#roastyoualive

Ash sat by the window, bag between her legs, and third row from the back. The vehicle, a sweltering tin can of sweaty teens a few thousand feet in the air (even in Superhero school the buses weren't air conditioned), buzzed with news of the cafeteria fight. Those who were present filled in those who weren't: about fire balls and Will Stronghold lifting a table. Ash pressed her forehead against the glass, warding off her headache. When all the side chatter stopped, she knew Warren had boarded. A second later the bus doors closed, and the driver was revving the engine.

Cutting it close.

Maybe it was her background that disillusioned Ashley from seeing her classmates and their parents as anything but people. They lived in a democracy, for God's sake, she didn't bow to the Queen of England, and she sure didn't kiss ass. Superhero, sidekick, good powers, bad powers, it was strange how this community sorted itself into strict hierarchies. Superiority and inferiority complexes abound. All Ash knew was that Warren Peace was the one guy who moved his backpack when she boarded the bus on that first day of school.

"That's Warren Peace," her classmates had whispered all furtive. She had glanced across the cafeteria to the kid sitting alone and thought sardonically. "That's some guy."

Warren sat beside her, shoulders hunched, jaw tight. The bus lurched as it took off in a decided silence. The other students found new topics: like the weather, who was dating who, and can you believe Medulla wants us to build a stun ray by tomorrow? They weren't friends and she sure didn't consider herself the expert that would diffuse the complex, ticking time bomb that was probably Warren's emotional state. That'd be like trying to do brain surgery with a spork after reading up on it the hour before hand.

"I'm sorry my dad put your dad in jail—" Jesus Christ, Will, read the room. It was a strange connection, one that wasn't all too clear to her, but it made Ash think of the time her dad came to a school award ceremony plastered. Nothing too crazy happened but she was eight, holding her dad's hand, helping keep him from tipping over. He told her he was so proud she got straight A's that year. Something, something, time bombs and sporks, and ignorant children with shoddy instruction manuals.

The bus cruised back to ground, back to their ordinary lives, and reality. Not the bizarre, out of this world bullshit that was Sky High. Some mornings, Ashley missed walking to school with her friends. The stops rolled on; the bus filtered towards empty. Until, it was just Ash and Warren, and a couple others who lived on the North side. Their seedy food desert with periodic gunshots to keep rent low. Ash spoke without really thinking about it.

                  ❝ i've never been in a gang before. what am i supposed to do? do we have meetings? is it like a school club? ❞

beware  of  this  cryptic  gift,  it’s  not  what  it  appears  …  still,  @roastyoualive  have  received  a  strange  starter  bestowed  by  none  other  than  wednesday  addams  herself.

Logan strolled into his office, immediately making a b-line for his desk. He was running late. After playing dress up to get more funding out of business wackos, it was right back to the school to deal with something about stink bombs going awry in the science wing, and after attempting to air out the whole place, he was racing back to his office to try and make it in time for his next student appointment.

New students, transfer students, exchange students--the fuckin' file was here somewhere. Even under all the annoyance at having to dig, there was a little bit of pride in seeing just how much the school had grown since its opening. Not that he really had a chance to ever stop and admire it, 'cause right now, the kid whose file he was actually looking for got escorted in. Logan waved him over to the sofa as he kept on digging, opening a drawer in the hopes of finding what he was looking for there.

in another life, he'd commanded fear and respect by something as simple as being in a room. a lifetime ago, he'd been able to make people wither with a glance, beg and plead as he walked toward them through the flames he moved through as though they were a part of him. people have maintained a healthy fear of him even in prison- the guards had a hilarious tendency to scuttle and scramble like roaches should he have even moved too quickly- power dampeners or not.

but something about the sight of his boy reduces him to a puddle. maybe it's the fact warren had been a squishy-faced little baby the last time he'd gotten to see him, that he's now taller than him, that every missed birthday and milestone seem to hit him in the chest at the same time and leave him struggling for breath- his tears are nothing but steam.

he surges forward like the tide, arms firmly locking around his son, his beautiful boy who he's missed so much it feels like an ache somedays.

Messy hair was readjusted before a low sigh left lips. “This is the fourth time he’s made this attempted... as long as Aisha manages to keep her claws out of him and his progress, he might get better.” David’s alcoholism was always a weird topic for the boy to talk about. It was nowhere near as bad as everyone made it out to be, but at the same time it wasn’t great, though Jamie’d never really voice this because he loved his dad too much and was doing what he could to defend him. “So, here’s to hoping?” If he had a glass of something he would have raised it, but he settled for a simple shrug.