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bestiesenpai · 3 years

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Spoiled Rotten - Toji Fushiguro

Half baked gangster/shady business dealer toji fushiguro idea...hope ya like it lol. Femme reader, 3k words

Content warningsss: a lot a lot of the word daddy lol, drinking, biting, drug usage(cocaine to be specific)

“There’s my little minx.” It’s his deep, smoky voice that you hear first when you open your door one late Friday night, dripping in an expensive borderline too short silk dress. A cropped white fur coat is your only protection against the crisp night air, the rest of your body - bare legs, open chest and feet clad in high heels - is exposed.

“Hey daddy.” You purr, sliding into his waiting arms. The scent of Toji’s cologne engulfs you, the warmth from his own thick fur coat surrounding you as he kisses the top of your head.

“See you got the purse I sent.” He pulls away slightly, thumbing the chain of the purse he had sent over this morning.

“Mhmm, I love it. Exactly my style.” Beaming up at him, you giggled as he slid an arm low around your waist.

“Daddy knows his girl well.” His hand dips down to squeeze your ass and then he’s closing your door, nudging you to the chauffeured blacked out SUV waiting on the street. “Now let's get going.”

As soon as you’re in the car, you’re seated in Toji’s lap, his thick legs spread out to support you. He keeps a hand on your back to keep you steady as the car rocks, and the other hand is high on your thigh, thumbing the hem of the dress just barely covering you.

“You look so fucking sexy.” Gripping your thigh, Toji lets out a low groan. “Gonna be the prettiest girl in that whole place.”

“Thank you daddy.” You press a few kisses to his jaw, lightly staining his skin with your lipstick.

“I got you a gift, I want you to wear it tonight.” Leaning over, he flips a compartment open in the center console and pulls out a velvet box. Curiously, you take it and unwrap it quickly.

“Oh wow!” Inside the box is a drop pearl necklace, delicate gold chain weighed down by a single pearl and then a slightly smaller one above it.

“Lemme put it on for you.” Shrugging your jacket down your shoulders, you sit as still as possible as Toji places the necklace on you. The pearl dips down your chest, nestling right at the curve of your breasts. “What a fucking treasure.” His fingers skim along the edges of the necklace, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You kiss him as a thank you, the scar on the edge of his lip a familiar sensation. He smiles into the kiss, hand coming up to grab your chin softly and open your mouth. Sliding his tongue past your teeth, you let out a squeak as the car comes to a full stop.

“We’re here, sir.” The chauffeur announces, knowing better than to say anything else or to look at Toji without permission.

“Let’s go doll.” Sliding you off his lap, Toji opens the door and helps you out. There’s a gust of wind that whips as you step out, almost making you jump back into the car. Pulling you closer to him, Toji doesn’t let you escape that easily.

“This the new club you opened?” Fixing your gaze on the bright, warm flashing light bulbs in front of you, you do your best to ignore the cold. It looks like something straight out of a movie: overly buff doormen, a long line of people dressed to the nines hoping to get in before the club closes. There’s VIP guests mingling outside, some smoking cigarettes while some are clearly high.

“Boss.” One of the bouncers nods and lets the two of you in without question. Immediately you’re thrust into the hustling club, scantily clad waitresses passing by with trays of drinks for wealthy clients sitting at semi-circular tables along the wall. Red velvet lines every seat and gold accents drip from the ceilings.

There’s a dance floor in the middle of the club, crowded with people trying to have a good time. Toji always knew how to throw a party, a star DJ headlining the opening night. All it takes is a nod to a member of his security team and you’ve got a strongly mixed drink in your hand, the fruity pink color doing nothing to hide the hard bite of alcohol.

“Whaddya think?” Toji asks over the music, taking your jacket off your shoulders and handing it to someone along with his own coat. With the garment now off you can see his physique more clearly in a crisp fitted black button up and slacks, the tight shirt highlighting his muscles perfectly.

“It’s great!”

“There’s more floors, follow me.” To the side of the room is a stairway tucked away he leads you to, a few people mingling along the steps. The sound of the pumping bass fades away and the atmosphere shifts.

Coming upon the second floor, you’re greeted by a room full of card games. Poker, blackjack and roulette tables were full of people playing, mountains of chips just waiting to be bet.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to open a casino?” His proposition to open this part of the club had been rejected last you’d heard.

“Yeah well the mayor owes me a few favors.” Patting your shoulder, Toij flicks his chin out to the room. “Wanna play a game, baby?”

“Okay!” Flitting away to a blackjack table, you could feel the eyes following you, sizing you up first and then landing Toji. There were several people here that would love to take you home, you could feel it in the way they eyed your legs and bare shoulders and it made a satisfied smirk worm its way onto your face, putting a bit more obvious sway in your hips as you walked.

“Putting on a show I see.” Toji chuckled as he sat down at an open table, immediately pulling you onto his lap. Waving his hand, a stack of chips are brought to the table and put in front of him, and another drink is brought for you.

You played the game of blackjack marginally well, not particularly caring if you won or lost. It was all Toji’s money after all, he would win it back and then some by the end of the night. There was no need to worry about playing smart, all you had to do was have fun.

“Shit, lost again.” You huffed, seeing the last of your chips taken away.

“Let’s play some poker, some friends of mine just walked in.” Getting up and moving tables, you greeted the friends Toji was talking about. They were people you’d seen before, and you could make decent conversation with them, but when you were seated at the poker table there wasn’t space to talk.

Toji kept you snuggly in his lap, one hand cupping just under your ass every time you moved and kissing the top of your head as you snuggled into his shoulder. Following along with the cards, you helped him play, earning back a few chips and slightly redeeming yourself from blackjack.

“Daddy, I wanna go dance.” You whispered in Toji’s ear forty-five minutes later, getting antsy and bored.

“Go have fun baby, I’ll catch up in a few.” Sliding you off his lap, Toji kissed your hand and sent you on your way. There was a security guard trailing you, one he’d hired to be with you whenever the two of you went out.

“Can you get me a drink? Just the same one I’ve been having will do!” Patting the burly man on the shoulder, you grinned widely as he nodded and left to the bar. You didn’t have to wait long for him to come back, handing you the drink silently.

Downing it quickly, you hopped onto the packed dance floor. The bass vibrated strongly from the floor up your legs, making your feet go numb the longer you danced. You tried to keep an eye out for Toji, see when he came downstairs so you could drag him onto the floor, but he took far too long to keep your interest.

Dancing with multiple different people, you paid no mind to the hands that glided along the small of your back or across your arms. It all added to the experience of the club, the music drowning out any attempts at conversation.

The ache in your feet couldn’t be ignored any longer now. A good number of songs had passed and you were tired. Not bothering to look for Toji, you sauntered over to the bar, the security guard snagging you an empty seat with ease.

Downing a glass of water and ordering another drink, you spun around in the bar stool and scanned the club. It was packed with even more people and as the front doors swung open you could see the line to get in was still as packed as ever.

“Hey, how’s it going?” A voice cut into the little bubble you’d made for yourself, a flash of white streaking across the corner of your vision.

“Hm?” Turning to face whoever had just sat down, you were face to face with a lanky man with wild white hair, black sunglasses low on his nose to reveal sharp blue eyes.

“I saw you dancing earlier, you looked really sexy.”

“Thanks.” You were unimpressed and he could tell by your tone. Crossing your legs, you turned fully back to the bar and swirled your drink, the scent of alcohol wafting up to your nose as you took a sip. The stranger’s eyes roamed all over you, drinking in the expanse of slightly sweaty skin before him.

“I’m Gojo.” He stuck a hand out, flashing you a grin as he waited for you to shake it.

“(Y/N).” Grabbing his hand with your thumb and forefinger, you shook it. You weren’t really interested in the man, but after taking another look over your shoulder and not seeing Toji, you shrugged slightly. No harm in entertaining yourself for a bit.

“Such a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

“Thanks.” The cheesy line made you snort, a smile spreading on your cheeks despite yourself.

“Even prettier when you smile.”

“You really are a charmer, huh?” Leaning your head on your fist, you sized him up. He wasn’t particularly well dressed, just good enough to get in.

“Depends, is it working?”

“Depends. Buy me a drink?”

You end up making conversation with Gojo far longer than anticipated, somehow getting wrapped up in a story he’s telling that sounds too good to be true. He’d bought you two more drinks and you were certainly feeling the effects.

You were leaning far too close to him, nearly sliding off your own stool as your legs tangled with his. Your chest had dipped forward, the necklace dangling off your neck and the neckline of your dress plunging lower. A hand was now resting on his forearm, gripping it tighter as you laughed at something stupid he said.

“You’re so stupid!” You’re laughing far too loudly but you’re too tipsy to care. Toji’s prolonged absence had irked you enough that you didn’t care who saw you cozying up to this new guy; you wished someone had the nerve to say something to you, or better yet go right to him and tell him that his little minx had her eyes on a new prize.

“I’m tellin’ ya it’s the truth!” Gojo laughs right back, stretching out his long arms and putting one around the side of your seat, caging you in even more. Giggling at the absurdity of what he just said, your gaze snakes out across the club, out past the intimate little space you’re in.

Toji is sitting right at a VIP table a few feet away, his jaw cocked to the side and a pissed off look in his eyes. When you make eye contact, you giggle again and blow him a kiss, turning back to Gojo and putting a hand high on his shoulder, nearly wrapping it around his neck as you laugh extra loud in spite.

“How’s the liquor treating you, baby?” Gojo asks, rubbing a hand up and down your arm. The sound of his voice calling you that name doesn’t hit the same as with Toji, but you let it slide.

“Just fine.” You croon, fixing Gojo with your best smile and making his already pink cheeks flush a little deeper. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Toji sit up a little straighter and his sleeves have been pushed up to his elbows, baring his flexed forearms.

Looking directly at Toji, your fingers slid up the back of Gojos neck, finding the hair at his nape and twirling it between your fingers. Scraping your nails lightly against his neck, you’re not listening at all to what he’s saying now. An excited ripple runs through you, settling in your stomach as Toji stands up.

“Alright, funs over.” He huffs, yanking your hand off Gojo and pushing him away from you.

“What the fuck!” Gojo shouts, clearly startled by the sudden intrusion.

“Look who decided to show up.” You quip, pulling your hand from his grasp and waving over the bartender. “I’ll have another, thanks.”

“Get lost pal.” Gojo attempts to push Toji away but the man doesn’t budge. He tries to grab your wrist again but Gojo stops him, grabbing onto his arm tightly. “Hey, don’t touch-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Toji grunts, glaring harshly at Gojo. “Don’t get involved with shit you don’t know about.” You have to bite back a giggle behind your drink as Gojos mouth hangs open slightly. Grabbing your shoulder, Toji gets you to turn halfway to him. “You’ve had your fun, lets go.”

“Mmmm…” Tapping your chin, you pretend to think it over. “No thanks.” You can practically see his blood boiling, even more so when you put a hand on Gojo’s knee.

“You really want to play this game, baby?” Cocking his head to the side, Toji fixes you with an intense look. He’s pissed at how flirtatious you’ve been, but you know he loves it - otherwise there wouldn’t be the slight uptick to his mouth.

You get to take one sip from your drink before it’s taken out of your hand and you’re pulled from the bar stool. Toji has a tight grip on your wrist, almost enough to hurt as he drags you away from the bar.

Pulling you back up the stairs, he takes you to a side hallway and into a room tucked away, quickly locking the door behind him.

“Just can’t fucking help yourself, huh?” Toji barks when the door closes, pushing you into the room. It’s a decent sized office with two small plush couches facing each other, an opulent circular coffee table in the middle.

“I was bored, you took too long.” Pouting on one of the couches, you cross your arms under your breasts and push them up, looking away dramatically as Toji sits down next to you with his legs spread wide.

“S’not my fault, baby. Daddy had to take care of some business.�� Throwing an arm over the back of the couch, he tugged you closer. “I’m all yours now.”

“Hm.” Still not done with your act, you kept your body turned away from him.

“You really gonna act like a brat right now?” He hums, curling his fingers around your upper arm. “I’d hate to smear that pretty makeup when I start spanking you.” As he speaks, he hauls you over his body, seating your ass right in his lap and giving your thigh a harsh spank. “But maybe you’d like that, huh?”

“Daddy!” Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you whine loudly, rubbing your ass into him. “You promised not to do that anymore!”

“Yeah and you promised to be a good girl.” Tilting his head to the side, Toji smirked at you. “Seems you didn’t hold up your end of the bargain.”

“Shut up.” You mumble, quickly moving to straddle his lap. Spreading your legs wide, your dress rides up, revealing the special thong you’d worn to go with this dress. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you give Toji a quick peck.

He chuckles against your lips, hands sliding down your back to grab your ass firmly, holding you tightly against him. His fingers dig into your flesh, grazing the fabric of the thong and hooking it under his fingers.

“You know I love it when you wear this.” Toji hums, toying with the fabric. You giggle coyly, kissing his jaw and wiggling your hips in his hands. A low growl comes from his chest as Toji descends onto you, latching his lips onto your neck and kissing you roughly.

“Daddy!” Your fingers tug at his hair as his teeth sink into your neck. You moan loudly, tugging his hair again when he smacks your ass.

“Fucking brat.” He snarls, licking the teeth marks he’d left in you and smacking you again. “Love to get me all riled up huh?” Grinding you on his lap, Toji trails kisses up your neck and behind your ear.

Moaning in his ear, you nod drunkenly. Your fingers fumble to grab the collar of his shirt and unbutton it, eager to feel his skin underneath. Just as you get one button undone, Toji snatches your hands away.

“Who said you get to touch me?”

“Please, daddy.” You pout, trying in vain to get your hands free. “Wanna feel you so bad.”

“What about that chump at the bar? You seemed pretty happy touching him.”

“No, I don’t want him, I want you!” Bouncing on his lap, the alcohol was clouding your senses, making you way more desperate way faster than normal. “Just wanted you to pay attention to me.”

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” Toji chuckles, letting your hands go and helping you unbutton his shirt. Pushing his shirt off his shoulders, your hands greedily felt up his body, diving down to give a few kisses to his neck and chest.

“Love you daddy.” Your words are slurred, fingers already dipping down to his lower stomach.

“Fuck yeah you do.” He shivered, pushing you away slightly and digging in his pocket. “Bet you’ll love me even more with this.” In his fingers is a small baggie of white powder that you’re all too familiar with. Dipping his finger into it, Toji holds it under your nose and you sniff it up obediently.

“Thank you daddy.” As the drug begins to take effect, you smile stupid at Toji, dragging your nail across the edge of his lip and along his scar.

“Don’t ever say your daddy ain’t spoiling you rotten.” Taking a hit for himself, Toji throws his head and back and grunts, rocking you in his lap. “Completely fucking rotten.”

#jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen scenarios

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paterson-blue · 3 years

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hey! if I'm wrong, I do apologise, but I just noticed that your requests were open and I was wondering if I could request a lil subby!rick smolan smut?

Oh yes you can, Nonny! And it’s one of my favorite flavors, too 😌 Delicious. I love Rick, but I'm new to writing him, so I hope this is alright. It really, uh, got away from me what can I say. Oop! This isn't beta read so... read at your own risk. Cheers!

A Night at Home

Word Count: 1,128

Warnings: femme!reader, soft domme!reader, sub!Rick, off screen orgasm denial, touch starved!Rick, super brief ass play (if you squint) (m receiving), teasing, use of "good boy," it's smut but it's soft, one (1) L-Bomb, unprotected PIV sex (no chance of pregnancy)–let me know if I need to add anything else!

“Tell me about your trip.”

Rick’s head lolls to the side to look at you, his plush mouth hanging open. You stroke your hand up his long, hard cock, rubbing your thumb over his slit—he rewards you with a breathy moan. You shift your body where you’re reclining next to him on the bed, waiting for him to speak.

“Now?” He manages, the littlest hint of a whine in his voice. You hum, playing with his spongy tip; it was turning the prettiest shade of purple. Rick whimpers, chewing on his bottom lip—he was touch starved, always was after being gone. It’d only been two weeks, but you’d asked him not to touch himself the entire time.

You’d honestly expected a call from him saying he couldn’t wait any longer, asking you if he could get off, if you would let him cum. He was a good boy for you more often than not, and if he asked you politely, you were usually inclined to allow it. But this time, no call. He’d gotten home and jumped you—all eager, lanky limbs and large, wandering hands.

“I didn’t touch myself. I swear I didn’t, I was good, I was good. Please let me cum baby, please, please, please.”

You almost wanted to scold him for being so impatient, but you let it slide. You were just as starved for him; you’d missed him—you could give him this.

… But not without a little teasing along the way.

“C’mon, Ricky, tell me.” You cajole him, your hand slipping down to his heavy balls, squeezing them gently. He shudders, blinking up at you owlishly from under his glasses, no thoughts in his normally bright eyes. Such a sweet boy.

“I—“ he starts, jaw working as he nestles his head back into the pillow.

You arch your brows, stopping the movement of your hand and letting it rest on the pale expanse of his inner thigh. “You need me to stop so you can focus?”

Rick keens, shaking his head frantically, his long hair falling into his face. “No, no, please, please don’t stop, I’ll—I’ll be good, I promise.” His hands twitch at his sides where they were clutching at the sheets. He wants to touch, but he won’t let himself, not without permission.

You brush the pads of your fingers over the soft crease of his thigh, making him spread his legs further. His throat clicks with a harsh swallow as you dip your fingertips down, down, down, rubbing against the pale, taut skin of his ass.

Rick’s hips jerk up, and suddenly he’s babbling, his usual chattiness taking on an edge of desperation. “It was good, it was long hours and I hate interacting with other members of the press, you know, but it was fine. Louisiana’s hot, it was so muggy, but—but, everything went a-according to plan for o-once—“ His voice cracks when you take his cock back into your hand, tracing the pronounced vein running from top to bottom.

You stroke him languidly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He sighs into your mouth, nuzzling into you, the wire frames of his glasses pressing into your cheeks. You savor the soft, needy noises he makes as he sucks gently at your bottom lip, his hips canting up once more as he attempts to quicken your pace. It makes you pull away from him, giving him the slightest frown. “Baby.” You warn him, though you keep your tone mild.

Rick looks up at you with those big brown puppy-dog eyes, arching his neck back, a subconscious sign of submission. “M’sorry, I--I missed you so much. Missed you every single second, wanted you so bad. But I didn’t touch myself, even when--” he pauses, a pretty pink blush spreading over his freckled cheeks and pronounced nose,”--even when I woke up so hard I was leaking everywhere, just the way you like.”

“Hmm, I do like that.” You tell him, because you know he needs you to say something, to acknowledge his words. He nods quickly, eyes flicking over your face, landing on your lips more than once.

“I waited. I was good. I’m a good boy.” He murmurs, and it's verging on a question. He needs it confirmed, needs to hear it after being away for so long. So you nod, sitting up and maneuvering yourself to straddle his slim hips, taking time to rub your slick cunt over the hot length of his cock. Rick sucks in a sharp breath borderlining on a sob, and you smile.

“You are a good boy, baby. The best boy. My best boy.” You croon at him, rolling your hips, sighing happily whenever the thick head of his cock bumps against your clit. You keep a slow, even pressure, hands resting on his chest. Rick watches you, mouth hanging open, eyes shiny. He looks so fucking beautiful.

“Ask nicely for what you want, honey.” Your words are calm as you shift your weight, adjusting your hands on his pecs so you can pinch at his small, dusky nipples. He lets out a guttural noise from deep in his throat, arching up into your touch. Fuck, you were dripping, and you know he can feel it, too.

“W-Want inside. Please, let me inside. I don’t--I don’t even have to cum, you can just u-use me to get off, okay? I just need you, need your pussy so bad, s’been so fucking long.” He’s babbling again, going on and on the way only he can. He’s a talkative one, your Rick. You really only know of a few sure-fire ways to, affectionately, shut him up. Might as well use one now.

You lift up on your knees, giving him a nod. “Go ahead, then. Don’t make me do all the work.”

Rick jumps into motion, hands moving now that he has permission, immediately smoothing one large palm up your thigh to hold you steady as he nudges his tip against your opening. “Thank you, thank you, oh fuck, I love you so much, you’re so--” His words are lost as he presses himself into you, and you take it upon yourself to do the rest--sliding down, savoring the feeling of him splitting you open. Rick groans long and low, eyes rolling back in his head, hands holding your hips in a bruising grip. “Yes--” he hitches out, heaving in a breath, “--yes, oh, please, fuck me.”

You can only grin at him, breathless. You missed him when he was gone for work, but having him like this each time he came back? It was worth it. You wait until he’s got his bleary gaze trained back on you to speak again.

“Alright baby, let’s see how long you can last.”

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taglist friends!

@paper-n-ashes @glassbxttless @mariesackler @millenialcatlady @peachyproserpina @jynzandtonic @leatherboundbirate @cornmousequeen @icarusinthesea @heartofjakku

#rick smolan x reader #rick smolan x femme!reader #rick smolan smut #rick smolan fluff???#adcu #rick smolan fic #adcu fic #sub!rick smolan #domme!reader #feedback always welcome & appreciated!#request fill #yikes i hope this is okay?? my first request oof hope i didnt fuck it up

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h0odspice · 3 years

Text

Victorias Secret

Rebrand Exposé:

Part: One

♡

Brand Impact:

The Good

☁️✨☁️✨💖✨☁️✨☁️

* DISCLAIMER- I of course want feedback and am open to different critiques and opinions but if any of those critiques sound bigoted/ puts people at different intersections at risk of * trans, non-binary, anyone whose body isn’t the beauty standard etc* you will be blocked EXPEDITIOUSLY. Other than that this will be filled with my opinions,feelings and personal anecdotes from my life and how the VS brand has made me feel *which isn’t a popular opinion* but now that we’re done with disclaimers lets get started!*

An informal exposé by @h0odspice

The good,the bad, the ugly and the

rebrand of Victoria Secret 🤫.

Nobody can convince me I didn’t fall out of

heaven.

I am an Angel.

-h0odspice♡

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Early Impact !

Formative Years: Yes I was a mess

but confident nonetheless.

♡

Ok so I’m gonna bring it back to my formative years growing up I’ve always kind of identified with certain characters & archetypes in the media. Usually the archetypes were definitely confident,creative and femme/feminine which were traits that were innately organic to me. From Winx Club: Stella, Myscene: Barbie, Degrassi: Manny Santos, Sailor Moon: Sailor Venus, Baldwin Hills: Garren Taylor *RIP*, Thats So Raven: Raven, Mermaid Melody: Luchia and Hanon , Mermaids, Fairies, Fantasies, Fairytales, Mythical creatures, Beauty, Photoshoots, Creative Concepts, Models,Horses, Ponies etc. So by this list you can get the gist of the media I consumed as a kid/tween/teen it was very femme oriented and at the time considered *girl stuff*. Its like a pink glitter bomb went off in my head when it came to consuming media because all of the media I consumed was definitely hyper feminine. I always gravitated towards the campiness of hyper feminine looks and stuff. But when I got older about 13-17 it definitely shifted to more fashion, models, looks, creative industry stuff which is around the time I first got onto Tumblr. Then when I first got on Tumblr guess what …puberty HIT.

A is For Angel

Nobody could convince me that heaven

was a place I wasn’t from.

☁️

I literally went from being a lil nugget to being this gazelle looking boy/thing . I was severely depressed because I didn’t have bulging muscles or looked looked like someone who was jacked up and super hyper masculine. Even though that was never my vibe it got to me for a lil bit until I discovered that the representation wasn’t personally gonna work for me. Then I discovered the VS angels at thirteen, then promptly proceeded to ask my friend if I could have her polka dot PINK dog which she gladly obliged and gave to me. I was like I’m kinda glad I don’t look like that*hyper masc *because that wasn’t my vibe and my bodily proportions gave VS angel 👼🏾. Super long legs, tall lanky, tiny midsection, toned legs and small round and high butt to match.🍑 *still my body type till this day* I dead ass looked like the male equivalent to a VS angel. I obviously loves that. There was no representation in the media that represented me as a person without being a shameful, embarrassing and ridiculous caricature of what Hollywood and the media seen me as especially, since I was Black and ya know 🚬…….not straight. So I had to Frankenstein all my representation and tailor it to myself, my confidence and self esteem. I took a little of this and a little of that to create my own dream representation.This was important because I created something I could personally relate to and consume. I remember on Tumblr at the time VS backstage photos taken by Russel James was super popular and got hella reblogs on this app. So I took the VS models what they exuded as well as what they looked like, and clung onto them for dear life.

We RepWe Step!

Since the main stream media didn’t

have my back, I had my own.

♡

I clung onto them so hard my freshman year of college someone tried to fight me while I was watching the VS fashion show in the common area of my dorm because I LOOKED and felt like a SUPERMODEL and they didn’t lol. Back to my story I literally made the brands sexuality,sensuality, and confidence part of my personal brand/persona and it worked. *Keep in mind I still act like this* The attitude, the look, the walk, the way my hips swayed and heads turned as I walked by. It was mostly me and everything I built from scratch but part VS. I took what they exuded and applied it to myself. In HS no one was really checking for me but I didn’t care because I had a killer walk that exuded hella confidence which I came to find out was the reason no one was complimenting me at the time because quite frankly they didn’t want my head to get too big. So they tried to humble me. I didn’t even need those compliments either. I knew I looked good, I knew I deserved the world and my demeanor said just that. The compliments I did get were on how high my confidence/self esteem was for my age and my fast paced strut, as far as love interests coming up to me ngl they were definitely intimidated, but not mad at it because it weeded out who was and wasn’t for me. But it didn’t phase me because even if no one told me at the time I was beautiful *whether it was on purpose or not* I felt beautiful anyways because my beauty and body type was validated by society via the VS angels *didn’t matter if they were Black or not I claimed representation from all of them *and NOBODY could tell me shit. You couldn’t tell me I was ugly, undesirable, untouchable, and couldn’t convince me I didn’t deserve the world. When I saw the VS girls I saw myself and @ 15,16,17, & 18 that’s all I needed. Even though I did a lot of ground work on my own confidence internally seeing the VS angels pushed my confidence and ego through the roof and to new levels, which is how good representation works. Good representation makes you feel like you can conquer the world, the feeling of being seen in a world that constantly tries to lock you under a cloak of invisibility really is an incomparable feeling. Even when my friends would compare themselves to the angels *not to sound tone deaf* but I was just like “ Ohh you don’t feel empowered 🙃?”. But I didn’t understand the immense pressure society puts on women/girls because I’m not and wasn’t one. I usually don’t share how the angels have helped my self image/ self esteem in a TREMENDOUS way because I know thats not the case for literally 90% of people especially women. On top of that there is something about super confident people showing people what helps them with their confidence that makes people shit on them even more, so I stayed quiet when it came to the source of my newly cemented self confidence. Not to mention all Tumblr consisted of at that time was fashion models which further watered and cultivated my self image and self esteem as well. * This confidence has stuck with me through today* If I wanted to be part of that fantasy I knew I easily could and that thought alone was all I needed.

The Source

I had to make it work being insecure

was considered a luxury that I knew

couldn’t afford.

☆

I’ve always identified with confidence in people around me. I’ve always loved when my friends especially my friends that were girls/women were feeling themselves and what they’ve looked like and made it work and got what they wanted out of it. Like I said before I’ve had to search near and far in the media for representation for myself when I was younger that was conducive and positive to my truest self. The confidence of traditionally hyper masculine men didn’t resonate with me because I naturally oozed femininity without trying and I’d already tried to cosplay as straight at 12 & part of 13 and it was beyond unsuccessful . People could tell that energy wasn’t naturally organic to myself, so who was I really fooling. So basically other than the VS girls I got my confidence from slow walking montages in movies where the main character who was some confident feminine being pranced through the halls in slow motion, or served a look or did something aesthetically pleasing. For example Megan Fox in Literally anything she did at the time or any teen cult classic movie with a slow motion walking montage that symbolized the confidence building in said main character. Femininity in action is what fueled my self esteem and still does. I had to find what worked for me and make it WORK for ME.

I Earned My Wings

I was valid without validation.

I used what I had to tailor

my own representation and like

wings themselves, I soared.

🦢

Not only did they help me develop my self esteem & positive self image, ironic I know. I was also a big fan of their fashion shows, advertisements and creative direction of the brand like everything was lush, rich and uber hyper feminine. All the models would be different renditions of goddesses, angels, fairies and nymphs and various other alluring mythical creatures which also added to the allure of the brand for me. A place where hyper femininity and confidence thrived is why I resonated with them so much, especially since I felt outside of what was deemed normal at the time. You have to remember VS Angels weren’t just models they were a Pop Cultural staple for over 20 years. I loved everything about the production value of the fashion show and to see who would get the BEST wings. I’m still not able to get over the 2015 fairytale fantasy segment where Hozier sang Take Me To Church my fave angel Candice Swanepoel *who by no coincidence is a Libra ♎️ * who strutted down the catwalk in these green fluorescent feminine and delicate sea foam blue green fairy wings that looked like something out of either a mystical mythical Barbie movie or straight outta Pixie Hollow* I WAS GAGGING* she looked so good I was speechless and still am. All the main girls got the beautiful wings and outfits imo especially Candice. Other than the creative production value all the models served CUNT * slang for hyper feminine, fly, bombshell, highly desirable and sought after woman* which ngl made my head that much bigger as well as my ego because similar body type🙈lol. So in conclusion I think its ironic that something that was so exclusive that made so many people feel bad about themselves gave me the confidence to feel like I could taken-on the world beyond the belief I had in myself. I know this isn’t the story that most people have especially when it comes to this brand. I just wanted to acknowledge my own privileges when it comes to speaking about this. I understand what I look like and the vibe I give off gives me access to these certain exclusive spaces,I genuinely am not trying to sound tone deaf. I know when it comes to a lot of things especially self esteem and confidence I identify with things that make people feel bad l/ self conscious like the VS angels or other models and such because I’ve never felt bad about myself in that context. I’m not tryna brag and say omg I’m in these spaces and your not I just wanted to be honest with my journey because at one point clinging to the angels was all I had. I understand self esteem is not built in a bubble but I wasn’t validated by my peers or my family or really in person *other than my grandma* so I found much more sturdier validation in the media that stuck like grits or even better gorilla glue. I had to build my self esteem from the ground up and VS helped me solidify that. I also realize the privilege of finding yourself reflected in the media in any way shape or form can positively impact and tremendously transform your life for the better, just like what it did for mine. Ngl even when I watch old advertisements of theres or rewatch their fashion shows its like a battery 🔋 is put in my back and I’m able to conquer anything, it still has that same affect on me like it did when I was younger. Isn’t that the feeling what we’re all looking for when it comes to what we demand from the media anyways ?

Final Thoughts

Before We Fly Onto

Part Two

☆

Before we pluck feathers from this

brands wings 🪶 I feel like I needed to explain my perspective before we get into the brands blatantly obvious

issues.

In Part II were gonna really dig into VS and its CORE issues with representation in race & gender politics as well as the deplorable things Ed Razek felt like he had to say for some reason. I just had to to be honest and kinda give my perspective *a different perspective*on how the brand was and how it really did help me feel seen in some way even though it made 95% of their customers feel invisible. I know I’m an anomoly when it comes to this topic because lets be real even though I knew *and still know* I fit into that aesthetic,fantasy and world of models, there are so many people who don’t and are made to feel negatively about why they don’t fit into said fantasy or aesthetic. In part two, the bad & the ugly of their brand will be covered. With an emphasis on their niche marketing, equality issues and creation the of insecurity tactics to push product….like a drug dealer….or in their case a bra & panty dealer lol. I just wanted to make a mini exposé on the brand that covers different perspectives of the brand because everything is nuanced and nothing is ever black and white it’s different shades of grey, or in Victoria Secrets case different shades of PINK 💖👙💕.

Hope you guys enjoyed 💖.

Part Two Coming

Soon…!💋

Please feel free to comment this is

an open discussion.

💋💖💕👼🏾Xx Angel h0odspice 💖💕👼🏾💋

#hs ♡#labor of love I hope you guys enjoy it !#💋muwah #victoria secret #VS mini exposé part I #latenight thoughts #Angel HS💖

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kitty-bandit · 5 years

Note

here's an odd question, but hear me out!!! among genderbent (F!AU) versions of the dgm boys (allen, lavi, tyki, kanda, link), who do you think would have the biggest cup size? who has the smallest? who owns the cutest underwear? :3

I saw this and immediately knew what my answers would be.（。＞ω＜）。I went a bit general for my descriptions:

❀Fem!Allen ❀

Tiny, but deadly. She’s petite and adorable, but appearances are deceiving. Allen loves to dress in pretty things–lacy dresses and skirts, high femme outfits. Almost always in heels. Just an inch away from diving headfirst into EGL fashion, but doesn’t have the cash for it. She dresses cute for two reasons–because she likes pretty things and because it makes people underestimate her. She’ll steal your wallet and kick your ass five ways from Sunday before you even know what hit you.

❀Fem!Lavi ❀

Too tall for her own good. Lavi is lanky, all skin and bones no matter what she eats. She’s a fashion disaster, but somehow manages to play it off as cool. Constantly late, always shows up with a Starbucks in her hand. Everyone wants her to join the volleyball or basketball teams because she’s so tall, but she’d rather be at home sleeping or reading. Chronic insomniac.

❀Fem!Tyki ❀

The bad girl. Always in ripped jeans, a flannel + white shirt, and never goes anywhere without her leather jacket. Rides a motorcycle and will steal your woman from you. Beautiful af.

❀Fem!Kanda ❀

The awkward one. Her proportions are normal, but she somehow always looks lankier than Lavi. She wears whatever’s most comfortable and couldn’t give a shit about if it looks good. She has never worn heels or a dress in her life and she aims to keep it that way. She also plays Lacrosse and practices taekwondo. She’ll beat you up and you’ll say, “Thank you.”

❀Fem!Link ❀

Absolutely is the curviest of them all–complete hourglass figure. She always is dressed in business attire and looks like she’s either the CEO of a giant corporation or running for office. Pencil skirts, button-ups (she has to special order the kind that accommodates larger breasts, otherwise the buttons pop open), suit jacket, modest heels. Her hair is always braided perfectly; there’s never a hair out of place.

#dgm #allen walker #tyki mikk #howard link #kanda yuu #lavi #genderbend #personal #reply #anon #fem!allen #fem!tyki #fem!link #fem!lavi #fem!kanda #headcanons

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 6 years

Text

Cocky Little Shit

This is for @sterekislovely for the incredible prompt, and also for Fanfiction Cocky Week, because #byefaleena!

You can also read it on AO3.

“Cocky little shit!” the grocery store security guard yells as John skates past the “No Skateboarding” sign on the sidewalk and shows the guy his middle finger. John’s been hanging out here for a few weeks now with his buddies, and the security guard wants to murder them. It’s funny as hell.

John does another pass, and thinks about dropping his jeans to moon the guard as well, but he’s caused enough of a distraction already. Enough for Rick to sneak out of the store with a bag of chips under his shirt anyhow.

John and Donny and Rick hang out around the grocery store most afternoons. Sometimes they go to the mall, but the mall in Beacon Hills is kind of lame, or at least John’s experiences of it are, since their security guards can actually run. So he and his buddies hang out here instead. A few blocks back from the grocery store there’s a vacant lot that nobody seems to own, and they end up there a lot, eating chips and talking shit as the afternoons wind slowly down into night.

When it’s dark, John walks home with his skateboard tucked under his arm.

He stands for a while on the front porch of his house, the boards sagging under his feet, before he pushes the door open.

The TV is blaring in the living room.

John treads down the hallway to the kitchen. His mother is chopping vegetables by the sink. She looks up as he enters the room. The bags under her eyes make her look ghoulish.

“Don’t upset your father,” she says.

John nods, then grabs a couple of slices of bread from the loaf on the counter and goes to his room to eat them. The noise from the television vibrates through the thin walls.

Don’t upset your father. That’s code for He’s angry tonight.

John sets his skateboard down, and crouches on the floor where his tape player’s plugged in. He finds his headphones, and jams the socket in.

He closes his eyes, and turns the volume up so loud that he can’t hear the TV anymore.

You’ll ruin your hearing, his mom always chides.

He gets so angry sometimes though, that this is the only way he can be in this stifling little house, stuck between his mom’s weary misery and his dad’s explosive temper. So he puts his headphones on, and cranks the volume all the way up, and listens to Kiss Off by The Violent Femmes.

***

John’s jeans are torn and his knees are bleeding. Turns out the security guard at the grocery store can run faster than John gave him credit for. He’d tackled John as John was bolting out the door, and they’d both landed on the pavement. The bag of chips in John’s waistband had exploded with a pop, and now his underwear is full of salt and crushed chips.

John hasn’t been inside the Sheriff’s Department before. He’s sitting on a bench outside the sheriff’s office, one wrist cuffed to the slats. His knees are stinging, and he really wants to pick the crumbs out of his underwear, but he’s in full view of the bullpen.

He’s also kind of shit scared, and trying his hardest not to show it.

He looks up when the door to the sheriff’s office opens, and the security guard from the store lumbers past, his face like thunder. And then the sheriff is standing in the doorway.

“Lieberman,” he says, and the deputy who drove John here from the grocery store gets up from his desk in the bullpen and comes over and unfastens John’s cuff. The sheriff motions for John to stand, and then looks him up and down. “Come in here, son.”

John shuffles inside the sheriff’s office, his heart thumping wildly in his ribs, trailing crumbs behind him.

The sheriff is middle-aged, with a receding hairline and a network of fine wrinkles expanding out from the corners of his eyes like cracks in a windshield. He’s tall, and lanky, and he has the beginnings of a paunch that pushes against his uniform shirt.

“Sit down,” he says.

John sits, grimacing at the sensation of chip fragments in his ass crack.

The sheriff sits on the other side of his desk, and looks down at the report in front of him, then up and John, and then back to his report.

“Janusz,” he says. “Janusz Noah Stilinski.”

He pronounces it perfectly, and John sneaks a look at the nameplate on his desk. Sheriff Mitch Gajos. Probably explains why Janusz was no problem for him.

“It’s John,” John says, his voice smaller than he wants.

“John,” Sheriff Gajos repeats. “How old are you, John?”

John swallows. “Twelve.”

“Twelve.” Sheriff Gajos shakes his head.

John feels a rush of bravado. “I’m not scared of jail!”

“Well then,” Sheriff Gajos says, “that’s good, because guess where you’ll end up if you keep shoplifting?”

John’s heart races.

“You’re lucky I’m a betting man, John,” Sheriff Gajos says, “and that I feel like taking a gamble on you.”

Which is how John finds himself in the back parking lot of the station, a soapy bucket of water in one hand and a sponge in the other, washing every police cruiser in the place.

When he finishes, Sheriff Gajos tells him to come back next week.

***

“Don’t upset your father,” his mother says to John as he slouches inside the house, and John nods and heads for his room to listen to his music. He has to turn it up as loud as he can to drown out the sounds of his dad yelling when the meatloaf is undercooked.

***

John doesn’t fall out with Rick and Donny over that winter, but he falls away from them. He doesn’t get to see them much because he spends every Saturday at the Sheriff’s Department. At first he turns up because he’s afraid that otherwise Sheriff Gajos is going to tell his parents what he got caught doing, or that he’s going to tell the security guard to press charges after all, but eventually he likes it. It’s warmer than hanging out in a vacant lot every day, and Sheriff Gajos always seems to have a couple of jobs lined up for him.

He still drags his feet and glowers when Sheriff Gajos talks to him, afraid that if he doesn’t he’ll reveal something about himself that he instinctively needs to protect. He still backtalks too, but Sheriff Gajos usually replies with a bored-sounding “Uh huh” and passes the bucket and sponge to him.

One day, when he walks in, there’s a girl about his age sitting on the bench outside the sheriff’s office. She’s wearing a shirt with polka dots on it, and pink shorts that come to her knees. She has dark hair, tiny dark moles dotted on her pale skin like sprinkles on a cupcake, and an easy, broad smile when she turns her head and sees John standing there.

“Hi,” she says brightly.

“Hi.” John shuffles his feet, and then blurts out, “What did you do?”

She wrinkles her nose. “What d’you mean?”

And then the door to the sheriff’s office opens, and Sheriff Gajos appears. “Ah,” he says. “John, this is Claudia, my daughter.”

John looks at his feet. “Oh.”

Claudia bursts out laughing. “Did you think I was under arrest?”

John wants to tell her to shut up, but her dad is right there. He shuffles his feet again.

“Dad!” Claudia exclaims. “He thinks I’m a bad seed!”

Sheriff Gajos rescues him. “How about you get started washing the cars, John?”

John flees, his face burning.

***

John has a growth spurt in the summer, and outgrows his clothes. His jeans suddenly don’t reach his ankles, and even when he tucks the cuffs into his socks they keep popping out again. His mom sighs and clicks her tongue, and drags him to Sears to get some new ones.

“I like your jeans,” Claudia says the next Saturday at the station. She’s wearing her Girl Scouts uniform—a green skirt, a shirt, and a green vest over it—and swinging her legs as she sits on the bench outside her dad’s office.

“Thanks,” John says. He’s not sure how to take Claudia. She doesn’t seem to notice that he doesn’t like her. She just keeps talking to him anyway, and laughing when he scowls, or flips someone off. He hesitates now, and sits beside her. “I like your, um, your patches on your vest.”

Claudia smiles widely, and pokes at one. “This is my newest. I got it for camping. We went out into the Preserve.” Her smiles transforms into something a little bit evil, and her eyes brighten. “I got in trouble for scaring everyone with that story, you know, with the guy with the hook for a hand, and he’s banging on the roof of the car, and it turns out it’s the boyfriend’s head. Everyone screamed.” She snorts. “Dumbasses.”

John laughs too.

Maybe Claudia’s not that bad.

***

“I like it here,” Claudia says on Saturday, when they’re washing the cars. She tosses her sponge in the bucket, and it lands with a heavy plop, splashing water onto John’s legs. “We used to live in Arizona. Arizona sucks.”

“Why?”

“There was a girl in my class who put gum in my hair,” Claudia says. “So, okay, that’s not the whole of Arizona, but Tiffany was a bitch and I’m glad we moved here.”

“You should have punched her in the face,” John suggests.

“I don’t think that would have helped.”

John shrugs, and scrubs at the grill of the sheriff’s cruiser.

It’s weird to have a friend who is a girl, but who isn’t a girlfriend. Like, that was okay back when he was a little kid, but John is thirteen now. Rick has a girlfriend. Even Donny does, even though nobody has met her and he says she lives in Canada. Rick says that he got to second base with his girlfriend, and John thinks that means boobs, and earlier today he took a surreptitious glance at Claudia’s chest, and she doesn’t really seem to have any? Her shirt is pretty baggy, and it’s kind of hard to tell.

“Will you teach me to ride your skateboard?” Claudia asks suddenly.

“Where?” Sheriff Gajos won’t be happy if John goes back to the grocery store.

Claudia gestures to the parking lot. “Why not here?”

Why not?

***

Claudia skins both knees, splits her chin open, and chips a tooth.

Sheriff Gajos threatens to toss John’s skateboard in the nearest dumpster if he ever lets Claudia on it again.

It takes about two weeks before they disregard him.

***

When John is fourteen, he and Claudia kiss for the first time, underneath the water tower at the edge of town.

John guesses that he has a girlfriend now.

***

John’s never been that talkative, but Claudia makes up for it. They hang out in the Preserve a lot, lying on the bank of the creek that runs through the woods, Claudia chattering like a bird. John likes listening to her. She’s funny, and she’s smart, and she lets him get to second base and then pretends not to notice how he’s tenting his jeans, and gives him time to adjust himself.

Claudia talks about everything and nothing, and tells terrible jokes that make John groan aloud. She makes him a mixtape, and he makes one for her as well, listening avidly to the radio one night and trying to hit record at exactly the right moment to cut off the announcer, but not miss too much of the intro to the song.

He gives it to her at the station one Saturday, and Sheriff Gajos sees and beckons him into his office.

“You’re a good kid, John,” he says sternly. “You remember how we first met?”

“Yeah.”

“That security guard was pissed when I told him to get out of here,” Sheriff Gajos says, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “A cocky little shit, he called you.”

John rolls his eyes.

“And he wasn’t wrong, was he?”

John shrugs. “Whatever.”

“I took a gamble on you,” Sheriff Gajos continues. “I like you, John Stilinski. And as long as you’re not a cocky little shit when it comes to Claudia, we’re good. If you want to date my daughter, then that means you stay on the straight and narrow. Understand?”

John nods, and turns to leave.

“Oh, and John?” Sheriff Gajos raises his eyebrows. “Age of consent in California is eighteen. Don’t either of you forget it.”

John flees.

***

When John is fifteen, Claudia breaks up with him. There’s a boy she likes in her history class. He’s not like John. That’s what she says.

“He’s not like you, John.”

Like there’s something wrong with him. John sneers.

“He’s…” Her forehead creases. The wind blows her hair around her face. “He’s happy. I wish that… I wish that you could be happy too.”

***

John’s going to get out of Beacon Hills. As soon as he’s eighteen, he’s going to join the army, and maybe he’ll see the world. Maybe he’ll only see it as far as Fort Jackson too, but at least it will be out of here. He hates being stuck living with his parents, like every minute he’s in that house feels like someone dragging their nails down a chalkboard.

He sits on the top of the old railway bridge, taking swigs from the bottle of tequila he stole from his dad’s cabinet.

He’s going to see the world, and he’s never coming back to Beacon Hills.

He turns the volume up on his Walkman, blasting REM’s The End of the World As We Know It through his already-throbbing skull.

He doesn’t even know the police cruiser is there until Sheriff Gajos has already climbed up the embankment and is suddenly there, one hand on John’s shoulder to make sure he doesn’t fall forward, and the other pulling his headphones off.

John takes another swig of tequila, and Sheriff Gajos doesn’t move to stop him. Just watches him with those wide brown eyes of his, and an expression on his face that John is too drunk to interpret.

“Leave me alone,” John mutters. “I don’t need your help.”

“Where’d you get the walkman, John?” Sheriff Gajos asks. “Because the Best Buy over on Elm is missing one, and one of the kids who works there saw you in there earlier.”

“Fuck you,” John says tiredly. He just wants to listen to his music, is all. So loud that it drowns out everything in Beacon Hills.

Sheriff Gajos hauls him to his feet, and down the steep embankment to the road. He shoves him into the back of his cruiser, and drives him to the station.

“Sober up, you idiot,” he says when he puts John in a cell, and John realizes it’s the first time in everything John had done that he’s heard Sheriff Gajos sound angry with him.

***

No drinking, no smoking, no stealing.

Those are the rules if John wants to keep washing the cars at the station.

He tells Sheriff Gajos to go to hell.

He drinks, he smokes, he steals.

He backtalks.

“Don’t upset your father,” his mom reminds him, and John says, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the TV in the front room: “Fuck him. I don’t care.”

***

The shattered glass sparkles like icicles in the white shag rug, blue and red lights flash and flicker against the window, and John blinks and thinks of Christmas. Blood as bright red as the berries on holly spreads around him.

“They were arguing, and he fell,” his mom says. “John fell onto the glass table.”

John thinks he’s been falling since the day he was born.

At the hospital, Sheriff Gajos asks him again, and John says, “I fell. Jesus. Why do you keep asking me?”

He hates his dad so much he doesn’t even know why he lies to protect him.

He remembers when he was twelve, pretending not to show how scared he was because he was afraid that if he did it would reveal some secret truth about him, something that he needed to keep hidden in order to be able to face the world.

It feels a little like that.

“When you’re up for it,” Sheriff Gajos says, a hand on John’s shoulder, “come back and clean the cars.”

John rolls his eyes, but he nods.

***

When John is eighteen, he joins the army. He leaves Beacon Hills. As he’s climbing on the bus, he sees Claudia again, driving past in that blue Jeep she just bought from the used lot on Lincoln Street. The stereo is blaring Beyond the Wheel by Soundgarden, and John likes to imagine that Claudia’s just going to keep driving, that she’s going to get out of Beacon Hills just like he is, even though she’s not running from anything.

She writes to him when he’s gone, and tells him about college, and the friends she’s making and the movies she’s seeing. She sends him a mix-tape every week when he’s in Iraq, even though the mail isn’t always regular and sometimes they arrive out of order, or a bunch at once.

She writes, Will you ever come back to Beacon Hills?

***

John is twenty-two when he gets out of the army. He’s twenty-three and a graduate of the police academy in Fresno when he returns to Beacon Hills. He doesn’t tell his parents he’s home. He books into a cheap hotel room on the outskirts of town, and drives to Sheriff Gajos’s house that evening.

“Jesus Christ,” Sheriff Gajos says when he opens the door. “Look at you!” He pulls John into a hug, right there on the front porch. “What the hell are you doing back here?”

“Looking for a job,” John says.

Sheriff Gajos ushers him inside. “Janucz Stilinski isn’t a common name. I gotta say, I was a little surprised when I got a fax from the academy down in Fresno asking for a character reference.”

“Thanks for giving me one.”

“You just assumed I wouldn’t tank your career right then and there, huh?” Sheriff Gajos asks. He shakes his head and snorts. "You always did have more bad attitude than sense.”

“I was right, wasn’t I?” John asks with a grin.

“Yeah, you were, you cocky little shit.” Sheriff Gajos claps him on the back. “So you came all the way back here to ask me for a job as a deputy, did you?”

John’s attention is caught by Claudia coming down the stairs. She’s wearing her UCLA sweatshirt, a pair of ripped jeans, and no shoes. She’s never looked more beautiful.

“That’s not the only reason I came back,” John admits, and Claudia’s smile lights up the entire world.

***

“I wish that…” Claudia said, years ago now, when John was just a dumb, angry teenager. “I wish that you could be happy too.”

He tries to turn the key in the lock of the California bungalow on Maple Street, and it jams. “It’s stuck!”

“Put some muscle into it,” Claudia yells from the driveway, hauling a box out of the Jeep.

“I don’t want to break it.”

“John, you’d better have that door open by the time I get there. I want to be carried over the threshold, not crawl through a window.”

“It’s—” John wiggles the key, and this time it turns and he’s able to open the door. “Got it.”

Claudia sets down the box on the front step, and bounces from foot to foot. She holds out her arms. “Okay, now do the thing!”

John laughs, and sweeps her up into a bridal carry, and carries her inside.

He’s happy now. He’s happy too.

#my fics #cocky little shit #stilinski family feels #i guess #fanfiction cockyweek

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ichibri · 6 years

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@supernovaecastaway Okay, here's a bit (or a lot, oops) about my wip novel "Prince of Hell" that's I've been developing for 7ish years now. But first, just a heads up that there's lots of dark themes in it including: murder, suicide, self-harm, torture, abuse, sexual assault, mentions of pedophilia, etc. It's about hell and demons, folks, so it's not always so pretty. Also, lots of religious/mythology undertones. Okay, warnings aside, here we go. Under the cut cause it got long

There are three separate, parallel planes that make up this world - Heaven, Earth, and Hell. They're all connected by one ruler, that being whoever possesses the Tablets of Destiny. Currently that's the Almighty (God, pretty much. But because every person has different beliefs and views them differently, the Almighty goes by many names and takes many forms, pretty much whatever name/form the person looking at them believes in). And then we have Lucifer who rules Hell and is plotting to steal the Tablets to gain control of Heaven and Earth, because he's power hungry and is sick of having to bow to the Almighty and their archangels. But the story doesn't actually focus on Lucifer. His plotting is from the background and slowly builds until it collides with the main character's story (which I'll get to). Okay, but world building. So Heaven and Hell are built on death and sin. Everyone dies and everyone has sin. Even the tiniest baby and the sweetest old lady have sin. So everyone is punished. Whether they lived a godly life or have blood-stained hands, their journey of death starts in the bottom layers of Hell (There's 10 layers altogether. The top 3 are residential/agricultural/livable layers, but the bottom 7 are various levels of punishment). The greater the sin, the harsher the punishment (torture, pretty much). And the whole idea is that the human souls must ascend through the layers of punishment while keeping their souls intact. Once their penance is payed, they're allowed into Heaven as angels and given a chance at reincarnation if they so choose. But if their soul breaks down under the torture, they mutate into beasts and become demons that are stuck in Hell (and if they're devoured by other demons, it's over for them. They die die and their soul doesn't get to return to Earth). The whole idea of the punishment system is to reward the good and ensure "pure" souls continue the cycle of life by eventually returning to Earth. But that system is greatly flawed. Because it doesn't judge goodness. It judges how strong someone's soul is. For instance, a child's greatest sin could be stealing a candy bar from a store. That's about a level 2 punishment. But their soul is young and fragile and more easily broken. So they end up in Hell. Whereas a serial killer could have a soul of steel. They are so unbreakable in their depraved ideals that they survive the punishment and are given sanctuary in Heaven. And in most (if not all) modern religions, the greatest sin someone can commit is suicide. So level 7 punishment - the harshest, practically unsurvivable torture - is reserved for the souls who are already vulnerable. It's a flawed, rigged system, and it leads to lots of morally gray characters. And as the main chara finds out throughout the story, nothing is as black and white as it seems. Okay, gonna move on to the main five characters cause I could babble forever about the structures of Hell and Heaven, basically yeah, Hell isn't all bad and Heaven isn't rainbows and unicorns. Some would argue, they'd prefer Hell.

Angelo

Our main character. Nicknamed Angel by Pantera as a rude joke that eventually sticks and turns into a term of endearment. He's a human who didn't actually die, per se. One night, he and a buddy (Ryan, his crush) got drunk at a college party, and because Ryan was far more wasted, Angelo was the one to drive them home. Only, it was icy and snowing and they crashed. Ryan was dead on impact, and in his guilt, Angelo begged to trade his life for Ryan's. Normally, that wouldn't be enough to summon a demon, but it was the night of the December solstice (one of the days - along with Walpurgis Night, Halloween, and the solstices and equinoxes - in which demons can freely cross into Earth).

So Angelo sells his soul to a demon and he's taken to Hell to be auctioned off (Souls are mainly seen as pets/property in Hell, a luxury as well because the contracted souls never go through punishment. They're often used for "entertainment" or labor or plain old devouring). Angelo was on the fast track to being a warty old frog demon's toy before Prince Ian swooped in and quietly saved his ass.

Thus begins Angelo's everyday life in Hell, and he slowly discovers the demons around him aren't as scary and cruel as he expected they'd be.

And he's got a plot line of growth where he realizes he probably shouldn't have thrown his life away for Ryan (because Ryan wouldn't have done the same for him, which he finds out when he uses an oracle pool to check up on Ryan). He gradually finds that love he was looking for in Ian. They have one of those relationships were they start as friends and then they see the other doing something utterly mundane and think "god, I'm in love with him."

Prince Ian

One of Lucifer's chosen heirs (There's 50 altogether. They work in the punishment levels and are encouraged to devour and fight among themselves so that only the strongest survive. If one dies, they're quickly replaced with another demon. It all ties in with Lucifer's secret plotting to steal the Tablets).

I'm gonna be honest. His human name is Ian, but it's not what he goes by cause he doesn't remember his name/past life (which is common for newborn demons. As they devour souls and each other, they lose their beastly instincts and slowly remember themselves and their humanity, and their physical forms get less beastly and more humanoid too). Except he's not newborn. He was a contracted soul like Angelo, but Lucifer put him through the tortures of Hell to break him and mold him into a stronger general. Didn't really work. Pretty much just gave him anxiety, depression, and daddy issues.

But anyway, yeah, his original name was Prince Neko (I know, cringe. I was a much bigger dweeb in my early hs years when I first started working on this story). Ian is the character I've been overhauling the most, so I haven't picked a new name for him yet. But it'll probably still be cringy and cat related somehow, cause his demon form closely resembles a cat (again, he's getting redesigned, so nothing about his look is really set in stone yet), and Lucifer is the one who named him, and well, Lucifer is a dickbag. Like major pile of useless old dicks. [Edit - his new name is Kotě and yeah, he’s still got a cat design]

Anyway, Ian's story arc is pretty much about him trying to remember who he is and finding proof of his past, most recent life. Because Lucifer pretty much has him brainwashed into thinking he was this cruel, ruthless, bloodthirsty person. And although we see none of that in Ian's character (he's a soft, kindhearted soul), he's so lost as to who he is that he believes anything Lucifer tells him (he's got a stockholmy relationship with Lucifer).

Jagger

Femme nonbinary. In a polyamorous relationship with Murciélago and Pantera. Ian's attandant (similar to Angelo, Jagger was saved by Ian. As a newborn demon, they were almost devoured. Ian saved them, and they've been together ever since). Very stoic and loyal. One glare from them can shut up the nastiest of demons. But their bark is bigger than their bite. They're more of a 'knowledge is power' person than a 'punch first and ask questions later' person. They'd rather avoid and strategically retreat from physically combative situations than start a brawl in the streets.

Jagger's sin was murder. They killed their mother. They were already an adult when the incident happened, living and working on their own. They came home for a visit and noticed their little sister (like a 15yr age gap between them, so lil sis is about 12) was acting strangely. She was quiet, reserved, and flinchy where Jagger knew her to be this really cheerful and bubbly little kid. Jagger had a gut feeling something was wrong, so they starting coming around more often, dropping by unannounced to check in. And on one of those visits, they walk in on their mother beating their sister within an inch of her life, and Jagger grabs a kitchen knife and fights off their mom, eventually killing her. Jagger never knew their mom to be violent (she wasn't loving, but she never raised a hand to Jagger) so Jagger curses themself for not noticing sooner and for distancing themself in adulthood. Long story short, the lil sis went off to live happily with an aunt and uncle and Jagger was killed a short few weeks later in a prison brawl. Hence why Jagger would rather avoid altercations altogether, because they regret not getting to live out a life with their lil sis.

Jagger's character design is still up in the air. They're one that's getting a major makeover, so all I've decided on in is they're gonna be more beastly than I originally intended (sue me, Ima a monster fucker now, hs me would probs be appalled). [Edit - lol, yeahh did I say beastly?? More like furry, oops. They’re design is now based on a honey badger, so they maybe appear soft and cuddly, but when they bare their teeth, they’re quite rabid]

Prince Murciélago

Surprise, surprise, he's a bat demon. Nicknamed Ciel. But Pantera calls him Mercy (it's a sexual innuendo & others assume it's because Ciel begs for mercy in the bedroom but really, Pantera's the one doing the begging). He's pretty quiet and reserved, doesn't really stand out other than, you know, giant ass bat wings. But he comes off as lanky and frail, and physically, he is. But mentally, he's the one everyone comes to for comfort. He's the one dishing out heartfelt advice and a shoulder to cry on and the very best hugs.

And considering his sin was suicide, he's come a long way from the newborn demon who was broken and just looking for someone stronger to devour him (it was Pantera who he came across, and well, Pantera is a rough guy but he's not cruel. And long backstory short, Pantera and Jagger brought Ciel into their relationship and it become the 3 of them). As a human, Ciel was a poor rural farmer without much to his name. He struggled with depression and eventually decided to end his life by ingesting crop pesticides. But now, after finding a family with not only Jagger and Pantera, but also Ian and the rest of Pantera's faction (more on factions in a bit), Ciel is the mental strength of the group. And more often than not, he's the backbone holding everyone up.

Prince Pantera

My main squeeze, my man, the love of my life! And also the most quietly tragic character in the story (of course). Nicknamed Tera. Of the main five, he's been in Hell the longest (died the youngest tho). His design is based around a black panther. He's broad, hulking, just this crude, big buff burly beast of a dude. [Edit - his beef had been cut back a bit, lol. Imagine a Shiro-level of buffness. Broad shoulders, dorito-like, still beefy but not like muscle-head beefy] He's the muscle of the group, but surprisingly, he's not good in fights. Kinda sucks at them actually. He just knows how to take a punch so he ends up outlasting his opponents with stamina. But also gets the shit beat out of him along the way.

And okay, to understand most of his character and decisions, you have to know his human life (thus he comes off as a sketchy, ruthless and rather heartless guy at first). Pantera's sin was murder, and he was only 17. He was the eldest son of a single mother, and he had 2 little sisters and a little brother (ages between 7-10). After his father died, his mother remarried in order to keep the family afloat and have a breadwinner in the family (gotta remember, Pantera lived in an older era where woman stayed at home to raise the family). Anyway, his step-father was scum, downright fucking evil and deserved the torture kill that Pantera gave him. Because Pantera found out his step-father was molesting his younger siblings. His mother couldn't do anything to protect them, so Pantera took it into his own hands. And he tortured the guy. There's a scene where he's talking to Angelo about what humans consider sins to be (like being gay is a sin) and Pantera just says, "I'm not here cause I like to suck dick. I'm here cause I cut one off." So yeah, his sin was murdering his step-father. And a couple days after, Pantera was hunted down and killed by his step-father's gang of friends.

So now, Pantera's role is protector. He protects his found family, he protects the weak, he protects those who cannot fight for themselves. And he has no qualms about getting dirty and staining his hands in blood to do so. But there's more to his protection than just fighting and killing (altho, he's stationed in the level of Hell that rapists and pedos go to, and Pantera makes sure none of them get out of alive. When he fails to break one of their souls, he falls into this dark depression and those are days where Ciel becomes the backbone that supports Pantera the Protector).

But yeah, remember when I said Lucifer was a bag of dicks? He's downright scum. Lucifer comes off as this open minded, super accepting ruler of "be whoever you want to be". But there are no boundaries to that. Wanna be a rapist? Lucifer has no qualms with that, cause he is too. Wanna kill every soul you come across? Go for it, no one's gonna stop you. And when Lucifer wants something, he gets it. He's known to prey upon his heirs and take them to bed whether they want to or not. Pantera's experienced it and has heard gruesome tales from other heirs. So Pantera's protections extend to protecting Ian and Ciel from Lucifer's sexual appetite. Meaning Pantera takes their place. It's one of many deals he has with Lucifer, because Pantera would rather he suffer and be hurt than to allow anyone he loves to go through it again.

But those deals he has with Lucifer are hidden. Because he has lots of other deals where the nasty, cruel jobs meant for Ciel, Ian, or other weaker heirs are given to him instead. He also has one where he became Lucifer's dog to ensure his siblings souls didn't go through punishment and got a fast track to Heaven (despite knowing that meant he would never get the chance to see them again). So there are scenes where Angelo believes Tera is betraying the group because he sees the two in hushed and/or suggestive conversations, but it's really just Pantera making sure his family remains safe and whole, even if that means sacrificing himself to keep it that way. And okay, I could go on forever about Pantera and how much he's willing to give up for his family, but on to the factions of Hell.

Factions

There are 3 main factions among the heirs. The leaders are Pantera, Toro, and Anzu. (Lucifer names his heirs, it's part of breaking them down to groom them into his generals. And only the strongest generals inherit the names of old (like Anzu, Azazel, Bahamut, etc.)).

Pantera's and Anzu's factions are constantly at each other throats, because Pantera's believes in the strong protecting the weak because everyone, regardless of status or power, deserves to live a peaceful life. They believe in helping your fellow demon and giving to those that need it. And his faction isn't afraid to get their hands dirty to protect those beliefs and ensure the safety of all.

But Anzu's faction follows Lucifer's belief, but to an even more extreme. They believe in the strong conquering the weak and taking whatever they want. They thrive off chaos and cruelty. They prey on anyone who's vulnerable, including members of their own faction. Think of them like the people in The Purge movies who go out and murder everyone instead of just getting a months worth of free groceries.

Lastly, there's Toro's faction. They are neutral. Their belief is every demon for themself, they don't really care unless it personally affects them. Mainly, they just want to remain out of the cross-hairs of the power struggle between Pantera and Anzu. But when push eventually comes to shove, most chose to align themselves with Pantera's faction.

And the factions eventually play a role in Lucifer trying to steal the Tablets. Which is why Lucifer tends to fan the flames between them, because again, he greatly encourages in-fighting to assure only his strongest generals remain at his side. But the split of the factions will determine whether he succeeds, because lets be honest, Pantera would rather hand control of Hell over to an archangel (he hates archangels okay, they treat demons like garbage even though most the archangels have worse sins than the demons) than let Lucifer rule the entirety of their three worlds.

And okay, bonus character!

Princess Zaba

That’s her as a little clay charm I made. She’s a tiny little dart frog demon (like only 2cm tall). She wears cloaks that Ciel makes for her, and she lives in a little vivarium made up like a dollhouse. Her sin was suicide. She felt her existence didn’t matter, and now she’s so small that most demons don’t even notice her. She covers up her insecurities with sarcasm though, and is close friends with the main five (especially Pantera). She likes riding around in their pockets.

And okay, that’s all for now, lol. It’s long enough, and honestly, I had a hard time congesting it to just this. Cause trust me, I could on and on about this story and it’s characters for hours. I just love them so much.

#my writing #my characters #listen this project is my baby #and after wpwt is done I'll be focusing on this and my other original centaur novel

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amuseoffirebane · 6 years

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Fic: It Don’t Mean A Thing

AO3 Link

Word Count: 4766

Summary: It’s a songfic about Hare and The Spine getting into a dance-off. There is collateral damage. Spoons is there.

Warnings: a robot gets damaged :(

Author’s Notes: CARTWHEELS INTO THE SUN, I WROTE THE THING

What good is melody

What good is music

If it ain’t possessing something sweet?

Now it ain’t the melody

And it ain’t the music

There’s something else that makes this tune complete, yes:

It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing

Well it don’t mean a thing, all you’ve got to do is sing

Makes no difference if it’s sweet or hot

Just give that rhythm everything you’ve got, yes

It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing

It don’t mean a thing…

--“It Don’t Mean A Thing,”

performed by Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong

----

Robots love to dance. This is a nigh universal fact.

Don’t ask me why. Maybe it’s due to how many of them were built to be performers. Maybe it’s because the ‘antique’ population was built in the decades when dance and tiddlywinks were the Big Social Things. Before TV. Before Gameboy, even.

But the point is, any place robots gather is a likely spot to find a band playing for a bunch of musically inclined, jumpy, swingy, rock-n-rolly automatons. The little bar Tipsy ran in the old part of town was no different, though it required a lot of table rearrangement to get everybody in there and have room to dance, too. Some of the smaller tables were flipped on top of each other and shoved against the far wall, allowing for decent space around the bandstand.

That night, they had a modest group of musicians—a trumpet, a bass, a piano—playing for a handful of spinning couples. Those who weren’t dancing tapped their feet or nodded along, enjoying the music. All of those who hadn’t just been cleaned out in a game of poker, that is.

“You’re a damn cheat, Becile!” one of the robots shouted, throwing his cards across the table. The others glowered, puffing steam and smoke as the sharpest toothed among them pulled the pot to his corner.

“Aww, gents, see? Nothin’ up my sleeves,” Hare said, making sure his spare cards were tucked nicely into his gloves before rolling his sleeves back to the elbow. “Lady Luck just loves my handsome mug more’n yours.”

“It’s not worth it, Joe,” another robot muttered from underneath his lopsided wig, standing up. “This guy’ll slice your lines over five bucks. I told you this was a bad idea.”

The yelling bot’s percolator boiled, but he shoved his chair back and stormed off, the others following with a few nasty looks at Hare. He grinned back just as nastily, his one good optic thinned to a slit.

A good haul, Hare thought, standing up and stretching his old joints. He’d been conning since the afternoon and the money was burning a hole in his pocket. It’d buy fuel, at least. And right now, it was going to buy gasoline.

The bell above the door jingled, and Hare turned his head in mild curiosity. He coughed smog and froze in recognition. The new arrivals were slim and lanky, with silvery plating and crisp outfits. The femme sported a red dress and blue fiber-optic hair, while the fellow dressed in black and had thin blades running down his spine. Because he was named The Spine. That was his ‘backstory.’

And Hare was going to kick his ass.

----

Well, we’re havin’ a ball just a’ boppin’ on the big dance floor

Well, there’s a real square cat, he looks a’ 1974

Well, he looked at me once,

He looked at me twice,

Look at me again and there’s a-gonna be a fight

We’re gonna rock this town, we’re gonna rip this place apart!

--“Rock This Town,”

performed by The Stray Cats

----

… No, he thought. Hare was going to have a shot of gasoline, or three, and then kick his ass. The drinks would make inevitably being kicked out of the bar easier. And he swore better when he was drunk.

Hare stormed over to bar and grabbed a stool, rapping on the countertop for attention. “Can a guy get a shot of somethin’ leaded around here?” he called, glaring down the way toward the bartender. But in his haste, he made a fatal error. He forgot to check his blind spot, directly to his left, for a particular kind of trouble—dames.

Spoons stared. Spoons staaared. She stared like a cat that had had a very fat bird land next to its paw and one wrong move would send it flying.

Spoons was a, let’s say connoisseur of bad boys around town, but each of her encounters with Hare had ended with him briskly fleeing the scene. Mostly, she was familiar with the sight of his back turned to her; up close, sitting at the stool right next to his, her Core started doing somersaults, eyes tracing his roguishly handsome looks*. (Read: worn-down and sketchy as hell.) This time, she swore, she was going to make a good impression.

Spoons had precious seconds before he noticed her. Quickly, she adjusted the neckline of her strapless dress, securing it. She dabbed at the leaky crack in her cheek. And finally, she lounged against the bar, hand coquettishly propping up her chin, dialing the lights of her eyes up to a twinkling sparkle.

The bartender slid a shot down to Hare, and as he wrenched his jaw open to drink it, Spoons said in her flirtiest tone, “Bon soir, Mistah Hare.”

Gasoline went in every direction as Hare’s beartrap teeth snapped back together, shattering the shot glass. Spoons wiped away the gas from her optics, quickly offering a hanky to Hare. “Oopsie! Looks you, uh, got a little spot, there.”

Hare glared at her, pointedly pulling a rag from his own pocket and mopping up his shirt. “I oughta make you pay for that.”

Spoons lifted an eyebrow and giggled. “Please do!”

“With money.”

“Oh. Right.”

Just one drink, Hare thought dismally, seeing the barkeep glaring daggers his way. He signaled for one more shot and tried to ignore Spoons as she continued talking.

“Whatta night, huh? I love this music, makes me think of the old days! You ever go to one of them big dance halls?” Silence. “I got to go a few times. The jazz back home was something else. Or it was the… ‘else,’ since we came up with it. You like jazz, cher?”

Hare grumbled something vaguely affirmative, then stuck out his hand to catch the glass sliding toward him. No sooner had he picked it up then the deep, distinctive laugh of The Spine rolled out of the dance floor. His hand reflexively clenched, cracking the glass. Slowly, he lowered it, hoping the bartender wouldn’t notice. (She already had.)

Spoons frowned at this, scanning the room for the source of his discomfort. It took her a minute to recognize The Spine, and her mouth made a small ‘o’ remembering the two families’ infamous history. “Oh. Guess that’s a lil’ uncomfortable. You wanna go someplace else?”

“Like hell,” Hare snapped. “I was here first, he’s not even supposed to be here. He’s got his fancy dollhouse to live in and his pretty little venues to sing at, the rest of this town is mine.”

Spoons opened her mouth, then closed it, then decided to roll with it. “Yeah, what a cad! I bet he, uh, can’t even dance!”

“Not without being told where to put his feet,” Hare sneered. “They’re the Walters’ puppets. Go there, stand here, look like this. I bet he had to sign a permission slip just to get here.”

“That’s… actually kinda sad,” Spoons said, frowning.

Hare paused. “Yeah, well, he’s still not walkin’ away without me showing him what’s what. Dancing around like he’s some kinda big shot.”

Spoons clapped her hands. “Hon, that’s a great idea!”

“Uh? Uh, yeah… thanks?”

“That’ll be real fun! And it’s the perfect night for it, too, with the music here! But,” Spoons leaned in. “Aren’t you worried he’s got a partner? Doesn’t seem right to go in there alone.”

“I’m not worried about her,” Hare said dismissively. “And it’s not like anyone in this place has got my back.” He decided he would rather avoid more splinters of glass in his furnace and waved for another shot.

Spoons looked at him for a long moment, then down at the cane she’d tucked under the edge of the bar. She bit her lip, then nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Hare turned to look at her incredulously. The shot whizzed past his hand and arrived at another confused drunk down the line. “You?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’d be happy too!”

“You know how to fight.”

“Well, I’ve never done a fight before, but I’ve done plenty of dancin’!”

Hare blinked. “I think we’re talkin’ two separate things.”

“You don’t want to do a dance-off?” Spoons frowned. “Oh gosh, I never did ask if you knew how to dance, I just assumed—”

“Wha—of course I know how to dance!” Hare puffed up indignantly. “And I damn well could beat him dancin’, but I wasn’t—that wasn’t what I was—I’m not gonna—!” The cogs whirled furiously in his head, blindsided by the concept. The likelihood of him being able to do more than superficial damage to The Spine before being hauled out the door was slim. But there was no rule about hurting his pride and ruining his night out. Yeah… yeah, that could work. Hare gave Spoons a calculating once-over. “You really think you can keep up?”

Spoons smile wavered for a moment. “Of course.”

“Maybe I oughta have you go out there first, see what you can do. I ain’t keen on bein’ made a fool of.”

“But it’s partners dance!” Spoons said nervously. Then, more slyly, “And here I thought you was a gamblin’ man.”

She’s got you there, Hare thought. Less because it was true and more because he didn’t have a good comeback. “Fine. But you ain’t gettin’ a second chance if you mess up, Forks.”

“It’s Spoons. And I won’t need it,” Spoons quipped. Her Core felt like it would explode, and it radiated down her legs. If there were no second chances, then she’d have to stack the first in her favor.

“Let’s go.”

“I’ve got to go to the little automaton’s room,” Spoons said suddenly, hopping off her stool.

“What, now?”

“I’ll just be a minute, cher!” She called back, doing her best to hide the looseness of her hips as she hurried away.

----

I slip into my best dress

I’m gonna go out tonight

Expecting to get loose now

And I hope you don’t put up a fight

Remember that you only live one time

You gotta get crazy if you’re gonna be mine

Gonna be mine

--“Is That Too Much to Ask?”

performed by Biboulakis

----

Safely tucked into the maintenance room, Spoons leaned against the table and turned off her optics, focusing. She couldn’t do anything about the physical state of her hips and legs, no. But she had been given just enough programming to prevent her from over-extending herself, locking her joints when they moved too far out of place.

She was overriding that programming.

Just for now, she thought to herself as she rummaged around the code in her head, twitching as it was rearranged. Just so I can do this.

She nearly fell as the override completed, nearly all tension leaving her system. But she held onto the table and managed to pull herself up, and she shook herself out. It felt… strange, like she was made of ball-and-socket joints all over. Spoons took a few tentative steps, then shook her hips experimentally. She hadn’t been able to do that for a long time, and she grinned at the jangling of her plates. Showtime.

“Finally,” Hare puffed, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed as Spoons reappeared, swinging her hips jauntily. “We ready to go or what?”

“Just lead the way, darlin’,” Spoons said, hugging his arm and winking. Hare rolled his eye and stood, moving toward the dance floor.

The next part of the story can best be described as a musical number. The format will be changed accordingly.

----

THE DANCE-OFF

AT RISE: (The bandstand and musicians, stage right, already playing. It’s very restrained; it’s filler, background noise as the rest of the scene pulls together. Stage left are a few tables and chairs and some automatons, some seated, some standing. THE SPINE and MALFUNCTION are standing right of center; scattered behind them are a few other pairs of dancers. HARE and SPOONS push their way out from the stage left crowd.)

HARE

Hey, Silver!

THE SPINE

(Slowly turning to face HARE) … Nobody’s looking for a fight here, Hare.

HARE

Of course not… Just aimin’ to do a little dancin’, ain’t we?

SPOONS

Hello!

THE SPINE

Uh. Hello.

HARE

SO. Why don’t you and your pal skedaddle while we do a little fancy footwork… Unless you think you can dance without your Pappy holdin’ your hand?

THE SPINE

… We’re not going anywhere.

HARE

That’s what I thought you’d say. Hey you, with the trumpet!

(The TRUMPETEER lowers his horn.)

HARE

You got anything for a friendly little competition?

TRUMPETEER

Not sure anything you do is ‘friendly,’ Becile. But if the gentleman in black concurs…?

(The TRUMPETEER looks questioningly at THE SPINE, who sighs with a plume of steam.)

THE SPINE

I really don’t want—

(MALFUNCTION slaps his arm and raises her eyebrows, as if to say, “You better say yes, because if you don’t I’m going to fight him without you.”)

THE SPINE

I mean… uh. Yeeeeeah. (Quietly) Oh boy.

TRUMPETEER

Femmes and fellows, can we clear the floor please! Seems like we’ve got a show for you tonight!

(The other pairs move to the crowd stage left, some shooting uneasy glances at HARE. THE SPINE whispers to MALFUNCTION, while HARE turns to SPOONS and eyes her up one more time.)

HARE

You ready for this?

SPOONS

Honey, I was built to be a winner.

(The music picks up and the dancing begins.

(THE SPINE and MALFUNCTION are polished to a shine, having been dance partners for decades and practicing a very specific set of moves endlessly. They’ve lived with their performances scrutinized and mistakes chided, so there’s no room to improvise in their foxtrot. There’s something very Fred and Ginger about how they move, only a little stiffer and with significantly less tap dancing.

(HARE and SPOONS more resemble a toppling carousel. Even with her override in place, she’s nervous to move too much, so in the beginning HARE is mostly moving around her. He dances like he has something to prove, because he’s convinced himself he does. They’re coming from two different directions—rock’n’roll and St. Louis shag—and the differences leave them fumbling.

(HARE blows a cloud of smoke out in frustration, and looks directly at the other pair. He spins SPOONS and leaves her going; when MALFUNCTION twirls out, he intercepts and pulls her away from THE SPINE, who is left looking confused at empty space.)

HARE

(Grinning at MALFUNCTION)

Hey. How’s it going?

MALFUNCTION stomps on his foot with SFX: CRUNCH and HARE doubles over. SPOONS suddenly hip-checks MALFUNCTION out of the way; MAL stumbles back and is caught by THE SPINE. SPOONS grabs HARE’S arm and hoists him up.

SPOONS

You ok?

HARE

(Strained) YEAH I just gotta—

(He lifts his foot and grabs it. SFX: CAR DENT POPPING OUTWARD)

There we go!

(They return to dancing just as the music begins to pick up. The trumpet takes a lead, encouraging the bots to move faster, hotter. THE SPINE and MALFUNCTION pick up the pace, transitioning from a foxtrot into a quickstep, whirling around the floor.

(As they pass, HARE’s foot shoots out right in front of THE SPINE, tripping him.)

TRUMPETEER

Hey! Strike one, Becile!

HARE

Clumsy me.

(The dance continues. But as soon as HARE has a shot at THE SPINE’S back, he swings his foot up and boots him right in the keister.)

TRUMPETEER

Strike two!

SPOONS

(Stage whispering) What are you doing??

HARE

(Whispering back) Knocking him down a peg!

SPOONS

You’re going to get us kicked out!

HARE

Well this’d be a lot easier if you’d actually move!

(Spoons pauses.)

SPOONS

Flip me.

HARE

What??

SPOONS

Flip me over your shoulder and I’ll show you who can move!

(Hare hesitates, then glances at THE SPINE. Brusquely, he grabs SPOONS’ waist and lifts her.

(SPOONS dives over his shoulder and cracks something in her ankles, pointing her feet. As she does this, sparks fly in an arch behind them. The onlookers gasp. She stumbles on landing but lifts her chin defiantly at HARE.)

SPOONS

That fancy enough for ya?

HARE

(Grinning viciously) Let’s burn this place to the ground, huh?

(The tables turn now, as HARE and SPOONS’ chaotic energy out paces the Walter bots, SPOONS punctuating her steps with sparks. Nobody catches that she’s actually breaking circuits in her ankles—until it’s too late.

(As the music builds to a climax, HARE and SPOONS move to center stage, SPOONS spinning wildly. Then, as the trumpet screams, her ankle crumples. HARE’S hands shoot out to keep her from falling, but as he grabs her shoulders, her legs keep going. Her hips twist all the way around, her dress scrunching up into her waist and starting to stain with oil. Everything stops as SPOONS teeters in place, HARE holding his hands back in horror.)

SPOONS

… Oopsie.

(The stage lights go to black as she falls.)

----

INTERMISSION

(Five minutes before curtains up, begin to play Track #4…)

----

Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man

Tryin’ to make a living and doing the best I can

And when it’s time for leavin’, I hope you’ll understand

That I was born a ramblin’ man

--“Ramblin’ Man”

performed by the Allman Brothers Band

----

Spoons was sitting with her legs stretched out on the piano bench beside her; they’d brought it down from the bandstand to give her something a little more supportive for her legs. She sulked, watching the bar awkwardly start to empty, the mood for song and dance killed by her accident.

What a disaster of an evening. Not just her dancing, not just the damage to her legs and the complete disappearance of one of her knee caps, but it turned out the on-call mechanic for the bar was the same one she went to for maintenance, and he was pissed. He’d done what he could with only his traveling bag, then slapped an appointment card into her hand and growled she’d might as well jump in the river if she didn’t show up. Right now, the river sounded like the better option.

Hare was gone.

“He threw you on a table and ran,” someone had snipped when she groggily powered back on and asked for him, head lolling side to side in a searching daze. “Good riddance, after what he did.”

“You’re lucky to still be online!”

“I’ve never seen such a violent bot, he nearly ripped her in half. I saw the whole thing!”

“What a monster, taking advantage of her!”

“Wasn’ like dat,” Spoons tried to say, though her words were slurred. “He wasn’ tryin’ to hurd me.” But no one listened, and eventually the gossipers moved away, the excitement over. So Spoons was left alone, occasionally dabbing oil from her optics but refusing to cry.

She glanced across the room at The Spine, who had remained with his partner. He had made an effort to cross the room, presumably to talk, but had been swarmed by robots eager to talk to a local legend. That was fine by her, honestly; she didn’t feel much like talking.

The door bell jangled, and Spoons saw The Spine’s eyebrows shoot up. The room began to drain of sound and people moved away, some clutching each other protectively. Hare made no outward acknowledgment of their reactions, walking forward with his hands shoved into his pockets. And then he was standing in front of Spoons, staring at her silently.

She stared back, then smiled softly. “I knew you’d be back,” she lied.

Hare said nothing, then slowly pulled his hand from his pocket. Clutched in his palm was her missing kneecap, still spotted with oil.

Spoons brightened. “You found it!” she said, hoping he’d play along with the out she was giving him. “I knew it couldn’t a’ just disappeared. Thank you, sugar,” she said, holding her hand out for her missing piece.

She didn’t have to know how he’d ran ten blocks before even realizing he was holding it. She didn’t have to know about the agonizing moments he’d held it over the sewer drain, willing his hand to open, pleading with himself to go home and forgot this night had happened. How his fingers had clenched harder at the thought of his brother Skull’s eyes boring right through him, calling him out for the coward he was, or the sinkhole that opened in his robotic guts watching Spoons fall. No, nobody had to know about that.

Hare was still for moment, then with a growl of his engine he thrust the kneecap into her hand. “You should’a told me you were unstable,” he spat. “I wouldn’a took you out there if I’d known!”

“… I know,” Spoons said quietly. She looked down at her leg and snapped the kneecap back into place.

“You lied to me and said you could keep up, and you got—you got hurt pretty damn bad because of it! And for what, huh? Because you think I’m some sorta romantic deep down?” Spoons swung her legs off the bench and Hare stepped back slightly, uneasy being too close to her. “Lady, whatever you think I am, I ain’t.”

“Don’t just call me ‘lady!’” Spoons snapped back, suddenly cross. “I told you my name! And—and I just wanted to have a good time with you, but I can’t, because I’m dumb and broken! Is that what you want to hear me say?!”

Hare looked staggered, and he hesitated responding. “You ain’t… broken. Just—”

“Yes, I am.”

“Look—”

“Excuse me.”

They both froze as the deep voice interrupted their argument. Hare shuttered his optic, inhaling air for his furnace, trying to control himself. All the eyes in the room suddenly weighed on him, anchoring him in place. The Spine stood just behind him, Malfunction at his side, and he talked to Spoons as if Hare was thin air.

“My name is The Spine, of the Walter family, and this is my associate Malfunction. We were glad to see you were able to get some repairs done. But considering this night’s accident,” he said with a glance at Hare’s back. “We felt we should offer you a ride back to your residence. We wouldn’t want you to suffer a further breakdown or have to deal with… someone unpleasant.”

Hare turned sharply to leave. To hell with this. To hell with everything. He was going to go home and take it out on the first person he found. That was all they were good for. All he was good for.

A small hand grabbed tightly around his wrist.

… Lord, them Delta women think the world of me.

“That’s real awful nice of you, Mistah Spine,” Spoons said, smiling cheerfully despite the oil in her optics. “But Mistah Hare here already offered to walk me home, and I couldn’t back out on him like that. Ain’t that right, Hare?

There was a loud squeaking noise as Hare, dumbfounded, moved his jaw without speaking. He glanced at the two Walter bots, and, as if he’d become oil, he poured himself onto the bench next to Spoons, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

“A’ course, doll,” Hare said, faking confidence for all he was worth. “Wouldn’t be right to just cut and run on my dance partner like that. We got a whole night ahead of us. So, uh,” he coughed into his fist, then flicked his fingers in a shooing motion. “You alls can go.”

The Spine’s brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when Malfunction stepped forward. Smiling, the blue-themed automaton gently put her hand over Spoons’. When she spoke, it was like a dial-up modem and an AM radio had a baby which then fell in a bathtub, screeching its dying breath. It was completely unintelligible. But she was smiling, and after a moment of confusion Spoons cleared her voice box and patted Mal’s hand with her free one.

“Bless your Core, dear, that’s, uh, real kind of you to say. Thank you.”

Satisfied, Mal stepped back. She took The Spine’s arm and unsubtly began guiding him toward the door. He stuttered, looking from robot to robot, and quickly tipped his hat to Spoons before turning away.

As they moved out of earshot, Hare creakily removed his arm from around Spoons’ shoulders, laying his elbows on the table behind him. He eyed Spoons warily; she smiled back, a bit sadly.

“What’s the catch,” he asked flatly. Spoons tilted her head, and Hare shifted like a bug under glass. “C’mon, just—what do you want, what’d you do that for. There’s no way you’d cover my ass for free—”

“It was just I didn’t like seein’ him embarrass you like that, cher. I wasn’t tryin’ to get nothin’ outta you.”

Hare stared at her and Spoons stared back. But he shook his head. “Nah, bull. There’s gotta be something.”

“Hare—”

“Look, I’m paying you back!” Hare raised his voice a little too aggressively and Spoons leaned back, a strange look on her face. He started to speak again, then looked away, puffing smoke. “So just tell me what you want, OK?”

Spoons watched him a moment longer, then quirked the corner of her mouth up. “Just so’s we’re square?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Spoons hummed, putting a hand to her chin. A bit of a sparkle came to her eye, and Hare caught it before she could say anything.

“Keeping in mind, I’m a taken man,” he growled warningly.

Spoons remembered the power drill and frowned for a second. Then she thought a little longer, mulling over tonight’s ups and downs, wondering if she would do it all again. And then she had her answer.

“Take me dancing.”

Hare’s engine sounded like it was about to sputter out. “What?”

“Take me dancing.”

Hare’s good optic was round and bright staring at her. He turned to stare at the dancefloor for a moment, then rolled his gaze up to the ceiling as if looking past it at the laughing, inscrutable face of God.

And he began to laugh, too.

Not his regular laugh, the one that most people heard. It was disbelieving, yes, and it scratched the ears to hear it—but some of the tension he always carried eased. He wasn’t sneering, or scornful, or jaded. It was just… amused. Almost happy.

Hare stood, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, I get it. You win, doll.” He faced her, grinning, and rolled his eye before bowing and holding out his hand. “May I have dis’ dance, Miz Spoons?”

“Cher, I thought you’d never ask,” Spoons said, taking his hand.

Standing at the door, The Spine turned his head at the sound of shouting to see the two striding toward the band stand, Hare heckling the musicians as he carried the piano bench under one arm and supported Spoons’ stiff legged walk with the other. He watched as the dance floor still filled with gossipers emptied at their presence, unnerved or disgusted. The band, at a nod from the bartender, began to play again, at an easier pace this time, with a hint of the blues. Hare and Spoons faded into the mellow rhythm of a slow dance, Spoons steadying herself with her arms around Hare’s neck. A trail of smoke following them in circles. The Spine blinked slowly, feeling the music creep into his processor. And as Mal tugged on his sleeve and pulled him out the door, his lips were moving with the song he’d begun to write.

----

The dull-drum of the work week gets me feelin’ down

Misery and sorrow follow us around

But when that music hits and the band starts to play

Please, you better get out of our way

--“Me and My Baby”

Performed by Steam Powered Giraffe

----

Fin

#my writing #steam powered giraffe #becile bots #cajunspoons #i'm fucking proud of me #i hope everyone enjoys!!!#long post #(for mobile)

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