a big fan." she grinned. After that statement the Rocker seemed to make it his mission to get to know Tim. While Tim seemed to starstruck to answer, that and Jagged didn’t give him an6 time to answer.

"I think Jagged broke your brother" Penny stated with a chuckle.

"Don't worry he'll be back to normal soon" she laughed "Do you mind if I steal Luka away?"

"Of course, You do have your phone?" Luka nodded at her question and they walked towards Adrien and Jon.

"Jagged is going to keep your brother busy a longtime, Melody"

"So, Tim is taken care of. Whose next Mari?" Jon asked her.

"Hm, Who would feel played if he helped us mess with the others then flipped it on them?" she smirked.

"Damian" Jon answered confused.

"Wait we are recruiting your brother to mess with your brothers" Adrien asked, she nodded her head, "Mari you're more chaotic than the black cat himself."

"He'd be so proud, so lets find Damian"

"That shouldn't be to hard" Jon responded pointing behind him, "he's heading this way."

Sure enough Damian was stalking towards their little group. He was in a dark emerald suit with a black shirt and gold bow-tie. He wore a black kitsune fox mask with gold in the ears and dark green markings.

"Tt there you are Dick and Jason have been looking for you."

"Really what a coincidence so were we"

"Let's go" he turned around took a step before turning back around "Why?"

"Let me guess Dick figured out he isn't a good Cupid and now he is trying to fix his mess?"

"Yes. Your point"

"You know these two are some of my best friends, so they told me and we decided to prank them a bit tonight, we even got Jon to help"

"Perhaps I may assist as well" she couldn't see it but she knew her brother was wearing his trademark smirk under that mask. She nodded her head. "Okay so how are we going to handle those three."

"Two" Adrien corrected.

"Who did you deal with?"

"Tim" Jon answered this time.

"How?"

"Jagged" She piped in.

"Is he in this plan?"

"No that was all Mari" Luka replied. "But you might want to steer clear of my Dad for a while." Damian nodded his understanding.

"Best that we deal with Jason next then" he planned.

"Or we can get two birds with one stone" Adrien grinned. Everyone stared at at him in shocked silence.

"Care to explain Adrien" Luka finally broke the quiet.

"A game of monkey." he answered which seemed to confuse everyone. "We tell them the name of someone in the group and then only that person is seen."

"That will drive them insane" Damian commented "Let's do it"

That was exactly what they did. Dick and Jason seemed to always be five steps behind. By the time they spotted her and made their way to her she was gone.

At one point they decided to split up but then she didn't appear for an hour. Once they regrouped the game of cat and mouse continued.

By 11:30pm they had been at this for almost 4 hours and her brothers went up to the baloney but instead of watching the floor they were sitting upstairs. This is what she took as the cue to end their game of monkey.

"Hey you two. I heard you were looking for me." she smiled as she approached.

"Mari we've been look for you for hours." Dick called

"Wasn't the Demon with you at one point or another" Jason asked tired.

"I was" Damian responded next to him.

"Why didn't you bring her over then?" Dick asked their younger brother.

"Because it wouldn't have been half as annoying for you without him." Jon appearing and answering from between her and Dick.

"What do you mean? Was this just a game to keep us running around?" Jason seemed to be catching on.

"I've got to say it went better than planned" Adrien proudly stated as he made his appearance.

"Was Tim in on it?" Dick asked resigned.

"No Jagged got to him before we began, this game of monkey" Luka grinned from his spot on the railing watch those below.

"Jagged as in Jagged stone!" now Jason was at the railing looking for his brother and the Rockstar.

"We should probably rescue him now, huh?" Mari asked aloud.

"We should" Damian answered her "Father wants as all on the stage after the New Year count."

"I'll go get him" Mari offered.

"No I'll go" Dick responded. "Tim is only there because I set him to find you." he finished.

"Yes he is, but I'm the only one who is able to get in a word with Jagged" she countered walking away.

She was able to get Tim easily and the two made their way towards the others. By then Tim seemed to normalize a bit, he was a complete zombie after Jagged, that once they reached the others he finally spoke.

"When were you going to tell us Jagged Stone was your UNCLE!" he finished in a soft shout. At that her brother began questioning her but she had placed her face in her hands and shook her head.

"Jagged is my honorary Uncle" she sighed. "Besides dealing with all of you took up so much of the night that I need to find my date and apologize" she huffed. Jon 'mysteriously' vanished during the exchange.

---

"Wait if Mari had a date why did she leave, which one of you was it?" Drake was giving Agreste and Couffaine a stare.

However the two in question began to laugh. My three older brothers shared a look and explained what had occurred this evening.

"So who is this date she went to find?" Drake finally asked a relevant question.

"I have no clue" Grayson answered and again Couffaine and Agreste were laughing.

"Okay I get why you three wouldn't guess" Agreste pointed at Grayson, Todd, and Drake "But you've been with us, how could you not tell." Agreste was grinning.

That was when the pieces fell, Kent, he practically ran through the hall his brothers not far behind. The count down had started.

They still hadn't found those two.

He spotted his sister and best friend not far from his father and the stage.

They were about to reach them.

Kent pulled his sister in close.

She raised up on her toes.

They were right next to them.

They kissed and a flash was seen over his shoulder, Grayson must have taken a photo. They pulled away and then seemed to notice them.

"How long?" Damian asked his sister.

"How long we've been dating or how long it took for you to figure out you were played?" she asked him removing her mask.

"The moment I offered to help I was played, I realize that" he answered begrudgingly.

"So how long have you been dating" Grayson asked impatiently. A smile clear on his face and amusement in his unmasked eyes.

"Not long" his father answered as he made his way towards them. "It's been about a week. Besides it's time Mini."

---

Standing on the stage was Damian next to Dick who was on my right. On my left was Selina, they Jason and finally Tim.

"Hello everyone" he began to gain everyone's

attention. "As this is a new year and new beginning I would be honored to introduce as well as reveal to you all the very talented designer MDC" Marinette walked on the stage from the right.

"Hello I am Marinette of Marinette's Designs and Creations" she smiled and spoke confidently. There was a series of polite applause and when it ended I spoke again. "I am also pleased to announce that Marinette is also my daughter." That arose some questions from the reporters in the room.

But it was Lois whose question caused the room to fall silent.

"Is she another adoptive child or biological" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"She is my child biologically, she is also the youngest of all my children. He smiled and that seemed to placate most of them.

As he and his family walked off the stage Lois and Clark were waiting with Jon.

"Mari anything you want to say?" Lois questioned her.

"Um" she looked confused and Lois gave a small laugh before showing her, her phone. It was a photo of her and Jan sharing the Midnight kiss. Mari turned bright red and as he looked at Jon who matched her blush.

"I get the first interview” she smiled as she hugged Mini.

"Okay" she smiled and returned the hug.

"Care for a dance Mini?" he asked hoping to keep the mood light. She nodded and made their way to the dance floor.

They danced together for about four songs before Jon took her and they began to dance instead.

~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@mochinek0 @justafanwarrior @abrx2002 @ranger-gothamite @fantasiame @moonystars14 @mochegato @bigbeautifulandfullofsugar @maribat-is-lifeblood @iglowinggemma28 @miraculous-ninja @talutah0 @vixen-uchiha @danielslilangel @witchsblackfox @pawsitivelymiraculous @lizziejay @marinettepotterandplagg @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @dast218 @sassakitty @miyla-lokidottir @lilkymilky @tazanna-blythe @tired-butterfly @lozzybowe @smolplantmum @queencommonsense @loopingtangent @chez-pezeater @paintedhope7 @technicallyburninggarden @meme991001 @wannajointhecrabcult @melicmusicmagic @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @fidget-eep @miraculouslydumb @iamablinkmarvelarmy @laurcad123 @hauntedwintersweets @fc-studios @fusser90 @madking-warqueen @buginetye @little-lady-bird @thebooki3h @iamabrownfox @galla02006 @syrencall @gimpedmercy

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mattprivettwrites · 4 years

Text

The best songs of the 1970s

“What started out as a joke has turned into a disaster!” - Stu Nahan, Rocky IV

So my employment has me in my car a lot, which means I’m listening to the radio a lot. If I’m not listening to a podcast or baseball game through my phone I also have SiriusXM, which of course has a plethora of musical options. I gravitate to the 70s and 80s channels because, well, of course I do.

Something else about me you may or may not know is that I love ranking things. I have a Note on my phone I’m regularly accessing that is nothing but different types of rankings.

Thus, you can imagine my excitement when the 70s on 7 station announced a listener-voted Top 700 Songs of the 70s countdown over Labor Day weekend. It was a fun listen. They went through it twice over the four day weekend, and I was laboring much so I heard much.

It prompted me to think: What are my top seventy songs of the 70s? Surely I wasn’t going to come up with a top 700. After all, some in that list were real stinkers. But seventy? No problem. And indeed, it wasn’t hard to come up with that many songs. The hard part was narrowing it down. And once I did, there were still so many songs on my list I had enough for more lists, so I expanded it to 140, then 210, and... well...

I’m about to give you the authoritative list of the 350 best songs of the 1970s. I originally put out a Top 70 list on Facebook a few weeks ago. Much that of that list remains the same, with a few changes. But now there is much more. I’ve divided these into five “volumes” of seventy songs. They are my picks, but I welcome your feedback, because what’s a good set of rankings without debate and discussion.

Vol. 1 (1–70)

Chicago - “25 or 6 to 4”

Billy Joel - “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant”

The Doobie Brothers - “What a Fool Believes”

Queen - “Bohemian Rhapsody”

Boston - “More Than a Feeling”

Elton John & Kiki Dee - “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart”

Gerry Rafferty - “Baker Street”

ABBA - “Waterloo”

Don McLean - “American Pie”

The Eagles - “Take It to the Limit”

Fleetwood Mac - “The Chain”

Lynyrd Skynyrd - “Free Bird”

Billy Joel - “Until the Night”

Looking Glass - “Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl)”

Stevie Wonder - “Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I’m Yours”

Elton John - “Philadelphia Freedom”

The Bee Gees - “Stayin’ Alive”

The Knack - “My Sharona”

Derek & The Dominos - “Layla”

Chicago - “Just You ’N’ Me”

The Emotions - “Best of My Love”

Jefferson Starship - “Miracles”

Aerosmith - “Dream On”

Joe Cocker - “You Are So Beautiful”

The Who - “Won’t Get Fooled Again”

Carly Simon - “You’re So Vain”

Electric Light Orchestra - “Livin’ Thing”

The Rolling Stones - “Beast of Burden”

Queen - “We Will Rock You / We Are the Champions”

Billy Joel - “My Life”

Journey - “Lights”

Toto - “Hold the Line”

Michael Jackson - “Don’t Stop ’til You Get Enough”

Pilot - “Magic”

Bruce Springsteen - “Born to Run”

Led Zeppelin - “Stairway to Heaven”

Styx - “Babe”

Stevie Wonder - “Sir Duke”

Orleans - “Still the One”

Samantha Sang - “Emotion”

Foreigner - “Feels Like the First Time”

ABBA - “Dancing Queen”

The Four Seasons - “December, 1963 (Oh What a Night)”

Marvin Gaye - “Trouble Man”

The Spinners - “Rubberband Man”

Kansas - “Carry On Wayward Son”

The Jackson 5 - “I Want You Back”

Chicago - “If You Leave Me Now”

Bill Withers - “Ain’t No Sunshine”

Earth, Wind, & Fire - “Shining Star”

Olivia Newton-John & John Travolta - “You’re the One That I Want”

Yvonne Ellman - “If I Can’t Have You”

Fleetwood Mac - “Don’t Stop”

Billy Joel - “Just the Way You Are”

The Eagles - “I Can’t Tell You Why”

Free - “All Right Now”

Kenny Rogers - “The Gambler”

The Bee Gees - “Night Fever”

Player - “Baby Come Back”

The Ides of March - “Vehicle”

David Bowie - “Starman”

The Five Stairsteps - “O-O-H Child”

Carole King - “I Feel the Earth Move”

Elton John - “My Father’s Gun”

Jefferson Starship - “Jane”

Stevie Wonder - “Higher Ground”

Electric Light Orchestra - “Mr. Blue Sky”

Seals & Croft - “Summer Breeze”

The Temptations - “Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone”

Chicago - “Old Days”

——

Vol. 2 (71–140)

The Who - “Baba O’Riley”

The Eagles - “Hotel California”

Billy Joel - “Prelude/Angry Young Man”

Aerosmith - “Walk This Way”

The Four Seasons - “Who Loves You”

Gerry Rafferty - “Right Down the Line”

Chicago - “Make Me Smile”

The Bee Gees - “Too Much Heaven”

Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band - “Old Time Rock and Roll”

Elton John - “Your Song”

Earth, Wind, & Fire - “September”

Queen - “Somebody to Love”

Paul McCartney & Wings - “Live and Let Die”

The Village People - “Y.M.C.A.”

James Taylor - “Fire and Rain”

Led Zeppelin - “Whole Lotta Love”

The Spinners - “Could It Be I’m Falling in Love”

Three Dog Night - “Joy to the World”

Jim Croce - “I Got a Name”

Billy Joel - “Stiletto”

The Jackson 5 - “ABC”

Styx - “Come Sail Away”

Dobie Gray - “Drift Away”

Ozark Mountain Daredevils - “Jackie Blue”

Stevie Wonder - “I Wish”

Credence Clearwater Revival - “Up Around the Bend”

The Hollies - “Long Cool Woman (In a Black Dress)”

Daryl Hall & John Oates - “Rich Girl”

Elton John - “Saturday Night’s Alright (For Fighting)”

KISS - “Rock and Roll All Nite”

Fleetwood Mac - “Go Your Own Way”

Carl Douglas - “Kung Fu Fighting”

Steve Miller Band - “Jet Airliner”

Chicago - “Saturday in the Park”

Led Zeppelin - “Immigrant Song”

The Beatles - “Let It Be”

Three Dog Night - “An Old Fashioned Love Song”

Bad Company - “Can’t Get Enough”

Grand Funk Railroad - “We’re an American Band”

The Bee Gees - “More Than a Woman”

The Charlie Daniels Band - “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”

The Doobie Brothers - “Listen to the Music”

Black Sabbath - “Iron Man”

Chic - “Good Times”

Billy Joel - “Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Song)”

Harry Chapin - “Cat’s in the Cradle”

The Bay City Rollers - “Saturday Night”

Elton John - Bennie and the Jets”

K.C. & The Sunshine Band - “That’s the Way (I Like It)”

Lynyrd Skynyrd - “Sweet Home Alabama”

Carole King - “It’s Too Late”

The O’Jays - “Love Train”

Billy Joel - “Piano Man”

Foreigner - “Double Vision”

Chicago - “Feelin’ Stronger Every Day”

Peaches & Herb - “Reunited”

Deep Purple - “Smoke on the Water”

Wild Cherry - “Play That Funky Music”

Marvin Gaye - “I Want You”

Orleans - “Dance With Me”

Earth, Wind, & Fire - “After the Love Has Gone”

Van Halen - “Ain’t Talkin’ Bout Love”

Paul McCartney & Wings - “My Love”

Little River Band - “Lonesome Loser”

Stevie Wonder - “Isn’t She Lovely?”

Steely Dan - “Reelin’ in the Years”

Cheap Trick - “Surrender”

The Sugarhill Gang - “Rapper’s Delight”

Maxine Nightingale - “Right Back Where We Started From”

The Who - “Who Are You”

——

Vol. 3 (141–210)

Gloria Gaynor - “I Will Survive”

Led Zeppelin - “Kashmir”

Chicago - “Baby, What a Big Surprise”

Sister Sledge - “We Are Family”

Jackson Browne - “Running on Empty”

Olivia Newton John - “Hopelessly Devoted to You”

Vicki Sue Robinson - “Turn the Beat Around”

Billy Joel - “Big Shot”

Starland Vocal Band - “Afternoon Delight”

Rupert Holmes - “Escape (The Piña Colada Song)”

Queen - “Don’t Stop Me Now”

Andrea True Connection - “More More More”

The Guess Who - “American Woman”

The Doobie Brothers - “Black Water”

Paul McCartney & Wings - “Band on the Run”

Stevie Wonder - “Superstition”

Elton John - “Someone Saved My Life Tonight”

James Taylor - “Your Smiling Face”

The Rolling Stones - “Miss You”

Chicago - “Beginnings”

Bachman-Turner Overdrive - “Let It Ride”

Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band - “We’ve Got Tonight”

Styx - “Lady”

Three Dog Night - “Mama Told Me (Not to Come)”

Journey - “Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’”

Foreigner - “Cold As Ice”

10cc - “I’m Not in Love”

Credence Clearwater Revival - “Have You Ever Seen the Rain”

K.C. & The Sunshine Band - “Get Down Tonight”

Billy Joel - “Summer Highland Falls”

The Delfonics - “Didn’t I (Blow Your Mind This Time)”

Electric Light Orchestra - “Don’t Bring Me Down”

The Bee Gees - “How Deep Is Your Love”

Ike & Tina Turner - “Proud Mary”

Elton John - “Levon”

The Doobie Brothers - “Long Train Runnin’”

Seals & Croft - “Diamond Girl”

Redbone - “Come and Get Your Love”

Kenny Loggins - “This Is It”

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band - “Blinded By the Light”

Roberta Flack - “Killing Me Softly With His Song”

Paul McCartney & Wings - “With a Little Luck”

The Bellamy Brothers - “Let Your Love Flow”

The Carpenters - “Superstar”

Blue Oyster Cult - “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper”

Stevie Wonder - “You Are the Sunshine of My Life”

Eddie Money - “Baby Hold On”

Ted Nugent - “Cat Scratch Fever”

The Eagles - “Best of My Love”

The Four Tops - “Ain’t No Woman (Like the One I’ve Got)”

Chicago - “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

Chairmen of the Board - “Give Me Just a Little More Time”

The Cars - “Just What I Needed”

Queen - “You’re My Best Friend”

Thelma Houston - “Don’t Leave Me This Way”

Heart - “Barracuda”

Isaac Hayes - “Theme from Shaft”

Daryl Hall & John Oates - “She’s Gone”

Rod Stewart - “You’re in My Heart (The Final Acclaim)”

Billy Joel - “She’s Got a Way”

The Hues Corporation - “Rock the Boat”

Steve Miller Band - “Fly Like an Eagle”

Thin Lizzy - “Jailbreak”

Supertramp - “Give a Little Bit”

Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes - “If You Don’t Know Me By Now”

America - “Sister Golden Hair”

Pure Prairie League - “Amie”

The Temptations - “Just My Imagination (Running Away With Me)”

Prince - “I Wanna Be Your Lover”

Van Halen - “Eruption / You Really Got Me”

——

Vol. 4 (211–280)

Led Zeppelin - “When the Levee Breaks”

The Clash - “London Calling”

Chicago - “(I’ve Been) Searchin’ So Long”

KISS - “Detroit Rock City”

Bobby Womack - “Across 110th Street”

Bad Company - “Feel Like Makin’ Love”

Billy Joel - “I’ve Loved These Days”

Jim Croce - “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown”

Aerosmith - “Sweet Emotion”

Ace - “How Long”

James Taylor - “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)”

The Chi-Lites - “Oh Girl”

Frank Mills - “Music Box Dancer”

Amii Stewart - “Knock on Wood”

ABBA - “Take a Chance on Me”

Grand Funk Railroad - “Some Kind of Wonderful”

Elton John - “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds”

Fleetwood Mac - “Dreams”

The Sweet - “Fox on the Run”

Herb Alpert - “Rise”

The Eagles - “The Long Run”

K.C. & The Sunshine Band - “Boogie Shoes”

Marvin Gaye - “What’s Going On”

Todd Rundgren - “Hello, It’s Me”

Black Sabbath - “Paranoid”

Paul McCartney - “Maybe I’m Amazed”

The Rolling Stones - “It’s Only Rock and Roll (But I Like It)”

Boston - “Don’t Look Back”

Billy Joel - “Streetlife Serenader”

Journey - “Wheel in the Sky”

Poco - “Crazy Love”

Blondie - “Heart of Glass”

James Gang - “Funk #49”

Kansas - “Dust in the Wind”

Kenny Loggins & Stevie Nicks - “Whenever I Call You ‘Friend’”

Steely Dan - “Do It Again”

Natalie Cole “This Will Be (An Everlasting Love)”

Billy Preston - “Outa-Space”

Boz Skaggs - “Lido Shuffle”

Leo Sayer - “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing”

Alicia Bridges - “I Love the Nightlife (Disco ‘Round)”

10cc - “The Things We Do For Love”

America - “Ventura Highway”

Smokey Robinson & The Miracles - “Tears of a Clown”

Donna Summer - “Hot Stuff”

Edgar Winter Group - “Free Ride”

Chicago - “Wishing You Were Here”

The Jackson 5 - “The Love You Save”

Carly Simon - “Nobody Does It Better”

Parliament - “Flashlight”

T. Rex - “Bang a Gong (Get It On)”

Ohio Players - “Love Rollercoaster”

Chuck Mangione - “Feels So Good”

Jackson Browne - “Doctor My Eyes”

The Eagles - “Take It Easy”

The Ramones - “Blitzkrieg Bop”

Seals & Croft - “Get Closer”

Queen - “Killer Queen”

Carol Douglas - “Doctor’s Orders”

Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band - “Her Strut”

Billy Joel - “Vienna”

Average White Band - “Pick Up the Pieces”

James Taylor - “Handy Man”

Thin Lizzy - “The Boys Are Back in Town”

Walter Murphy - “A Fifth of Beethoven”

Three Dog Night - “Shambala”

The Three Degrees - “When Will I See You Again”

Jim Croce - “You Don’t Mess Around With Jim”

The Commodores - “Machine Gun”

Led Zeppelin - “The Song Remains the Same”

——

Vol. 5 (281–350)

Bachman-Turner Overdrive - “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet”

Billy Joel - “Miami 2017 (I’ve Seen The Lights Go Out On Broadway)”

Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band - “Still the Same”

Al Green - “Let’s Stay Together”

ABBA - “S.O.S.”

The Cars - “Let’s Go”

Ted Nugent - “Stranglehold”

Elton John - “Rocket Man (I Think It’s Going To Be A Long Long Time)”

Styx - “Renegade”

Eddie Rabbitt - “Every Which Way But Loose”

Alice Cooper - “No More Mr. Nice Guy”

Daryl Hall & John Oates - “Sara Smile”

Chicago - “Lowdown”

Love Unlimited Orchestra - “Love’s Theme”

Rod Stewart - “Maggie May”

Paul Simon - “Slip, Slidin’ Away”

Robert Palmer - “Bad Case of Loving You (Doctor, Doctor)”

MFSB - “The Sound of Philadelphia”

Ambrosia - “How Much I Feel”

Electric Light Orchestra - “Evil Woman”

Bruce Springsteen - “Thunder Road”

ZZ Top - “La Grange”

Gino Vannelli - “I Just Wanna Stop”

Gilbert O’Sullivan - “Alone Again (Naturally)”

Fleetwood Mac - “Say You Love Me”

The Doobie Brothers - “Rockin’ Down the Highway”

Golden Earring - “Radar Love”

Ram Jam - “Black Betty”

The Eagles - “One of These Nights”

Meco - “Star Wars Theme/Cantina Band”

Billy Joel - “Honesty”

The Bee Gees - “Tragedy”

Queen - “Stone Cold Crazy”

Chic - “Everybody Dance”

Bread - “Everything I Own”

Olivia Newton John - “A Little More Love”

The Trammps - “Disco Inferno”

Neil Sedaka - “Laughter in the Rain”

Marvin Gaye - “Got to Give It Up”

B.J. Thomas - “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head”

The Village People - “In the Navy”

King Harvest - “Dancing in the Moonlight”

Ohio Players - “Fire”

Nicolette Larson - “Lotta Love”

Main Ingredient - “Everybody Plays the Fool”

Barry White - “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe”

The Kinks - “Everybody’s A Star”

Michael Jackson - “Ben”

Elton John - “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”

Dionne Warwick & The Spinners - “Then Came You”

Nazareth - “Love Hurts”

Eric Carmen - “All By Myself”

Foreigner - “Hot Blooded”

Bobby Caldwell - “What You Won’t Do For Love”

Foghat - “Slow Ride”

Andy Kim - “Rock Me Gently”

Cheryl Lynn - “Got to Be Real”

Captain & Tennille - “Love Will Keep Us Together”

The Miracles - “Love Machine”

Blondie - “One Way or Another”

Elvin Bishop - “Fooled Around and Fell in Love”

Leo Sayer - “When I Need You”

Little River Band - “Reminiscing”

Hudson Brothers - “So You Are A Star”

Exile - “Kiss You All Over”

Mountain - “Mississippi Queen”

Heat Wave - “Groove Line”

Sugarloaf - “Don’t Call Us (We’ll Call You)”

Hot Butter - “Popcorn”

ABBA - “Mamma Mia”

#1970s music

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soulmate-game · 4 years

Text

Oneshot #2

What if Marinette had never won the Wayne Enterprises competition?

Well, her and Damian’s meeting would have probably went something like this.

—*—*—*—*—*

The asian-French hero looked down at her palm, where a plain silver ring sat at the center of the long silver chain around her neck. They had done it. Seven years, lots of reversed deaths, way too many close calls, and Adrien was in a wheelchair for the next few months at least. If he ever got back on his legs at all.

That wasn’t even brushing over the painful fact that he was now an orphan by all rights, his mother finally buried and his father rotting in prison. It was the epitome of a bittersweet victory, and Marinette couldn’t stand to stay in the same city as where it had happened anymore.

It wasn’t like she had a choice, anyway. Marinette was the Guardian now, and the fallout of the last fight led to her parents figuring out her identity. That couldn’t be allowed to stick, so she had asked Plagg to erase their memory of the discovery. She knew Plagg didn’t have the best restraint with his powers, but the effects would never wear off and could never be reversed.

Sure enough, they didn’t just forget that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was Ladybug. They forgot that Marinette Dupain-Cheng had ever been born.

So the Guardian, for she had held that title since her eighteenth birthday, gathered up all her belongings. She emptied her bedroom as if it had never held a child to begin with, sold everything she didn’t need and packed away what she did. She took the Miracle Box with her, of course. And Chat’s ring. He could wear it anymore anyway, and Marinette didn’t have anyone she could trust it to.

Kagami and Luka gave back their Miraculous, too. As did Chloè. They didn’t need to fight HawkMoth anymore, and they deserved normal lives now that the war was over. Marinette was not about to take from them the very thing she couldn’t have.

So she found herself in Gotham City, her hair cut into a long pixie in an attempt to change up her look. She didn’t need people recognizing her, especially since she had no intention of giving up her hero work. She set up a boutique, she already had more than enough of a clientele and solid reputation to keep her in business for at least a few years. She was twenty years old, and the world saw her as a rising star instead of the crashed meteor she felt like.

The Kwamis saw it. Every time they left the Box (and Marinette liked giving them all at least a day or two every week to stretch their legs, so to say), they would see her darkening bags under her eyes and the almost permanent slump to her shoulders. Her bed almost looked brand new even after several months in Gotham.

She closed her hand around the ring for a moment, before slipping it onto her right thumb. The now-familiar coursing energy of Destruction ran over her body like a current of electricity, promising a fatal shock at even the slightest mistake.

Good thing she was a manic perfectionist.

“Plagg, merge.”

The cat Kwami was sucked into the ring, dying it black and giving birth to the green paw on the flat top. Marinette’s already darkened and Gotham-ized Ladybug costume gaining a few spikes, a black leather jacket, her utility belt holding her yo-yo darkened into charcoal gray with green accents and a red-and-Black extendable bo staff. Instead of a domino mask, stylized black ski goggles covered her eyes, the magical glass tinting maroon in the right lighting. The tips of Marinette’s short hair dyed into a dark mossy green.

“Let’s show these Gotham villains that they can’t just toss us around,” she said to the empty air, as if promising to herself that her half-year absence from the hero scene hadn’t filled her skills at all.

(And it probably hadn’t, since she had kept up with her own training regiment during the hours she really should have been using to sleep, but she wouldn’t be Marinette if she didn’t doubt her own skills every now and then.)

With a soft whisper of “cataclysm,” she laid her hand on the metal door that had been slammed shut. It rusted and crumbled away into dust immediately. She wouldn’t let Scarecrow hold her charity gala hostage. Sure, it hadn’t been as extravagant as something thrown by the Waynes, but it was her first gala and had had a surprisingly large turnout. People had fallen in love with their new Gotham celebrity philanthropist.

Surprisingly, she wasn’t alone. Right then, the windows in the rented building shattered, allowing three very familiar masked men to drop in at the three other corners of the room. With Marinette, they made a full square of heroes surrounding the Gotham villain and his screaming hostages.

“Separate,” she whispered, her Plagg-induced accessories fading away to reveal her in just her Ladybug outfit. Her domino mask was replaced by a maroon and black-polka dotted motorcycle helmet with a rose-red visor covering the upper half of her face. She had on matching fitted cargo pants in the same pattern, and a long-sleeved black turtleneck with two large, hot rod red half-circles over both sides of her waist. Calf-High black combat boots with red soles and maroon stripes up the outer edges completed the new Ladybug look. Not including the ever-familiar yo-yo sitting on a thin red utility belt on her hips, anyway.

The three Gotham-native vigilantes observed everything, including the unfamiliar figure in red and black that seemed to be on their side, at least for now.

“Robin,” Batman spoke up. “Red Robin and I will engage Scarecrow. Get the hostages out and administer the antidote for the fear toxin. If we haven’t wrapped things up by the time you're done, come back here.”

The colorful vigilante let out a tsk at being left out of the combat, but knew he would be the fastest at evacuating the victims. They were all under fear toxin and several were having very violent reactions to it, so his no-nonsense approach would be the best match up with wrangling the civilians out of the building.

“I’ll help you,” an unfamiliar female voice crackled over their coms, making the three vigilantes stiffen. “Relax, my suit’s magic patched me in to your frequency. You can call me Ladybird. I won’t get in your way, but I’m not gonna just sit back and watch either.”

“If you slow me down, I’m hogtying you and leaving you for the Commissioner,” Robin warned, her gaze flashing over to the unfamiliar hero right as her ruby-red lips curled up into a secretive smirk.

“Fair enough.”

Batman and Rex Robin rushed into the fight then, seeing as Nightwing couldn’t distract Scarecrow forever. The blue vigilante used their sudden take over of the fight to turn his attention to Scarecrow’s rented goons, and knock guns out of hands.

Ladybird and Robin took over the rest. Working like a surprisingly well-oiled machine, they seemed to know exactly which victim to grab next to avoid getting in the other’s way. Robin noted that Ladybird seemed surprisingly well-versed in handling panicking victims that fought back, easily trapping their limbs to their bodies and carrying them out forcibly yet efficiently. She was also surprisingly quiet, whispering to the more coherent victims and doing her best to keep the evacuation as subtle as possible.

She was equally quick in administering the antidotes that Robin handed out to her, her hands clothed in black motorcycle gloves easily sliding the needles of the syringes into the right arteries without a second of hesitation.

Luckily, they hadn’t had to go back into the fight after getting all the victims rounded up and cured. Ladybird has just finished handing out shock blankets when Robin’s team filed out of the building with an unconscious Scarecrow held limply between them. A few statements and evacuated victims later, and the three met up with Ladybird in a nearby alley.

“Who are you, and why are you in Gotham?”

“Ladybird,” she said calmly, ignoring the beeping in her helmet. She had used her cure discreetly to reverse any physical damage the vigilantes and victims had taken, and hoped they wouldn’t notice until the next day. It had taken her a while to learn how to make the magical ladybugs invisible, but it was a useful skill. “I used to be Ladybug, back in Paris, but Paris doesn’t need heroes anymore. I came here for a new start, that’s it. I don’t plan to get in your way, but don’t expect me to stay out of it when bad things happen.”

“Oh, so we’re just supposed to accept a new vigilante with magic popping up and sticking their noses in our business, are we?” Robin challenged, stepping forward with hostility in every muscle of his body. Ladybird, to her credit, did not even flinch. In fact, even though she was over a foot shorter than Robin, she just straightened up to make the most of every inch of height she had. It was shockingly effective. She petit female could apparently make a very intimidating presence when she wanted to.

“I don’t plan on leaving, so you either play nice or get the nice beat into you,” she said with a falsely cheerful voice. A growl pulled itself from the back of Robin’s throat.

The rest of the BatFam watched with barely restrained tension. None of them were happy about a new, unknown vigilante in town, sure. But Robin was by far the last person they would have chosen to confront the new person.

“I’d like to see you try, shorty,” Robin purred menacingly, a sharp grin overtaking Ladybird’s mouth at the challenge.

“Gladly, little birdy,” She chimed right back. They lunged at the same moment, Ladybird’s hand gripping Robin’s bicep to try and throw him over her shoulder at the same moment that the man’s fist made contact with one of the large spots on her waist.

But before any real damage could be done, a flash of green light erupted around them, surrounding both heroes and separating them with business-like speed. They blinked at each other as they were forced to separate, wondering if Green Lantern had made a surprise visit to Gotham.

But that was not it, they realized, the green was much too dark a shade and proceeded to sink into the skin around their wrists. A mechanical voice sounded in the air.

“WARNING: GAME FOUL. ATTACKS BETWEEN SOULMATES OUTSIDE OF FRIENDLY SPAR ARE PROHIBITED.”

“What the hell—“

“INITIATING GAME START.”

Both heroes’ vision split in half, just as Marinette’s one-hour timer ran out and her transformation dissolved.

“Well. I’m Marinette, I guess. Your soulmate.”

She watched from two different perspectives as Robin’s eyes widened behind his mask and her own star-struck face contrasted starkly with her unaffected tone of voice. Apparently exhaustion saps the emotion from someone’s tone.

“Holy plot point, Batman.”

“I thought we agreed you would never say something like that again, Nightwing.”

—*—*—*—*—*

#mlb x dc #maribat #daminette

490 notes · View notes

eerythingisshaka · 4 years

Text

Wish Granted

Word Count: 6K

Yahya Abdul-Mateen II x Reader

Warnings: Smut

Standing by the fountain, you feel a chill catch the inside of your coat. You tug it closer around you and flip the penny in your hand from heads to tails. A 2003 penny with Lincoln on the front, his memorial on the back. No different, always the same. Under your arm is a box with a new scarf and glove set for the man you thought you would marry one day. Before you could even get to dinner, he meets you at your hotel to say that things aren’t going the way he hoped and that you should call it quits before things got too serious. Like four years of commitment wasn’t serious enough.

You hold the penny up, allowing the fountains sound drowns out the surrounding world as you close your eyes and launch that coin into the fountain.

“Ow!”

You open your eyes to see a man standing in front of you, hand over his eye.

You cover you mouth, mortified. “Oh! Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Without thinking you run up to the stranger, reaching for his hand to observe the injury you inflicted. When he moves his hand, he blinks a couple times looking around to make sure he had vision. You take a step back, looking him over. Brown trench coat, snakeskin loafers, hair trimmed with that old school part in the fro. Epitome of tall dark and handsome if you had to categorize him. And now you’re about to add an eye patch to his wardrobe.

“I swear I wasn’t begging for change walking through here. Not today.” He rubs his eye again, looking at you with his good one.

“I wasn’t thinking. Why would I throw something with my eyes closed in a public area, honestly.”

He looks behind him. “You wanted to make a wish?”

You look down at your feet in embarrassment, “Kind of, yeah. It’s silly but-”

His smile stops your train of thought, lighting up your mind’s electricity with its beauty. Like a hand of dominoes, those teeth are hiding a hand that will have you laid out on a table in a minute.

“That ain’t silly, that’s what everyone around here is doing, including me. Did you drop that too?”

He points near you to the box by your feet, swiftly picking it up before you could say anything.

“Leaving a gift for the fountain too?” He quips, handing it over to you.

You roll your eyes, “No, but I don’t really wanna get into it right now, if that’s cool.”

His face drops as he nods, putting his hands in his coat pockets humbly. You instantly feel bad, especially for making that smile go away.

“I don’t mean it like-”

“No, it’s cool. I get it. We don’t know each other like that so…”

“Well, I mean...sorry, what’s your name?”

“Yahya.” He holds out his hand, face warming up again. You take it, giving him a genuine smile along with your name.

“Well Yahya, before I almost took out your eye, what was your wish to the fountain?”

He squints at you suspiciously in a way that sparks your inner challenger as his walls begin to metaphorically build.

“If I told you, wouldn’t that make it not come true?”

You mull it over in your head. “I mean, that’s for birthday wishes, not fountain wishes.”

Yahya chuckles, throwing his head back. “I like that logic, but I gotta plead the fifth.”

You tut at him. “Oh come on! I embarrassed myself just now, why can’t you?”

“Oh this all about you, to make you feel better?” Yahya asks playfully.

You love this back and forth, nodding to keep the game going whether he gives in or not.

Yahya looks at you a second before sighing deeply and looking around for anyone nearby who might eavesdrop. Every move he makes looks so damn cool, you feel anxious the more time passes between you two.

“Aight, but if I tell you, you owe me a drink.” He says with a smolder behind his gaze down at you.

“And why’s that?” You ask, clutching your chest.

On cue, Yahya holds his eyes bending over. “Oh God, my eyesight. How can I see people’s bullshit now?”

You whack his back to make him stop, the cadence of his laughter pops in the night air.

“Ok, drinks on me, cool?”

Promptly dropping his act with a deviant smile he says, “Cool. Let’s get them first.” He holds his arm out to you expectantly. You swap your box from one arm to the other before taking his and setting off to a nearby lounge. He opens the door for you and you find two stools at the far end of the bar.

You take a seat, setting your box on the bar as Yahya unbuttons his coat, flicking the sides behind him. You notice how his pants accentuate the length of his legs, as well as the fitted nature right around his upper thighs. You smile to yourself, thanking God for his blessing to man.

He orders a whiskey neat, you get a gin and tonic. By the time the drinks arrive and you warm up from first sip, your senses begin to loosen.

“Ok, you got a drink, now tell me about your wish.”

Yahya puts on a look of shock before placing the glass to his eye. You push him playfully.

“That doesn’t even make sense, you got it without ice!”

He shakes his head. “Just hating. Ok, um. I got one more request before I say this, cuz I don’t wanna have you running away from me when I say this.”

You sit up a little straighter at his words. “O...k.”

He licks his lips turning a little more in your direction. “After I tell you my wish, you gotta tell me what’s in that box. I can tell it’s not for you.”

“How?!”

He pulls it across the bar towards him. “It’s got a ribbon on it that is wrapped around the box, so it hasn’t been opened. You’re dressed nice but standing alone at a fountain at night making a wish and going to a bar with someone you just met, makes me think you had a rough night.”

Your heart drops at this lowkey reading that hit the nail on the head.

“...plus the tag says ‘To: James’.”

You pull the box back and pull your drink to your lips silently. Yahya feels your change of heart and switches gears.

“I didn’t mean to say that offensively, I was just answering your question. I get a little too blunt out the blue sometimes, I been told.”

You look at him and see his apologetic eyes, looking like a little boy being sweet to come out of time out. You reassess, turning back on the cool mode. Remember, he’s not your man.

“You...got the story without even having to ask me a question. So now you owe me. You tell me your wish and why you are wandering the fountain at night,” You say with a little bite in your voice. Since he so smart...

Yahya finishes his drink and raises his hand to order another. “On the rocks this time.” He turns to look at you, making time slow down while looking into your eyes like he is searching for something steady to anchor to. You hope he sees it because you already see it in him, crazy as that sounds.

He digs in his pocket to pull out a flat square grey box, setting it on the bar and pushing it towards you.

“I have a gift to that didn’t quite make it to the receiver.”

You take the box hesitantly, opening it to find a simple sterling silver chain.

“What happened? Why didn’t she take it?” You ask. “It is a little simple, but I mean, not break up worthy.”

“I don’t think it was her style in the end, but also,” He pulls the necklace out, bringing the backing with it to reveal a ring looped around it. You gasp, taken back it’s beauty.

“Oh wow, you were planning to propose?!”

Yahya nods, smiling solemnly. “I thought I had found what I was looking for in her, but she hadn’t found what she wanted in me. Luckily she hadn’t pulled the necklace out when she broke it down for me.”

“Wow.” You say, looking over the necklace and ring combo as you sip your drink, not knowing what else to say.

Yahya rests his chin on his hand, looking over the ring. “It’s not easy to find someone you connect with and see a future. That’s all I been wanting since I got grown. People date for a quick thing but I wanted more. I really thought we were headed there.”

“That’s how it was for me. I came here to meet with my boy- well now my ex boyfriend. We planned this trip months ago and the day comes that I thought for sure would be the next step in our relationship and he just stops me before we make it to dinner.”

“Did you all have reservations?” He asks.

You nod. “Yeah, now in 15 minutes actually, a block from here.”

Yahya checks the time and picks up your box. “All this heartache is making me hungry, and my mama didn’t raise me to let a woman drink on an empty stomach, so let’s go.”

He buttons his coat, digs out a couple bills from his wallet and lays them on the bar before holding out his trusted arm again. You take it again happily.

At the restaurant you both order drinks and appetizers to share, laughing and chatting about of all things, your broken relationships.

“You know I waited on him for a month to come back on business trip before this? I just KNEW I was gonna get dicked down at the least. Excuse my language but he couldn’t bother with me to even giving me break up sex!” You say, a little too loudly for the stuffy restaurant you all were enjoying.

Yahya laughs so hard his eyes close up, wheezing at the crudeness of your talking. “I swear, where have all the gentlemen gone right?”

“RIGHT!” you concur. “Don’t do that to your lady, ok?”

Yahya bites off a shrimp and tosses the tail. “I don’t have a lady, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Well for your future lady. Always do her right. No matter if you happy or mad.”

Yahya looks over at you, eyes heavy from the liquor consumed, he holds his hand out across the table. You look at him snickering.

“Oh sweetie, you got something to say?” You ask teasingly.

Yahya scratches his beard, squeezing your fingers gently. “Nothing but I never told you my wish.”

You brush him off. “Oh you don’t have to, it’s not important anymore.”

“It is though because this night has turned from tragic to amazing in the span of just a couple hours with you. I had went to that fountain torn up and wished that I would find a wife.”

You sit there quietly, thinking about that box with the necklace and ring. You take your hand away from his.

“I don’t mean that means anything to you. We’re just friends obviously. If that!” Yahya says with a cool laugh, looking at the rim of his glass as he twirls his finger around it. You knew he wasn’t trying to sound crazy like you’re the answer to his wish but you grabbed you coat anyway.

“Follow me.”

You get your box and put on your coat hurriedly. You both walk through the tables, heading for the entrance.

“You paid right?” You ask, opening your gift box and taking out its contents.

Yahya nods. “Yeah, what’s going on?”

Taking out the scarf, you wrap it around his neck. “This looks pretty good on you, matches your coat and everything.” You hand him the gloves to put on. “I say let’s try and make your wish come true, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, let’s live in the moment! No strings, talk to me like a loving husband, I’ll treat you like a wife. See if it even makes sense. You might not even care to have a ball and chain around your neck all the time. Who knows!” You’re oddly chill about asking for this odd request but Yahya’s face isn’t reading as all for it. You start to push the door open when Yahya pulls you back.

“Hang on.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the square box, undoing the necklace and holds it out to you.

“Take the ring off first.” You say cautiously.

He shakes his head. “Aren’t you my wife for the night? This is yours. Turn around.”

You obey as your cool begins to melt away, letting him put it around your neck, clasping it gently and finishing with a soft squeeze of your shoulders.

“Wifey, let’s take a stroll.” Yahya offers, leading you out into the street..

“My dear, dinner was marvelous tonight.” Yahya speaks in an uppity manner.

“Why yes, my compliments to the chef, indeed. I do apologize for not having cooked. I so know you were looking forward to it.”

“My dear wife there is no need to fret, you should at least have one day off. That’s what a gentleman would expect.”

You chortle haughtily. “My dear, you are too grand. I say we shall put the beds together tonight for some whoopie!”

Yahya laughs out of character. “What decade are we in?”

You think a second. “Well let’s say 70s and not differentiate from 1970 or 1870. Sounds good?”

Yahya gives you a thumbs up. “Works for me.”

As you walk along, you recognize the street you’re both on. “Oh, there is my hotel. We walked right up on it. Nice!”

Yahya smiles down at you. “Your methods are clandestine.”

You feign shock. “Wha? I hadn’t led us towards here subconsciously at all! But since we are here, I really don’t wanna keep our schtick short. You wanna come up? Oh! We can play house!” You say excitedly.

Yahya shrugs, opening the hotel doors ahead of the doorman. “After you milady.”

Your shoes click clack across the floor as you make your way to the elevator. With a ding, the doors open and let you in. As the door closes, Yahya takes your hand and jerks you toward him, spinning you around to the wall nearest to him and pinning you against it.

You hold your breath looking up at him, watching his hand move towards your neck, reaching around to pull the ring out from your coat collar.

“This suits you, you know. I just had to see it up close on you one more time.” His fingers run across the chain and collarbone to your neck, making you ticklish.

“You know there’s cameras in here.” You breathily warn, contradicting your worry when you place your hand to his back, bringing him closer to you.

He traces the outline of your face, turning your into putty even more once his lips graze yours. Barely registering as a kiss, you close your eyes anyhow, enjoying the warmth of him near you until you reach for his face and demand more. Soon, the doors of the elevator ding open and Yahya let’s you go, shielding your body in the corner with his to appear as casual as possible while the new passengers stepped on.

“You guys aren’t coming out?” An elderly white man asks.

Yahya looks back. “Oh sorry. We left something in the room so we have to make a second trip. What floor are we?” He whispers to you.

“11th.” You say as he pressed the button. He stands in front of you with his back to you as the man stepped on, pressing 8.

“Geez I hate when that happens. Gotta take those extra steps, feels like such a waste of time.” The man says.

You play with Yahya, poking his booty cheek, which he flexes once he notices your touch, looking back at you with a cross eyed look.

“Oh yeah. It can be real annoying. Blame this one.” Yahya points his thumb back at you.

The man appears to have just noticed you. “Oh buddy, don’t blame your girl. That will turn your night sour in a jif!” The elevator dings to open to his floor. “You kids have a good night. Sweetie, give him hell!” THrowing a thumbs up, he leaves you both in the elevator once again.

Yahya turns to face you, “Is this how married folk act in elevators?”

You smile and shrug, pulling at the scarf around his neck. ”Any marriage I’m in, it better be.”

The elevator dings once more and you lead him to Room 1142, rooting through your wristlet to find the card, growing distracted by the hug from behind that Yahya pulls you into, nuzzling your shoulder.

“Stop! I am gonna drop all my shit if you don’t quit.” You whine.

“All of it?” Yahya growls in your as he pushes up on you, letting you know what was definitely up with him.

You find the card and insert it to unlock the door, stumbling half drunk, half horny inside. Yahya closes the door and exclaims suddenly, “Look at this dessert, right here!”

Some chocolate covered strawberries placed neatly on a silver platter sits on a table with champagne chilling in a bucket.

You take off your coat, groaning in frustration. “Goddammit. I ordered this before James came up and obviously it didn’t get eaten. I hope the champagne ain’t burned.” You pick the bottle up from the half melted ice, checking the label.

Yahya takes off his coat, putting it across a nearby desk. “How would it burn?”

You unwrap the foil and start to twist the cork. “You know like freezer burn. Chill it too long and it can burn like steak left in the freezer too long.” With one twist the cork pops across the room, and an overflow of foam spills over your hands. Yahya takes the bottle, letting the alcohol spill across the strawberries and table before tipping the bottle to his mouth.

You watch his adam’s apple bob as champagne makes drips on his shirt. The muscles in his arms on full display as he tips the bottle back down, screwing his face up from the taste.

“That ain’t bad.” He puts a fist to his mouth, letting out a decent burp while holding the bottle to you.

You cackle taking the bottle for yourself as he takes a seat at the table with strawberries.

“You really went all out for tonight huh?” Yahya asks, looking around the room.

You twist the neck of the bottle, holding it to your chest nervously. “I tried. If I am committed, I can’t hide that. And I just want someone to see me at least halfway on my level, you know?” You take a swig from the bottle, letting the liquid do its thing to your bloodstream.

Yahya sits there with his hands on his thighs, spread wide in a way that is least annoying. It showcases his height, confidence, and body structure that you’re sure he takes pride in.

“No reason you can’t have that.” Yahya says quietly.

You stand beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You could too. Hell, you had a complete ring here.” You pull on it for emphasis.

Yahya shrugs, giving a soft sad smile. “I don’t wanna think about what I could have. I wanna focus on what I got now.”

You feel the width of his palm wrap around your hip, looking up at you in need. You put the bottle down and hold his face in your hands. His hands massage your back, willing you to give in. But something holds you back.

“Let me sit real quick.” You plant yourself on his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, distracting yourself with the berries.

“What’s wrong?” Yahya asks. “Your energy feel different.”

You take a strawberry in for a bite, savoring the sweet chocolate with the refreshing juice of the strawberry.

“It’s been a long night. This has been cute and fun, definitely better than how it started. But I can’t stop thinking about why am I doing this. For what? Like this doesn’t mean a damn thing. Nothing really does.”

Yahya gently squeezes your hip with a slight frown on his face. “I think it’s better to think about how you popped some dude in the eye, made him feel better by being funny, gorgeous and your heart is so innocent and open, I thought I would fuck this up quickly.”

You laugh. “You did almost.”

“I know, I talked too much at the bar-”

“No it was when you insisted I buy you a drink.” You retort.

“And I’m still waiting on it. I paid remember!” Yahya says with a little neck roll for emphasis that makes you smile bigger.

You reach for the bottle on the table and shake it. “You wasted most of this on the strawberries, here.”

“You don’t want more?” Yahya asks as you tip the bottle to his lips.

“No, go head.” You pour what’s left in his mouth and set the bottle down. He points to his mouth, holding the liquor in his mouth.

“What?” You ask before his hands grab either side of your face and pull you into him. Your body lights up having his lips on you again and you offer to raise the stakes quickly. Opening your mouth, he opens his allowing you to taste the final drink of the night. The bubbles dance around your mouth as the liquid begins to spill out a little, soaking your mouths equally. His hand navigates your thighs, playing around the hem of your dress to ease it further up. You push his hand back, breaking away from him to stand and lean against the table.

“Are you always like this or are we just getting too drunk?” You giggle nervously, squeezing your thighs together.

Yahya sits back, wiping his hand over his mouth slowly as he stares you down. “My head is clear, ok? I always liked the tradition of what’s mine is yours, and yours is mine. Two people, becoming one union.” His index fingers meet each others tip to point up at you.

You’re both breathing erratically, staring at each other daring who will pull the next move. You reach for the bottom of your dress, hiking it up slowly past your thighs exposing your lower half. Yahya’s eyes shoot to your undergarments letting out a low whistle, standing up in front of you, reaching under your dress to grip your behind.

“Is this what you want too?” Yahya asks as you feel his fingers slipping the waist of your panties slowly down.

You breathe out hard, locking eyes, your arousal reaches a peak where you forget how to speak.

“Y-yes.” You squeak out, lifting your hips so he can pull them completely down. He kneels in front of you, pulling one foot and the other out of your shoes then goes to look up at you.

“Your legs are fucking sexy, you know that?” he says as you feel him trace your marks and kisses the front of them.

You snort, wiggling a finger to signal him to stand up. “I thought the same of you when you finally got that coat off, with your long ass. Take something else off.”

His smile shines as he pulls his shirt out his pants and pulling it over his head. Your hands can’t stop from touching his physique, mentally counting every muscle lacquered in the finest deep tone melanin you seen in real life.

“You can’t be real,” you gasp as he unbuttons his pants. You quickly begin to take off your dress, thanking God you didn’t go with a bra today.

When he unzips his pants he stops you. “Slow down, don’t rush. I wanna take my time with it. Lay back a second.”

You do as you’re told, sitting on the edge of the table instinctively spreading your thighs apart. Yayha strokes his chin, licking his lips as he kneels before you, propping your legs further apart you feel yourself swell with desire, biting your lip in anticipation.

Yahya holds one leg up as his other hand traces yours lips. He looked like someone constructing a finger painting, eyes concentrated as his digits worked circles around your sensitive area. Your legs twitch every so often when he moves to slow, coaxing his telepathically to go lower or higher. Once he does, your back bends demonically, exorcising your cares as you moan with delight. You fall back into the table, squishing the fruit laid under your without. But nothing compared to his mouth fully consuming you. Your legs buckle around his ears as he suckles upon your throbbing clit, you feel yourself approaching the edge, cursing yourself for cumming too soon. You make the mistake of looking down to see his wide tongue gently stroke you. Your legs flies up too fast, knocking the champagne off the table.

“Oh shit! Fuck!” You curse, feeling slightly lightheaded.

Yahya goes to grab it but you pull him back forcing him to stand. Pulling him hard into you, you kiss sloppily, leaving no drop behind as you taste yourself, your drinks, your night all at once.

Yahya pulls back, bring you close to him before pushing you over face first onto the table.

“You cussin more about the bottle than me.” Yahya says as he pulls his draws down, holding your hips still and pushing your ankles apart.

You feel yourself crushing the strawberries under your but could not give a single fuck about it.

“I didn’t wanna make a mess, is all.”

He sucks his teeth as you feel his tip rub against your vulva. “Shit. That’s all I wanna do now. Which one should it be? Clean? Or dirty?”

Before you can answer, you feel his breath on your neck as he plants wet kisses, sliding his tongue down your back. You hear him making it sloppy and it threatens you to flip the table.

“Dammit, give it to me, baby please.” You look back at him with your head in the table watching him smile as he plants on hand one your lower back and pushes in gently.

You fingers almost rips a hole in the tablecloth as you tense up under his girth.

“Be easy. You can do this, I got you.” He says with a raspy voice, pushing further and deeper into you, wrapping his arms around to grip your breasts as you prop yourself on your elbows for support.

“Ohh shit.” You exclaim, feeling yourself stretch in a way the felt completely new. Your walls squeezed tightly, not wanting to let go of this new visitor.

Yahya exhaled sharply as he pulled back, letting you feel your lungs expand again until his next stroke came down on you. He keeps the pace slow, whispering in your ear.

“You like me inside you?” He asks. You nod.

“Tell me it feel good.” Yahya says. You grunt, biting your lip as you try to concentrate on your next nut.

His hand grabs your hair at the nape of your neck. “What was that?”

You gasp delightfully, taking the pain with pleasure. “It’s so good, baby.”

“You showing me it’s good. Keeping wettin me down like I like.” Yahya laughs, curing under his breath as he digs into you deeper, pulling out less. Your ass bounces against his hips instinctively asking for more.

“I wanna hear you too, baby. This mine and it’s yours.” You snarl, bouncing back on him until you body deceives you. The pace gets too good before you begin to curl into yourself, letting your orgasm take over.

“I can help you with that.” He grunts, lifting one leg up on the table, hitting you at a new angle he pounds into you, repeating how good your pussy is, demanding you cum on him right there.

You body twists under him, reaching back for him to ease up, typical fight or flight despite how good it feels. He pins your wayward arm behind your back.

His strokes slow down but dig deeper. The feel of his big tongue licking up your spine makes you squeal and twist under his advantage.

“Shit you making me cum aAGAIN,” you breathe hard.

He licks his lips, kissing each spot along his trail, letting your arms go to envelope your hands with his on the table.

“These berries taste better on you,” he moans in your ear.

“I love your tongue all over me. I’d marry that fucking tongue of yours. Fucking...shit!”

“Oh shit, oh shit.” Yahya barks as his body tenses up as he begins to pull away, face completely without chill until he pulls out of you, jacking himself furiously onto your ass. You feel the shoots of cum hit your behind, like confetti after a race. Your come down is filled with accomplishment as you hear him moan until he has emptied himself completely, smacking your thigh for emphasis.

“That’s what I call a wish came true.” He says proudly. Turning you over to kiss you deeply. Although you’re both exhausted yourselves, his kisses get better with each one. Tongue less timid, mouth more open, lips sucked dry.

You sit up, feeling like you just touched down from being in the clouds. Yahya pulls you into him, looking you over, checking the necklace around your neck again.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t wanna go yet.” He says.

You sigh deeply putting your face in his chest. “I won’t ask you to stay.”

“I wish you would.” Yahya says seriously. “I won’t if you don’t want me too, but I don’t feel right being here without you saying you want me here.”

You look over his face for sincerity. If only that was a superpower, because he looks the same as you seen all day.

You reach for his hands walking him towards your bed as you sit down on it in front of him.

“Come on and stay. I ain’t got this king size for nothing.”

Yahya climbs over you in his stark nakedness to get to the other side and under the blanket. You find this hilarious, snuggling under the blankets with him, letting the plush warmth envelope you both. He pulls you closer as y’all lay face to face in the dark.

“Did you want to sleep with me when you saw me?” You ask.

Yahya takes a beat before answering. “Hell yes.”

You smack his face softly. He still screams ow.

“What am I supposed to say!”

“Something more gentlemanly.”

“Like you ain’t wanted to sleep with me? I saw your eyes on me at the bar. Felt like a piece of meat.”

“That’s what you are. An A1, Grade A, lean cut 80/20 muthafucka.” You say with some funk in your voice.

“Wooow, I’m a whole butcher shop to you.” He says with feigned hurt, feeling your face. You hands go from warming between your thighs to reaching out for his, running your hand up and down. You run the back of your hand across his stomach, feeling his breath inhale and exhale.

Without a word he takes the back of your neck, pushing your face into his with renewed vigor. Your hand reaches his dick, firmly stroking his shaft as he grows under your touch. You crawl over him, pushing him on his back so you can straddle him while he bear hugs you on top of him, sucking your neck. You nibble his ear as you continue to stroke him off, teasing yourself with his tip.

“If this is my favorite thing about you, could you blame me?” You moan in his ear.

“My favorite thing is what you do with your favorite thing.” He says before his eyes roll back once you finally sit yourself properly on top of him.

You feel your eyes open and the room is completely bright with light. You pull the covers over your head with displeasure, attempting to get a few more winks until you realize where you are and what you did. Your eyes shoot open, looking down at your naked frame. Now you really don’t dare stick your head out of the blanket for fear of seeing him or being in this room by yourself. You see the necklace still hanging off of you, he wouldn’t leave that behind right? You take it off and stare at it again. Did you really convince someone to be your husband for a night? And he was crazy enough to say yes? Your head pounds from last night’s activities, forcing you to sit up at least. You look over and find the bed empty beside you. You groan and cover your face. Duh! Why wouldn't he toot and boot. You look around the room at remnants from last night. Bottle on the floor, crushed strawberries, dress and panties in the middle of the floor. Nope, that wasn’t a dream after all. You scoot off the bed and head for the bathroom door to freshen up. When you open the door, you see him standing there, dick in hand, standing at the toilet.

“You’re up?”

You let out a scream as you suddenly feel your nakedness. Yahya jumps with fright as you run back to the bed and burrow under the covers.

“What’s wrong with you?” You hear his voice growing closer.

“Are you dressed?” you mewl from under the covers. This generates a chuckle from Yahya. You feel weight on the side of the bed and you peek to see the man framed by the golden rays of the sun sitting up in his underwear looking at you with amusement.

“I didn’t wanna wake you, my alarm woke me up.”

“What were you doing in the bathroom?” you ask.

“....peeing?” He says cautiously.

“No! I mean, why are you still here? How?”

Yahya folds his arms in thought. “I was hoping we could get breakfast or something. See what you look like in the daylight.” He pulls at the blanket around your head but you hold it tight.

“I’m not decent,” you whisper.

Yahya laughs. “I think you’re pretty decent. I’m not erasing last night, I hope you aren’t.”

You feel for the nightstand and reach to give him the necklace back. He takes it while holding on to your hand. You feel something familiar surge from his touch.

“My energy hasn’t changed from last night. I wanna know you as a woman, understand? I’m not worried about how we met.”

You take your hand away and sit up, pulling the blanket over your chest. “Less than 24 hours ago and we fucked. I really don’t do that.”

“I don’t either! If we both were truthful, we got out of committed relationships and found something familiar with each other. I’m not gonna let that slip by, that’s connection.”

You hug yourself, looking around at remnants of yesterday around the room until you met eyes with the main memory sitting beside you.

“Breakfast. But we gotta slow down, ok? It just makes things blurred and messy.”

He places a hand over his heart and one in the air. “Promise! I’ll get dressed, and you should have some hot water for the shower still.”

You barely hear as you watch those shapely legs stroll across the floor carrying that fine ass you can fully appreciate from his tight underwear. He picks up his pants, shaking them out.

“Oh, wait. Come here.”

Yahya looks at you, walking back with his pants in his hands to your side of the bed.

“You got something right here…” You paw at one side of your face, watching him mirror you until you wave him to come closer. He leans down for you to have his face but instead you hold him, kissing him gently.

You pull back,gripping his chin. “I would like to see you in the daylight too.”

Part 2

#yahya abdul mateen ii fic #shakafic

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frenchtoast-onthe-coast · 3 years

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Weekend in Orange County, CA

After living in Orange County for several years, I know firsthand that there are endless ways to spend your time. Below, you will find a weekend itinerary I put together to give you the experience of truly living like one of the locals. Especially now during the coronavirus pandemic, I know how important it is to remain safe. That is why all the places I’ve suggested offer outside eating and dining and involve several outdoor activities, all of which follow the CDC guidelines. Feel free to let me know what your experience has been in OC or which place in California you’d like me to blog about next!

A weekend guide to enjoying OC

Friday - Laguna Beach, CA

First, head down the scenic Pacific Coast Highway to beautiful Laguna Beach. I would suggest checking out the hiking trails at Top of the World, but make sure you have a water bottle and comfortable shoes. If you’re not much into hiking, you can keep driving along the 133 and find your way to the Pacific Marine Mammal Center, where you'll be able to see and learn about some recovering seals. While both attractions are free, the Pacific Marine Mammal Center is ran by volunteers and donations are greatly appreciated.

Afterwards, you can enjoy a beautiful view and dinner at the Crystal Cove "Beachcomber" restaurant at sunset. While this experience may be a little pricey, the panoramic views of Laguna at sunset will be worth it.

If you're driving in from out of town, I'd suggest finding an Airbnb or hotel somewhere in the Anaheim or City of Orange area. With many options for every budget, you'll be right in the center of O.C., having an easy drive to any and all of your destinations.

Saturday - Huntington Beach, CA

For Saturday morning's breakfast or brunch, I'd recommend Mama’s on 39 in Huntington Beach. Mama's is laid back and delicious, what a great way to start your Saturday in OC. Their newspaper menus and homestyle cooking give it such a chill vibe. I'm not going to tell you how to live your life, but ordering one of their “Thrifty” brand ice cream milk shakes is an absolute must!

An entertaining way to enjoy your day in Huntington Beach is a nice bike ride. Right up the street from Mama's on 39 is EV Rideables, a bike shop that offers rentals by the hour and by the day. They have many bike rental options to choose from depending on your comfort level. Their offers range from the classic, one gear beach cruiser, an electric pedal bike, all the way to a super sweet, electric tricycle. No matter which you decide on, you'll be getting around in style and sight-seeing like one of the locals.

During (or after) your bike ride, what could be more "so-cal" than enjoying Huntington State Beach and pier for the afternoon? Swim in the ocean, or watch the surfers as you take in the sun and ocean breeze. Make sure to stop at Northside Market down the street on your way in. There you can buy firewood and supplies to make s'mores once the sun sets. Make sure you're early getting to the bon fires, as many others enjoy the night-time memories made at Huntington Beach.

Since Huntington Beach is not one of the California beaches where you're legally allowed to consume alcohol, you'll have to cross the street to one of the many bars when you're looking for a night-cap. If you’re over 21 and your throat is feeling dry, stop into Treehouse at Tanner’s and enjoy the night-time ambiance with an intimate patio, filled with string lights and fire pits to keep you warm.

Sunday - Santa Ana / Orange, CA

For your last breakfast for the weekend in O.C., I'd suggest checking out Santa Ana’s Black Market Bakery where you can enjoy their fresh brewed coffees and espressos along with an in-house and made from scratch pastry or breakfast “Eggywiches” – the Farmhouse is my go-to!

Then, make your way over to Irvine Regional Park (which is actually in the city of Orange). There, you can drive around the scenic, paved roads and check out the Irvine Park Railroad. You can choose from horseback riding, paddleboat rentals, train rides, or go to the Orange County Zoo. If you’re looking for a more relaxing wrap up to the weekend, you can find your way to the snack bar and concessions they have there. You can then head over to a picnic table to play some cards or a game of dominos. With the miles of walking and hiking trails, you can exercise a bit to ease the guilt of all the indulging you’ve enjoyed this weekend. It can be a nice relaxing stroll along the walking and low impact trails to one of the more vigorous hiking paths this historic park – the oldest regional park in all of California – has to offer.

Feel free to head home when you’ve had your fill of OC, just make sure to be out of Irvine Regional Park by 6:00pm, or the park rangers will politely remind you that your memorable experience here must come to an end, but keep in mind: you'll always be welcomed back.

As I mentioned, there are countless ways to enjoy your time visiting Orange County, California. Here is a general link to find how others have spent their time in OC.

(While I have been to and enjoyed all of these places, I do not claim any of these images as my own)

#california #orange county #travel #illustration

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violetsmoak · 5 years

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Appetence [1/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn't expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #cemetery #haunting #relics

Canon-Compliance: Alternate Universe; Jason still died but was not found by Talia when he was resurrected. All other events mostly follow the same chronology as New Earth continuity, with mentions made to events in New 52

Author’s Note(s): My attention span was really terrible today and I couldn't focus on either of my two other fics even though the next chapters of both are completely planned out. So I'm posting the start of the third (and final) story that I'm doing for the JayTimWeek/Month challenge. Also, I'm really excited about this one. I spent more time planning this than either of the other two and I can't wait to hear what you guys think!I've got work stuff to do tomorrow so there may not be anything updated until Friday.

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

The Bat-Signal cuts through the dark and hazy clouds lingering above Gotham City, and for a split-second, Jason Todd has the urge to drop everything and race for the roof of the GCPD Headquarters. It’s hard to ignore the nervous jump of excitement in his stomach, the phantom sensation of a domino mask on his face and the heavy drag of a cape at his shoulders.

Which makes no sense, since it’s been at least five years since I even wore that shit.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, the smoke mixing with the familiar summer smog, Jason turns his back on Gotham’s literal beacon of hope and steels himself against nocturnal threats of his own. The city is for the caped crew—because apparently, the Bat has a posse now, he thinks with only a hint of a bitter sneer—and Jason has been fighting in a different arena for quite some time now.

He takes a final drag of the cigarette, and then grinds it beneath his boots, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. It’s a weathered and worn thing that reminds him of one Willis Todd wore in one of the few memories Jason has of him that doesn’t involve alcohol or fists. He thinks it’s less pretentious looking than a trench coat and probably gives off fewer ‘creepy motherfucker’ vibes like the sartorial choices of certain other people. It’s also less likely to snag on things when he needs to make a quick exit while digging up graves.

Yeah, it’s a thing in his line of work.

Gotham Cemetery is a sprawling necropolis, as dark and forbidding now as it was the night he dug himself out of his own grave. Half a decade of Gotham-style tender, loving negligence has left the somber green hills overgrown and the majority of the old tombstones fallen or rotting.

You’d think in a city with the highest homicide rate in the country, the mayor would spring for better maintenance. Then again, it’s Gotham. The dead don’t pay taxes, so fuck ‘em.

Which…enough said.

Gotham and the world think Jason Todd-Wayne is dead and has been for five years now; in a way, it’s the truth. He’s no longer anything like the boy that was beaten to death by a psychotic clown, no longer the shrimp who fastidiously dyed his hair black and jumped into someone else’s cape and pixie boots just so he didn’t have to be his own screwup self anymore. He outgrew wanting to be Dick a long time ago, outgrew wanting to be Bruce, too, and embraced a whole new other set of skills to put him apart from them.

Most occultists and even homo magi need to put conscious effort and intent into calling up or even seeing a spirit. Ever since Jason died and then mysteriously got better, the dead appear to him as blatantly and a solid as the living.

John told him he was a fool to come back here.

“Someone with your gifts, they’ll drive you bloody mad,” his mentor warned him when he left London. “And I ain’t talking about the dead ones, neither.”

“You’re just saying that because Batman wouldn’t hold your hand that one time,” Jason retorted, shrugging off the concern. He is Gotham born and bred, his blood is in those streets, and he has always wanted to come home, even if it wasn’t necessarily to a stately manor or its inhabitants.

He clenches his fists.

Inhabitants that wasted no time in replacing him after he died. Jason was rotting away in fucking Arkham, and Bruce was shoving another kid into the tights.

If it didn’t involve seeing him, I would hunt him down and break his jaw.

He surveys the graveyard proper. The everyday observer considers cemeteries to be places of peace and eternal rest; quiet, if a little bit spooky. To Jason, they’re as gruesome as any major battlefield.

Spirits pack the way before him; some of them look relatively normal if dated by their clothes; many others are disfigured and bloody from whatever killed them, whether natural or unnatural. They clamor and crowd, eternally shouting to be heard, or screaming as they relive their deaths in their own personal purgatories.

In the beginning, that din almost drove Jason insane. Bruce’s teachings kept him rational as long as it could in the months after he woke up, and then John’s training helped him temper his own awareness further. By now, he can function almost normally, automatically filtering the voices out as he goes about his daily business; it’s only in places like this, where the dead outnumber the living, where it’s harder.

Jason reaches up, adjusting the noise filters in his ears—mechanical devices that need regular winding but are still more reliable than anything running on electricity of batteries. They’re like steampunk hearing aids, only instead of magnifying sound, they drown out the constant moan of the ghosts when he can’t do it himself. Just one of many methods of protection he’s learned over the years. Some are physical, like the prayer beads wrapped around his wrist or the bottle of holy water in his pocket; others—spells and symbols and mantras—are carved all over his body in tattoos and blood writing. Anything to keep the otherworld away.

“Personal space is a key to a medium’s sanity,” John told him once. “That and a good bottle of single malt scotch.”

Jason ignores the moss-covered path that winds through the larger and more prominent mausoleums. He deliberately doesn’t search out the one in the distance bearing the Wayne crest—

(Still remembers the feel of his fingernails splitting against the wood of the coffin, choking on clumps of soil and insects.)

—and instead seeks a small structure much farther away. It’s in the furthest part of the cemetery, the shabby section almost hidden by overgrown willows. Half of the name above the doorway is obscured by vines, but it’s easy for him to make out the name etched into the stone with bold letters.

HAYWOOD.

According to the public record, Sheila Haywood’s body was returned to Gotham at the same time as Jason Todd’s. Bruce paid for her funeral and internment, which was just as well since she had no other family, and then she was promptly forgotten about.

By everyone except Jason, it seems.

It took some doing and a few weeks tracking down everyone that had worked at the same refugee camp as his mother, but he’d finally managed to collect what possessions she left behind. A colleague of hers had put them aside when there appeared to be nothing of actual monetary value in them.

A gold coin, small bone carvings of stylized animals, dainty trinkets of garnets, amber and lapis lazuli, a compact mirror, some seashells, a decorative fan, quartz paperweight, and a brightly colored feather. There was a picture of Willis in there, too, young and almost Jason’s double. No picture of Jason, though, but he hadn’t expected it.

He kept the picture but left the rest in the small wooden box, which he now removes from his messenger bag and sets down in front of the stone bearing his mother’s name. He follows that with various tools and ingredients. Black candles arranged in a star shape around the box, a chalice, a jar of detritus—teff seeds, driftwood and soil, all from the place where she died—that he sprinkles around in a circle, a handful of smooth obsidian stones to mark a pentagram joining the candles, the dagger John gave him for his last birthday, vials of oil and holy water.

Murmuring a few protection oaths, he shrugs off his jacket, leaving his arms bare, and then digs out a pack of matches to light the candles; flickering shadows dance across the mausoleum walls. He takes up the chalice to combine the water and oil, and then reaches for the dagger.

Hate this part.

Training to ignore pain doesn’t mean it goes away, and he grits his teeth a little as he draws his blade across his forearm, not deep enough to nick anything vital, but enough that the blood runs easily into the chalice. Without bothering to bandage the wound, Jason holds up the chalice in front of him and centers himself.

“Phantasma inrequietum, te voco,” he intones. “Eloguiorum mei audi: Sheila Haywood, te nominas!“ The stagnant air in the mausoleum starts to pick up. “In nominee creatricis, te impero, hic locum decede.” Hand over the top of the chalice, he swirls the liquid within, and then tips it into the open keepsake box. “Per sanguinem hominis et per sanguinem filii tui, non remane et apage! ”He strikes a match and lobs it into the box, not even flinching as the whole thing flares into flame; he intends to watch it until it burns to nothing.

“That’s not going to work, you know.”

“Jesus fuck!” Jason explodes, whirling to the right and glaring at the interrupter. “What did I say about sneaking up on me? Or just—showing up around me in general?”

The apparition in front of him doesn’t look impressed.

Sheila is still beautiful—or, at least, the side of her body that isn’t covered with third-degree burns and sections of pulverized bone—and still sharp. Cold, untouchable and self-interested.

But unlike the way she was before, she’s all-too present in Jason’s life now.

“Goddamn it,” he snarls, and against every lesson John has ever given him, lashes out and knocks the candles and detritus hard enough to send it skidding across the floor. “What the hell. I’ve done everything. You had last rites, your body was cremated, I just torched the things that had any value to you, why the hell won’t you just move on?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” Sheila replies, as always.

Jason scowls. “And of course, you can’t just tell me.”

She gazes at him balefully, and he runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Sheila, we’ve been over this. You can’t stay here. One, you know spirits that stick around past their time go Dark Side, and I really don’t want to have to exorcise your spectral ass. Two, it’s fucking creepy for a twenty-year-old guy to be followed around by his mother wherever he goes. What the hell is keeping you here? What more do you want from me?”

“Your forgiveness,” she tells him patiently.

“I already forgave you. Years ago.”

“You still call me Sheila.”

“That’s your name.”

“I’m your mother.”

“Who sold me out and got me murdered.”

“See? You haven’t forgiven me.”

“I have. I’m just stating a fact, Jesus…”

“Apparently the cosmic balance doesn’t agree enough to let me move on,” the ghost says dryly. “And to think, I used to be an atheist.”

“This is total bullshit,” Jason snaps, grabbing his jacket and stalking out of the mausoleum in frustration.

Three years of this mediumship crap, and neither he nor John have ever been able to figure out why the ghost of Jason’s dead mother won’t stop haunting him. Wards and sutras that keep even the nastiest spirits away from Jason don’t even phase her, and she’s inexplicably coherent.

And persistent.

As Jason stalks back through the cemetery, he can sense her in his periphery, gliding along beside him, unconcerned with his irritation.

“Can you just…stay away from me? Like you did in the beginning?” he grumbles.

“You were just learning how to communicate without going insane. I wasn’t about to disrupt that.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I try.”

“Look, I’ve had enough of the ghost-stalker thing for today. I went out of my way for this, you know. I didn’t even want to come back here. And now I’m back to the fucking drawing board.”

“It may not have been a waste of a trip,” she replies and vanishes.

“Oh, you can fuck off when it’s convenient for you,” he grumbles, though he already senses what she was speaking of.

Several yards away, a small boy, maybe eight, is clinging forlornly to an angel headstone. Translucent tears stream down his cheeks, but every now and again his face shifts, like a television caught between two channels, and his mouth widens into an unnatural smile.

Jason could have gone the rest of his life without seeing that smile again.

Still, he sighs and heads toward the kid.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice low and maintaining a safe distance from the boy, whose head whips up to stare at Jason in sudden fear.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice thick with tears.

“I’m Jason. You okay, kid?”

“I can’t find my mom,” the boy murmurs, wiping at his face. “I keep going looking, but I forget the way home. And then…I always end up back here.”

He sounds on the verge of tears again; it’s something Jason can understand.

With the puzzling exception of Sheila, who appears to come and go as she pleases, most ghosts are stuck in certain patterns and paths when they die, frozen in an infinite loop until they break themselves out of it or until some arbitrary higher power decides they’ve suffered enough. And for some reason, Jason can break them out of it.

“You could always try again,” he suggests. “I think you’ll manage it this time.”

The boy shudders. “There’s scary people here.”

No arguing with that.

“I know. I see them, too.” Jason glances at the headstone, scanning the name and dates. “Your name’s Cole?”

“Yeah.”

“If you’re missing, there are probably people looking for you. They might have posted something online about it. I’ll check it out, but it could take a bit.” He holds up his phone, glad to see it’s at full charge and bars; that’s hit or miss around so many ghosts. “Can you hang around here until I’m done?”

The boy nods, silent, face flicking back and forth between sadness and the unnatural smile.

Fucking Joker…

Jason does a quick search of the kid’s name, pulling up obituaries in the Gotham Gazette in the past year. It doesn’t take long for an article to pop up concerning the Joker’s latest escape and a list of the dead.

He narrows his eyes, startling the kid.

“It’s fine,” he lies. “The internet is just really slow.”

“Or our phone is really bad,” Cole tells him with the blunt honesty of a kid that grew up constantly surrounded by functional technology.

“Everyone’s a critic…”

Another quick search for the parents, phone lists and social media, and he’s got an address. Crime Alley, of course. He brings it up on his map and enables a view of the street, holding the phone out to the boy. “Is this your house?”

Relief settles and settles over his face. “Yeah.”

“What if I helped you find your way home?”

Cole makes a suspicious face. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.”

“Which is really smart. But you see, I’m not really a stranger.”

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a secret.” Jason bends down, conspiratorial, and Cole’s eyes gleam the way any kid gets when hearing a secret. “When I was a little older than you…I was Robin.”

The boy gapes. “Like…Batman and Robin?”

“Exactly.”

“No way!”

“Way,” Jason smirks, crossing his arms. “And I’ll tell you all about it on the way to your house. Including the time that I stole the wheels off the Batmobile.”

“No way!”

Despite his scandalized disbelief, the kid is obviously hooked.

Jason’s heart clenches a bit at the open curiosity on Cole’s face, the reality hitting him that this boy will never have a chance to do anything mischievous or fun ever again.

From one dead boy to another, this sucks…

As he leads him out of the cemetery, Jason starts to tell the little ghost about his life. He edits out the less pleasant bits, like dying and returning to life half brain dead with the ability to see and hear ghosts.

He figures a good story is the least he can do for the boy.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

#jaytimweek2019 #jaytimweek #jaytim #jaytimbingo2019 #fanfic #jaytim fic #jason todd #tim drake #prompt: supernatural #romance #drama #mystery #angst #cemetery #haunting #relics

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folerdetdufoler · 5 years

Text

about a minute after i pulled away from my house on tuesday i realized i forgot my pink face paint but it was already too late to turn around. doing something like that would cause the dominoes of delays to topple and i wouldn’t actually make my flight. for that sacrifice i was rewarded smooth travel, but that meant my friday was a little less...fredag-y. alas.

i woke up for the sunrise again, and was rewarded with a mostly clear sky. the weather was turning out better than expected, which was good because i was planning on some walking today. the night before jenn invited me to ett bord for lunch, so that was my first scheduled event for the day, but i had some stops i wanted to make for personal, skam-related reasons.

after a leisurely breakfast i got dressed and applied sunscreen. then i messaged with nadège to figure out where to meet up on my way to nissen. i wanted to visit the national gallery, even though it was closed, as just a final nod to the museum that inspired rule of seven. we managed to message a firm meet up and then completely miss each other on the street, but we got our shit together eventually and made it to the museum. it was a little sad, if only because another tourist came up to us asking where the entrance was, and we had to break the news that the museum was closed at that location. granted, it was probably confusing seeing us taking pictures of the building as if it were still an active site, but still less confusing than the instructions i tried to give them about visiting the new museum in 2020 (uhhhh wtf kerry).

we moved on. we went to the school for no reason other than to step back into that world for a little bit, check up on the benches. we went to the KB for a drink, and then walked to the restaurant. i’m glossing over most of this because a lot of what was said during this time made me uncomfortable, and it all kind of built up over the next few hours until i snapped at lunch. i didn’t speak out or anything, i just capslocked on twitter once and then tried to tune everyone out. for some reason the restaurant was playing exclusively ed sheeran songs, so i just listened to that instead. i plucked heads and exoskeletons off of shrimp and drowned myself in lukewarm pop music.

the food was good. it was the first time i’d eaten shrimp like that. i don’t know what i was expecting, ordering “norwegian shrimp,” but that was exactly what it was and i shouldn’t have been so shocked. but in general i powered through.

after lunch i went back to the hotel to change before the park. i didn’t have my face paint but i was going to wear a skirt because it was robyn and apparently “one step up from the bare minimum” is my love language. i fell asleep at some point in my preparations, and woke up with my thumb still scrolling through instagram. then i was late, and missed seeing girl in red. but i found my girls as they migrated to the next stage, and was blessed with an absolutely electric performance from christine and the queens. it was another artist i’d never listened to before but i instantly regretted that; she blew us away with her energy and attitude and message, pumping out songs that your heart somehow already knew. it was a good mood-lifter, which i sorely needed after that afternoon.

okay well hold the phone because it’s been weeks since i started writing this post and i definitely lost my train of thought. after christine and the queens we went to get food. after we found a table to sit at, jenni, taru, and kati found us to do some hilarious candy trades. i was not aware of how valuable reese’s are overseas. but the point of mentioning this is that i was being wildly rude to these women because i was not sure who they were, and thus acted very cold. jenn had actually introduced me to jenni the day before and i simply did not connect her to the person i had chatted with online, someone i already knew. so i just compartmentalized them into “oh these are jenn’s friends” and kept myself out of their conversations. it’s kind of a generally rude thing to do, to shut myself off instead of trying to integrate with small talk, but here it was extra rude because i seemed to be ignoring the fact that we’d already “met.” gah! also i’m not sure when i finally connected the dots, but it was late enough to feel deep embarrassment about it and not really figure out how to apologize about it. so i didn’t. i think i tried to be more friendly when we met up the next day but knowing me i probably wasn’t. anyway, i apologize both for how i acted and for not acknowledging it/apologizing for it in person. i usually have a good reason for being rude, but this time it was just...insecurities? ugh.

okay so...the rest of the evening was just ROBYN. we tended to always gather around the same location, stage right, not too close but decently close because i fucking flew to oslo for this. and with every successive evening, the crowds were packed in tighter and more likely to dance. i was still trying to get used to the general lack of personal space but pretty early on i just gave up trying to stand my ground, letting people push past me and not worrying about who i was pushing in return. like, no one was going to win the fight for whatever little patch of grass you were standing on.

it was also an interesting experience as someone who is very aware of how much space she takes up in this world (too much!), being forced to acknowledge that constantly by the pressure of other people against my front and back. it didn’t help that i was wearing a backpack. but most of the time i can ignore that “bigness” by only being in spaces that allow me to fit with ample air around me. (the closest i get to other people these days is my airplane seat.) at a general admission concert though, that doesn’t exist. so i would sing and dance and think about weighing 237 pounds. i don’t know if it was necessarily a bad thing, just a new thing, and it was probably actually good to have that constant awareness, to shrink my comfort zone. i dunno. the real fight was me going back and forth thinking “i wish i took up less space” and “you deserve as much space as any other human being.”

clearly the problem with waiting a month to write a travel recap is that it actually becomes a therapy session about things that could’ve been figured out back in the states. so let’s really move on to robyn. leading up to the festival i’d been lazily following robyn’s tour, watching her play new york city twice and eating up every fan video of “dancing on my own,” where she let the crowd sing it for her simply because they were going to anyway. i was so excited to finally be part of that crowd, to hear the music like that, in my bones. and i did.

i tried to get my picture-taking out of the way at the beginning, because all i needed was one clear photo that could prove i was there. i don’t think i actually got it, but the important thing was i put my phone away and just enjoyed the music for most of her set. i had it ready to go when her two hits started, of course, but robyn, of all of the artists i’d seen, seemed most focused on creating an atmosphere for everyone to just be in. we had billowing curtains and sensual dancers that moved the air around us, which moved us too. we all were encased in lace with ribbons in our hair.

at some point i noticed a guy off to my right who was holding his plastic cup, the reusable one meant for the festival, and it was lit up. he had turned on his camera’s flashlight and was amplifying it through the bottom of the cup. i thought it was very clever and was impressed, wishing i could pause the concert to get enough space to retrieve my cup from my backpack and join him. i wanted to sway and hold up my lighter too.

i think i pointed it out to nadège in that pantomime way, just trying to direct her eyes away from the stage and hoping she’d figure the rest out on her own. she, of course, was already aware, because she then pointed out everyone else at the concert doing the same thing. i don’t know why i didn’t see it before, why i thought only this one guy was doing it, but the rest of the joint was lit up like a candlelight vigil. (looking back at the video i took during her bows, i’m realizing i simply didn’t see it because i’m too fucking short. i had to hold my phone up over my head to see the rest of the crowd beyond the border wall of shoulders around me.) she had the whole crowd at her feet, keeping watch, sending out electro-pop prayers.

i got what i came for. i got the rush of nostalgia for bånder, the single, freeing heartbeat of everyone dancing on their own, and the press of bodies to remind you you’re not actually alone. i was in oslo, the lights were blue, and i felt the pulse that’s been keeping me company ever since the clip dropped. as uncomfortable as my body might’ve been, my heart felt like it was where it belonged.

ugh that was some purple ass writing right there. and now i have to follow it up with “and then i walked back to the hotel.” because i did. i opened a new tab on my computer, and like it’s been doing for the past nearly-three years, it directed to the skam homepage. tap, tap, scroll, and then bånder was playing, chris was dancing, and isak and even were learning what electricity felt like with just a single point of eye contact.

then i was probably too buzzed to fall asleep for another couple of hours which is always a good life choice when you’re already severely sleep deprived. but when i did eventually nod off, i did so knowing that isak and even were on their way to falling in love, and an entire park had felt it too.

#kerryinoslo #rule of seven #i’m sure more stuff actually happened but i’ve been putting off writing for so long it’s now forgotten #it was a pretty emotional day #and i learned some things about myself

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raeloganthesonic06fangirl · 5 years

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How would the Toy Czar episode play out with Little Jacky?

Well, since we have to adjust for the fact that Little Jacky is a 10 year old and not a near 40-something year old destitute old businessman, then the underground Toy Kingdom would have to be minorly adjusted...

I suppose first off, the plot would be adjusted to be more about Little Jacky trying to get the other kids to play with toys instead of video games, going as far to convince them all the ditch school to hang out in his Toy Kingdom (which remains fundamentally the same, perhaps remnants of the old toy factory that may have been part of a family business or something, I'm still working out his backstory a bit *check bottom of post for a minor suggestion*).

And then he won't let them leave for fear of abandonment or something (like he doesn't have many friends, and this is the most people who's ever hung out with him at once, and he hasn't met the Fearsome yet), maybe even just as simple as he's not done with "playtime", or maybe he's getting angry that they aren't following the "rules" of the "game", and it quickly becomes a kid scale of a hostage situation where he has toy soldiers patrolling the exits and chatterteeth trained to find and return any escapees quickly and efficiently. Perhaps trapping any of those said escapees in cardboard jail boxes that are easy to get out of, but the chatterteeth are stationed as guard dogs there so it's much advised to not leave the box if you're put there.

Like, remember that "Codename: Kids Next Door" episode with that kid who was king of the sandcastle and all that?

We're talking that sort of level of domination. Little Jacky is going to be the Toy King, whether you want him to or not. And Mr. Banana Brain is going to be basically the "snitch" against all the other kids, seemingly able to relay information to Little Jacky when it shouldn't be possible ("Mr. Banana Brain here tells me one of you is planning on leaving when my back is turned. Who was it? First one to tell the truth will be my new best friend and you'll be allowed to play with the bestest toys in the whole kingdom!")

By the time Darkwing arrives, it's pretty much the same antics save for a few where it's clear that Little Jacky can't physically pull off (such as the Grim Reaper bit because the scythe would be way too heavy for him to safely hold, and he'd have some difficulty in pulling off the Puppet bit, since Darkwing would be far heavier than him, so there has to be another way to trip him into the block castle).

New bits added to compensate for that, perhaps maybe a large rideable toy train set chase scene (with them both having a "battle" that is basically Little Jacky kicking Darkwing in the shins repeatedly while in top of the train, and jumping around to avoid being grabbed) that ends with the playset's bridge being out and them having to dramatically jump off about three feet to the ground as the train goes off the track and inexplicably combusts when it hits the ravine about two feet off the bridge despite the set being electric powered. No one mentions the train set again and it's significance is never noted.

Or, maybe the small explosion of the train set sets off a chain reaction of a single marble rolling away and activating a Rube Goldberg Machine-esque of unbelievably conveniently placed objects toppling into each other and ending ultimately with a set of dominos falling over to finally bump into the wood block castle (during with, they both stare at it in unison), which Little Jacky recognizes as a problem to the structural integrity of the thing and starts to book it well before Darkwing realizes its starting to fall.

Then the ending is pretty much the same, except there's a likely chance Mr. Banana Brain isn't a grenade, and maybe the emergency Inflatable Bobo Punching Bag doesn't actually do the thing it does in episode proper, but probably is a defective model that he can't get to work, so Darkwing is able to apprehended this child and take him back to the orphanage.

**Suggestion in mind for backstory: His family owned the toy factory before something happened that left the factory abandoned and Little Jacky eventually residing the orphanage. Details not specific, because I want to have room to tweak things more until I'm satisfied, maybe his parents are MIA, or maybe he's not the only one who's seen Paddywhack's box before..? Ideas, ideas, I need more time to really work things around, you'll see~**

#Little Jacky AU

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dustinreidmusic · 5 years

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Mac's Wild Years: By Michael Hurtt. Originally published in Offbeat Magazine

Mac Rebennack was born in 1941. Dr. John was born in 1967. What happened in between would color his whole musical career. "In New Orleans, everything--food, music, religion, even the way people talk and act--has deep, deep roots; and, like the tangled veins of cypress roots that meander this way and that in the swamp, everything in New Orleans is interrelated, wrapped around itself in ways that aren't always obvious."--Mac Rebennack In 1967, Malcolm Rebennack, Jr., exiled to the West Coast after a final drug bust that forbid him "to go to or through New Orleans," donned face paint, glitter and plumes and emerged as Dr. John the Night Tripper. His debut album Gris-Gris, and the stage shows that followed it, hawked a brand of psychedelic New Orleans R&B that mixed Mardi Gras Indian street chants with the primal gospel of holiness churches, the pianistic funk of Professor Longhair, heavy doses of hoodoo mysticism and nearly every shred of ritualistic South Louisiana culture that he'd absorbed during his decade and a half in the New Orleans music scene. From the drag shows at the Dew Drop Inn to the electric guitar evangelizing of the Reverend Utah Smith, it was a netherworld far stranger and more colorful than anything the pioneer of voodoo rock could have dreamed up. His role in it, though often been eclipsed by his later metamorphosis, established a reputation that would inform every aspect of his later musical life. Populated by high school greasers, high-rolling gangsters, down-and-out dope fiends and jive-talking record men, it was a world that had rapidly begun evaporating with the election of District Attorney Earling Carothers "Jim" Garrison in 1961. Prior to his widely known investigation into the Kennedy assassination, Garrison made his name locally by leading a systematic crack down on Crescent City vice that padlocked night clubs, juke joints and gambling dens. He often led the raids himself, pistol in hand, and by 1963 had managed to single-handedly dismantle the around-the-clock-party that had been Rebennack's entire young life. It had been one of after-hours jam sessions that lasted well into the next day, followed by "record dates" that produced aural snapshots that just reeked with crazed rock 'n' roll atmosphere: Jerry Byrne's frantic "Lights Out" and "Carry On," Roland Stone's narcotic anthem "Junco Partner," and Mac's own sinister, tremelo-charged "Storm Warning." "If we didn't have an artist and we had some studio time we'd just be the artist," Rebennack says of the sessions that produced hundreds of singles under monikers from Ronnie and the Delinquents to Drits and Dravy. The former's 1959 "Bad Neighborhood" was a greasy period piece if there ever was one. Meant to commemorate "the end of the zoot suit era," its gleeful lines of "Lie, steal, drink all day / good folks try to keep away," was an outright celebration of the lifestyle that Garrison sought to eliminate. And the Delinquents moniker was really no joke. "When we hired Ronnie Barron to be the singer with us, he was a li'l thug," says Rebennack, who'd had remarkably bad luck with great front men thus far. "We lost more singers to the penitentiary," he says, naming nearly everyone who preceded Barron with the exception of Frankie Ford. "Deadeye went to the joint for manslaughter, Jerry Byrne fell and went up for statutory rape, then Roland Stone went up on narcotics." Local disc jockey Jim Stewart once recalled that Rebennack's teenage bands "were always high, always late." But somehow through the haze, Mac would manage to simultaneously wear the hats of talent scout, A&R man, composer, producer, arranger, session musician, and when the need arose, singer. It might have stayed that way had Barron not refused to take on the Dr. John persona, which was invented with him in mind. Rebennack had started flirting with drugs when he was 12, already well seasoned in the art of skipping school and Mass to catch the street car to the early morning R&B jams at the Brass Rail. Since his father owned an appliance store that serviced jukeboxes, his childhood was spent wearing out stacks of hillbilly, jazz and blues 78s when they came off the boxes. Schooled on "Pinetop's Boogie Woogie" by his piano-playing aunt, he soon took up the guitar. By the time rock 'n' roll hit during his freshman year at Jesuit High School, he was more than ready. At Jesuit, Rebennack formed his first band the Dominos, with Henry Guerineau, then joined Guerineau's the Spades with whom he played "the Holy Father Circuit," as he refers it, starring at CYO dances from Redemptorist in the Irish Channel to Saint Anthony's in Mid-City. His teachers were current and future Fats Domino guitarists Papoose Nelson and Roy Montrell, who took an axe to young Mac's brand new green and black Harmony guitar. "He broke it all up, called my Pa and said, 'Mr. Rebennack, I ain't teachin' your son on that piece of shit. Go pick him out something nice.' I thought I was going to get killed. My Pa was hip, though. He knew it wasn't about the guitar as much as having that guitar to bring on the gig." Montrell took Mac to a pawnshop where he picked out a Gibson that he worked off lugging appliances for his dad. "My father didn't say a word til later," Rebennack wrote in his autobiography Under a Hoodoo Moon. "Apparently Roy had taken him aside and told him, 'I taught your son a lesson, that you don't get things because of the way they look. You get them on how they work." "He had a way of teaching that kept me coming back for more. During the lesson, he strung me along with ordinary riffs--but then right at the end he'd play some killer lick, his back turned so I couldn't see his fingers, and say, 'Hey, wanna learn that shit, kid? Come back next week. Now get the fuck outta here." Having already met studio owner Cosimo Matassa, who was a friend of his father, Rebennack spent his schooldays honing his songwriting skills. "Man, I used to go to school, I had a couple of comic books where the outside cover looked like a loose leaf binder. And I'd sit there in class reading that. They thought I was doing something in school but I'd be sitting there writing songs, ripping them off from Mad or Tales from the Crypt." He'd also begun hanging out at Warren Easton High School on Canal Street, a hotbed of hip musical activity that had already birthed New Orleans first bona-fide white rock 'n' roll band, the Sparks. It was here that he first encountered saxophonist Leonard James, whose band was blasting out a set of Sam Butera songs in the school gymnasium. It turned out that James knew all about the Brass Rail too, and dug the same hard-driving sounds as Rebennack did. They were soon rehearsing at James' house in the notorious St. Roch park neighborhood with guitarist Earl Stanley--now playing the recently introduced electric bass--and drummer Paul Staehle. "Leonard lived on Robertson not too far from the park and Stanley used to live around there on Dauphine," Rebennack says. "One of the things St. Roch Park was known for was as a good cop spot. St. Roch church was famous, too, because they'd take the grease out the bells by the cemetery, mix it with some graveyard dirt and some gun powder, add extra nitrate and put that all together with Patchouli oil to make goofy dust. Now, what you did with it was according to how rank a motherfucker you were." The mysterious worlds of drugs and hoodoo fascinated young Mac, but in his new musical partners he found an even deeper magic. "Paul Staehle was bad. I remember him having drum battles with Edward Blackwell and all the top drummers. And Stanley had a finger-plucking style of guitar like Snooks did, North Mexican shit that he'd learned from his daddy. He was into Earl King and Guitar Slim just like I was. We liked those cats because they did something different." Rebennack had picked up on the flamboyance of his guitar heroes a little too acutely for the priests at Jesuit, who'd brought his high school career to a halt after a Christmas talent show where they accused him of making "lewd gyrations" with his instrument. The real beef, Henry Guerineau later told Tad Jones, was that they were playing R&B instead of big band swing or Dixieland. "At the time," he recalled, "it was heresy." Stanley, who became the Spades' guitarist after Rebennack left the band, was having his own issues over at Nicholls High. "I used to hang with the gangsters, all the tough guys," Stanley says. "I was so bad they threw me out of Nicholls but they couldn't throw me out of school. So they asked me to leave and I went to McDonough on Esplanade for a couple of months, then I quit when I was 15. That was in '55. "I didn't know Mac when he was in the Spades. I just remember seeing him playing guitar at the dances. I thought, 'That guy's pretty good.' Then I got with Leonard and through Leonard I met Mac. They had a guy playing piano with them, Hal Farrar, he went by the stage names 'King Helo Attaro' and 'Spider Boy.' Now Hal was a character, he was the character of them all; the main lunatic. He liked to drink vodka, he could care less about anything, just a wild man. He used to have this Cugat jacket he'd wear and he'd play piano and try to do all of Little Richard's stuff. He even had the little moustache. In fact, he recorded the original demo of 'I've Been Hoodood' (later to become the flip side of the Dr. John hit "Right Place, Wrong Time") with Leonard." Vocalists Wayne "Deadeye" Herring and Jerry Byrne were also drifting into the group at this point. "We used to do the old low-down blues," Herring told Jones. "There weren't too many white bands that could do it. Back then if you sat in with a black band, boy, they'd jump on your ass when you come outside. People took a dim view of that but we did it anyway." While band names revolved from the Skyliners to the Loafers to the Night Trains to the Thunderbirds, the foundation remained James, Rebennack, Stanley and Staehle. "Crippled" Eddie Hynes and Eddie Shroeder often floated in on trombone and baritone sax respectively. "Whether it was Leonard's band or my band, it was all pretty much the same crew of guys," says Rebennack, "Nothing really changed other than we changed the name of the band quite frequently. It kinda helped us get some gigs and win some talent shows. We lost them under one name and won them under another." The core foursome debuted on wax with an album of raunchy guitar and sax instrumentals, Boppin' and A Strollin' with Leonard James, recorded for Decca in 1956. Rough, ready and loose, the LP was the perfect soundtrack of noir New Orleans; at once evocative of French Quarter strip joints, high school dances and hood hangouts like the Rockery Inn. Along with discs like the Saxons' "Camel Walk' and the Sparks' "Merry Mary Lou," it stands as a testament to city's incredibly potent--but often obscured--white rock 'n' roll underground. "Leonard always took pride in combing his ducktail perfect," recalls Rebennack. "I mean, he would stand in front the mirror for an hour and then put his be-bop cap on--perfect. He had his little zoot suit pressed, more than the rest of us. We'd just wear them. They were the kind that didn't wrinkle any way. "Leonard was a great hustler. He used to walk in joints where they never had a band in their life. I remember us getting a gig in the Ninth Ward at a grocery store. Leonard conned this guy into hiring us but he wanted country music. We didn't know any country music so we'd play 'Comin' Around the Mountain' or whatever. As long as we were working, we didn't care nothing about none of the rest of it." From dives like the Club Leoma, the Blue Cat and the Jet Lounge, they moved up to the Clock on St. Charles Avenue and finally, the Brass Rail. "While we were working there Paul Gayten says, 'If y'all want to keep the gig, you're going to have to quit playing songs like the record.' And that became kind of a theme with our band. We didn't play them like the records, we played them our way." Gayten also took issue with their slightly out-of-date stage wear. "We had the same suits for so long that I don't think anybody ever considered getting new uniforms until Paul started fuckin' with us: 'Nobody wears zoot suits in Chicago; they wear continental suits.' Man, here we had all our money invested in these royal blue zoot suits. And what do we do? We got some new suits from Harry Hyman's or old man Sutton's on South Rampart--continental suits--and we wore them in Gretna when they had a gang fight at Cass's Lounge. They throwed us all in the drainage ditch out behind the joint. We ruined our new suits and we hadn't even paid for them yet! "When we worked at any of them joints on the West Bank, shit happened. At Spec's Moulin Rouge, old man Spec used to have guys walking around with pieces dressed like police but they wasn't official police, they was just guys who worked for old man Spec. Gang fights was, like, prevalent. When the Choctaw Boys and the Cherokees would have their annual beef at the Wego Inn on the Hill, it would be around Carnival. And it would be like, 'Goddamn.' You know the shit's going to happen; it's just when it's going happen. I would be trying to play close to the slot machines that were on the bandstand because I figured the slots could deal with the slugs better than me. When I saw anything that looked like it could be trouble, I'd back up toward the slots. But this is the kind of shit you had to endure back in them days because you were dealing with a bunch of crazy motherfuckers. And we were crazy, too." If there was one song that distilled the insanity into the length of a 45 RPM record, it was Rebennack's "Lights Out," cut by Jerry Byrne for Specialty in 1958. Punctuated by stop-time drum breaks, a foghorn-like saxophone riff and a searing piano solo courtesy of Art Neville, "Lights Out" has justifiably been called "the perfect rock 'n' roll song." Byrne's breakneck vocal nods to a personality so bent on bringing the house down that fights--and sometimes worse--often ensued. "Jerry was one of them suckers who worked the house," says Rebennack, "but he was a piece of work. He drove me crazy a number of times in my life. He was special with that. Hey, guys wanted to shoot me over things Jerry did. He had the ability to kick up more shit with more motherfuckers than anybody I know." In 1959, Byrne cut Mac's equally boisterous "Carry On" and then got sent to prison on a trumped-up statutory rape charge. Deadeye was already behind bars. "It was a never-ending thing," says Stanley, "just make a record and things happen, you know?" Despite the trouble, says Rebennack, "our band was really popular." They'd toured with Frankie Ford behind "Sea Cruise" and Byrne behind "Lights Out" as well as backing the traveling rock 'n' roll caravans at both the Municipal Auditorium and Pontchartrain Beach Amusement Park. And the records kept coming, from Bobby Lonero's "Little Bit" to Morgus and the Ghouls' "Morgus the Magnificent." "I don't think any of us thought that much about doing a record date," reflects Rebennack. "The gigs were the fun part. When I started working for Joe Ruffino's record company, Joe asked my daddy if I could be the president of the company and my daddy says, 'What are you crazy? This boy can't even find his fuckin' shoes!' But there were so many guys we did sessions for like Andy Blanco at Drew-blan in Morgan City and a bunch of other guys that had different little labels in the country. We played on all of Cos's Rex stuff and then we did a lot of crazy stuff all through the days we were working for Johnny Vincent over at Ace. I remember we stole 'Jimmy Crack Corn' and called it 'Ain't No Use.' We cut 'Row Your Boat' with Big Boy Myles. And I don't know how many different versions of 'Junco Partner' we cut with Roland Stone. We were some plagiarizing motherfuckers." Stone, the most prolific of Rebennack's vocalists on record, had already blazed the white R&B trail with local luminaries the Jokers when he waxed the regional smash "Just a Moment" with Rebennack in 1961. His entrance roughly coincided with the departure of Leonard James, who was replaced by Charlie Maduell after he joined the Air Force. "Charlie was just as crazy as Leonard was, but Leonard never got high. On the other hand, Charlie fit right in with the rest of us because he liked the narcotics, too. Probably the only one that wasn't a really serious drug addict was Stanley. If we were somewhere in the country, we would burglarize drug stores. When we were in the city, we forged 'scripts. We were strung out dope fiends, what the hell you going to do? There was a pharmacy on the corner of Dorgenois and Canal that used to sell to all the dope fiends. You had to go in there and ask for certain things, that's when I started getting my collection of Mad comic books together. If I got a comic book and a bag of pork rinds, that meant I wanted some opiates. Everything you ordered meant something else. We used to have so much fun that who'd have ever thought we'd wind up in jail? "My favorite gig was when Roland was singing with us and we started working at Little Club Forest on Jefferson Highway. At Club Forest, you could tell what audience hit because when all the junkies would come in, they'd just want to hear 'Junco Partner' over and over. When the whores came in they'd want to hear whatever their song was that night. So there were all these songs that fit the set. That gig was so fuckin' off the hook, so much crazy shit happened at that gig alone, I couldn't even describe it. "Between Charlie Maduell and Paul Staehle, they would always hide the stash for the band. One night they had a raid and Paul had the whole band's stash in his sock. They didn't shake us down, but the FBI came in and they emptied the joint. Somebody paid everyone's bond and before the night was over, Wes, the Jefferson Parish narc, was selling the customers back their dope in the band room! This is how out there it was. "And then Charlie went out and walked the bar and did the dance of the Seven Veils. He's out and there doing a striptease walking the bar. It's one of them gigs that's printed in my brain. And we always had what we used to call our 'band-aids' back then. Before they called them groupies, we called them band-Aids." When Stone fell for one of the young ladies a little too hard, friction arose. "I told Roland, 'Hey, listen, you can't marry this girl. She's our girl. She belongs to the band.' I thought I was doing him a favor but it backfired. He was obviously pissed." Stone showed up for his next recording session with three henchmen in tow including prizefighter Pepi Flores. "They stomped my ass. Charlie went out and got a gun and was firing in the air. I says, 'Charlie, quit shooting in the air! Shoot these motherfuckers!' He didn't even have real guns. They were replica weapons he'd loaded up! But we all went to work the next night together. Me and Charlie wound up having to wear shades and makeup to hide the black eyes. That's when I learned, hey, when it comes to matters of somebody's heart, stay the fuck out of it." The good times had to come to an end and they eventually did. Stone was busted on a narcotics charge, as was Maduell, who remains in Angola today. Within just a few years, Paul Staehle would die of a drug over dose. Rebennack's own luck ran out on Christmas Eve of 1961 when he intervened in a scuffle between Ronnie Barron and a jealous club owner who accused Barron of having an affair with his wife. "I walked in to get Ronnie at the last minute because Ronnie was like Leonard James, he'd take forever to get himself all perfect. So I go to get him and the guy's pistol-whipping him. Miss Mildred, Ronnie's mama, said if anything happened to her son on the road she was going to take a butcher knife and chop my cajones off. So I'm thinking, 'Man, if anything happens to this guy, his mama's going to fuck me up.' And hey, she was much more frightening to me than this guy was. I thought I had my hand over the handle of the gun, but it was over the barrel. I'm beating his hand on the bricks and as I'm hitting it, all of a sudden the gun went off and my finger's just about to fall off of my hand. It was hanging by a piece of skin and then I went crazy. I took Paul Staehle's ride cymbal out the case and just fucked up the guy's face. I was trying to pull his eyeballs out his head." Doctors managed to reattach the finger, but Rebennack had trouble playing guitar with the intensity he'd become known for. He concentrated on the keyboard, playing organ on virtually all of Huey Meaux's New Orleans sessions, most notably those of Barbara Lynn and Jimmy Donley. The first--and perhaps wildest--chapter of his musical career officially came to a close when he was busted and sent to federal prison in Fort Worth, Texas. Upon his release in 1965 he headed to California and his future as the Night Tripper. "You know what the kicks of it was?" Rebennack asks. "We wanted to play music so bad that we didn't ever think about it. We were trying to make a hustle just off of the gigs and that was part of the fun of it. Everything we done, we had fun doing it. That was the one thing that I always treasured about them days. It was just something that happened. When you're young and crazy and stupid, you do a lot of crazy, stupid shit. But a lot of that shit is great because you're too stupid to know better. I know that we made it a point to always have kicks, to always have good times no matter what was going to go down. We never thought, 'Oh, this is a suck-ass gig we're going on.' We went on all kinds of suck-ass gigs! But while we were doing them, we had a ball."

#drjohn #neworleans

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