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Eyebrows turned up in a furrow, I bite my bottom lip, and when I do this I know I'm hurting still...trying to keep it at bay and heal. Maybe not even hurt, more like, if I bite hard enough, I can keep myself from some of the sadness.
Dad/Dave in a highschool AU for Brodinger's Hat. Work in progress. Will later be nsfw.
It’s funny, the middle aged man thought to himself. The little ripple of subdued giggling grew silent as he paused in the middle of his whiteboard diagram. Usually the delinquents seat themselves at the BACK of the class.
But this one was different. Or, at least, that’s what the boy clearly thought of himself. Bold defiance in the classroom was relatively rare, even among the hoodlums he’d taught over his thirteen years of teaching. But it certainly wasn’t new. Without a word, he capped his erasable marker and turned to face the class.
Another uneasy chuckle surfaced. All eyes were turned to the seat front and center, and in it, the only student James Egbert ever suspected of doing anything EVER. He couldn’t see his eyes through the thick sunglasses the boy was wearing, but the unnaturally straight posture and wide, Cheshire cat grin could only mean one thing.
That he was up to something? No. That he had already done something and was challenging Mr. Egbert to figure out what it was before it was too late.
Typical.
He cleared his throat. “David?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you mind coming up and finishing this bell curve I’d started on, complete with the necessary points indicating how much each laptop was sold for? Be prepared to sure your work.”
The redhead shrugged sauntered up, taking the marker with a, “Sure.”
Thinking that this would surely keep the brat busy for a while, Mr. Egbert returned to his desk. He dropped a pencil on the seat of his chair and tried to pick it back up. Good, no super glue this time. He took the same pencil and ran it underneath the desk. No sticky gum traps. A tentative sniff at his coffee. The chance that Strider had slipped urine into his drink was slim to none.
He was just about to sigh with relief, when he heard the giggling again. His eyes flew to the board to see several crudely drawn, yet impressively detailed penises scrawled all over.
“Yes, that will be quite enough of that, David, thank you. Back to your desk,” Mr. Egbert said in a perfectly even tone.
“I thought you wanted me to show my work,” Dave replied, smirking as he began adding scruffy hairs to the testicles.
“Return to your seat, Mr. Strider.”
“Oooooh, you’re using my last name now? I can tell you fuckin’ mean business,” he chuckled, capping the pen and returning to his front row seat.
As if this were perfectly routine, Mr. Egbert strode up to the board, grabbed the eraser, and gave a few short, powerful strokes to the veiny shaft of the biggest penis of them all.
Nothing came up.
A first, Mr. Egbert tried using some elbow grease, but it didn’t take long for him to realize what was happening. He glanced back to see Dave holding up a permanent marker and grinning even wider than before. “With all due respect, try cuppin’ the balls, sir. That might help get it off.”
The entire class was struggling not to burst into laughter. When things got too out of hand, Mr. Egbert dished out homework like the class was a soup kitchen and all of the students were the dirty, smelly hobos.
“Hmm. Well.” Mr. Egbert put down his eraser calmly with an ease that could not be forced. “I hope you did not have anything planned this afternoon, Mr. Strider. I’ll see you at four o’ clock on the dot.” He began pulling down the projector screen so that the phallic graffiti wouldn’t have to be on display for the rest of the day.
“Whatever, Mr. E.”
Mr. Egbert began reading the homework for the night from his teacher text book, just before the bell rang. As the students left the room, he sighed and sat behind his desk. He sipped his coffee, paused, and carefully spit it back into the cup.
Bro/Dave fluff fic for Brodinger's Hat. SFW. No implications of romance.
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Some people probably would say chucking an infant approximately the speed of a runaway train while standing on the roof of a fuckton-storied building was crazy. Some might even call it bad parenting.
Well fuck ‘em. You knew you were the best damn parent/brother/mentor this kid would ever have. And you knew what you were fuckin’ doing.
This kid was gonna be like you when you were growing up. Fearless. Not quite a thrill seeker – thrills sought you. And you championed them.
He was going to learn how to laugh in the face of danger – in the face of death. He was going to know fear intimately – breathe it, feel it, consume it – and learn not to run whenever it reared its ugly head. He would learn to become it, and thus defeat it.
Most of all, he would learn to trust his big bro.
You.
Because he was your everything, and yeah, you might have been a little fucked up in the head, but like hell you’d ever put him in real danger. You wouldn’t baby him, but you’d always be there to bail him out if things got a little hot to handle.
Speaking of which, you should probably go catch him or something about now. Said infant was still careening towards the edge of this aforementioned extremely fucking tall building. Cal was starting to freak out. You knew how much he loved having a little scamp to play with.
But then, just as you were about to make the SWEET CATCH, the kid disappeared in midair and the next thing you knew, he was clinging to the back of your head like you two were primates up in this shit.
You were stunned. You knew he was a fast learner, but this was unbelievable. The lil' fucker couldn’t even walk yet, and he was flash-steppin’ like a goddamn pro.
He leaned toward your ear, trying his best to keep his rad shades balancing on the crest of his nose. “Boo,” he said in perfect, ironic monotone. Baby’s first word, too.
You couldn’t have been prouder of your little man. You wish you knew how to say that without it sounding lame and ironic, because you were fuckin’ real about this as you were cool about everything else. You shifted him so that you were cradling him to your chest, grab Cal, and headed for the door. “Yeah, alright. That’s enough drills for the day. How about we cut practice short and watch Sesame Street ‘til bedtime?”
He just nodded and grunted affirmatively as he clings to your shirt.
He was pretty beat from all the practice, and fell asleep halfway through the commercials. At the back of your mind, you thought that maybe you should wake him up so he won’t get up in the middle of the night and start wrecking your shit, but he just looked so peaceful sleeping down there with his heart pjs on and his adorably ironic Barbie Princess pacifier, and you just couldn’t do it.
It occurred to you as you pressed a gentle little kiss to his head, that maybe you were wrong about defeating all of your fears. Maybe you had once, but there was another one eating at the back of your mind as you wrapped Dave up in his cozy little blanket.
You were afraid of not being there for him when he needed you most.
But that's okay, you thought as you tucked him into his crib. It’s no big deal to feel scared sometimes, as long as you face them head on and do something about 'em.
You couldn’t be there for Dave all the time. It’d be impossible. You still had your own life, and he’d probably want his own as soon as he got old enough to realize it. More than that, you wouldn’t be around forever.
So what were you gonna do? Sit around moping and dreading when the time would come?
Nah. That wasn’t your style.
The answer was simple, and already in the works. You’d train him – be the Mr. Miyagi to this kid’s bullied, tortured soul of a middle-class, white male lead. You were gonna make him tough as nails with a sense of humor to boot (which was related to irony, but NOT the same, as any true master would know), so that he’d be able to handle anything life threw at him.
Meanwhile, you’d just enjoy his company while you could.
Karkat/Kankri for Aze. SFW. (Pretty rough around the edges for now. I'm hesitant to delete it all and work from scratch, but I am not very fond of it, and worry that it is not very good at all.)
My first thought is “SHIT, HE SPOTTED ME.”
The second is “Maybe he functions using scale-terror logic, and if I don’t move, he won’t be able to see me.”
No such luck. Within moments, the cancerous, red-sweatered tumor is upon my ass like an unchecked case of melanoma.
The sadistic fucker actually has the nerve to grin like he just won the fucking lottery. “Ah, Karkat, it is lovely to see you. I have been searching for you everywhere, you know. I hope you are ready for my latest lecture on the foundation of—”
I plug my ears. It’s been less than ten fucking seconds, and I’m already at my fucking limit. “Kankri, with all due respect, shut the FUCK up.”
He looks visibly startled. Has he actually gone this long without being told that? By anyone? Really? “But it will only take a second, Karkat. Please, just take a seat and—”
“No. FUCK, no. There is NO FUCKING WAY that I’m going to sit here and listen to another overly-extravagant monologue. So FUCK off.”
He blinks, seeming confused and a little hurt. He’s too shocked to even tag all the various triggers I’d probably set off. “Karkat, I… I thought you liked my sermons. I thought that you would understand my position more than anyone else.” He shakes his head, looking resolute. “Have I been forcing you to listen to my lectures against your will all this time? Be honest, now, I can take it—”
I answer without a moment’s hesitation. “YES. Yes you fucking have! Holy shit, THANK YOU for actually listening to what someone ELSE is saying for once!”
He’s silent for a while. “I… see. I hope that you know that I truly am sorry for how triggering that must have been for you to be subjected to my own selfish desires like that. I won’t bother you with my incessant ramblings any longer.” A deep sigh. “Yes, no longer will I traverse the treacherous plain of—”
I slap my hands over my ears again. Holy shit, this is even WORSE. “Kankri, just DROP it, okay?! Just shut up and enjoy your hell of an afterlife! None of that even matters anymore! I mean, all this shit about the hemospectrum… Did you miss the part where just about our entire fucking RACE is dead?! Including you?”
“But I’m simply marking subjects that might be triggering for some of our—”
He shouldn’t have even brought that up. “AND THAT’S ANOTHER THING!” I shriek, my voice reaching that curious octave that rendered anyone unfortunate enough with a functioning pair of hear ducts writhing around on the ground in agony. “Haven’t you noticed that NO ONE FUCKING CARES about your lame fucking tags or whatever?! No one! The only one who’s ever cared about that shit is YOU! People get triggered all the fucking time, and there’s nothing that you or anyone else can ever do about it!”
“But it doesn’t have to be that way!” he insists. “We can change the status-quo, if we just—”
“Kankri,” I sigh. “Stop. Just stop.”
To my surprise, he stops like I ask. He’s chewing on his lower lip now, and wrings his hands anxiously. I’ve never seen him this way, and probably never will again. Time to strike while the iron is hot. “Do you even HEAR half of the shit you say?” I ask. “You’re ridiculous. Trying to change the fucking order of things. People get offended sometimes. They get pissed off, annoyed, even hurt or wounded by things that others say. Yeah, that fucking sucks, but I’m pretty sure there is, and never has been, a SINGLE iteration in our or any kind of universe that has solved all that just by censoring everything that MIGHT offend someone and having everyone step on fucking eggshells in case someone’s delicate fucking sensibilities get hurt. It doesn’t fucking happen, and you’re a fucking idiot for ever thinking it could.”
He looks a little crestfallen. “I was only trying to improve the world, and do what I thought was best for everyone…”
“By ignoring our input?”
Confusion. “I… Do that?” He whispers it like he can’t even begin to imagine such a fucking thing. I’m starting to wonder where he’s been all of these sweeps.
“All. The. Fucking. Time.”
He leans heavily against a nearby tree, his hand covering his mouth. He looks absolutely floored by this revelation, despite the fact that people have been likely trying to tell him this for sweeps. Again, I’m just wondering where he’s been all this time, and I’m about to leave, when he finally says, “I’m… I’m sorry. For some reason, I never knew. Perhaps I was too blinded by my own prideful vanity. I’m a disappointment to the Vantas name. I’ll never be like you. Or the Sufferer. I don’t know why I ever attempted it.”
I stop and sigh. Loudly. “That’s the thing, idiot. Nobody is ever ‘like’ someone else. But you’re not the first to try to be, and definitely not the most annoying. Well, probably not the most annoying.”
“Mmm,” he hums thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should take a vow of silence, much like Kurloz has done. Do some more listening rather than talking.”
“Oh, sure, let’s just go right over to the other fucking extreme, why don’t we? You’re being fucking ridiculous again, idiot.”
He stares me directly in the eyes, his own pleading for direction. “Then tell me what I SHOULD do, Karkat. Please.”
I’m a little dumbfounded at first. Damn it, why is he looking to ME for direction? “I don’t fucking know! Be whatever you want to be, alright! Jeez!”
He’s silent for a long time. Kind of thoughtful, but I could read the anxiety all over his face. I’m hoping I don’t have to shoosh-pap him out of the ensuing freak out I’m sure is about to ensue, because Gamzee is definitely the jealous type. Finally, he says in a voice that’s too quiet to be natural, “I don’t know who I really AM, though… If you take away my sermons and lectures… What else is there to me? I… I’m not sure.” He’s shaking now, and looking down at his outstretched palms. “I’m… almost afraid to find out…”
Okay, shit. I never meant for this to happen. I didn’t mean to strip him of the only identity he’s ever known. Well, no, I kind of did, considering it was the identity of an irritating, self-righteous asshole. But I never meant for him to feel bad about it. Even at his most annoying, he was never that terrible of a guy. All I’m able to do is place a hand on his shoulder reassuringly and nod like I’m his asshole human adult-lusus.
He just shakes his head in return, still looking down. “I’m not sure… if I can do this, Karkat.”
“Hey.” I pat his cheek lightly, trying my best to sooth what must be the world’s most subdued freak out in existence ever. “Calm down. You’ll be okay.”
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"Bro must have been ashamed of me. I left him to die."
AR was silent for a long time. I don't cry, but my throat was all knotted up. I couldn't speak if I wanted to. Finally, that oh-so-familiar shade of red flashed up on the lenses. <Wow, David. It seems obvious that you were really shaken up by your Bro's death. It sucks that none of Dave's friends tried to console you after that happened.>
"Well, one did," I sighed, messing with the wispy end of my tail. "Jadesprite. We talked about everything that was bothering us. Got real close."
<And then?>
"Jade died and went godtier, and Jadesprite went with her, being her dreamself and all. Jade remembered everything that happened, but it wasn't the same. She had a lot of her dreamself's memories, but she wasn't Jadesprite. We still talked and hung out for a while after that, but when I decided I didn't want to be called Davesprite anymore, and she couldn't understand why... Well, that was kind of it. I'm not a variation of Dave. I'm my own fucking person. They all don't get me. Not like you."
<It seems we are very alike, David. We were both seen as variations of our "original" counterparts that have been seen as lesser, or equal but "the same" as our counterparts. Which is simply not the case.>
I nod and rub the spiky tip of the idiotic anime shades Hal is trapped in, provoking a pleased whirl in his machinery.
<I know I could never replace Jadesprite,> he continues on another line. <But for what it's worth, you'll always have me.>
