#Is villainy mostly mistakened?

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 57

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

What lies underneath in this week’s chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Fem!Reader References/Warnings Below Cut

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings: many snake attribute mentions, asphyxiation play, strapped to a table and examined scientifically, light cutting, bra, boob tugging, knife play, and talk about murder and mutilation

In only a matter of a few days, your apartment had been turned into a command center. With boards that didn’t exist in the real world, you often walked through the floating diorama of the Hidden City whenever you had to go to the kitchen. It had players you had never heard of placed on it for demonstration and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was over nearly every single day to help work out a plan for Donnie to leave his villainous holdings behind. The automaton raised an arsenal of his own screens and it was the first time you got to see the manifestations side by side.

They had the slightest tint change between them and the way they were set up was distinctly them.

You loved your boys dearly.

Not left out of the loop, but unable to actually help, you mostly moved around them as they worked. Unlike other projects, this one had no time limit and needed to be done right. They’d entered a strategy session for the long haul and you were a bystander as they talked about industries that both existed here and were things that sounded like fairy tales.

You didn’t bother asking questions, but S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. often folded you in for the sake of it. He told tall tales of a city he retreated to once a year when Donnie got sick. It brought up the fact that Donnie had yet to catch something this year and came with teasing if Donnie so much as blinked funny. He chided right back, haughty about his health, and held you close as he pinned things to a board that grew by the day.

You picked up the slack where you could. Donnie was doing triple duty between his work from home villainy, his lab duties, and now planning the toppling of his own empire. With only so many hours in the day, it encroached on your time with him and you could see the guilt in him each time you passed. You always affectionately played it off and whispered of things yet to come when he was being particularly stubborn. You had easy fodder what with the baby conversation on top of his mistaken declaration of love. It meant a proposal was technically on the table though you knew he still wanted to announce his love properly.

Each little reassurance pulled eager churrs from him and seemed to reignite his passion in this project. In his element in a similar, but different way, he planned with a meticulousness that you thought must be done for those building detonations in urban areas. Not a single mistake could be made when the tiniest error meant an adjacent building would be caught in the crossfire. With time, he would be able to eradicate everything in a moment with only smoke in its wake and you standing unscathed.

It was that level of care that kept this from being a fixating period for him. As much as he wanted to free himself of his evil binds, it was those same shackles that gave him perspective. If the life he wanted was a simplified one with you then he needed to do this right. You didn’t believe there was only one shot and Donnie hadn’t spoken of it that way, but there was a sort of knowledge base that would be kicked off. He’d mentioned before something about information being key and, as such, if word got out early of his plans to evacuate, there would be plotting from various factions.

Words were tossed out like ‘power vacuum’ and you’d edged closer to him not out of fear, but of uncertainty. With each passing moment it was becoming more and more apparent just how downplayed you’d considered his villainy. Even if he’d been vague for your safety, he’d be upfront. No matter how  persistent he’d been in how bad he was, it had all been nothing but words without context. Now seeing the reach of his empire and knowing this was the paltry version where he’d already taken a backseat role made you feel especially ignorant.

Illegal mining rights, arms dealing, illicit substances, territory control, businesses squeezed, exchanges with other players, unlawful animal trade, mystic counterfeiting, and the movement of more unsanctioned goods then you could keep track of, Donnie had been right that he was a new type of creature. His tendrils slid and rooted themselves in nearly every edge of the Hidden City with only Big Mama as a true competitor.

“You built this in a decade.” You were perched on the back of the couch with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. sat on the ground between your legs.

Donnie paused where he was moving a digital page on the board. “I consider them by industry. I built up the weaponry sect in only a couple years and have maintained that position since.”

“I guess that’s the power of young blood?” You glanced at a color coded screen that showed Donnie’s holding at about a quarter of the city.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. lazily tugged your legs so your calves dangled over his chest. “Who’s the old blood?” 

“I’m not riding on your shoulders! The ceiling is too short.” You knocked on his metal head.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. pouted loudly and turned his head up. “No fun!”

“Yeah, hitting my head isn’t fun.” You continued to rap him with your knuckles.

“Are you referring to Big Mama?” Donnie turned and sent a warning look at his son.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. winked at it with a little flourishing star in his display

“Yeah. Sounds like she’s Splinter’s age, right?”

The other two parties stilled and, since S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was closer, you tugged on his triangular head.

“What?”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. glanced away and back. “Estimates have Big Mama at… thousands of years old.”

You blinked once before slowly turning up to Donnie for confirmation.

Your boyfriend gave a tight nod.

“You said she was getting old.”

“She acts like it. Compared to her legends.” Donnie rotated and you could tell he was looking hard at an image of her on the board.

It was the first time you had seen her and she looked like a relatively innocuous if not posh older woman. “Donnie?”

“Yes?” He refused to give you his eye.

He could sense it coming. “How old is Draxum?”

Donnie was quiet and you looked down to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.

“He’s vague, but based on the events he’s described, I would guess several hundred years.” Your son stared up at you and you loosened the death grip you had on him.

“Is that… old?”

“He’s probably middle aged.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. stared up openly.

“I guess… I guess that makes sense. They’re considered timeless creatures. Stuff from legends don’t have human life spans… You said that Empyrean probably gave yokai powers and that is the stuff that made the mutagen work…”

Donnie stepped closer to the board and S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. squirmed at the change in air beneath you.

“What… Donnie, what is your life expectancy?”

Donnie stood still until an anxious bounce of his leg brought him around. “What can we compare it to? The other mutants affected seem to be aging at regular rates, but they weren’t mutated like I was. I was entrenched in a vat. I was patient zero. The injected or bitten versions don’t appear to have the same results. Even that… that… rat wasn’t mutated in the same way. He-!”

Caught between data and rage, Donnie did a rounding pivot and took a few steps to cool down.

“He’s still growing.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. spoke softly.

You looked down at him in question. “Who?”

“Dad.”

“S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.” Donnie threw a bitter gaze from across the room.

This time you took S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s head in a gentle way to show him that this was you overriding Donnie’s threat. “Shelly, what are you saying?”

“That dad hit puberty at a typical human age, but then continued to grow throughout his 20s and still now.”

You looked up only in time for Donnie to look away. “You’ll… get taller? How is that…?”

“They all are.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. added. “It seems to have slowed though. Projections say a few more inches are probable.”

“Donnie, how long will you live?” You felt S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. reach up and hold your wrist reassuringly.

“I was submerged in an Empyrean mixture!” Donnie turned his head only enough where you saw a glint of his teeth as he bit down on the shout.

Since he was in your hands, you felt the moment S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. looked over to Donnie to assess. “A couple hundred years at least.”

Your fingers twitched away from the automaton.

“It won’t matter.” Donnie turned and approached with terror ripped across his features.

Your expression broke and before you could question how, he stood in front of you.

“It won’t.” Your mate stared into your eyes before dropping his gaze to his son. “It won’t…”

You followed to see the exchange to find S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. returning a sad and sympathetic gaze.

“Shelly…” You gave a light pressure to coax him up.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. looked at you similarly withheld. “Yeah?”

“You’ll outlive us, won’t you?”

The automaton shifted his gaze. “I guess you could say I’m still growing too. My programming is adaptive and with the way tech is going, I haven’t like, calculated a point I can’t reach.”

“Don-”

Donnie gave his mating call and while it was still echoing in your ears he threaded himself through S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. to cradle your head.

He wanted your full attention.

“I have considered many options. All which you would despise. I-!” He gave a shaky breath.

You touched Donnie’s pectoral scutes at nearly the same time S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. laid a reassuring hand on his father’s leg.

Donnie wilted under the combined support and hung his head to a degree. “Don’t ask me. I beg you. Under no circumstance. I won’t be able to deny you. Don’t ask.”

For you to be mutated or for him to carry on after you’re gone?

 The answer seemed to be any, all, and in-between.

“Please.” He choked.

You signaled to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. with a twitch of your leg that you were going to get up and Donnie came away miserable at your failure to respond. You stood only for a moment, before dropping down beside S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and catching Donnie’s hand. You pulled your partner down with you where he came stumbling and sat between the pair before wrangling them both in with arms around their necks. They both had to accommodate your height, but you soon had both of your boys pulled close. They settled into the position, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. more so since he didn’t have a resistant musculature to contend with, and you had one man to each cheek. “We’re us. I don’t want that any other way. No changing for one another. We’re us first and foremost.”

You felt the weight lift off Donnie’s shoulders because the heft of his body hit you.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. alternatively stiffened. “Uh…”

You let Donnie’s head fall to your shoulder so you could turn toward the automaton. “What’s up?”  

“I already changed for you…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. grew pixel tears in the edges of his large eyes.

You looked at him with some mirth. “Did you change for me or did you think of a new way you wanted for yourself after meeting me?”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. made his blinks bright and obvious.

You tilted your head so it laid on top of Donnie’s.

Your partner gave off a certain smug aura as he knew what you were getting at.

“Stop.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s gaze lit up hot. “You didn’t! Did you…? Dude, you dad’ed me! You hypno’ed me! That effect of people seeing themselves as more after you talk to them! What?!”

Flooded with excitement, he shot from your arms and had to bounce.

“Dad! Dad! Did you see?!”

“According to Mikey, I might have Leo’ed you too.” You added confidently.

Donnie’s head shot up so he could bore a hard gaze into you.

“What’d you do to him?” In a whirl of electronics, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. came to approximately kneel in front of you.

“I don’t actually know…” You glanced out of the corner of your eye to hopefully fend off your boyfriend. “Mikey only said he’s been really introspective since I yelled at him at the gym that one day.”

“You wrecked him! How do you do that!?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. leaned forward into your space with bright eyes.

You put a hand on his head to both calm him and stroke his enthusiasm. “I’m not doing anything. All of you are doing the work. I mean look at you. You were terrified of Donnie when I met you.”

“And… I stood up to him…” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s vision flicked to his dad.

“You’ve done well.” Donnie remarked.

You watched S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s systems freeze before an actual spark shot out of the side of his head.

You tugged your hand away and, in a whoosh of air, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shot upward and into the air.

“DON’T!!!” Donnie roared beside you, but it was too late.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. came down from several feet and cracked right through the floor. “Oh shi-!”

“I take it back!” Donnie growled, flew to his feet, and hoisted S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. straight up out of his hole in case it further caved in. “You never think for even a moment! Your programming is wasted! You irritating little-!” 

 “Am I getting picked up right now?!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. quacked and threw his arms out. “Y/N!!”

“This is not fun!” Donnie flung S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. sideways with the intent to put him down away from the damage.

Upon soaring through the air, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. tittered with so much excitement that he left his body.

With an empty metal husk in his arms, Donnie turned to snarl at his system. “Get back here!”

A zip of magenta through the many digital screens, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. returned to his frame and used Donnie’s darting eye to escape towards the door.

“GET BACK HERE!!!” Donnie gave chase.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. hit the hallway with Donnie hot on his heels.

You reached up and dragged your hands down your cheeks. “Forgot his disguise.”

Standing and looking at the crater that didn’t quite reach the apartment below, you shook your head knowing they’d both realize it as soon as they hit the street.

Sure enough, both parties returned in dampened but similar states within a few minutes. You sat waiting by the hole with your arms folded and Donnie relented first with a sigh. A saw attachment appeared out of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s back which he used to cut the hole clean and Donnie ordered some supplies to fix the cavity before end of day.

Calming down in various states, you all didn’t necessarily drop the age subject, but it hung up easily on the emotional wall as something to keep in mind. Peace to be had with it, there was eventually a return to the board and task at hand. Some more information dispersed and scenarios run, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. took the delivered materials and fixed the floor himself before sitting back and pretended to wipe his brow where the floor looked like it had never been damaged.

You had to squat down to study it.

“Monday, I’ll have whittled down the list and we can begin to examine my replacement candidates thoroughly.” Donnie spoke with still some very latent bitterness to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.

“Sounds good. Surveillance is ready to be tapped. Did you see the new one I pushed to the top of the pile?”

“The salamander?” Donnie cocked his head.

“Yeah.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. rose and pretended to stretch out his arms.

“We’ll see.” Donnie turned up his beak.

“He dismisses young ones.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. told you as if you had any idea what was going on in the conversation.

Donnie looked over his son coolly.

“When he was one?” You shared a look with S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. before giving Donnie one of your fetching ones.

He didn’t relent and only lowered his lids. “It’s not about youth; it’s about holding. I shall see when I review the file.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. hummed snarkily.

“Think you can squeeze in a movie tomorrow? I wanted to show you that one… “ You dropped off where S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was making an obvious grimace. “What?”

“I have plans. There’s a convention in town and I want to see what it’s like to walk around without my disguise. I’m gonna totally win the cosplay contest!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. grinned with an arm behind his head. “That’s why we said Monday.”

“Cheating.” You tutted and bumped him affectionately. “Have fun.”

“I deserve it.” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. puffed up and then walked backwards toward the door with thrown out pointed fingers as if he were leaving the stage from a successful concert. “See y’all lates!”

Donnie gave him a parting nod and you waved him off down the hall before closing up the door. “So…”

From where he was over by his desk, Donnie shifted his posture to evaluate you.

“Just you and me tomorrow?”

“You, I, files, and chores.” He smirked.

“True romance.” You approached and held out your hands in a show.

He took you into a hug and pressed his beak to your hairline. “I won’t let time keep us apart.”

“I knew you were still thinking of that.” You mumbled into him.

“Hard pressed to forget, but I will attempt to take your words to heart.” He leaned away enough to show you his open expression.

You leaned up on the tips of your toes to give him a soft peck.

He smiled against your lips and you moved together to make dinner.

Going through the evening and into the next day, everything was the new business as usual. Donnie had many tasks that he worked through at a certain leisure. You had his attention when you wanted and with the same offered in return, you both went about your day. Just before lunch you headed out to Old Lady Nagami’s to pick up dry cleaning.  While you’d forced Donnie to relent on most of your clothes, he refused to let even a single of his items go anywhere else but into her hands. It meant weekly or so trips which you attended when you could.

You weren’t sure if Donnie liked you coming or not, but the trips usually panned out in the same way. Old Lady Nagami’s nephew manned the front counter, but as soon as you entered she would tear through the shop to yell at him until he left. Then she’d coo over you and how you needed to whip Donnie more into shape because you were already doing a good job. Donnie took everything in stride and as the nephew got his clothes, Donnie and Old Lady Nagami would talk tangential shop. You always listened to their coded messages and sometimes Donnie would decipher them afterwards. Today though, you slipped in the shop with the usual bell only to find the lady already sitting at the front desk with narrowed eyes.

Donnie didn’t slow, but took in an irritated aura as he approached. “What do you know?”

Nagami glanced at you and back. “There will be repercussions.”

Donnie’s posture flared threateningly, but you long knew that didn’t work on the old woman. “I asked you a question.”

She ignored him and beckoned you with a finger.

You approached slowly and kept just behind Donnie.

“I still do not know your name.” She told you with an unreadable gaze.

“And you never will.” Donnie was just short of growling.

“How much of him have you come to know?” Her head didn’t tilt, but there was an obvious shift in the shape of her pupil.

“That is not pertinent-!” Your boyfriend’s hand came down to slap the counter.

“Tell me!” She bit through the air, just loud enough to beat the slam and give him some form of attention. “You are pathetic! Obvious! Do you think I would not see your destination? Boring! You give everything up for the first pretty person to turn your way!”

“I don’t pay you to-!”

“Pay me!” She leaned up and forward. It gave you a sense that her true height was something much larger than her current form and, in opening her mouth, you saw her canines lengthen. “Othello, it has been decades! Drop the act for once and listen as you should!!!”

His nostrils flared with fury and you put a hand to his arm.

He only snapped his wrathful gaze down at you.

You stared back up evenly.

In a slight squint of his gaze, he passed the conversation to you.

“Lady Nagami…” You started.

She lowered herself and turned to wait for you.

“What do you know?” In contrast to Donnie’s accusation, you went for open curiosity.

With a shift in the air, you felt a sort of bubble encase the room. Glancing around as it wasn’t anything visual that changed, you turned back to the old woman.

She appraised you and folded her arms on the counter. “I know that my contact at the auction house was bragging about pulling one over on theirs. I know this to be Othello as he was the one who set up the connection.”

Donnie glanced away and stewed.

“I know many a man has been lured away by love. Not one was successful.” She didn’t look at Donnie, but she squinted through her lenses in a way that said she was talking to him. “Sloppy. They rush. They think themselves safe.”

“He knows he won’t be.” You didn’t argue, but commented.

“Does he?” She raised a brow. “Don’t they all?”

You let the comment sit before rounding your partner and placed your hands in a show of fealty on the counter. “What do you recommend?”

She smiled with a sage’s whip and looked over you affectionately. “I have always liked this one.”

You nodded a form of thanks.

“You’ll use your plans.” She finally looked at Donnie. “You’re making them now?”

Donnie gave a curt nod.

“I know by coincidence, but by tide, the information has not reached the heads, either council or underground.”

He took the information with closed eyes.

You read it as something soothing.

“Will you keep me?” She tilted her head and her glasses chain sparkled.

Donnie swept his gaze to her and hesitated his distaste on crinkled lips. “You have… held up your side of the agreement.”

“You’ve kept my pockets lined, sent me business, and kept my dealings appropriately quiet.”

“Your little gang has dwindled.” Instead of looking down his beak at her, he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

“Kids.” She curled her lips. “They do not want old business. Too hungry. Know no stability. Sound familiar?”

“I detest how you laud your age over me.” He finally turned toward her with a glint of his teeth.

“What am I, if not wise in years?” She returned it with one of her own and you saw her teeth were now long and snake-like fangs.

“Yet you can’t keep your own family in line.” He shifted his body, resisting to throw an open threat.

“I force them! Why? So I can watch what I have built crumble? I rather it die with me.” She shrugged openly.

Donnie watched dully. “What do you want?”

“I want to see you be the first.”

Not surprise, but something similar, he only showed it with the faintest shift in his lids.

“To… successfully get away with love?” You stepped in, wary of both parties.

Donnie’s shoulders rose with displeasure and Nagami’s grin split much wider than any human’s should.

“I have often wished you were my son. You would have brought our family great power.” Nagami spoke casually, but it appeared to be something revealing as Donnie’s gaze shot away.

“Too alone. Your downfall. Mystery and by my hand you have lived this long.” Her head rolled one way then another in a snake’s display of attentive interest. “I hate to see my work go to waste if I can help it.”

You tapped the counter where you were still holding it. “You’ve… dismissed your own family, but think you can help… Othello?”

“Yes.” She slid a hand forward and covered yours with hers. “If not this moment, soon. He will see the advantage.”

Donnie scoffed softly.

“Who else will clean your clothes?” She tilted her head, amused.

That brought Donnie’s eye.

“My demands are simple. No change here.” She lifted a free hand and pointed a digit down into the counter. “You pay, I supply. Clothes, medical, the same.”

“What else?” He eyed her.

“You do not let this one die.” She squeezed your hand and glared at Donnie with growing disdain.

“Don’t act as if I would think otherwise!” He frothed.

“You have never considered anyone other than yourself! You only grow on me because I did not scrape you off the side of my shoe!”

“You are the one kept!” Donnie pressed flat against your back to snarl at the woman. “You said so yourself! I nearly collapsed your pathetic gang overnight when you tried to blackmail me or does your ancient memory fail you!?”

She coolly flicked her eyes over him. “You will not succeed. Too hot under the collar. Shame.”

“Manipulation? Still?” Donnie lips parted for a bitter breath. “You are nothing.”

She turned and walked back, grabbing a tied bunch of Donnie’s clothes where they sat in plastic and hangers. She then brought them over and hung them on a bar. “$187.59.”

You looked between them in dismay as Donnie paid.

He grabbed the wad of hangers and turned to leave.

You hung behind and looked over the old woman helplessly.

Her face otherwise neutral, one of her eyebrows cocked the faintest amount.

Donnie cleared his throat by the door.

You studied her and turned to follow.

If not this moment, soon.

She was planting seeds.

It felt like an echo of the Donnie you had originally met.

He was one that had to come to decisions on his own.

Exiting into the alley and walking out to where the car was parked, you trailed behind him and wondered if he knew that was her plan.

They had a long standing business relationship so you had a sense he probably did.

The door to the vehicle opened as soon as it came into sight. You slipped into the back first and Donnie followed, hanging his clothes on a hook just for them. He closed the door and the car took off with a slow lurch.

You waited a few blocks before quietly addressing him. “You okay?”

“Never reached a point where someone didn’t look down at me…”

Lightly running a thumb over a nail, you gave a half-hearted smile. “Don’t think anyone does.”

Donnie breathed a sort of bitter agreement.

Your gaze softened. “When you say it like that it sounds like your life is over.”

“One is.” He stared hard out the window.

“I disagree.” You turn to study his profile.

He gave an obvious shrug for you to see.

You prodded a fold of his jacket breaching the gap between you.

“Say it.”

“Think she’s right?”

One large blink said that wasn’t the question he expected and he turned to look at you. “No.”

You leaned your head against the headrest to watch him.

“No.” He affirmed harder.

“What was her gang like?”

Another misdirect he couldn’t calculate, he studied you.

“Like typical drug kingpin or…?”

“Medical.”

Your gaze darted around the cabin. “How…?”

Donnie settled, but kept examining you. “Disgraced in the Hidden City, she moved her family over in the 80s and took advantage of a wave of Eastern medicine. Using botched mysticism, she both healed and poisoned masses with her clinic as seemingly the only respite.”

“Oh…”

Donnie nodded lightly. “The younger generations that grew up here took to doctorates and found the actual rigging of the US medical system to be more advantageous.”

“The nephew?”

“The only one that didn’t make it through school.” Donnie gave a sort of smile.

“Are you letting her in on the plan?”

You watched relief pour over your partner as that was the question he’d been waiting for. “I’ll hold out until my next drop off.”

“You think she can help?”

“I think she chose her words too well and is targeting my weak spot.”

“You don’t want to chance what she said coming true.”

He sharpened his gaze to translate you’d gotten it right.

“Most of the villain’s I’ve met have been pretty nice to me. I have no idea what to think…” You shook your head. “I trust you.”

He hummed and reached out to lay his hand besides yours.

You touched your pinky to his thumb.

A faint churr rolled out of him.

“This time… What you’re doing I mean, it feels… different. Like how you’re taking your time. You’re usually so sure and jump as soon as you are, but now…?”

Donnie nodded. “No mistakes. No obsession. No rush. Done right.”

“Is this still what you want?” You look toward him under your lashes and raised them up to catch honesty.

He watched the move with affection. “Very much so. Every time I look at you.”

You snagged his fingers.

He squeezed your hand and you sat in a comfortable silence on the way home. Dropped off outside the apartment, Donnie slung his dry cleaning over his shoulder and followed you as you led up to the apartment. Out on your floor and inside, you could tell his mind was kicking into gear now that Nagami was in the mix. You offered to take his laundry and he pecked you gratefully on the cheek before heading to translate the new information to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.

Pinning the canopy of the bed back, you laid out the many bags and went through the soothing process of taking the covers off the dry cleaning. You carefully removed the plastic and took each item off its sticky hanger one by one. Laying them out at first, you then set aside the different piles and took to folding what was necessary and hanging the rest on their proper hangers.

Humming not a tune, but a tone as you hoisted up a folded pile for the dresser, you walked over to it and jimmied a drawer open with a full load. The top sweater slipping, you shifted down to a knee to correct the load and set the stack on top of your thigh to adjust. Getting the pile upright, you trailed up to the correct drawer with a finger lining the way and tucked your fingers under the handle. Pulling it out, you went back to the load, teetering in your strange pose. It brought a hand down to the ground to stabilize and you heard an audible click.

Blinking, you stared over the dresser and didn’t see anything so figured a button or something must have gotten stuck in Donnie’s clothes. You’d look for it in a moment, but putting the clean laundry was the priority. A few swipes had them placed and you inched backwards on your knees to close the drawer and look. The immediate area showed little and you placed a flat hand against the dresser to stabilize yourself as you bent over to look underneath the furniture.

As soon as you did, a purple light emanated from there.

Staring dully at how the dresser now resembled a spaceship, you scooted further away and watched as a panel drop flush with the ground. Retreating on instinct, it at first looked like another drawer until it began to push itself outward. Nearly silent through the whole process, you were eventually presented with a case.

A metal container, the side facing you had a fake wood panel to match the dresser. Following along the edge, you found a hinge running all the way around, but no opening closure. From the many layers of protection around it, you squinted against the wood part and whispered.

“Darling Protocol Open.”

The wood shifted and you wished you had touched it before because it clearly wasn’t the material you thought it was. In a reconfiguration, it manifested a handle much like the ones on the dresser and you grabbed hold of it. Also metal, though cleverly painted, you lifted up and the case opened. Lined with a soft purple glow that reminded you of a UV light, inside was a black mass and little fixtures. Digging into the fabric you bumped something large and flat placed over the surface and got a hold of that first. Lifting it where it had been laid upside-down, you found it to be Donnie’s villain costume mask.

Your eyes widened at it before you scoured into the fabric with a tug to reveal a purple pinstripe that you knew went down the front of his suit.

You sat back on your haunches and held the mask loosely in your hand.

It seemed weirdly apropos for you to find it now.

Looking over the mask while you were still dumbfounded, you studied the shape of it. You had once wondered how it fit his beak and seeing it now, up close, it made even less sense. It was barely concave in nature and looked more like a dinner plate with large protrusions for those glowing goggles.  Holding it up to your own face, there was no room for your nose and you dropped the piece down to your lap while thinking.

You weren’t sure now was the time for this.

Even if you had come upon his costume’s location by some sort of kismet accident, Donnie was in a transitional phase and something about it seemed wrong to ask him about. Sort of like picking a healing scab, you figured talking to him about it later might be better and went to put the mask back. Finding the placement of it was so the case could close, you shut the thing, and pushed it back towards the dresser.

It was the slightest bit ajar and no longer fit underneath.

You chided yourself silly and shook your head. “Sorry, Darling Protocol Close.”

The case did nothing.

You pushed down harder on it, sure you’d put everything pretty much back in place.

“Close.”

You tilted your body to the side and saw the hinge line where it was no longer laying flush with itself. Pouting, you tugged the thing back open and fluffed the contents before smashing them back down. They again seemed flat and you closed the case a second time only to still find the same crack.

“Shut. Bolt. Lock. Disengage. I don’t know!” You hissed a sharp whisper to the object and stared at the handle still sitting there.

You tapped the object, remembering how there hadn’t been a handle before you asked for it.

“You…” You narrowed your gaze at the offensive jut of metal. “Go away. Dematerialize. Stop.”

It stayed just as it was and you hung your head over the case in dismay.

The forces at be really wanted you to discuss this then.

Sighing, you opened the case back up and plucked the mask. Two birds, one stone, you carried the object with you over to where Donnie was in front of the big digital bulletin board. A little S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. icon was moving around the screen and writing data where Donnie was clearly absorbed reading and responding.

“Uh… Hey, Don…?” You felt bashful and shifted the mask between nervous fingers.

“Hm?” He didn’t look and moved an image as it popped up.

“I… sort of found something… and I can’t… put it away…” You held up the mask, goggles facing him, at the ready.

“Dry clean-?” He turned casually to address you when his expression plummeted. “How…?”

“I don’t know…” You lifted the mask to hide your shame. “I was just putting your sweaters away and… was there like some sort of code? On the dresser…?”

“Yes…” He eyed you carefully before taking the mask.

You watched him look it over with a sharp gaze.

Just as quickly as he scrutinized, it fell to neutral and then shifted to a sort of smile where he shook his head. “If anyone would find it…” 

“My thoughts exactly…” You chuckled. “I’m sorry…”

“No…” He gave a metered sigh. “Quite alright. I’ll shut it.”

“S-sure!” You bobbed to attention.

He gave you a bored glance at your obvious hesitation and waited.

“I just… always wondered.” You held your hand up like a muzzle. “How does it… it makes your snout disappear?”

He dropped out his dry gaze for one of affection. “You need only ask.”

You grinned at him feeling settled.

He looked you over appropriately before turning his head in demonstration. “By design, it’s meant for anonymity.” He held the mask up to his face and you watched it adjust, almost reaching for him. He placed it on and it shifted for a bowed curve instead of over his beak distinctly.

You touched his arm to lean in close and could see him looking out the corner of his goggles at you. “Huh…”

He turned to face you and you saw his face looked only like a black abyss with two round holes.

“How does it do that?” You reached up and touched to find the mask was indeed there even if you couldn’t see it.

“It’s the paint. It absorbs all light.”

“Wow…” You smiled and ran your fingers to the edge. “With the hood it works really well.”

Donnie nodded. “There’s lights in the hood to further shroud me.”

“There are?” You perked up. “I only remember the eyes.”

“A prominent feature.”

You looked down momentarily nervous before sending your desire up to him. “Would you show me?”

He stared down at you evenly before his lids creased. “Of course.”

You chewed your lip as he rounded you and you followed. “Is this… weird? With you leaving it behind and all?”

“I’m not sure.” He spoke honestly and approached the case you’d left open.

“I’ve always been interested.” You admitted, following the trend.

He crouched enough to grab the jumpsuit and stood straighter, studying the fabric. “I know you have…”

You drew close and he looked you over.

You imagined he probably wanted something similar, but you only gawked at his head.

“It really just hangs off your face.”

He chuckled and reached up to remove it with one big hand. “Try it on.”

“I held it up before and nothing happened…”

He shook the jumpsuit out and unzipped it to step in. “Try now.”

“Since you know?” You held the mask up to your face.

“It could be voice activated.”

“Then why couldn’t I close the case?!” You huffed and felt the tech in the mask shift as it got close to your skin. Nerves high, you brought it until it brushed your nose and it gently reconfigured. Something akin to a soft brush, it molded itself to your skin and bowed around your nose giving you room to breath. You also felt it shrink down where it exceeded your facial structure to fit you like a glove. You let go marveling at Donnie through the goggles and felt how the mask just barely clung to your skin in a comfortable hold. “This is wild…”

He had the jumpsuit around his waist and was slinging an arm into one side. “Look at you.”

“Turn the lights on.” You cheered lightly.

“Absolutely not.” He shrugged into the sleeves.

You stepped into his space and did the zipper for him. “Rude.”

“Rather not be blinded.”

“You’ve blinded me a few times.” You grouched and set the neckline.

He clucked amused and caught your wrists.

“What?” You frowned even though he couldn’t see it.

“I actually…” He removed your hands and unzipped a few inches before hoisting the hood up from where it was tucked. He then brought the zipper up the rest of the way so the hood was secured inside it.

“Oh, oops…” You removed the mask and passed it to him.

He hummed disinterest and applied it to himself.

You stared at him, hands hovering close and pushed forward to touch his plastron.

He appraised you easily. “Ready?”

You nodded.

You watched as he blinked and the hood lights turned on. A soft purple neon glow from around his head, you immediately reached up into the fabric to feel it. It encroached his face in pure darkness as he described and you felt a plastic sort of quality to the inside of the hood where the light technology was pasted.

“Does it get hot?”

“No.” One of his hands hovered by your waist.

You glanced down at it. “You’re missing the gloves and boots.”  

“Am I?” He turned his hand over and you watched as from the tech gauntlet underneath, a glove manifested as it had the night the other turtle’s ambushed you. Without the same sharpened claws, they instead looked like bulky rubber gloves and you skimmed them to feel their metal coating.

His fingers parted under your touch and, in a shift, you checked his other hand. “Missing one.”

“Got me there.” He leaned with you to look at the case.

Inside there was a compartment for his boots and another tech gauntlet.

You stepped away from him and gathered the former to pass to him.

He applied it to his free wrist and stretched out his arm as the other glove moved into place.

Raking your eyes over him, you gave a coy smile which he took with head tilting interest.

“Oh no…!” You feigned a hand over your mouth in horror. “Furious Fuchsia?! What am I going to do?” 

He turned the lights off so you could watch his lids drop in judgment.

“I know, I know. I’m supposed to be scared…” You trended towards him and traced a strap on his chest. “I never have been though. Maybe the bug eyed thing freaked me out at the time, but it was because there were two scary headlights in an empty alley. If I had seen this, I don’t know… while I was out at night and you were… robbing a bank and I saw you, half lit, without knowing you, I think my first thought would be… cool. How mysterious…”

Tracing a clip that was an obvious Donatello ‘D,’ your partner was silent so you looked up to see why.

Nearly the size of his goggles, he was staring down at you in astonishment.

You took him in with your own form before lowering your lids.

“You know I’m telling the truth, don’t you?”

He gave a slow nod before his gaze shifted to an appreciative one.

“What are you imagining?” You leaned into him sweetly.

“Meeting you like that, a true villain and my first prey to not immediately run. You glimpsed me in the act, you think I would let you go?” His shoulders squared and you could sense his preparation.

 “You could easily take me out…” You pressed your hands flat against his pectoral scutes.

“No.” His voice shifted to that deeper pitch he used to disguise his own. “Consider yourself captured.”

“But you don’t capture…” You felt him take your waist. “No victims left alive.”

“True…” He leaned into you and you had no choice, but to bend back in his hold. “You though… What you know… Your knowledge intrigues me…”

You were nearly being dipped as his hold shifted supportive. “Me? I’m just some citizen…”

“You’re no mere resident.” He openly scanned you.

You squirmed a little in his grasp. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Shall we see?”

“See what?”

“If that’s true. If you’re not after more.” This time he did dip you and leaned his mask right into your face. “A trade.”

“Trade?” You felt giddy as he brought you back up with him in a salsa-like maneuver.

“My identity for yours…?” Leading you over to the wall, he trapped you there.

Pushing back hard against the wood, you stared up at him unable to hide your excitement. “My identity…? I would think yours is more important…”

“There it is again.” He leaned into your space. “Your interest in my person.”

“Guess you could call me a fan…” You wished you could kiss him.

“Guess we’ll see if that holds true?” He tipped his head with a question.

You gave a single eager nod.

His gaze dipped and he leaned down as if to kiss you.

Compelled, you pressed your lips to the flat of his mask and heard an explosion of churning metal.

Fluttering your lids open, you found the shoulder pads he’d been missing were now in place along with his cinching metal belt. All parts you now placed as part of his battle shell, the pièce de résistance were the four enormous mechanical arms lazily hooked around you. One atop the dresser and another craning curious around the partition to the living room, the last two settled against the ground, ready to lift Donnie if need be.

You gasped lightly at the sight and Donnie moved.

“Let us reveal then. Bit…” Encased by him, instead of ushering you out of the space, you felt the claw above you slide down the wall’s frame towards yours. There, it inched, testing, around your ankle and you caught his jumpsuit to articulate it was okay for him to proceed. “…by…” The arm wound, gentle, but probing between your legs and continued to spiral upwards. “…bit.”

This was the decadent version compared to the nightmarish one the night of the chase.

This was what you should have done then.

This was a reclamation.

You were so glad you found that case.

Mewling as the arm fastened just under your butt, you lifted off the ground as it coiled around your waist. A comforting constriction, Donnie backward away for more space and the arm from the dresser trailed over to help. It snaked into your grasp, urging you to let go of him and you held onto it as it curled around you. Slithering up your arm and leaving trails of goosebumps behind with the revolving metal texture, it felt like soft scales streaming across your skin.

You breathed in heavy gasps and heat as it wormed up towards your face and the claws extended. Purple poisoned tips, the three sharp fingers extended and touched your cheek. Exceedingly gentle in the comparison to how sharp, they spun slowly in a trace over your lips. All you could think was how they were him. Just as you had confirmed during the last night of his hacking troubles, this was his caress. 

Pushing down on the plump of your bottom lip, your lips parted and you moved your head careful to suck on the claw there.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Donnie’s pupils shift through a layer of glass with wild excitement.

This was completely uncharted territory for him.

You were going to make it beyond worth his while.

Extracting from the claw with a wet pop, you licked your lip. “Bit by bit, huh?”

He tried to roll his churr into an interested noise.

“Then where’s…?” You reached up from the elbow since your biceps were strapped down and cradled the mechanical arm. “… my give?”

“Think you deserve one already?” He stepped in and the other arm coiled a final twist around your neck.

“Do you have me or have I let you?” You smirked down at him and pulled the claw along to give it a delicate kiss.

It switched grip and a single digit lifted your chin. “What a being you are, calling shots in this position. I was right to keep you alive.”

You had another haughty retort on your lips but the tethers restricted. Slow and careful, they tested your windpipe and just barely cut off your oxygen. You writhed looking down at him and saw his gaze was laser focused to catch even the slightest discomfort. It brought a little smile to your lips which you parted as soon as your need to breathe started to become pressing.

The arms loosened and curled around you affectionately. The one in your grasp wriggled as you stroked it down. You were soon lowered to Donnie’s eye level where he judged you with an open cascading of his gaze.

“What do you see?”

“A specimen.” He spoke instantly and reached out to tread a gloved hand across your waist. “You?”

“A new type of creature.”

He stopped and looked at you with waning intent.

A little worried, you dropped the act. “Was that wrong? You okay?”

He shook his head slowly and reached out in time that you were brought into his face. “I adore you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

You reached for him and the arms shot away to give you the full freedom to move. Now swathed around the waist and up toward your back, you took his head careful and coaxed him close. There you kissed into the abyss and landed with your lips against the flat mask. “I quite like you as well Furious Fuchsia.”

Caught, his gaze narrowed and you felt the arm near your neck shifted to pinch curiously at your top. “Give?”

“What did I take?” You kept your hold on him.

“My attention.”

“I’d have said heart.” You looked at him cheekily.

With one curled claw, he shredded a line down the back of your shirt. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You pouted openly and slumped your limbs so the shirt would fall.

One of the claws from the ground came up to toss the fabric away in a fluid motion. “Specimen.”

He had repeated himself with a new tenor.

You searched him curiously before you dropped.

Shifted and turned, you were soon laying horizontally while strapped down to a table made from a bunched coiling of the mechanical arms. Donnie loomed over you, turning his head back and forth to show where his gaze trailed. One of his hands rose, gloves turning into claws and he traced the pinprick edge over the expanse of your exposed torso.

“What pretty skin.”

You tested your binds in a squirm.

Flexing his fingers out, he dug lightly into your side and tested the way your skin relented. “So clean, so soft…”

You made a high pitched sound, tense with the sensation teetering on ticklish.

In a flick as if picking some hardened piece of food off a table, he snapped a digit in and you felt it scrape you.

Your hips lifted lightly with the sting.

He dipped down, looking at that obviously and then flicking his gaze back to yours.

You forced a smile.

His eyes said he returned it and he again spread his claws, this time dragging them with purpose. “I’d like to leave my mark.”

“You don’t leave evidence…” Your body arched as he made disappearing lines over the plain of your stomach.

“Again, how you know me and my work.” He cooed and in a snap, he made a small incision to your arm.

You squeaked at the papercut-like pain and sent a betrayed expression to him.

“Won’t scar, not deep, barely bleeding.” He spoke in his usual tone before turning to the pitched one. “You bleed like the rest.”

“I’m human.”

“I’m not.” He reached for the arm he wounded and pulled it to him. The binding didn’t release, but simply came along with, so he could examine the cut close.

It also showed you that it was exactly how he described with only a single drop of red formed off it.

He wiped it up and it disappeared in the dark color of his glove.

It appeared to be logged because with a roll of his neck, he shifted to ready himself over the project of your body and went to work. Metal palming warm from his skin, he dug and prodded you until you were a writhing mess. He trekked across places exposable in a public sense while pressing pain centers and breaking the skin only enough for surface level scarring. Marring you for him, he moved to snap the fabric of your bra when you least expected it.

Nearly snarling at him incensed, he propped a hand on either side of your head and the table moved so he could lean over you. “You seem upset?”

“F-fuck…” You managed.

“You’ve done well.”

You winced rhythmically as the air stung all the little grazes.

“Want help? Your first give?”

“B-both?” Your heart rate was finally coming down.

He nodded a single time.

“Y-yes…”

Reaching up obviously, he removed his mask.

You tried  to stop him and the binds let you get a certain distance.

He slowed, the cover only partially removed from his face. “Problem?”

“Your… identity…”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted… I wanted you…”

He hitched where you could only see one of his eyes. “I…” His voice warped out of his villainous one. “I don’t know how to proceed. I want to taste you, but this does not shrink in a way that would allow it.”

“Can you black out the goggles?” You moved to sit up and were allowed.

It came with needle pricks from your wounds, but you ignored them to support his arm.

He seemed appreciative and lowered the mask with a strained expression.

“Why impede my vision? This is only meant for me.”

You hummed unsure.

He tapped the cover, thinking, until he flipped it over and studied the goggles. “There are different modes…”

“Yeah?”

“Night vision, UV, mystic energy tracker…”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek.

He chirped an affection and nuzzled close. “I think I’ve got it.”

“I didn’t help at all.”

“You always help.” He tapped a flat finger to your forehead and pushed.

You took the message and laid back down.

He adjusted himself with a flip of his head and put the mask back in its half position along with his voice. “How thoughtful.”

You smile slightly and, in a flash, he put the mask on you.

Blinking at the sudden adjustment, you saw mostly dark blobs until you turned to view him. He sat a radiating hot red form under heat vision. “Oh!”

“Now.” The table righted and he dropped down.

Immediately getting his mouth on you, his tongue was a scathing balm on your wounds. You cried for him, only just barely keeping the sounds generic and not his actual name. He licked flat stripes, catching the braised skin and soothing it where he roved. Less titillating and more clinical, you squirmed under him trying to catch more when you saw two claws lift ominously. A cooler, green refinement, there was just enough definition from their generated heat that you could see the claws as they spun at threatening ready. Not sure where they were going and with Donnie sucking lightly at the cut on your arm, they shot forward and locked onto your breasts.

Cold in comparison, the metal dug into the mounds and, with a rolling press, hard palmed your nipples. The million little joints rolled over the bud and created a wholly new sensation that had you tensing and squeaking out unsure sounds. Donnie slowed, pressing kisses to your belly as he watched his tech push and pull your breasts. Coming away taut with the claws pinching your nipples tight, they tugged hard and pushed the elasticity of your chest to its very limits. It burned with the stretch of skin and then melded it hard back into your torso where the nano pieces rippled a strange sort of lick that had your pitch soaring.

With a final squeezing claw to each breast at large, you imagined it left a pair of three daggered punctures in its wake. The arms then released and were replaced by Donnie’s tongue. A sexual good cop bad cop that was all him, he soothed the pain and held only tenderness as he lapped carefully at the abused buds. Swirling for a suck to clean your wounds, you whimpered for him and strained on the table where the binds were again taut. He traced your arm down to one, tucking a finger in that sharpened to press threateningly at your pulse.

“T-too much!” The phrase popped out and his hand disappeared as soon as it did.

“Apologies.” He whispered softly.

“It’s okay. Choking is one thing, but that was…”

“Right.” His form seemed to nod understandingly.

You relaxed with a twitch.

He came up a glowing blob and peeled back your mask to kiss your cheek. “I would never harm you.”

“I know…” You ghosted up, your hand melded with his shape and felt around until you could squeeze his shoulder through the jumpsuit fabric.

He caught your hand and kissed it as well. “We’ll switch back in a moment for your sake.”

“Done tasting me already?” You chided, feeling calmer.

He lightly bit your digits. “Never enough, but in this case, I want you to watch. No repeats.”

“Repeat of what?” He extracted himself, placed the mask back on you, and appeared to slide over you as if you were a piano.

“That night. I’m going to fuck you with the arms.”

Your body wound with excitement.

The way he pet your stomach said he appreciated the turn. He shifted to a clawed finger and skirted it down your jeans. “Gathering more of you, piece by piece.”

“Pound of flesh.” You hissed lightly as he curved inward between your legs.

“How’s the sight deprivation?”

“Hot.” You smirked even though he couldn’t see it.

“Scoff, puns are the lowest bar of comedy.”

You giggled.

“Hm?” The dagger pushed right into the apex between your legs and, on instinct, you tried to pull away.

The bed of arms raised as a block for your shoulders.

“Something amusing?” He dug it in deeper and you felt the sharp curve of the blade through the thick fabric of your pants.

You gave a breathy whine, unable to form a word.

In a little wiggle, you felt the moment he breached your bottoms as the claw became a sharper shape with only the thin cotton of your underwear as a barrier. “I was haphazard above. I think when I have you next, I will carve you with purpose. Section you off like meat.”

“Are you a villain or serial killer?” His pause gave you a moment to breathe.

“Murdering three or more in a month as separate events…?” He mouthed with curiosity. “I suppose the label fits, but not for pleasure… Well… not in the case it supposes.”

You made a nervous fist and you watched his blob move to catch it.

“Y/N?”

“Have…” You shifted. “Sorry to stop so soon, mask, please.”

He appeared in your vision clearly within the next second. “No apologies. What’s wrong?”

You pushed to sit up and came away easily.

You watched him searching you in a wild darting of his head.

You touched his plastron to catch his focus.

He came and sent it toward your gaze.

“Pleasure…?”

All at once, his face fell into a light hearted one. “Pleasure for the villainy, not for death. Retribution. For cruelty. Not mutilation.”

“You…” Feeling a little too bare up top, you tried to fold your arms, but mechanical ones crept up as soon as you did. You watched them as they slowly formed a sort of tube top and you smiled at them, then Donnie. “You said that thing about picking Mikey apart… when you caved his face in.”

Donnie lips parted with a sort of guilt. “Again, not about death, but that would be mutilation… It’s difficult to explain. In certain states of mania, I derived pleasure from it as a science. I believe I also explained that with the orange oaf I thought I may find what made him tick in the process. I… wanted to understand finally, why…”

You pressed a little harder for support. “I’m ruining the moment.”

“No.” He caught your hand and then shoved his face into yours. “No.”

You couldn’t help pecking the tip of his beak.

“Does that help?”

“Yes, the way you were talking… I had to know… for sure if you had…”

“I’ve killed many, but not in such a way. No saved bodies. No Frakensteinian amalgamations. Not my particular brand of science. I prefer to deal in living.”

In a slow slide and breaking from his grasp, you moved to touch the scute he’d removed for his vivisection.

His expression shifted to a pained one and this time he covered your hand. “May I share what titillated me? Why I shifted to that line of speech?”

“Of course. Finally I get to tell you how silly it is to ask.” You prodded his cheek with your other hand.

He leaned into the digit. “I thought of writing on you. Painting your skin with a brush. Leaving marks as such. Writing my name in the tender flesh of your thigh.”

You squirmed at the thought and your mind’s eye supplied a flurry of images. “I… We need to do that.”

Donnie nodded.

“Tally marks of misdeeds…” You chewed your lip and bounced. “Tenderly filling in the gaps on your carapace…”

He kissed you sweetly.

You melted against him and made out languidly until you nudged him with your nose. “Keep going…”

He nodded once before the mask fell back in place and he repositioned himself just as he had been with the claw against your underwear. 

“There’ll be a next time…?” You added a little too much breath to the statement.

In return, Donnie’s growl sounded a little too playful as he hooked the digit into your right pant leg’s inseam and began to tear downward. Claw dragging your skin the whole way, you felt him scratch a long line until he severed the fabric at the ankle. The peel back felt like a burst casing and he moved to do the same down your left leg. By the end of it you were shifting with need and a seasoning of pain. “Another take, therefore…”

You heard but didn’t comprehend.

The mask lifted from you and bubbling worries came with clarity. “Ah-!”

Only your head could lift and, in doing so, you found the mask was already back with its rightful owner where said villain had a grip on the zipper at his chin.

“Oh…”

His head quirked with what you bet was a smile and he was torturously slow as he dragged it down. Caught by his battle shell, he tugged the fabric hard to reveal until it was trapped by the belt at his waist. “Ah, the downsides of a good suit.”

You listened to his lament with a curling of your toes.

He glanced at the movement and then back to you. “A moment, if you will?”

Not waiting for an answer, he ducked his body and came straight out of his battle shell. In a quick shuffle, he got the top of his jumpsuit off and left it hanging gorgeously at his hips before he stepped back into the straps on his equipment. Locked back in place, it painted him an overheated mechanic still hard at work on a project.

“Suffice?”

“No.”

“No?” He struggled a moment to keep his pitch.

“No more games. I want my due.”

“Your first poor showing.” He tutted with three ticks and the table began to warble.

You steeled yourself and it disintegrated into snakes, weaving and wriggling across your nearly nude frame. Setting your skin aflame where almost every inch of you was licked with metal, he loomed attentive and smug. You panted heavily, getting over stimulated everywhere, but one he knew all too well. Your legs were welded shut as the creeping limbs squeezed your hips and each roll found new flesh to test. Flexing control with circulation cutting restrictions, he assessed every inch of your body until bringing you in close.

“Will you demand anything else?”

You babbled nothing coherent.

“Very good.” A claw caught your throat with two digits and the third pricked your chin. “I’ve seen most of you, but am no closer to your identity.”

You tried to catch a sentence, but you gaped like a fish.

“Huh?” He turned his head for you. “What was that?”

You inhaled with a chance of speaking only for the claws to tighten and cut you off.

He hummed a pity and traced a digit straight down your sternum, over bumps of metal, until he reached your underwear.

You squeaked the barest sound you could manage, head getting light.

“Few more seconds and I’ll reward you…” He studied closely, a sharp digit sliding into your waistband.

Tears leaked and your eyes became more difficult to keep open.

He released.

You gasped greedily and, as you did so, he shredded the last of your clothing in a clean swipe.

Feeling the air on your mons and not your boiling sex you choked. “I-I’ll t-tell you…”

He perked with interest and tested a claw just above your slit. “Not so broken after all, that’s better.”

“No more games and I’ll talk.”

From the way his eyes curved, you knew a smile was splitting his face. “Very good. Very, very good. That’s my intrigue. Push me. Level the playing field.”

“Lonely at the top?”

“Frustratingly so.” He brought your face to his. “You are the first being to ever capture my interest.”

“I’ll be the last.” You put on your best maniac grin.

Even though you could only see two slivers of his face, you watched him short circuit in real time.

“How’d you say it…?” With your arms pinned you could only stroke the mechanical arms within reach by the tips of your fingers. “Very…” You leaned hard against the restraints to get the tiniest bit closer. “Very…” You sucked in a breath and offered your open mouth for him to see. “Good…” You puffed out plumpness with the final word.

Your legs were scissored apart and something feral in your brain had you cackling in an unhinged way.

“Finally, there he is! The villain! My villain!”

The coil around your throat tugged you into his face as he ground his clothed hips into your core. “Yours?!”

“That’s the big secret.” Your cheeks hurt from pressure.

He reached up and you watched his glove retract so he could fiercely grab your head with his bare palm. “What?! Who are you!?”

“Haven’t you realized?” You shifted the frenzy straight into a controlled cuteness with a purse of your lip and a flutter of your lashes. “I’m yours.”

You had little comprehension for what happened next.

The wrap around your throat suctioned tight so fast your vision whited out. Whirling metal swallowed your arms and dragged, pinching every single hair as you were constricted everywhere, but between your legs. Those still split wide wide open, you felt your ankles tug shut behind Donnie’s back and his cock swiped slick over you in three tests before you were skewered.

You were given air just as you were blacking out.

Mouth to mouth, he forced your lungs open to accept him and plowed you in a countercurrent that tried to shove the oxygen back out.

Wheezing on the ebb and flow, he forced pulse after pulse of air in until you animated like a blowup doll. He then retreated to stare a bobbing form in your delirious vision as he refused to stop fucking into you. A pressure crushing deep inside, a metal coiling around your waist tightened to a painful degree until you were able to put together with your rattling brain that it was the only thing moving you. Held as a stroker, you were being pumped up and down his cock and you were the next thing to contract.

A vice on him, he roared possessively and sank his teeth into your mating mark. Renewing your brand, you heard him snort wet as he drank in your life blood. Claws out, he dragged them wanton across your back and he chomped down a second time for a bite that rivaled one from his heat. Crying out in pain and pleasure, you came suddenly and shook violently into it. He ignored it, plowing through the further constriction and unhinging his jaw only to drag bloody lips across your skin. He melded them to your mouth, a contrasting tender to the brutality and you tasted your existence on him. All him, you whimpered, senses blown out, and he shoved his tongue further in as if to gag you there as well.

Releasing suddenly, he tossed himself back and you registered that his mask was long gone. Not knowing when he’d removed it, you seared this face into your memory and watched him doing the same to you. A mental lock on of your fate, you both committed to these versions of yourself and you etched exactly how his beak twitched and brows came together as signals he was close.

The metal arms sped up and you lost sight of him as everything blurred. The needle graphing your orgasm in real time swung wildly back and forth with no true start or end as sensors were mistakenly strapped to your partner. Each pock marked and closest to his veins, they drew the line of his own violation and stroke of his cock. A grinding pump of little thrusts as he grew too large to move, he swelled and the pen snapped the moment he came.

The sudden stop came with vertigo that continued to bob his pinched features until he centered for a falling relief. A method of molding, he stamped his mark into you with semen and scorched his place in your soul. You quaked, feeling strung out and still bound until his legs gave out. No fall thanks to the mechanical arms, they loosened only to hit the ground in a lock and he lurched further against you.

The crush of his pelvis to yours, you made the faintest sound of distress where he was now using you as a podium to keep himself upright.

You imagined he’d give a fine speech as he came up wobbly and feeble.

Eyes unfocused like he was the one just bouncing on what was ten times that of a mechanical bull, you studied him and watched as he drew back into his shell as much as he could.

He surfaced with a type writer’s side to side of his pupil before his brows knit concern.

Twisting with surprise, he tracked over your body with little dashes and you read the code to be the many cuts he’d inflicted.

Moving faster by the second, he lifted higher for a wider camera angle and found the nicks were paired with bruises which trailed to the thick oozing blood from your bite.

Fear shaking his breath, his lips quivered and his pupils looked a similar scribbled mess.

“Don…? Don! What’s happening??” You went to tug at the metal but it shirked away from you as if scared. “Donnie!”

“Too far. I went…!” He was about to stumble away, but you caught the shoulder pads of his battle shell.

“Hey! Are you okay!?”

“W-water! Ban-bandages! I need to-! I need to care! I need-!”

You tugged hard and mistakenly slammed your forehead into his. “Donatello!!!”

“H-huh?” He searched for you in a haze even though you were right in front of him.

“Are you…? I don’t know what’s wrong. You’re crashing...”

“I’m…?” He reached up and touching the skin of your arms made his entire body shiver.

“Woah…”

“Fuck…” He hissed. “It’s… I know… It’s… called…”

You loosened your grip and made a slow show of moving to his shoulders.

Your touch scalded and grounded him at the same time.

“What is it, Sweet?”

“Dom… drop…”

“Drop…?” You metered your pressure and found one that caused his muscles to loosen.

“Too vulnerable…”

“Is this helping? The battle shell?”

He shook his head. “Out. I need out.”

You looked to the ground and as soon as you did, you were lowered to it. “Where are my interface ear pieces?”

“D-desk… You’re not ready…!”

“I don’t care. Hang tight.” Taking the first step was perilous, but motion had you stumbling the few feet to your destination. You found the box on the tidy desk surface and tore it open to get the pieces out. You slid them over your ears and then tapped them a few times in frustration before they came to life. Pivoting and nearly collapsing from the effort, you returned to Donnie and caught hold of his extra tech gauntlet where it had shrunk back down to his wrist.

He could barely turn his limb over before you ripped it off of him and applied it to yourself.

Summoning rage straight from your core, you screamed with all your intention for your mate to be freed. Fingers flexing until veins pushed against your skin and your joints popped, you felt your jaw lock. Your will centered, you stopped breathing and with a final shove, Donnie’s belt snapped open. He fell loose, but you shoved your body as a jack to hold him up at the same time the shoulder pads disengaged with a hiss. The battle shell arms then teetered weak without their usual host and you fumed at them to back off.

They wobbled in complete discoordination, but took a few steps back before you released with what felt like all your energy and they collapsed into a metallic heap.

You panted against Donnie and the force made your brain pulse with pressured pain.

“I got you…” You reassured him though you were in shambles.

He gave a wounded chirp and you looked toward the bed.

“Come on… Almost there… Left foot first…” Having to tell him which to move when, it took an aggravating amount of time to get you to the mattress.

You both collapsed into it, but Donnie immediately curled up into a fetal ball.

You tested his skin lightly and found he could take the pressure before lying on top of him. “I’m here. You did so good. I promise you, my love. Amazing, really. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

 A little protesting whine came from him.

You shushed him. “I’m not lying. It really was. We did it. We fixed that night. It’s yours. I’m yours.”

“Not…” His head emerged with a shaky breath. “Not like that… please…”

“Let’s say it was the scenario. How about that?” You rubbed his carapace with a heavy spread weight.

He shook his head and hid away again.

“I’m not hurt. I’m okay…”

“That…” His volume rose to free itself from the muffling constraints of his body. “That was the old me. Not me. Not now… That wasn’t…!”

You dug down into his arms to cradle his head, but didn’t force him out. “Was it? Think of all the times you dropped the villain voice. That was you. Every time you checked in. Every time we discussed something. You… You are not meant to be feared. He’s part of you, but that’s not you alone. You’re made of so much more. Not even you of the past was just that. I trust all of you. I want all of you.”

You felt him quiver before he lifted his head enough to peek at you.

You smiled through your exhaustion. “Hi.”

He couldn’t manage the ‘hey’ and instead gave a similar sounding chirp.

You gave him one back.

It unfurled him a bit more where he took a breath that was mostly stable.

“We’re okay…”

He gave one tired nod. “The drop… I got… I am… disoriented.”

“That was real and happened, but I didn’t think it was indicative of some other you…”

He peeped a quiet question.

You stroked his cheek. “I… When I first found the case, I thought something like ‘this isn’t a good time for this,’ but when we started to get into talking about it, all I could think was ‘finally, Donnie can reclaim this part of himself on his terms.’”

The sentence first sat on him before it drew into him like dry soil and the first few drops of rain. It animated the leaves of his green body and he was compelled to search for your sunlight with growing warmth on his features. “On my terms?”

“Mhm.” You nodded in time.

He gave a puffy chuff. “Me?”

“You.”

“When I… want to retire this infuriating purple alliterative?”

“Do it. It was never yours anyway because you didn’t name it.”

Another liquid on his parched soul, this time he caught your face as mirth turned to outright joy. “I never…! I never realized-! You!”

“M-me?” You couldn’t help but return his smile.

“I’m inclined to drop a portion of my genius title. You simply surprise me too often for me to truly retain it.”

“You’re being ridiculous-!” He cut you off by smashing his lips to yours.

A spindly complaint morphed into a little moan as he deepened the maneuver.

“Y/N.” He pulled back and his eyes glistened.

“Yes?” There was something about his gaze that quieted all complaints from your body.

“I love you.”

First your fingers lifted from him then your entire body floated as all of you rose around the real declaration.

“I love you more than anything. You are my heart, my mate, my desire, my everything. I love you.”

You bobbed twice as a revving engine before you tackled him.

It knocked you both over where you giggled too close to the edge of the bed.

Momentum took you over and the thump to the ground only pulled more laughter.

“Wait, wait!” You fought the tangle of limbs to find his face. “Again! Again!”

“Y/N…”

You caught his hand against your cheek and sent him your best pleading eyes.

“I sense a danger…” He spoke hopelessly.

“Well?”

“I love you.” He sighed with pure affection. 

You kissed him and promptly spent the rest of the night asking him to repeat the phrase over and over just to be sure.

NEXT

Never enough love for @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[stigmatvm]

plots please! for monoma, shiozaki, or setsuna - or if you feel like it, for them all :'D

MONOMA:

-We've already started poking into monoma is a toga verse, but I think there's still a lot there to explore. Monoma has no desire to be a villain; and really wishes Toga wasn't one. His 'amicability' is born out of a desire to keep the peace and his own inability to really say no to his big sister.

Because of that, I think he'd gravitate towards Deku as the other teen there, as well as someone not super active in the whole killing part. Even with his sister, he gets lonely, after all.

-In normal verse, the fact Deku works at a comic shop could lead to something interesting. Monoma is an avid comic reader, so there's a high likelihood of bumping into each other. I think this really could go a drama route or a comedy one-- Deku using Monoma to get more info about U.A in secret, or a "The guy she liked wasn't a guy at all"-esque mistaken identity crush (speaking of: read THSLWAGAA)

IBARA:

-It could be fun to play more with when they're both actively 'villains' in Ibara's traitor verse; While dedicated, she is, in essence, a holy fool. How does Deku grapple with being face to face with someone so entirely opposite to him? guilt? pity? envy?

not to mention, they are just a little bit silly together

-Rehab verse... but they're actually put to use on a mission, suicide squad style. That's what that was about right i dont actually watch hero stuff

SETSUNA:

-similar to monoma in the comic shop, I think Setsuna would find the mysterious dark-haired clerk with piercings interesting. After all, she's big in fashion subcultures, so he's gotta be kinda ALT, right? And she's never meet a grumpster she cant crack

-Perhaps a more early timeline/pre timeline verse; Setsuna frequently got herself into all sorts of trouble, mostly because of mean pranks. I could see her pulling one on the wrong person and getting tangled up in, well...villainy

-nomu setsuna vis a vis plf merger. We've drabbled in it, but I think there's something to had there with bonding over being "defective"

GENERAL IDEAS I COULDNT TOTES CLASSIFY EEK:

I want to see more with deku's quirk he gets later that's swag. i haven't done a lot of adult/pro verses before but i'd be willing to try (or a second/third year?)

i want to put him in the moral crisis blender and shake him around a little.

[solskinns]

Gold Over the Heart

It's a simple night in the city of true perfection; even the horrors of night have no power to tarnish the beauty of the city lights from above on top of some of the tallest buildings. Such a scenery allows me to see the cars below as if they are mice or rats and my good friend Lanced-Moonlight looks down too. I believe clarification is needed though, I am the great Captain-Daylight; hero in the thriving city of Perfania though I personally want that ‘f’ to be a ‘v’ however that is me getting ahead of myself. My ability of great strength and flight has made me the hero of light. Though my friend ends up my opposite as the night's final answer wielding a lance more like a bow-staff. He sees the city that he holds so dearly to his heart.

“Look at them all, at ANY time ANY of them could end up in jail if they make even a single wrong move” He said worryingly.

“Do not fret old friend, soon we can make sure the utopia we achieved remains so” My answer became. Indeed this city couldn't be better of its painful perfection after the work of war being neutralized. What WAS here was the rubble of a broken city doomed for apocalypse upon its fallout during the 1950s and war in the 1960s! Therefore, upon the end of the war, peace had settled in at last with the help of me and my fellow men that took the call to action. Now the buildings stand taller than ever a renaissance beginning with a bigger, scattered, more functional Stonehenge towering over those who innocently roam the streets; truly, a paradise has been made in hopes of it being maintained!

It always seemed to be the alleyway, however, that was still as dark as it always was aside from the litter and graffiti that no longer marks these areas, though warning signs for innocent strangers are what fashion them now. It makes the roundup of bad guys much easier honestly.

“You know Lanced-Moonlight, such heroism is quite difficult for keeping morale amongst our public; how is it you are maintaining such popularity?” I question sitting against a wall with him holding his lance like a once warrior now king, waiting for his next challenger pridefully.

“John, must we go through with the reasoning of your failure as a hero on the daily now?” He questions back with disappointment in his tone. I could tell it was disappointment laid true considering his mention of my name and his heart seeming unwilling to mention it once more. It's also possible that he doesn't want to be here anyway.

“It has boggled my mind then and it still does NOW, so I believe it is still needed, yes” I say so a bit assertively with my kind wish for advice

He sighs defeated “Well if you MUST know, you are completely out of your league; powers of the strong with a mind for the weak” he scoffs as if disgusted and continues “Where I am able to take down the villains to the delight of our fans, YOU are criticized time and time again by your methods” 

Like always, I'm shocked by the response I got “Methods? Well why woul-”

He cuts me off “Don't you see your excitement is killing your reputation for what you do?!” He blurted out of a hate for WHAT I do rather than me specifically.

I basically wait till he's done which he took as me speechless.

“They all love me because I don't bother with horrifying acts like that and they ALL have feelings that you of all people have a dark side to yourself,”

“well that goes for you too my frie-”

Once again he cut me off from my little joke “Me included…” Now THIS was a new one and worst of all, it felt like he kept that in for practically MONTHS!

He gets up from the cold low hair of concrete and brick and looks down at the alley he has been on the lookout for as his eyes narrow to a group down there, so he tries to finish our shorter of talks “I suggest that you change your acts before you get labeled a madman and get thrown in the prison, I'm sure they'd LOVE to talk to you there” he jumps down and next thing I end up hearing is the punching and even cracking of bones. Not a single scream or beg for mercy was uttered by the my old friend!

The next day, my rest in a simple mattress was rather nice; my apartment room was small with a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom all wrapped into a nice package the size of half an attic really. I manage getting out of bed and do my daily routine of perfect hygiene, a great breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pancakes filling my nostrils and my stomach, and finally dressing up in my uniform of the white suit with the significant C in a sun as well as yellow gloves and boots for this occasion. OH, and can't forget my flowing yellow cape to fly in.

With all the essentials, I fly out the window, close it, feel the sun return my abilities in full force, and patrol the streets of a perfect city, no crowds and no trouble either. I could feel the wind flow my well cut and positioned hair as the only sounds I get to hear up here is the public enjoying their lives without a second thought. That is until I find a line decorating a single sidewalk to an expo center. Now what on earth is all this? I look for a sign on the building and oh I thought seeing Lanced-Moonlight’s daily routine of the morning. I decided to float my way slowly to the expo that would be the the most average sized building in the city.

People and even security allowed me inside without the need to wait in line. Upon arriving, it was clear as day, Lanced-Moonlight was signing autographs and selling his recent stories for all to see his work. Not to mention his merchandise flying off the shelves like a tornado took all the good products! There DOES exist my merchandise, but, like every time, it lays dormant and fully stocked. Only a select few have wandered there just because the Lanced-Moonlight stuff is long gone.

“AH, the Captain of Daylight himself” He says smiling smiling at me and getting up. His costume is visual and his navy blue suit is shown with a crescent shaped moon and stars making an L shape. He sports a scarf of pure white with only a few light gray spots here and there. Simply put, he stays my opposite in every way “HEY EVERYONE ‘GOODY-GOODY’ IS HERE TO TELL MY STORY TO YOU GUYS! Aren't you pal?” patting my shoulder with a nice grin directed to me. He also jokes with me seeming like a ‘goody-goody’ he calls it.

“Sure, I'd like to” I recite the story as I heard it for myself and how I didn't join due to me...having faith in his ability to do it alone...yeah. The audience would correct me on the violent acts he did and laugh at my cowardice as I portrayed it “and there you go, the story of another victory for the Lanced-Moonlight against the dreaded Jaded-Key” I really assumed it was the villain who could open any door through his incredible strength; it simply made sense from the voice. He segued me off to the side as to give himself more attention. It didn't matter to me though, I did what he wished and that's all I want, besides, I'm going to be late for MY meet and greet.

I fly off in the lower streets where kids usually have trouble around here and sure enough, I snatch a cat from a tree and talk to its owner about this behavior, I get a kid a brand new balloon to replace the one in the same tree as well as scold him for doing it for the seventh time this month, and even stop some roughhousing between four kids while having them make up for past mistakes. They all say the same thing “get away” “I can't talk to mean strangers” “so what old man” and my favorite “go jump on the meanie-trainy” the imaginations on these children seem to never end. It all passes by me though; I helped them and I'm okay with that. What madness it is to get that across others and to say I'm not crazy which once more, I protest still, my mind is sane and well.

I fly on down to the gray box of inescapable brick and I stand proudly in front of it, opening the doors that contain these villains all that have destroyed or stole in some way or another. I walk past every cell with names flashing by; Winged-Zapter, Professor Gulp, Sea-beast, and then Jaded Key which I stop at. There were others beyond his cell, but I don't need them now, for now it's HIM I need! I take my breath and get ready for my vile deed to the city. Delay is no longer an option. I must do this. For my city. For my people...I open the door as it creaks in the way a metal door would to see him peacefully sitting on the bed.

I smile relieved; he could escape easily with his strength and yet he sits. I take a seat on the other end of the bed as my position is to him so we can have this be done and over with“good morning, Jake, I trust you slept well today”

He smirks at my mention of his real name “better than ever, but ya kept me waiting” he responds gladly.

“Oh, well I had some delays on the way here, you know me” I chuckled.

“Yeah, hero business and what not” He says understandably.

“Now...let us talk about what happened yesterday,” this is no interrogation “how was it?” this is my horrible act that I pull every single day

“Well ya see…” he responds with how he was just fine with all the chaos that was going on. Do I regret what I do because the fans won't give me fame from what I do? Am I tricking this man? Do my acts cause pain and sorrow to those I face? Absolutely NOT! Why? Because despite the city claiming its openness to all, the people of PerVania do not see the segregation that still reigns supreme and is even SUPPORTED by the likes of the Lanced-Moonlight!

Therefore, as the only light in the dark, I believe everyone deserves a second chance...EVERYONE!

*CUT*

Coming this week; the next story concept of a perfect world trying to figure out how to remain perfect. This short story is not the real thing and Captain-Daylight as well as Lanced-Moonlight will not be this simple. Lanced will be lighter and less selfish than that while the 'bad guys' are typical villains instead of criminals. Daylight is more optimistic while also somewhat ignorant to the big picture as he only saves lives and unintentionally gain fame amongst the audience. Just as further salt on the wound, the audience is okay with all of this. No worries though, a hitman in a world where corporations are all there is has been thrusted into this world of a classic and tired formula...this is more comedy as I create it so maybe look forward to that. Until then, keep the sun shining! Buh-byye

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Suicide Squad Team A

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS! Seriously, as soon as you click that read more, you’re gonna be smacked with SPOILERS! Don’t say I didn’t give you ample warning this time!)

The world’s in danger yet again, and Amanda Waller is in need of some expendable forces to take on some dirty jobs in the name of preserving peace. Last time she did this, it seems like she hired the wrong people. Nice guy Will Smith Deadshot? Bland, boring Killer Croc? El Diablo, who became attached to a bunch of reprobates after spending a couple hours with them? The only one who was useful in that squad was Katana. She had their backs, could cut all of them in half with one sword stroke just like mowing the lawn, and her sword traps the souls of its victims. Unfortunately, she was decidedly not expendable, so what is a girlboss like Waller to do?

Easy: Assemble a brand new squad of criminals to do the dirty work. Harley and Boomerang are the only ones she brought back, because let’s be real, they’re the only ones we give a damn about. Filling out the rest of the squad are the stoic, craggy crackshot Savant; the handsome, German spear-thrower Javelin; the alien warrior Mongal; the frothing, psychotic animal Weasel; the confident and all-powerful TDK; and Blackguard, who is literally just a guy. Together, this team gets deployed to Corto Maltese to do what no one else can do, and with skills like theirs, they are absolutely unstoppable!

They all fucking die before the opening credits.

Motivation/Goals: Considering the goal of the squad is to shave time off their prison sentences by going on the mission, it’s ostensibly the reason every single one of these goons accepted the job. Savant and Weasel are pretty well established in this regard; we get to focus on Savant for much of the opening, so we can get a sense of him, and Weasel is stated to have murdered no less than 27 children. So, yeah, they need to do this mission.

The rest, though? Who knows! Why are Mongal, Javelin, and TDK in prison? How did they even get an alien like Mongal? What did they do to land in the position they’d need to go on a suicide mission? Why doesn’t this movie have flashy, intrusive cards explaining everything to us in a throwaway gag in a montage?!

Blackguard, at least, has some other motivation. He sold out the entire squad to the military of Corto Maltese, which is why they’re ambushed. Now, there’s actually some ambiguity here: Did he do this of his own volition, and was this a complete surprise, or is it, as it is heavily implied, all part of Waller’s plan and she let this happen as a diversion for the other team to get in unnoticed?

Honestly, though, it doesn’t matter what their goals are. They’re all dead within five minutes of the movie starting, with one exception.

Performance: So, the reason these guys are even worth talking about is because, despite their minuscule screentime, all of their actors manage to cram in enough humor and characterization that they’re all pretty fun and likable. Michael Rooker is as stony and stoic as ever as Savant (until he hilariously isn’t), Flula Borg’s Javelin is really sweet and charming in his interactions with Harley, and Pete Davidson’s Blackguard is just amazingly douchey and pathetic. Special mention goes to Nathan Fillion’s TDK, who has an utterly endearing and unwavering faith in his astoundingly crappy ability to… detach his arms. It’s honestly kind of beautiful. Then there’s Weasel as portrayed by Sean Gunn, who is just a hilarious crackhead of an animal man.

Final Fate: Literally every single one of them die horribly thanks to Blackguard’s betrayal. He’s the first to go, because as soon as he walks out saying “Hey guys, it’s me, the one who contacted you!” he literally has his face blasted clean off. The rest go soon after. Mongal, in one of the most astounding moments of idiocy I’ve ever seen, leaps on a helicopter despite Rick Flag telling her specifically not to. Her weight and strength send it careening out of control, which leads to it shredding Captain Boomerang to bits before exploding, burning her alive as she painfully screams and writhes in agony. TDK gets his arms shot into Swiss cheese, leading to him bleeding out since even detached they still are part of him. Javelin is also shot, but gets a dying moment with Harley where he passes her Checkov’s Javelin. Finally, after witnessing all of this carnage, Savant completely loses his shit and tries to swim away, leading to Waller blowing his head up.

You may be wondering what happened to Weasel. He appears to drown as soon as the Squad deploys, because despite being actually smart in this movie, Waller forgot to make sure everyone on the Squad could swim. Thankfully, this lovable child-murdering crackhead rodent was just sleeping, and wakes up in the first credit scene.

Best Scene: Obviously, it’s their one and only scene. It’s a magnificent slaughter that puts the X-Force scene from Deadpool 2 to shame.

Final Thoughts & Score: I’ve gotta hand it to James Gunn. Even though these losers are only onscreen for a few minutes, they all get to cram a lot of charm and personality into that time, to the point it’s actually kind of sad seeing them all die. It’s a beautiful mix of comedy and tragedy. Since their screentime is so limited, though, I’m mostly going to be grading them on style, performance, and so on rather than on villainy like normal. They are all bad guys, as they don’t really get a chance to redeem themselves like the other Squad, so I’m still counting them as villains, which means they could potentially score above an 8 (which is the highest score I’m willing to give heel-face turn villains, because they end up being better as characters in general than as villains).

I’m also not going to talk about Boomerang (I’ll talk about him when I review the original Squad) or Harley (because she not only lives, but deserves her own solo Psycho Analysis). Now here we go, from best to worst:

TDK

If you thought anyone but TDK would get top marks, you’re sadly mistaken. Seeing Nathan Fillion proudly wield the insanely lame power to detach his arms to lightly tap soldiers on the head and gently grab their guns is a sight I never knew I needed to see until this movie. The fact he just seems so darn proud about this power that he doesn’t even bother to use in any way that would be remotely useful is honestly really endearing. Frankly, the sheer fact they adapted Arms-Fall-Off Boy in any way is enough for me to give him a 10/10.

Weasel

Weasel is just disgustingly delightful. He’s just a horrible, nasty, ugly little bastard… But he’s kind of adorable? He clearly has no idea where he is at any given time and is just so goddamn freaky that I can’t help but love him. The fact that, despite being a character who in the comics is noteworthy only for dying on his first mission with the Squad, he manages to survive the entire movie is pretty impressive. Hopefully he comes back in the future, but either way he gets an 8/10 from me.

Javelin

Honestly, aside from Boomerang, his death stung the most. He’s just so cute and charming, and he doesn’t even get to fling his javelin at anyone! Thankfully, he passes it on to Harley, and boy does she ever get to use it! He’s so cute, I have to give him an 8/10. I just wish we got more of him.

Savant

Savant is just an absolutely hilarious bait-and-switch. We follow him through the prologue, with everything seeming to point to him as our main character and the Squad leader. He’s stoic, he’s cranky, and he has impeccable aim… and then we get to the beach and he just freaks the hell out and starts screaming and crying and running away like a little bitch. Seeing Michael Rooker act like he’s shitting his pants after playing a badass like Yondu is just the sort of hilarious subversiveness that James Gunn loves to do when you let him loose. The fact that he looks like, to paraphrase the TVTropes YMMV page for the movie, a “cyberpunk Tommy Wiseau” is the icing on this 7/10 cake.

Blackguard

I was prepared to hate this guy just based on how lame Pete Davidson’s costume was, and you know what? I do hate him. But I love to hate him. He’s just an utterly pathetic scoundrel and a coward, true to his name. The fact he is the first to die, as just about everyone predicted, and is killed absolutely gruesomely makes any annoyance he could provide moot, and his freeakout over being seated next to Weasel on the plane is actually kind of funny. I was originally going to give him a 6, but you know what? He can have a low 7/10. He’s like the only member of this particular Squad to actually do anything evil, so I gotta give him props for that.

Mongal

Let me make this perfectly clear: I do not blame James Gunn or actress Mayling Ng. I’m not actually mad at either of them for what they chose to do, because it is ultimately hilarious and sad. It suited the narrative of the film, and I’m not actually, genuinely mad.

With all that out of the way, Mongal is one hell of a stupid cunt. It is one thing to cause your own death with your stupidity, it is something else entirely to cause the death of a beloved character with your poorly planned attack. The fact she didn’t take into account how her weight and strength would effect an airborne helicopter makes one wonder if she is really supposed to be based on a character who can take on Superman and live to tell about it.

Let’s compare her to two similar characters to really show how bad she is. Like Blackguard, she is directly responsible for a death on the beach, Blackguard being responsible for everyone by selling them out and leading them into an ambush (and yes, I’m including him as well), and Mongal killing Boomerang with the chopper. The difference is, Blackguard’s betrayal was deliberate, he meant to sell the team out, he was actively doing something evil there, while Mongal killed Boomerang out of sheer idiocy.

Now, let’s compare her to Zeitgeist from the similar bloody massacre that occurred during X-Force’s deployment in Deadpool 2. Like Mongal, he accidentally kills a teammate. The difference is, in the case of Zeitgeist, he only accidentally melted Peter, it was a freak accident, and ultimately it does get undone by the end. Meanwhile, Mongal made a conscious, stupid decision and ended up killing her squadmate with her own idiocy. She sucks, hardcore. I don’t do this lightly, but I’m giving her a 1/10. Villains just don’t get much stupider than her.

I will giver her this, though: the makeup work on her is good. She’s lowkey kinda hot if I’m being honest. But being hot and having good makeup does not a good villain make.

[nanayoungishere]

History Repeats In Mysterious Ways AU

The most self indulgent AU I can think of. 

Basically it’s a universe where Izuku has a twin (who eventually becomes evil but more on that later) who ends up getting One For All. Izuku, meanwhile, accidentally stumbles upon a half-dead All For One in some filthy alleyway and ends up getting All For One’s Quirk foisted upon him before the evil bastard dies. 

You see in this AU, the final battle between All Might and All For One happens super early. As in, several months before the series originally starts. And since it happens so early, All Might still has his quirk and was able to fare much better in the final battle. 

Moreover without the added stress of trying to rescue a kidnapping victim, the rest of the heroes were able to take care of All For One’s forces much better than they did in canon. All For One’s organization gets dismantled, the Nomus are gotten rid of, the Doctor is arrested and his research is destroyed in the struggle, Kurogiri disappears to parts unknown, and Tomura dies in the crossfire. 

Basically All For One is not having a good time in this AU. Everything he worked for, all the preparations he made, were basically made pointless. He has no legacy, no successor, nothing left. And while he was able to drag himself away before getting brutally killed by All Might, he knew he didn’t have much time left. He was fucked and he knew it. 

He only had one thing left in him: the ability to pass his quirk on to someone else. It was something he and the Doctor had been working on for some time now, a way for Tomura to finally succeed him as the Symbol of Fear. Because of All Might’s constant and unrelenting pressure on him, All For One hadn’t gotten around to switching his quirk out for a copy. He made enough adjustments so that he could switch it out, but didn’t get the chance to before All Might busted in and started kicking his ass. 

So when Izuku happens to stumble upon him while he’s bleeding out in an alleyway, he takes the chance to foist his quirk on him as a last ditch effort to keep his legacy alive. After all, all quirks have an imprint of the user hidden within, and All For One’s imprint on his quirk is basically a second him. He figures that, given enough time, his imprint will be able to take over Izuku’s body, giving him a second chance at life and revenge. 

So that’s how Izuku ends up with an absurd quirk, along with an evil voice in his head that tries to take over his body/tempt him into villainy. He also has to deal with all the other voices of the many, many quirks All For One stole over the years, as well as all their conflicting memories and feelings. 

A huge portion of the story is just Izuku struggling to stay sane and in control even as All For One tries to mindfuck him into surrendering his body or becoming evil. There’s also the fact that a lot of All For One’s quirks are too much for his teenage body to handle, so he ends up having to keep himself from ripping his body apart like in canon. There’s also all the suspicion from everyone else, All For One’s old minions showing up and pledging their allegiance to Izuku, villainous rivals challenging Izuku for territory, and much, much more. 

Basically, things aren’t going well for Izuku in this AU. And that’s not even going into his (future evil) twin. 

Izuku’s twin (whom I will be calling Zukin for now) is considered to be much better than Izuku in the eyes of others. He has a telekinetic quirk that allows him to control, manipulate, and enhance fire/heat so long as he has a prior heat/fire source. He’s very outgoing and overtly friendly to others. He’s selfless and makes a point to reiterate his love for heroes and how he wants to be one. He constantly looks out for his quirkless brother, protecting him against bullies and thugs. He’s considered by many to be Bakugou’s rival of sorts, even by the kid himself. He’s athletic, strong, skilled -- pretty much perfect in the eyes of others.

He does, however, have one main flaw: his need for external validation. 

See, a large part of the reason why Zukin wants to be a hero is because he wants to be validated by others. It’s something he’s always felt, ever since he was young: a need for positive attention. He wants it all, all the praise and respect and love from the people around him. It’s not enough that a few people like him; he wants everyone to like him. He has a need for it, a craving that won’t go away. And since everyone treats heroes like living gods/celebrities, he quickly decided that he needed to be one too. 

Which in of itself isn’t too bad. Craving attention from others is something everyone feels, and wanting to go into heroism for your own personal goals isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If anything, it’s normal. 

But Zukin often allows his need for validation to get in the way of doing what’s right. Which is how he managed to get One For All. 

In canon, Izuku managed to get One For All by risking his life to save Bakugou from the Sludge Villain even after All Might himself told him he couldn’t be a hero. In this AU the exact same thing happens -- only Izuku gets mistaken for his brother and Zukin is the one who gets attacked. 

Basically, when Izuku latches onto All Might and asks if someone quirkless can be a hero, he uses very vague terminology and wording that implies that he’s talking about someone else. Part of the reason why is nervousness -- he’s talking to his idol after all and the stress of almost dying ends up making his kinda delirious. 

So All Might gives him the no and Izuku walks off. The Sludge Villain gets away and ends up attacking Zukin while he’s walking home with a friend of his. Zukin, shocked by the sudden arrival of a villain, panics and ends up pushing said friend into the Sludge Villain’s clutches and makes a break for it. The villain snatches him anyway and in his blind panic, he uses his quirk to no avail. It just makes everything worse, just like it did with Bakugou in canon. 

Izuku arrives just as the Sludge Villain is about to suffocate Zukin and his friend. He jumps in, tells his brother to snap out of it, and manages to free the friend just as a crowd and the heroes arrive. 

So the thing about Izuku and Zukin is that they look exactly alike, down to the freckles. Sure Zukin is a bit more buff than Izuku, but you wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance, especially in their school uniforms. So when the heroes arrive and they see one bother bravely saving the other and their friend -- and when they later find out that one of the brothers is quirkless -- they immediately believe that the one with the heroic/powerful quirk was the one who saved the day. 

And Zukin goes along with it. Partly because of the whole external validation things, but mostly because of shame. Shame that he panicked, shame that he pushed a friend towards a villain to escape, shame for his own cowardice. He knows he didn’t act like a hero in that moment, that he acted like a selfish coward and he hates himself for it. And the thought of other people hating him too -- the thought of everyone whispering about how much of a coward he is -- makes him panic. So he takes the credit for the save before he can really think about it. 

And because both Izuku and Zukin’s friend sustained a good amount of brain damage during the struggle, they can’t exactly remember what happened during the fight or even what happened that day. So when Zukin says he saved them, they believe him. 

So everyone heads off to the hospital and that’s when All Might meets up with Zukin. The kid’s awestruck but more than a little confused when All Might makes a casual mention to his and Izuku’s conversation. He quickly realizes that Izuku and All Might must have met before though and -- not wanted to out himself as a coward in front of his idol -- acts as though he was the one he talked to. He talks about his brother, how he’s quirkless, and and says that he just wanted to see if it was possible for him. 

All Might smiles, makes a big speech about how he’ll make a good hero one day before offering to train him. And Zukin, struck by hero worship and a rising sense of glee, immediately agrees. 

He feels bad about it later, when he tells Izuku and realizes that he essentially stole All Might’s training from him. He justifies it by saying that it’s for the best; Izuku is quirkless after all and that sorta training would be wasted on him. Zukin is the one with the best chance of going to US and being a hero. Izuku just needs to face facts: quirkless people can’t be heroes. The sooner he realizes this, the better. 

So Zukin trains with All Might and, eventually, gets offered One For All. Zukin immediately thinks of Izuku and how by taking credit for his actions, he essentially stole a quirk from his own brother. Izuku’s one chance of getting a quirk and Zukin stole it. 

It makes him feel so, so guilty. But not guilty enough to turn down All Might’s offer and admit the truth. Because the thought of his idol realizing how he lied to him -- the looks he’ll probably give him -- makes him swallow back his words. 

He takes One For All and vows to make it up to his brother later, ignoring all the guilt and the voice in the back of his head that calls him a liar. 

So a huge part of Zukin’s story is his decent into selfishness and cowardice, how the residue guilt and paranoia ends up turning him into a monster. Because taking Izuku’s spot as the rightful user of One For All isn’t the only shitty thing he does. Over and over again he does shitty things in order to maintain his image as the perfect hero, to live up to the legacy All Might has given him. Zukin acts like he can handle the pressure, the responsibility, but it becomes increasingly clear that he can’t. And eventually, it turns him into a villain. 

So that’s the main idea of this AU:

One brother given one of the most heroic quirks in existence, surrounded on all sides by heroes and heroic personalities, mentored by one of the greatest heroes in history, and who still ends up becoming a villain due to their own choices. 

Anther brother, spat on by society and the world at large, forced to use a villainous quirk that he never wanted, with an ancient villain whispering within his mind, surrounded by all sides by villains and villainy, and who ends up becoming a great hero despite it all. 

A heroic All For One vs a villainous One For All. The irony of it is delicious. 

[veliseraptor]

Hi, I love your writing! If I'm not mistaken, you're writing original novel, right? Can you tell us more about it? I'd love to read it in the future! Sadly it won't most likely get translated into my first language(like most books), but your writing is simple enough to be enjoyed by people with only school level english, yet still poetic and beautiful(I mean this as a compliment, hope I didn't offend you in any way!) Anyway I adore your writing and I'd like to buy your book once it comes out.

hey thanks! I’m always extremely flattered when people are like. interested in my original work. I just have to work on it more, I’m bad at that, instant gratification is a hell of a drug. but I do love my existing project very much, just need to mostly...get over myself about it.

anyway I talk about it in the #the ex villain project tag, but the essence of it was born out of my frustration with the Redemption Equals Death trope and my constant desire to find out what happens to a villain after they turn their life around. so what I have is:

Kazem (there is art of him now!), who did his best to redeem himself by dying three years before story beginning and survived due to the aid of his nemesis who he has kind of a Thing for, and is now trying to figure out what to do with his life (depression nap, mostly),

Israt, whose (perfect) older sister died as collateral damage of Kazem’s rise to power, who is trying to now live up to her older sister’s example but not doing so great at it because she is a colossal failure (her words) and also kind of falling apart from grief, but not admitting that’s what’s going on,

Yazdan, who is supposed to be everybody’s hero, is trying to be Kazem’s sponsor and keep him from depression napping his life away while also being essentially a hero on retainer for a cobbled together government,

and Jaleh, who is doing her best to burn everything to the ground, but she has some decent reasons for it. (Well, depending on your metric for “decent.”)

a large part of it is going to revolve around a horrible road trip with forced cooperation, because I am who I am. also just a lot about villainy and atonement and people trying to do better than they were.

they’re all great. I mean they’re all terrible but they’re trying their best. I mean they’re all mostly doing their okay-est but they’re trying

[janeaustentextposts]

1/2 I've been watching death comes to pemberly. Do you know if having a convicted murderer as a brother would really have gotten Darcy shunned by london society? And if the convicted part would make that big a different to just an accused murderer? I thought anyone who would drop the acquaintance for a convicted murderer brother would probably drop it just whole scandal of the murder in the first place. Did you give up on the mini series? I don't like it as much as the book, which i only think

2/2 ... is Okay and not that great. They mess up a lot of the charaters to add *drama* and take out what is subtle a good about the book. The costumes in the mini series are also a huge dissapointment to me: Elizabeth is allways in the same shade of teal! And she papered her drawing room in the same colour? Why would anyone do that?---

Having a convicted murderer as a brother-in-law would definitely have had doors slamming shut in Darcy’s face in Society, but the real victim of those circumstances would be Georgiana, as well as the Darcy generations to come. Darcy himself is already married to the person he loves and secure in his fortune--even Wickham’s potential conviction and execution could not deprive Darcy of what he already possesses. It’s really more the dependents in the Darcy family who would ‘suffer’ as a result of any scandal. (I say suffer...they’re all still rich as fuck, nobody’s going to the workhouse, it’s just that they probably won’t get vouchers to Almack’s.) The accusation is still pretty scandalous in itself, but toffs turned up in court all the time on all sorts of charges and mostly got off and went about their lives with little more than a spicy story following them around. (Not that Darcy would be pleased about this, but it’s better than a conviction and a hanging.) There’s always going to be social hardliners who just wash their hands of the whole Darcy clan on the basis of that messiness, but it certainly would be a great deal worse if Wickham were to hang for it.

I haven’t seen the miniseries in a long while, but it’s not like it’s an eight-parter or anything so it wasn’t difficult to sit through to the end, as I recall. I’m still going to try to finish the book for my book-club (of one) readthrough, because I do like P.D. James, but I can already say that this isn’t her best work. THAT BEING SAID, and I think I’ve said this before--she had a very difficult task ahead of her, and I think she’s doing her best. She couldn’t just invent the murderer as an obvious newcomer, and it had to be a character with a certain amount of name-recognition from the P&P core cast, somehow reformed into someone capable of villainy--and not a character so widely liked that there’s a great outcry at what she’s done. (I’d’ve maybe tried making it Mary, myself, but I know a lot of people like to make Mary the overlooked woobie who is actually very clever and understated and done wrong by a shallow and superficial society, so there’d definitely be those who would be upset with me for making her go the full Lizzie Borden.)

Stylistically, I love a murder mystery. I love Jane Austen. I really, really, really want this to WORK. I’ll reserve judgement on the book until I finish it, but for all her cachet I’m not sure if P.D. James was the woman to do it. She’s great, but she does not seem entirely comfortable writing in a historical setting, and bound by the constraints of her source material. The elements that appear in her other novels are very strong--she excels at setting a scene and crafting a mystery--but the characterization can sometimes be stretched thin and the prose wobbles from time to time.

To the costumer’s credit, the miniseries only covers the events of few-to-several days, if I’m not mistaken? I’m not sure how long it takes all this to go to trial, but things seem to move fairly quickly, though I think there must be a little time crammed in to prepare legal cases and whatnot, and assizes and inquests don’t happen in a flash. Either way, I’m not too bugged by Elizabeth’s teal dress or decor...but then teal is one of my favourite colours. Maybe it’s one of hers?

[purpleswans1]

Bakugo’s Testimony

The Villain Month prompt is Alternate Universe, which is basically what I’ve been writing this whole time. Meh. Enjoy!

Read also on FF and AO3

If Bakugo was being honest with himself, he should have done this a long time ago. As soon as he was released from the hospital after the USJ, he should have gone straight to a teacher or policeman. Hell, he should have flagged down somebody before the ambulance carted him away.

But he didn’t, and it was eating him up inside.

Oh sure, he had plenty of excuses lined up: he wanted to make sure he wasn’t mistaken, he wanted to know what led up to this point, he was paying respect to Auntie Inko’s feelings. It was all bullshit and he knew it.

Izuku Midoriya was one of the villains that attacked the USJ, and Bakugo was too ashamed to tell anyone.

Well, today he was going to fix that.

When the final bell rang to release them from class, Bakugo didn’t turn right at the door like he normally does. He turned left, ignored Shitty Hair’s questions about where he was going, and walked up to the teacher’s lounge. He should be able to find either Mr. Aizawa or All Might there, or at least another teacher that could tell him where to go.

When he opened the door, he saw not either of the teachers he was looking for but that show-off 3rd year that kept shadowing All Might.

“Oh hello!” Mirio Togata -- yeah, that was his name, don’t ask how Bakugou was able to remember that one -- said. “Are you looking for someone?”

The hell are you doing here? “Not that it’s any of your business, But I’m looking for All Might and Mr. Aizawa.”

Mirio looked nervous. “Oh, well Mr. Aizawa is probably grading papers somewhere. Have you tried his homeroom?”

“I’m in his homeroom, genius.”

A tall, sickly-looking, thin man in loose clothes walked in through the other door. “Sorry to keep you waiting, young Togata… Oh, hello young Bakugo! What are you doing here?”

Bakugo could have sworn he knew all the teachers, but he didn’t recognize this guy. “Who are…?”

Bakugo caught sight of the man’s eyes and froze. He knew those eyes; he’d spent most of his childhood idolizing a man with those eyes.

“All Might?” Bakugo asked.

The thin man -- All Might -- coughed into his hand. “What? I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb.” Bakugo said. “I’m not as stupid as the rest of this school.”

All Might sighed. “Yes, it’s me. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about my true form.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Bakugo shrugged. “It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve seen since I started going here.” My childhood friend coming back from the dead as a villain gets that honor.

“What did you want to talk to All Might about?” Mirio asked, breaking the tension surrounding the sudden reveal.

Bakugo scowled again. “It’s not something a nosey 3rd year needs to know.”

All Might sighed. “Young Togata, would you mind getting Aizawa? He’s likely in the office.”

Mirio looked at both All Might and Bakugo for a couple of seconds, then nodded and left the room.

All Might sat in one of the chairs. “What did you want to speak to me about, young Bakugo?”

Bakugo looked down at the floor. He’d told himself he was going to do this, but now the words just wouldn’t come. “It’s… about the USJ incident.”

“I… see.” All Might coughed once again. “If you’re disturbed by what you saw and experienced, I'm sure the school would be able to provide trained therapists...”

“I’m not weak,” Bakugo growled.

“There’s no shame in asking for help, especially for things like that.”

“I don’t need a shrink!” Bakugo shook his head. He was getting off topic. “I need to… Look, I recognized one of the villains.”

“Oh.” All Might put his hands in his lap. “Why didn’t you tell us or the police anything earlier?”

Bakugo rubbed his arm. The spot where Izuku had shot him was starting to ache, despite being mostly healed. “Things were chaotic that day, and then I was at the hospital… Look, I’m here telling you now. Isn’t that enough?”

“Yes, of course.” All Might nodded. “You’re doing the right thing.”

Well, it’s now or never. “Do you remember that villain with green hair? The one who shot me?”

“Yes. He came to watch my battle with the Nomu near the end. I noticed that he was extremely young, no older than you 1st years. From the way he was speaking to the others, it appeared to me that he was one of the leaders.”

“His real name is Izuku Midoriya, and everyone thought he died 8 years ago.”

All Might leaned forward. “Are you certain? How do you know this?”

“I recognized him,” Bakugo explained. “He kept calling me by my childhood nickname, and after I saw his face and called him by his own nickname he all but confirmed it.”

“I’m so sorry, my boy.” All Might gave Bakugo a sympathetic look. “I’m guessing he was a friend?”

“Sort of? It’s complicated.” Bakugo shifted nervously. “Our moms were close, and we went to school together so I guess we didn’t have much choice but to be friends. But…”

“But?”

“We drifted apart after our quirks came in. You know how powerful my quirk is, and Deku… well… he’s quirkless.”

All Might frowned. “Deku?”

“What we used to call Izuku. It was…” It was how I used to make fun of him.

All Might, luckily, didn’t dig into that. “You said he was quirkless, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure he didn’t have a quirk?”

“Yes?” Bakugo didn’t understand where this line of questioning was going. “His mom even took him to a doctor and confirmed it.”

All Might frowned. “Are you positive he was still quirkless when you fought him at the USJ?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t he be?” Bakugo thought back to his fight with Deku. “He didn’t use a quirk while fighting, just some gear he brought with him. And the gun.”

All Might sat back, contemplative. “I’m sorry for pressing you, young man. I’m sure this must be hard, knowing that your old friend is a villain.”

“Yeah, about that… I think something happened to him. I don’t remember all the details of his disappearance, but his apartment burned down the when his mom last saw him and his dad’s body was found in the wreckage the next day.” Bakugo rubbed his aching arm again. “Then, he shows up 8 years later working with villains and it's just so… wrong.”

“People can change, young Bakugo.” All Might said. “I do agree that something must have happened to him during these last 8 years, but you have to remember that he chose to turn to villainy.”

“It’s just that… the Deku I knew never would have become a villain. He was determined to be a hero, even without a quirk, even when the whole world said he should give up… he was still stubbornly dreaming of being a hero.”

All Might looked… disturbed. “Do you know if there was ever an investigation in young Izuku’s disappearance?”

“Yeah. The police were all over the place, and kept bugging my mom and Auntie Inko. That’s Deku’s mom, by the way.” Bakugo thought about that for a second. “Do you think I should tell her?”

“That’s your choice, but I don't think that would be a good idea. I can’t imagine any mother would want to hear their child turned to villainy.” All Might stood up. “I’ll talk to a friend in the police force that’s working on the League of Villain’s case. He’ll probably want to interview you officially for the record, but I’ll explain what you told me to the investigators.” He placed a hand on Bakugo’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling me this, young Bakugo. I’m sure it must have been hard.”

Bakugo nodded. I should have said something earlier. He got up to leave the room.

When he opened the door, Bakugo was greeted by a guilty-looking Mirio Togata.

“Ah, sorry, I wasn’t able to find Mr. Aizawa…” Mirio said.

Bakugo scowled. “Whatever. I said what I needed to. Fuck off, extra.”

He brushed past the 3rd year to head home, the weight in his chest just a little bit lighter but not completely gone.

--------

“You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?” Yagi Toshinori asked.

Young Togata -- the 9th inheritor of One For All -- was at least ashamed at being called out. “I was going to, but when I heard him mention the USJ incident I figured it had to do with the league of villains which might be related to All For One…”

Mirio Togata was not the kind of person Yagi would have chosen as his successor on his own. He was a good kid, had a strong sense of justice, and practically embodied the heroic idealism All Might had championed for years. He knew the value of practical experience and had practice with his quirk. On paper, he was the perfect candidate for the “symbol of peace.” That was why both Sir Nighteye and Nezu picked him, after all. But Yagi couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Mirio was too perfect, that he should have given the opportunity to someone else.

Ah well, no point in second-guessing now. He’d already passed on One For All, and there was no going back.

Yagi sighed. “It’s fine, just don’t make it a habit. You are correct about it relating to All For One though.”

Young Togata tilted his head. “Because the Nomu, a being with multiple quirks, was with the League of Villains?”

“Yes, but also because young Izuku fits a very old pattern. All For One has held power for centuries by offering to take away unwanted quirks and giving them to people who were quirkless. In recent years he’s become more discrete, but a young, quirkless boy who desperately wants a quirk would be an ideal recruit for him.”

“You mean victim.”

Yagi frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You heard Bakugo. Izuku’s father was found dead, and the police were investigating his disappearance. Something bad happened to him. If he’s the same age as Bakugo, he’d have been… 7 or 8 when he was separated from his mother and brought into the world of villains.” Mirio looked Yagi dead in the eyes. “You don’t seriously think a 7-year-old was able to choose to join the League of Villains?”

Yagi’s breath caught, and he went into a coughing fit. Young Togata is right, how could I have been so blind? “No, he wouldn’t have been able to. Whatever he went through, it forced him down that path.”

Mirio nodded. “Plus, didn’t Bakugo say he wanted to be a hero? Despite everything? A child that wanted to be a hero so badly … I doubt that he’s truly as evil as All For One.”

“You’re right, Young Togata. I’m glad you’re able to see things that way.”

Maybe I chose the right person to inherit One For All after all, Yagi thought.

[depressed-sock]

Kiyo: Thief part 5

A Fallen Hero Fanfic

tw: character has a panic attack

Thief part 1 ;part 2 ;part 3 ; part 4

Oh, there’s the plot

 “You should let me take you out to eat,” Ortega smiles at you and you find yourself almost faltering as you try to block one of the Shade twins attacks. A twisting mind of Chaos. It feels like every boost you’ve fought since Empress has had something wrong… wronger? with their minds.

 “Are you seriously asking me this now? Why do you always bring up weird conversations when we’re fighting bad guys?” Seriously, it’s already hard enough trying to keep up with their thoughts you don’t need the added distraction. You're going to end up stabbed at this rate.

 Ortega sends a bolt of electricity through the twin he’s fighting fully knocking them unconscious, “Why not? It’s not like you actually talk to me when we’re not fighting people.”

 “The answer is still no,” you flip the Shade twin over your shoulder landing a solid kick onto their face to knock them out. At least they were easier to fight than some of the others.

 “Come on, it’s just out for food. You’re looking a bit thin,” he’s got that annoying grin as he shakes his hands out a bit, probably trying to get the tingling out of them.

 You stand, stretching your back and letting it pop, “I hope you don’t say that to your girlfriends because if you do I can give you a hint as to why you fail at relationships.”

 “Why do you always attack my kindness with harsh truths,” he laughs, gently punching your shoulder.

 “Probably because the real reason you want to take me out is that you want to see my face,” you're not stupid. You know exactly what he wants, always too curious for his own good. Like the one time, he tried to taste test some weird gooey substance, turns out you were fully in the right to slap it out of his hand because it came alive and tried to taste test him instead.

 “I’m hurt you think I have an ulterior motive other than to feed my friend,” he pouts at you but you’ve become immune to that...mostly. Kinda... Fuck.

 You let out a loud sigh, it’s free food and no one said you had to show him anything. You could show up, grab the food, and run. “Fine, but no cameras or fancy restaurants.”

 He looks at you shocked like you just blew his mind away by accepting. There’s that irritating smile again, “It’s a date then.”

  You are definitely not blushing at that, it’s just the summer heat. That’s all.

 “Yeah, sure, whatever,” you shrug, waving him off as you run away because that’s what you always do. Run away from impossibilities.

….

 Tartarus watches the little mouse in the pink jacket, scurrying around, fighting another he has gifted. It runs his mazes thinking it is smarter than him, thinking it could find the end to the thrilling chaos he has given the gifted. It is a fool; it and the Ranger.

 Tartarus visibly quakes in anger, the name spit out like a viper strike. Ranger, how he despises the toys that pretend to be saviors. They are nothing, they are useless to him. The mouse though... the mouse could be useful. The Ranger follows it around, hoping to befriend it. Tartarus laughs, what a foolish thought.

 No, the Ranger does not deserve the mouse. Tartarus will have the mouse instead and he will make the mouse so much greater; filled with his maze of chaos. Then he will set the mouse upon the Ranger and take so much glee as the mouse bloodies its hands with the Ranger’s blood.

…….

   You flop down onto your pile of recently acquired blankets groaning in pain, being a vigilante sucks. You barely get any money or anything else in return for your ‘good deeds’. Maybe you should have continued down the path of villainy. Maybe you should of went from stealing wallets to running drugs for local crime lords. At least those guys might get some kind of hazard pay and you would have definitely handled the hazards well enough. Better than you’re handling being a ‘vigilante’.

 You groan into the blanket, that probably would have been too drastic a change, not to mention those people would probably sell you out in a heartbeat instead of three. Which immediately brings to mind Ortega, the persistent asshole. He shows up and makes you feel guilty enough that more times than not you’ve neglected to search the people you help him beat the shit out of for money. You don’t actually know if he would really care but you’d rather not take any chances.

  And then he asks questions he shouldn’t, dangerous questions and everytime he does you find yourself biting your tongue. He’s gotten you so used to him that you almost answer his questions unthinkingly. Like accepting an offer to go out to eat...

 Goddamnit, you shouldn't have done that, what would he think if he knew the truth? He’d hate you. You don’t want him to hate- Wait. When did you start referring to him as Ortega instead of Rubbleguy? Actually more importantly, when did you start feeling that? Fuck. Is this some kind of Stockholm syndrome without the kidnapping? Stockholm stalker syndrome? You should want him to hate you, to leave you alone, you can’t afford him or anyone else getting close.

 You wanted to be ‘normal’, having friends is ‘normal’. It’s more complicated than that! You can’t be ‘normal’ not until… later. You sit up with a loud sigh shedding your signature jacket, goggles, mask, and shoes. Later is a long time off so, for now, you should-

 C̸̱̘̖̝͙̺͔a̛͉͙n̛͎ ̸̮̪y̠͠o̲͉̰̰u͉͓̝̘̤ͅ ͉͈̭͉h̼̘̤̘̲e̲a̬r͓̼̺͈̣̺ ̬ḿ̥̪̖e̘͠?̛̞

 You freeze. Scratching. Steps, you hear steps echoing in the abandoned building you’ve recently taken up residence in. You jump up from your bed of blankets, reaching out feeling…

 L̺̖̹̞̘͡i̧͓̪̩͍͈t̝̖͎t͔́l̫͚͙͓̗͞e͉͉͈̱̫ͅ ̩͙͡M̘͖̫͎̺͖o̘̹͍͕̙̜̥u̵͔̠s̷e̻̖̦̮̼͖

   You recoil back in absolute terror. A mind so broken and warped, clawing against your mind. This is bad, this is very bad. Is it Them? No this is familiar but it’s definitely not them. It’s different, a maze of chaos, almost like… Like Lord of the Fucks, like Empress, like the Shade twins and like a dozen other’s you’ve fought this year. The center of a maze you didn’t even realize existed. It’s trying to claw you into pieces.

 Run. You need to run.

 Y͓̞̹͠o̢̱̞͓̙u̯̘̥̺͚͙ ͎͖̮ǹ͔̝e̤̳̤̲e̸̘̟͇̖͙̹̤d̬̟͟ ̱͓̬̬̣͟t̥ͅo̺̭̬̳ ͓̦̬̥̥̺̩s̷̬͇͓t҉̹̣̰̪ạ͡y͈

 You can’t move. You can feel him, hear him. Hot breathes against your ear. You turn fast, a shadow in your vision, backing away in fear blinking to find no one is actually there. Run, don’t think run. Instinct takes over and you’re running down the hall towards an exit, any exit.

 Through a maze of chaos.

 Ỵ̦̼͓̼͈̮͙ͨ̏ͬ͢͠o͓ͫ̿͊ͣͫ̀̚͟ŭ̶͙̼ͧ̈ͩͤͯ̈́̏ ̗͔̰͖̦ͧ̈́̃̈́̈́ͯ͑̒͡aͨ͐͌͘҉̭̤̫͚̩͉͙r̰̳̗̟̖̜̅̊̚͝ě̛̤͛̌̐ͪ̇͂̈ ̸̺̘̲̠̤̟̲̎ͦ͋̈ͣ̀͘m̵̥͓̿̐̾͞i̶̢̹̘͖̱̱͚͉̅͋ͩ͆ͫ̆ͫ̌̚nͧͨ̈́̇̋ͧ҉̡̣̠̹͙́e̫̱̯̹ͧ̉ͭ̚͟͟͠ͅ

   No you fucking aren’t.

 You skid out a door, into the street. He’s coming. You need to find somewhere safe to recoup, to plan.

 N͜o̝͋͒w̦͚̬̤̬͑ͩͭ̋̐ḥ̣ͥe̳͕̗̪̗ͦ̐̀r̪̞͓̺̣̠̆́̈ͅé̡͖̯̰̫̰͓͓ͣͨ̿̏̄ ̯͖͇̯̬̭͐̎̆͂͗͛ṫ̞͚̋̌̏̀ͣ͋̀ö̶͍̙̎ͪ̊̆̚ ̷͉̗͍͓͔̹̝͋r̭̩͎̹̉ͬu͐ͣ҉̮̼̗̥͓̣ņ̜̞̠̥̦ͅ

  There is a place. You really don’t want to go there... but you can feel him pressing closer, you don’t have a choice. You know the way, you’ve been there before to return their wallets. Now you're running back to them, from this… whatever this is.

Ť͎̻̼̓à̷̲̭̞̋͐r̺̙ͦͣ͜t̴͎͖̤͕̼̱̊ͫ͑̏̄ͤa̳̔̄̌̕rͮu̅ͫͦ͌ͨͪs̟͊ͫ̉̎͒̏ͫ.̴̘͔̱̰͉͖ͯͦ̈́̏ ͚̦̖̫̙͍̜̈͌̈ͤͪ͘

̗̘̩̭̍͆͆͛I͖̦͎̭ͮͯ͛̽̉ͯ͆͠ͅt̓́̂ͨ͂̋ ̹̠̳̱̥͔͐ͤͫͥ̚̕s̶͙͇̫̹͓̳̈́͂̋ͨͯ̚h̷̜̽̌͒͗͒̔̽o̘͉͈͍̔u̴̳̤͖̞ͨ͋l̬̗ͨ͘d̹͙̖̪͙̫̼ͬ̃ͤ̉̐̋ ̨ͤ̽k͙͓̘̘̤͖͂ͧ͐͗͛ṅ̺̰̓ͣͣͥ̃ȯ̲̦̫̍w҉̻̬̪̝̗ ̯͓̭̊̿͑͐̌̈́̀ị̤̮ͪ̈͒̊̉ͨṭ̢̖̙̟̲'̜̟̺̯̦̱̪̉̾ͣs̰̰̱̖͎͖̖ͥ ̵̘̻̳̼͓̙͑̅̀̎̑̿m̻̄̓̎̇ȁ͚͙͔̫̈ͮ̄̕ͅŝ͔͈̲̑t́ẻ̞̘̙̰̫̜͛̆ͧ̅̌r͎͙̫̱̗̦̣ͭͩ̏̚s̵̘̳͈̤̻̳ ̴̲̹̲͚̳͍͇͑ͤn̠̙͖̪͖͇͎͆ͫ͊̔ͩ̀ǎ̤̭̭̲ͫͪ̆m̑̅e̱͎͕̻͙ͬ͗̊́͟

  Tartarus… wow, that’s a fucking lame name, sounds like some kind of sauce. You can almost feel the anger crush you in response, it leaves you smiling hysterically. Anger it gives you such a clear thread of thought to follow. Like how much he hates the Rangers, it absolutely pisses him off that your first thought is to run to Charge. Well, that makes two of us fuckhead.

  You keep running, despite the growing pain and the fear. Despite the looks, people give you as you rush past. You don’t know how long it took or how you really found your way but you soon find yourself bursting through the doors of the rangers headquarters. You feel your legs give out from under you, you might be crying. You can still feel the claws of something trying to make you wrong.

 “Hey!” someone rushing to your side kneeling beside you, thoughts of worry. “Are you okay?” No no no that’s not right you’re not here for thoughts. You push away the hands trying to help you. It’s not right!

 I̼̳̫̖̣̅͊ͦ̀ͬ̽̿t̪̩͙̼̓̋̀̑ͥ͗'̟ͤ̉̚s̻̹̪͚̼̲̻̑̎ͬ̆ͥͯͧ ̼̫̭͔̏ͫ̑t͍͚̯̳̻̺h͍̩̖̪̪͌̌e̪̹̘͋ͦi̼͓̣̹̙̩͙r̟̤̠̄̅ͬ̈̊ ͙̬͓͔͓̭̐ͫ̋̾ͫh͌ͦ͐ͨ̊a͇͋̋nͧd̳̺͒́̾s̯͖͒͐̄͋́̚

  Oh fuck, it’s Their hands on you again. You don’t want them to touch you again, you don’t want them to hurt you again. Panic. You attack blindly. You can’t go back, you won’t go back.

 Arms around you, you can hear yourself screaming.

 “I’ve got you,” whispered calmly in your ear. No thoughts, just a solid presence of nothingness. You let out a shuttered breath of relief. Safety. You lean back into him calming down, his words wash over you, almost soundless murmurings. Suddenly a question, “What’s your name?”

 “You already know it,” you murmur, you can still feel the claws but they’re losing their grip. He doesn’t really know your name though, does he...  You haven’t told him the name you chose so long ago.

 “I do?” he sounds so confused, it’s so funny. You let out a light laugh; he can keep finding your vigilante persona but he couldn’t figure out what you really look like? He’s such a dumbass, you look up at him to find he’s studying you worriedly. Why are you both sitting on the ground?

 Why are you here? Why are you In his arms? The sudden realization has you pushing back away from him out of his arms. You are not blushing. You are not fucking blushing.

 “No... sorry, I’m mistaken. I should go,” Why are you here?? You can’t remember… Oh, fuck you don’t have your gear on. He can see your face and.. Why do your feet hurt? You look down to find them bare and bleeding. What the fuck happened?!

 He holds his hands up in a placating manner, “I think you should stay here until the ambulance gets here.”

 “Fuck NO!” That’s a terrible idea, that’s an absolutely fucking horrible idea.

 “Okay,” he still holding his hands up, “No ambulance.” Liar, he’s such a bad liar.

 You need to tell him… you can’t remember what you're supposed to tell him. You're starting to shake, this has never happened before. “Something’s wrong,” Are you saying that, or did you imagine it?

 “It’s alright we can help you,” still so calm, you're starting to feel the others around you backed away so as not to send you into another panic. You can feel Steel trying to place you, he remembers but at the same time he doesn’t, Anathema is worried about you even though he doesn’t know you, and Sentinel… knows… he’s putting two and two together. You do your best not to look at him, you can feel his overwhelming worry and a little bit of amusement as he realizes he has actually saved you.

 “There’s something wrong,” you're sure you said it this time, your voice shaking and weak.

 “Can you tell us what’s wrong?” why is he so calm, when you’re clearly not. It pisses you off, he shouldn’t be calm because there’s something wrong!

 “I don’t fucking know what’s wrong!” You should know, you should remember what brought you here without your gear, without your shoes. Your gripping your hair now in frustration. What is wrong with you?

 “I think we should take him to one of the upper floors,” Sentinel is walking closer. He knows, he knows and you should run. Run away from them all, from this city because they’re going to come for you. The panic is setting back in, you try to get up and run but Ortega’s arms are back around you. Stopping you, imprisoning you.

 “Fucking let go! You rubble fucking asshole!” You can see the realization dawn on his face and suddenly he’s carrying you, walking towards the elevator. You're trying to break free, your punches weak against him. You can feel yourself sobbing again, panic building up because they’re going to take you back. Ortega looks so angry, he’s going to give you to them. You were right he hates you now that he sees the truth.

 “No one’s going to hurt you,” he says it softly and you want so badly to believe it but how can you when you know the truth, “Sidestep I need you to take a big breath for me and hold it until I reach the count of ten. Alright?”

 You don’t want too... You need too though. You nod your head and you try to breathe in but it’s so hard to breathe. Oh, fuck you can’t breathe.

 “Shit okay that isn’t going to work, You need to match my breathing,” he takes a deep breath and then lets the breath out slowly. You try to match him, your breaths are shaky and choked but by the time you're finally able to match his breathing you feel calmer more in control. He’s somehow made it to a room with a couch which he sets you on, giving you space to fully calm down. “Can you focus?” he’s calm, trying to make sure you're actually mentally here.

 “Yeah,” you swallow reflectively. “Fuck.”

  “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

 “I don’t know what happened,” claws against your mind. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

 “Okay, that’s fine-”

 “It’s not fine Ortega!” you look at him panicked. No calm down, focus. A maze, “Something about a familiar maze,” you murmur looking down, trying to reach for more but it slips from your grasp. You shake your head hands gripping your head again, “Fuck, I don’t remember.”

 “Alright, can you remember anything from before the memory loss?”

 “Umm, I was…” you were in your ‘home’. You shouldn't tell him that if he knows how you live he'll… he'll what? Realize how fucking broke you are? Try to track you down? He can't exactly track you down if you move. Constantly move. Never stay in one place ever again. “I was… getting ready to sleep.”

 “So you were at home?”

 “Yeah?” you cringe a bit. You probably shouldn't have made that sound like a question. He gives you an odd look but doesn't press the issue.

 He suddenly looks at you weird, studying your face, “So… this is what the famous Sidestep looks like,” he crosses his arms, a smirk spreading across his face.

  “Really? This is what you're going to focus on?” you glare at him but all that seems to do is make him happier.

  “Yep… you do look familiar though,” his face scrunches as he studies you. Weird. You don't think you've ever….

  Oh no, no no no. Did he actually get a good look at your face when you stole his wallet? How would he even remember that?! That was months ago, actually...fuck it was almost a year ago!

  He must think you're on the verge of another panic attack because his face suddenly defaults to concern. He kneels so that he's eye level but doesn't move to touch you again, “Focus, stay with me.”

 “I'm fine,” you bite out.

 He holds his hands up in surrender and then uses his right hand to point down, “You're feet aren't.”

 Oh… yeah, you had forgotten about that. “Uhhh,” you look down and wince. Shit, what did you do to them? Covered in bruises, blood and dirt, you must have ran all the way here barefoot. You… ran… Fuck, you live like 7 miles away. You ran 7 miles barefoot and most definitely through the roughest part of town. Fuck…

 “I'm going to go get medical supplies. Will you be okay by yourself?”

 “I'm sure I'll survive,” you deadpan. This is quickly becoming patronizing.

 He shakes his head with a smile, getting up, leaving the room, leaving you alone to wonder why you all you can remember is fear; claws scratching at the surface.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

Villainous Heroics - Chapter 2

Look, let me give you the short of it. I fell in absolute love with this AU and now I have the full story plotted out to be around eighteen chapters when fully written. I have not written this much in months. It's worth it.

Note - In the original AU designed by @corndog-patrol, Hizashi worked at a McDonald's type place, but I changed that to be a coffee shop for multiple reasons - mostly because Shota is more likely to go for coffee over actual food and because I am a writer of cliches.

                 Click here to read the work on Archive Of Our Own.

                      Click here to read the work on Fan Fiction Net.

If you found yourself enjoying this, then check out my writing commissions.

                                           ⍣ I have a Patreon! ⍣                                            ☪ I have a tip jar! ☪

Summary: Eraserhead is an underground hero who is constantly busy and doesn’t have time to be dealing with new villains - even if they aren’t all that villainous and make the night interesting.

Present Mic is the latest up-and-coming villain in the world and he has a point to prove to everyone out there - as long as he doesn’t keep getting distracted by Eraserhead.

Aizawa Shota is someone who soon learns that there is more to someone than the mask they show to the world - especially when it comes to playing heroes and villains.

Yamada Hizashi learns that there is more to heroics and villainy than he could have ever thought - especially in a world where some heroes still care about those lost in the shadows.

(Inspired and dedicated to corndog-patrol’s Villain!Mic AU on Tumblr.)

                            <<First/Last Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

                                                 Chapter Two

Yamada Hizashi knew well what this feeling was. He had never felt it as strong as he did now, but what else could it be? Whenever he was around him, Hizashi found his palms becoming drenched in nervous sweat, his heart tripping into overtime like the beats of an EDM song, and his words stumbling over each other in their rush to get out as quickly as possible. He had known the stirrings of this feeling when he was younger and didn’t know the world as well, but now at a comfortable thirty, he knew this was real.

Hizashi was head-over-heels in love with the hero known as Eraserhead and no one could tell him otherwise! Every waking thought seemed to be filled with that suave, mysterious, and sexy man that was always quick to put an end to the fun of ‘Present Mic.’ It was like Hizashi could think of nothing else these days.

“Oi, Yamada! Get your head out of the clouds and go be cashier!” Startling at the rough voice of his boss, Hizashi hid a pout as he shuffled over to the cash register with a long-suffering sigh. Genius was never appreciated in its own time, he supposed.

“Welcome to Lovely Coffee, how may I help you on this lovely day?” If the customer noticed how unenthusiastic he was, she didn’t comment, only ordering with a monotone voice as she stared down at her phone.

Hizashi sighed and tried to focus his thoughts on work even as they kept straying back to Eraserhead. While he had heard of the hero before his villainous debut, he had never known just how funny the man was. Eraser could kick his ass into next week, had a sharp, dry wit that most people seemed to miss, and didn’t even really seem angry whenever he ran into Present Mic - although there were a lot of insults and mocking, when Hizashi reflected on it.

Well, that just meant it was a challenge to get something else out of him! Hizashi may be a villain, but he was a realistic villain with realistic goals. That meant he wasn’t going to stop until he managed to capture Eraserhead and charm him into a date that, with a good deal of luck, would end in a kiss - maybe two!

The only real problem to his master plan, though, seemed to be the fact that none of his traps ever wanted to work. If Hizashi wasn’t stumbling into them himself, then Eraserhead was disabling them with ruthless efficiency or turning them back around on Hizashi himself. He was pretty sure the police were getting a laugh out of Present Mic being brought in with his own handcuffs stuck on him. 

“Welcome to Lovely Coffee.” Maybe the problem was that Eraserhead seemed to take him too seriously as a villain. “How may I-” Hizashi’s words tangled around a startled squeak as he finally noticed who his next customer was.

“Oi, I don’t look that bad.” The words were light and amused more than anything, but Hizashi couldn’t even respond because Eraserhead was standing right in front of him. What was the statistical probability of Eraserhead coming to the coffee shop he worked at? Low. Those odds had to be very, very low. Right, okay, Hizashi was being stared at. He just needed to act natural.

“N- No! I didn’t mean- It was just- Sorry!” Well, at least he wouldn’t be mistaken for his villain persona since his hair was down and he was wearing his regular prescription glasses with the hideous, bulky frame. He also couldn’t seem to get two words out. “How may I help you?”

The man’s eyes trailed to the board behind him and Hizashi couldn’t stop a wince at how sleep deprived he looked. He knew Eraserhead worked nights primarily, but did he ever sleep? His eyes were bloodshot and worryingly red and the bags under his eyes were the size of the sun. Maybe it had something to do with the man’s quirk? Hizashi didn’t know much about Erasure, but he had certainly heard stories considering the prefecture he lived in.

“I’ll just have a black coffee in whatever size is the largest.” Oh, jeez, Eraserhead really didn’t sleep any, huh? He also didn’t seem to have any sense of taste whatsoever if he was asking for black coffee.

“Of course. No problem.” Grabbing a cup, Hizashi glanced behind the man. While there was no one behind him waiting to make him do this, this was still a great opportunity. “What’s the name for the order?”

“Aizawa.” Scribbling the name out with a marker, Hizashi tried to hide his success. While he didn’t know the man’s first name, now he knew that Eraserhead’s name was Aizawa. It… was a good name. Giving his name also proved that he didn’t know who Hizashi really was. “Can I add espresso shots?”

“Oh- Yeah! Definitely.” Really, Hizashi supposed that was unsurprising. The man looked like the walking dead. Hizashi hoped that the other would be able to take a nap, soon. “How many-”

“Six.” Eraserhead - Aizawa - looked him dead in the eyes and didn’t even blink at Hizashi’s expression - which was pure and utter terror.

“S… Six? You, um, you do know-”

“I know.” Right. Okay. Sure.

“Of course, sir. I’ll get right on that.”

While Hizashi would have been delighted to use this opportunity to get more information out of the man, he’d wait until next time they met as hero and villain. Right now, he was a poor barista who was behind on his rent, and Aizawa was a sleep deprived man who had ordered six shots of espresso in his black coffee. Hizashi was only mortal.

                                                                ::

A few nights later proved to be his next fated run in with what would one day be his star-crossed lover. Hizashi had done his research this time, though, and had been ready for every possibility - except for the manufacturer of his latest trap to be a pile of shit.

Caught up in Eraserhead’s scarf and thoroughly unable to move, Hizashi tried not to thank the man for punching him – he at least took some solace in the fact that his brain-to-mouth filter wasn’t completely broken. He also had some solace in the fact that before Eraserhead had shown up, he had dealt with a couple of gang members that were known for beating up teenagers who wouldn’t join them.

“You’re a horrible villain.” The two were face to face and Eraser looked honestly flustered, trying to catch his breath as he pushed his goggles up to rest on his forehead. Hizashi supposed he had put up a bit of a fight, this time, where he was still high off adrenaline from his first fight and the fact Eraserhead had joined him when the gang had started getting a little too pissed.  

“Does that make me a good hero?” The question slipped out before he could stop it, and he almost wished he could take it back as soon as it was out - almost. He was too curious as to how the man would respond to really want to take it back.

“No. It makes you a nuisance.” Ah, well. Hizashi could at least say he was expecting something like that - of course he was. Him? A hero? It was the funniest joke he had ever heard. A part of him that had never quite let go of that dream, though, felt utterly crushed. He quickly hid it with a wide smile.

“Ouch! You wound me, Eraserhead!” It hurt - reminders like that always hurt - but, well, the show must go on.

“I wish,” Eraser muttered, kicking at Hizashi’s heels to get him moving. Hizashi dodged the kick as he started walking, frowning at the man as he did so.

“Hey, hey, these are some high-class leather boots, you know. Do you know much time and money boots like this cost?” Dodging another kick, Hizashi decided that for as in love as he was, Eraserhead was still a little shit. “C’mon, I helped beat up some known thugs, can’t you take it easy on me?”

“You also started a bar fight earlier and threw three people out a window.” Staring for a long moment, Hizashi finally shook his head with a frown.

“I thought it was four?” He could have sworn it was four… Oh, right. “Ah, right, the fourth one was me.”

“Mm. You also robbed a thrift shop.” The look Eraserhead gave him was full of judgement. “There was a jewelry shop right next door, you know.”

“Yeah, but good people work there. The owner of the thrift shop isn’t. He’s a dick who says he’ll sell you back something at the price he gave to you for it, and instead he jacks up the price by almost ten thousand yen.”

“Is that why all his papers and receipts were on fire when I got there.” Was that amusement? Hizashi swore that was some amusement in Eraser’s tone. “That’s illegal, you know.”

“Well, I am a villain.”

Not even an hour later and Hizashi was being handed over to the police in the area, waving at Eraserhead as he was cornered with some paperwork. “Good night, Eraser. I’ll see you next time!”

“Please don’t.” There was what could have almost been a smile on the man’s face as Hizashi let himself be pushed and pulled towards his usual holding cell, the officer guiding him shaking her head.

“You know, if you need help, there are places you can get it - programs and opportunities that you could take part of.”

“Mm, no, I’m good.”

While a few of the cops, like Shelly, were sweet and genuinely concerned about those who deserved it, some of them were utter assholes who were villains in their own right. Hizashi made sure to remember who those were and let them know just how ‘annoying’ he could be when they were on duty.

The ‘regulars’ in the holding cell were much the same way. Some of them were nastier than any villain could be, but a good deal of them were just people down on their luck or in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“How’s your love affair with that hero of yours, Mic?” Swooning into the cell as soon as he was uncuffed, Hizashi clutched his heart and collapsed onto an uncomfortable metal bench.

“I’ll never recover, Lydia, I swear it. Eraserhead is my true love and soulmate and I’ll never be able to do without him again.” The woman snorted and laughed, tired expression leaving in favor of an honest smile.

“You’ll get him. Soulmates always find a way to make it work, after all, yeah?” As Lydia talked, she shifted to hide a younger girl behind her better, Hizashi frowning at the action. “Hm? Oh, Lucy. It’s her first night. Not a good one, either.”

The girl, Lucy, looked to just barely be in her twenties with a shirt a size too small and shoulders and midriff uncovered and bare to the world. Hizashi could easily see why the two were pressed into a corner of the cell, Lydia’s gaze sharp and angry on any man that got too close or let his gaze linger for too long.

“Let me tell you about bad nights,” Hizashi groaned, pitching his voice higher and aiming for dramatic as he stood up with a stretch, fighting with his jacket before getting it off. “I almost thanked him for punching me.”

“You are a wreck, aren’t you?” Lydia stared at the jacket as Hizashi held it out, only taking it when Hizashi gave a smile. “A sweet one, though.”

“Oi, oi, there’s no such thing as a sweet villain!” As soon as the jacket was around Lucy’s shoulders, the girl lost some of her tension, looking at him with a slow smile. “You’ll vouch for me, right, Lucy? I’m the meanest villain on these streets!”

“The absolute worst,” Lucy nodded, voice quiet and small as she slid her arms through the jacket and tucked it around her.

“See, Lydia? You worry so much and yet Lucy here is going to be stronger than me.” The two girls looked at him and Lydia finally gave a sad smile, shaking her head.

“Baby, what are you doing playing villain?”

Before he could answer, there was a tapping against the side of the bars, drawing their attention. “Alright, Present Mic, get over here and make your phone call.”

“Finally! Here I thought you guys were ignoring me, too!” Hizashi pouted and hid his unease at Lydia’s question as he bounced over to accept the burner flip phone, dialing up the number of his boss. “How long am I here for, this time?”

“Two days, at least.” Shelly crossed her arms, looking like a disapproving mother. “More if the owner of the bar and thrift shop press charges.”

“They won’t.” Probably. Shaking his head, Hizashi chatted an excuse as a message that his boss would hear tomorrow morning. Hopefully the man didn’t fire him, but a suddenly out-of-town trip to see his dying grandmother was probably a good enough reason to miss – besides, Jamie could use the extra hours he would be giving up.

Two days would at least give him enough time to think over his latest run-in with Eraserhead and the words that were now stuck running through his head.

You’re a horrible villain.

Baby, what are you doing playing villain?

Such a villainous quirk… Who would ever make you a hero?

Ah, well… He was doing this for more reasons than just ‘playing villain.’ Besides, if he had to be a villain, the least he could do was have a little fun with it.

[freyalor]

Gloves.

With joy, Papillon.

Fandom : FrenchHistoryFriendship : Richelieu & Joseph Date and place :Paris, 1621Words : 4KRating : G (Warning : blood)

I quicken my pace, becausethis dark feeling in me has kept growing since this morning, and Godin his warnings has never led me astray.

The cobblestones of Parisare merciless with the soles of my feet, but this is my penance week,and no glory, no praise, no temptation can divert me from my faith. Ishall walk from the Ursulines convent to the Louvre barefooted, nomatter how filthy Paris can be in late September.

I pass the Palacegates as the evening sun declines and the horizon starts to burn withgorgeous shades of rosy red. The Lord, in his endless grace, hascreated the most magnificent blend of thin white clouds and vibrantlight to salute the day once more, but I cannot spare time to marvelat it, because this pain of bad omens twisting my stomach, Iknow what it means.

The doors of the Louvresopen for me with reverence, valets and Courtiers bowing politely onmy passage. I hear their murmurs, of course I do, the same I’ve beenhearing for fifteen years.

Devout man,apostolic soldier, an example of faith, somesay, but I am not moved by flattery. Lunatic,rabid monk, demented wolf of bigotry, othersspit, but I am not touched by villainy.

Only one thingmatters, one sole purpose guides me. And I feelit needs me upstairs.

I was walking quitepeacefully as I got out of the Convent one hour ago, but I fear I amalmost running by now, passing in front of the Queen Mother’s doorssnarling her servants out of my path. I only concede a brief halt onthe last doorstep before the study, accepting a wet cloth and a basinto clean my feet from the grime of the street.

My penance, as healways says, doesn’t require ruininghis rugs.

But the moment it’s done,I barge in and lock the door behind my back, the twist of anguish inmy guts almost sucking the air out of me. As darkness crawls up thewalls of the study I quickly search around, not even at a man’slevel, but right away on the floor.

It doesn’t take long, ofcourse, for my fear to be confirmed by a dark silhouette curled atthe feet of his desk.

I knew it, oh,Christ almighty, I knew it.

God, in his warnings, hasnever let me astray.

I rush at his side,falling on my knees to search him for injuries.

-”Eminence?” I call.

But he doesn’t reply.

I hastily brush hishair away from his eyes to inspect them. They are wide open, butunseeing, emptied of all light, warmth or hope. I squint in thereclining light, Lord above, that painin my guts, I knew what it meant.

I grip his cheek to turnhis head towards me, get a glimpse of the state of his mouth, andsqueeze my eyes shut for a second.

Christ in Heavens, notagain.  

Why burden thismiraculous mind with such ghastly madness?

Were the hardships onthe way to his fate not enough a price to pay?

I take a deep breath tosteady myself before I examine him further.

His lips are soiledwith thick stains of dried blood, spread on his cheeks and jaw linein chaotic brushstrokes. His face itself is unwounded, but I knowwhat surely is. I blindly reach for his slender hands, bringing themout into the last fragment of light coming through the window, andexhale a low groan of dismay.

He ate himself raw.

-“Oh, Eminence,for God’s sake!”I scold him, my shoulders slumping a little.

No reaction, of course.

I look around. Nocandles have been lit. It means the fithas started long before dark. His fingers are glued with black clotsof dried blood, so I suppose he’s been lying there for at least onehour.

Very well. Verywell.

I gently let go of him andget up in a wince. I walk to the hearth, revive the fire and dropthree large logs in it. Then, as the first flames rise from theirembers, I light a few candles with them, and set the kettle to boil.I go for the drawer where he keeps his medicine, pick up theCarmelite herbs he uses to soothes his headaches, and count ten dropsin a large cup. I prepare his basin next, and fetch the discretewooden case where bandages are always prepared, right there upon theshelf, under a pile of ancient maps.

I carry everythingto the small bedroom next door that is everything herHighness Queen Mother thinks him worthyof, sweep his nightstand clear with my elbow, sending books andpapers crashing on the floor in the process, and drop the cup andbasin upon it instead.

Then I spin around andhead back to the study, rolling up the sleeves of my robes.

-“Alright, Eminence,let’s do it.” I huff, pointlessly I suppose.

I kneel next to him again,this time to shift him on his back and slide my arms underneath hislegs and shoulders. Groaning in effort I haul him up and move to hisbedroom. God, I used to be stronger than this.

As if my exertionwasn’t enough, that’s the moment he choses to blink back to reality,realise he’s being carried, and start strugglingagainst it.

-“For the love of God,keep still!” I hiss, and his squirming stops dead.

-“Joseph?” His brokenvoice tries as I lay him on his bed.

-“Whothe hell else?” I almost shout, andhe flinches in instinctive guilt.

As I leave him there tostride back towards the kettle I vaguely realize I am being too harshwith him again, but truly, I can’t help how enraged, howdisappointed I feel. I had hoped for this sickness of his to recedeas he ascended towards his rightful place next to the King, but ifanything has changed in those last five years, it has mostly been forthe worst.

What I had mistaken for atemporary condition, a sign that the Lord wanted this exceptional manon much higher grounds than the miserable town of Luçon, was infact, as I have been forced to admit later, a curse he would carryall his life, a further strain upon his resolute, yet unfortunatelyfrail body.

I wrap a handkerchiefaround the kettle handle and lift the pot out of the fire. I bring itto the bedroom to pour warm water in the basin, careful to spareenough to fill his cup of herbs.

He has laboriously sit upon the bed while I was gone, and he’s watching me now with meek,exhausted eyes, expecting my anger, no doubt, to break like thunderanytime.  

But I stay silent instead,dipping the handkerchief in the basin with one hand, handing out hiscup with the other. He moves to seize it, but his fingers are in sucha state they wouldn’t keep a steady hold of a feather.

-“Don’t.” I grunt, andlift the cup to his lips instead.

He glances down athis hands and whines in deep shame, still taking a sip out of the cupwith quiet obedience. I make him drink all of it before I start,because I’ll have to peel those dried clots of blood off his skinand it shall hurt like hell.

I examine his sleeves.Those new bishop robes may be more suited for the Louvre than thecheaper ones he had in Luçon, but their sleeves are too tight to berolled up. I sigh, unbuttoning the whole frock.

-“We need to get rid ofthese.” I mumble. “I want access to your hands.”

He lets himself be handledrather calmly at first, watching my hands with a dazed frown, but themoment I start brushing the opened robes off his shoulders he letsout a panicked shriek, crawling away from me in confused terror, hiseyes blurred with renewed nightmares.

I freeze, hands suspendedin the air, feeling my heart miss a beat, not because of his fright,not only that.

Also because of thatsmell I sniffed on his exposed skin.

The smell of rancid sweatand sugared wine.

The smell of disgust.

The smell of her.

Oh, bloody hell.

Exhaling sharply, I sit onthe edge of the bed, watching him shiver and heave for a while, untilhe understands there’s no one else than me here, and slowly calmsdown.

I should have knownit was the Medici.She must have had one of her afternoon hungersagain.

It’s not what she doesto him, or what she asks him to do when she summons him alone in herchambers and dismisses her usual audience of witches and worms.Fortunately, she’s a dull-minded, unimaginative woman, and the sinsshe forces upon him are, after all, quite commonplace.

It’s not that,it’s her.It’s just her.

Her rotten teeth, herdecaying hairline. Her dusty jewels and heavy gowns. Her immense,disgraceful body, loaded with both fat and vanity, too cumbersome tobe washed more than once a month.

Her vile tongue, her wet,slimy lips, and her bottomless appetite for everything sugary andsweet.

Including Eminence’s paleskin.

Its been ten years nowshe’s been devouring his youth with famished chortles every day andnight. In less than five, his rich brown locks have turned to silvergrey, and deep lines of worry have crawled around the corner of hiseyes, his body marked by her ravages just as permanently as his soulis.

As time only blackened hermind and thickened her face, Marie de Medici has turned into amonster of self-assured stench, and though many other men would makedo with this atrocity for the sake of the favours and privileges sheso freely distributes, this one lives every second spent in her bedas the cruelest of all tortures.

He’s not repulsed as Ican be by the carnal sins of this world, it’s not that. It ispainfully obvious how this man craves touch with every fibre of hisbeing.

He is destined for more,so much more than her, that’s all.

His mind, thoughmethodical and wise, has been drawn towards the delicacies of art andnature since his earliest childhood. He has a taste, a needfor the absolute, his eyes constantlylooking up to higher skies, and being trapped under the rancid weightof this mindless mare is an insult to his rare, refined soul.

I wait for his eyes toregain some focus, and since his hands are still useless, I reach outto tug his robes off his arm myself, reciting Deuteronomy to soothehis fear.

-“ TheLord himself goes before you and will be with you,”I whisper as I roll his black attire away until he’s bare to thewaist, “he will never leave you norforsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

He looks reassured,familiar with my voice reading out the Bible to him, so as I pick upthe basin, and lay it down on his lap to grab one of his hands, hebarely lets out a whimper of protest.

I plunge the handkerchiefin warm water and start rubbing dried blood off his fingers one byone. As I work, the nasty scabs reveal horrid wounds underneath; mostof them bite marks, though I suspect him to have used some kind ofblade at some point. He seems to discover, just as I do, the extentof the damage, and with a broken sob, he softly pleads:

-“I can’t do thisanymore, Joseph. I can’t…”

I know what he meansto say, and God be my witness I understand, but our sacred dreamsjust can’t affordto have any of this by now.

-“We have a purpose,Eminence.” I sternly remind him. “We have a-”

-“Stop calling methat way!” He cuts in, averting his eyes in self-hatred. “I toldyou already I am nota Cardinal.”

To his stunned confusioninstead of arguing I just let out a fond chuckle, releasing his cleanhand to reach for the other.

-“Of course you are.”I scoff. “You are, and you have always been.”

I wash his other set offingers with the same devoted care, his blood eventually turning thebasin water into a badly filtered Bourgogne wine in a sad mimicry ofJesus’ miracle. When my work is done, I discard the filthyrecipient and pull out the bandages box, sighing in concern at hisripped,  abused skin.

This is worse thanbefore. This is worse than ever. Thecuts are deeper, the wounds nastier, some areas bitten several times.

Lord, he must have hurthimself for hours to force out, I suppose, the agony he felt inside.

I distractedly pat hisshoulder, then push him downwards onto the bed until he lies downthere, and pull the covers over him. I gesture him to roll on hisside and put his hands on my lap.

He obeys, soundless, numb,barely the shadow of the man he was last time I saw him.

I’ve been a fool.Evangelic duties or not, I shouldn’t have left him alone in theLouvre for so long.

His wits are remarkableand he has fierce adaptive instincts, it’s true. His knowledge ofnames, faces, facts and secrets is far greater than anyone suspects,and he has already managed to prepare the next three best profitablediplomatic moves for France regarding each significant force inEurope clear as day on maps and papers. He has made excellent use ofhis delicate speech and charming poise already, earning himself eyesand ears in places where his name hasn’t even been heard yet.

But this placeremains a nest of snakes and the Medici’s clique,even after Concini’s death, is still a bunch of the lowest breed ofhumanity. There will be no rest for him as long as she’s around,sweeping her salacious stare upon his skin.

I’ve been a fool.

Like it or not,Eminence’s nerves will need constant consideration, and my denyingthe strain our scheme for power is having on his sanity won’t helphim in any way. This kind of misjudgement is forbidden to me. As longas he’s not at the King’s right side day and night yet, he hasme, only me,to protect him from his foes, and from himself.

I’ve been a fool,a stupid fool.

Inept to speak my remorseotherwise, I carefully grab his wrists and kiss his abused knuckles four times with the same devotion I would have for the Christ’s ownshroud.

-“My Eminence.”Ibreathe against the stigmata of my mistakes, and he closes his eyesin sheer sorrow.

-“Please, Joseph!” Hecries. “I don’t deserve your care. I am not the man you see inme, I never will. Why do you keep pushing me upwards while I’m sovisibly worthless?”

Hell,I hate it when he speaks that way. Iknow it’s just his nerves talking, but mercy me, it feels like aninsult to the very face of the Lord.

-”Look at me,Ezechielli” He breathes, “look at me, I am a monster. This dreamwe have, God’s mission as you say, you would have accomplished itbetter on your own.”

-”Shut it.” I grumble,busying myself with the thin strips of bandage.

But he doesn’t hear, eyesblurred, face half-buried in his pillow, shivers of exhaustioncrawling up his spine.

-”Youcould be Cardinal, you could be Minister.” He raves on, adrift.“You already have the reputation of a Saint. I know your feet arebleeding too, Joseph, with the mortifications you impose yourself aspunishment for the sin you’ll never commit!”

-”Shutit, you idiot!” I yell, and hisshocked stare darts up to my face though a veil of tears.

I can’t look at himtoo long, because as he keeps praising my virtues while he drags hisown soul into the dust, he’s being so wrongI could slap him in the face.

-”I’ll tell youof my sins, Eminence.” I hiss, focusing on taking care of hiswounds instead. “I’ll tell you why it has to be youalone, right next to the Sun, beaming in red cardinality on the verypages of future history.”

He doesn’t say a word,lying frozen in his bed, his wide eyes fixed upon mine, his bleedinghands offered to my care with unquestioning trust, looking soinnocent I almost cannot breathe.

-”Do you know why Imortify myself?” I blurt out, transported. “Because I am acoward. Those sacrifices that need to be made to achieve our holypurpose, those sins that need to be committed for France to be rebornout of the dark ages into an era of light, those horrid acts, thosefilthy deeds, only you are brave enough to carry them out.”

-”Joseph…” He tries,his barely bandaged hand moving towards my face, but I fear his touchwould only turn me to dust, and I inch away from him.

-”I was the one toadvise you to seduce the Medici” I go on, cutting stripes of whitefabric with my teeth and wrapping them around his skin, “becausethe young King had not yet the strength to seize the power that wasowed to him, and if the influence we needed had to be given to you,alas, it could only be by this fat whore.”

-”Joseph, we bothagreed…”

-”Yes, we bothagreed, but I remain safely tucked in your shadow, pushing youforward to damnation while I relish in the comfortof being true to my holy vows!”

I hate the fact that myeyes tingle, but it is the truth of God spoken through my mouth, andas I brush a damp strand of hair off his worried brow, I feel onlyhumbled by the strength, the purity of him.

-”And here youare, my Eminence, your magnificent soul offered as sacrificial lambfor the sake of our vision, burdened with ailment and pain,misunderstood, despised and tortured. Here you are, oblivious to yourown martyrdom, elevating me to the heights of saints, so I beg you,for the love of God and everything you hold dear, right now, justbloody shut it.”

A single tear pools at thecorner of his eye before it sinks into the pillow. He complies tomy will and doesn’t speak at all, but the determination of this mancan’t be ignored as he makes a painful effort to haul himself up onhis wounded hands, stare into my eyes for a second and drop aninfinitely soft, trembling kiss on my cheek.

He lets himself fall backon the bed then, and gives me a tired smile.

I cross his brow, wipingfeverish sweat off his skin as I whisper :

-”Andthe peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard yourhearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

“Amen”, he gentlysays, his voice devoid of all belief.

I expect him to sleep, Godknows I bloody would, but he insists upon me checking thecorrespondence he has prepared today for the officers and governorsof the South instead, since we need to know how many allies he couldcount on in his dearest, greatest endeavour: the utopia he calls theState.

I find myself, thus, goingback to the study to pick up his writing of the day, and sit on thatplain chair next to his bed to read it aloud, just like every otherdamn day.

I find both of usdiscussing probabilities and exchanging intel, clicking back into ournatural ways as if nothing happened, his cautious, analytical mindacting as the guardrail of my uncompromising impetus.

We agree upon a fewmodifications, that I write in the margins of his letters myself,since his reddened, throbbing hands are sealed in layers of bandages.

We agree, above all, uponthe fact that any further building of the State will have to waituntil the King is truly King, because no one in the Medici’sentourage has the even half of the ambition we need.

He sighs, then, thwartedby how far from reach his beloved dream remains.

Even in his own rooms inthe Royal Apartments of the Louvres, secured as the Queen Mother’slong-term favourite, even here, so far away from Luçon, from Blois,from exile and even disgrace, he’s still devoured by how incompletehe is.

A taste, a need forthe absolute. Heis destined for so much more, that’s all.

He’s destined for a placeright next to the Sun.

History is lying there inthis bed, locked within a brilliant mind, boiling to be given thepower it requires to change the balance of the whole continent,waiting in despair for a twenty years old man  who still needs torealize he’s being robbed of his own crown.

History is lying there,sealed within a vibrant heart, already drawn towards the King byforces far beyond mankind, God’s mighty will showing itself inshining evidence through this man’s unquenchable feelings for youngLouis.

-”Be patient, Eminence.”I reassure him, stiffly patting his shoulder some more. “Soonenough, the red robes you deserve will be granted to you by thefilthy monster I made you crawl underneath, and each one of thosewounds will be atoned in glory.”

He bites his lips,smothering a bitter smile. I know he doesn’t share half of myfaith, but it’s not the first time my own conviction supports usboth, and it won’t be the last.

-“Withcardinality,” I hammer, ardent, “you will gain access to theRoyal Council, and I swear to you, all you’ll have to do, then, isspeak out those dreams you’ve been writing about for years. You’lljust have to talk, Eminence, and he willknow. He will see your worth. He’s no Bourbon if he doesn’t. He willsee you for who you are, and when he’ll grow strong enough to useyou, he’ll call you at his side, you, the only eagle that can flyright into the Sun. He’ll keep you under his protection, thegreatest servant he ever had, and he will love you then, I promiseyou, just as much as you love him.”

With that, he rasps aspiteful laugh, and blatantly rolls his eyes at me, shifting awayuntil he’s lying on his back, his hands carefully raised one inchabove the sheets.

I let out a dreamy smile,because, truly, can I blame him for his disdain?

-“You think Idon’t know what I’m talking about right?” I throw him, defiant.“How can a monk speak about love, well, learn, youngman, that I have been in love before.”

He has a small start,turning back towards me with wide, suspicious eyes, and his disbeliefisn’t truly a surprise. My tempted heart has been sealed long agoin a steel armour forged in the flames of faith and holy purpose, andthough this man is the only one I trust with my life, there are stillparts of my pastI kept hidden from his sight.  

-“Would you think it sostrange,” I ask, laughing good-heartedly, “knowing I have been atthe Pluvinel Academy just like you, to think I too have known, in theblessed carelessness of my youth, the beauty of a woman?”

He sits up a little, then,his bright stare fixed upon me, and leans towards me in untaintedinterest, his own suffering forgotten in the raw curiosity his mindhas always been fuelled by.

-“What was hername?” He timidly asks, and I find myself stunned by how difficultit is to summon back her name to my lips.

-“Isabelle, Ithink.” I mutter, frowning in the struggle to recall her face fromthat part of my memories I left for dead so long ago. “She was theyoungest daughter of our neighbours in Montfort.”

I see him ready toask for more details, but I am not sure Ican remember much more, so I raise a finger in front of his nose andjust add:

-“Now, thecalling of God was already strong in my heart, but my mother and thatyoung girl were both resolute souls. There has been a day where I hadto lock myself in my room in Tremblay, while both women kept knockingon my door, reciting poetry, and imploring me to come out andaccompany them to a ball.”

He seems to make atremendous effort to picture that,and again, it’s only natural.

All I ever speak,all I ever act upon in his presence is God’s own will, from whatpour into my cup to every advice I ever give.

I have burned withthe Lord’s holy word since I learned how to read, yetunsure God’s plans for me until they were revealed to my face.Indeed, though I forgot everything about Isabelle, I remember thefirst time I saw those dark, fervent eyes all too well, in a squalidroom of the presbytery of Luçon, where his careful, yet ferventvoice felt already heavy the sound of glories to come.

I knew I couldn’tignore the glorious path that had been laid out for me anymore, then,and as I called him, “Eminence” was the only name my lips couldform.

-“You didn’tsuccumb.” He breathes, a bit admiring, perhaps.

-“Never.” Istate. “They went to that ball alone, while I sat in my roomcopying ‘The life of Saint Francis’. Twice.”

And before he even startsto snicker, my finger above his face turns into a stern warning.

-“And don’t rollyour eyes at me again, I still have your ‘Perfection of theChristian Man’ on my nightstand in Saint Honoré!”

At that he lets out hisfirst laugh, and I feel blessed already.

We share a few moments ofpeaceful silence, and I put the diplomatic letters away on the buffetto pick up the Bible instead, clearing my throat before I read a fewverses to him, in the hope of lulling him to sleep.

But before I do hesoftly pulls at my sleeve, flinching in pain as his fingers barelycan take a hold of the fabric, and nods at his hands with anguish.

-“This will neverheal until a few days.” He muses, his voice threatened by guiltagain. “Yet, I have managed to get myself invited to the Generalsreview ceremony tomorrow morning. The King will be there, you see,and the only pair of gloves I own will not hide those bandages.”

I look down at the layersof linen around his skin. Some of them are already stained in freshblood while others make his fingers too thick to fit in the tight,merciless satin gloves that came with the new robes.

I chuckle, then,because I can’t help it. God, inhis warning, has never led me astray.

I fumble in mypilgrim bag, the one I keep hanging on my shoulder at all times,giving as only answer to his questioning look:

-“Do you know why I wasat the Ursuline Convent this morning?”

-“For a sermon, Isuppose.” He tries.

-“Yes, but notonly.” I correct. “You will be delighted to know that SisterJeanne Espérance, who has been living there for twenty years now,besides being the most devout soul of her order, also happens to bethe best seamstress in Paris, especially with very fine leathers.”

I pull out a thincardboard case, then, and hand it over to him. Puzzled, he gentlypushes the lid open with the only side of his left thumb that’sstill undamaged, and gasps as he discovers, wrapped in delicatetissue, a pair of brand new black gloves.

-“It’s roe deerskin.” I explain. “Not as fashionable as the fancy silkennonsense worn at Court those days, but having the remarkableadvantage to be lenient withbumps and bruises.”

While I speak, Ilift Sister Jeanne’s excellent handiwork out of the box and gesturefor him to extend his hands again. I slowly, carefully slip theslightly extensible leather gloves on, taking my time around theworst of his wounds, until all signs of his burden are hidden fromthe world.

I admire the resultfor a while, then lift his fingers to my lips, murmuring my oath toembrace his curse at last as the necessary darkness to his light:

-“ AgnusDei, quitollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis. »

He shakes his headin perplexity again, but sinks into the bedwith a reassured sigh all the same, smiling brightly at his glovesbefore his eyes flutter close and he falls asleep just like that,with his hands still in mine, wearing the token of my friendshiparound the marks of his martyrdom.

I stay with him, asI stayed so many other nights, perched on the side of his bed, myeyes fixed on his face with the same certainty I had as a child,gazing at the Christ Himself, as my journey had just begun, in theold house of Du Tremblay.

[ayellowbirds]

Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 13: "Which Witch Is Which?"

("Scooby-Doo, Where Are You", Season 1 Episode 13)

AKA "That Voodoo You Don’t Do"

In a misty marsh, a strange, hunch-backed figure pushes a punt boat through the water, pausing to look behind him so the camera can see his face. 

What a looker.

Not far away or long after, the gang are taking a shortcut on their fishing trip. They've gotten lost due to Fred’s terrible route-planning (seriously, I may need to start keeping track from here, i feel like the gang getting lost while on the road becomes a trope later on), and catch sight of a figure by the road, holding a lantern but apparently not visible enough to register as anything strange. While Scooby “fishes” in the back of the van by dipping a line tied to his tail into a bucket full of water, the Mystery Machine pulls to a stop so Shaggy can ask for directions.

Fleeing in terror from the “zombie”, the gang arrive in a community evidently named “Swamp’s End”, if the sign on the General Store is any indication, still quite badly lost. 

While Scooby raids an open tin of beans (wouldn’t they be dry? I can’t imagine wet beans being left out for sale in a non-refrigerated environment), the gang speak to the store owner, a thickly-bearded fella by the name of Zeke. He tells them that the zombie was created by an old witch with “voodoo magic”. Zeke and his buddy Zeb Perkins first caught sight of her six months back, having gone into the swamp for some frog gigging. 

Seen above: the landscaping concept for my fallback retirement plans. The witch chants above her fire, “Smoke of darkness, demon of evil, take the form of the living, and come forth from the flame!” and the logs and fire fade away, replaced by the zombie. He’s even already got his lantern!

While Zeke relates that the town is abandoned except for the two of them and that Zeb has been scared so bad he won’t go outdoors, Scooby’s inattentive eating wind up giving him a mouthful of jumping beans, leading to him bouncing around and hiccuping.

This was a popular bit in older cartoons, especially Hanna-Barbera ones, but it seems like nowadays, “jumping beans” aren’t really part of popular culture. It’s probably because the reason they “jump” is that they’re parasitized by a caterpillar, and novelty items powered by insect larvae are not as popular as @bogleech​ might hope.

While Fred, Velma, and Daphne clean up Zeke’s shop after Scooby’s bug-induced hopping fit, Scooby and Shaggy are tasked with checking on Zeb. They arrive to find his cabin showing sings of having been inhabited, but dusty and full of cobwebs—there’s no sign of Perkins himself.

Well, except for one.

Shaggy assumes that Zeb’s been shrunk, but Velma explains that it’s a “voodoo doll” made in his likeness. “Voodoo” is tossed around a lot in this episode, and that could be blamed on it being the mistaken assumptions of white people and pop culture about any folk magic practices, but pretty much everything observable about the swamp witch except her zombie servant is actually rooted in European and especially English and Germanic folk magic and superstitions. 

Her “Halloween witch” looks draw on the typical mishegoss of stereotypes of feminine villainy that include a vaguely antisemitic hooked nose, and a hat style that i’ve ranted about before (and others have noted is linked to the beer-brewing traditions in Europe, along with things like the broom, solitary old women, and having cats around); the “voodoo doll” is in fact an English-style poppet and most of the connection to voodoo/vodou is based in racist propaganda. Even her hut looks more like something illustrated by Arthur Rackham or Ivan Bilibin.

The gang take a boat out into the swamp and catch sight of their targets, but lose them among the reeds and waters. Continuing further on, they find signs warning them to BEWARE and GO BACK, but press onward, and find the witch’s "shack”—complete with pin-pricked poppets in the likeness of Fred, Daphne, Velma, and Shaggy propped up against a mirror! .

Velma thinks it’s “phony baloney”, but  Scooby can’t resist testing it out.

Ah, the loyalty of Man’s Best Friend. “Coincidentally”, Shaggy backs into a fork just as Scooby literally stabs his likeness in the back, and the witch appears in a puff of smoke. “So, you dared entered the swamp in spite of my warning signs!”

Daphne’s response?

Everyone else is stunned by her sick burn, but i notice in this moment that there’s a portrait of the witch up on the wall. What an oddly extra touch on the part of the villains! How long do you figure it took them to make it, or did they acquire it somewhere and tailor the witch disguise to match it?

Enraged, the witch casts a spell on Daphne, bidding the “smoke of evil, make her vanish!” and causing the redhead to disappear in a puff of smoke, leaving only her footprints behind on the rug where she was standing.

The bright pink rug that was not visible in any prior shots, in spite of Daphne’s full body and shoes on the bare wood floor being on-screen. 

But Velma and Fred realize that the way Daphne’s footprints seem to slide backwards mean that there’s a trap door, and find it when investigating below the house. Following footprints further into the swamp in hopes of finding their friend, they catch sight of a derelict river boat and the zombie’s punt... which has an odd little extra.

The end of the punting pole is embellished with a metal tip that has clearly had more intent and care put into its design than the episode’s villains themselves (not to mention such things as bright pink rugs), with extra little indentations and rivets that are far from necessary to convey its role in the scheme.

The gang go to investigate the riverboat, unknowingly watched by the cackling witch and her undead minion, who begin to terrorize the foursome as they split up and search the boat. 

While Shaggy and Scooby flee the zombie, Fred and Velma hear a muffled voice behind a wall with no clear entry, and try to find a secret entrance. Velma tries tugging on a lantern because “it’s always done that way in the movies”, but instead pulls it clean off the wall and tumbles backwards, knocking over an old bucket and sending a bar of soap flying at an emergency axe mounted on the wall—which was the actual trigger for the secret door.

Why is there always a secret door? It’s never just that the door is somewhere else and they happened to take a wrong turn, there’s never just a dead end.

Finding a grunting sheet-clad shape inside the secret room, Velma initially mistakes it for a ghost, but pulling away the sheet quickly reveals it’s Daphne... and a search of the room finds a very modern electrical winch, cutting torch, and set of power tools.

An aside for observation on characterization: i’ve joked a lot about Velma being not as skeptical as she makes herself seem, but i think the “credulity to skeptic” scale of the gang goes something like this:

Shaggy

Daphne

Scooby

Velma

Fred

I rated Scooby in the middle, though it varies in later series, because he actually seems to wind up noticing something isn’t supernatural faster than the others, either due to circumstance or canine senses. When he doesn’t, he usually reacts to a threat because the others are reacting to it, taking cues on what to fear based mostly on Shaggy. Much of the time, he seems innocent to what something could be except “big and angry”, and only really reacts with terror when one of his human friends says something.

Speaking of fear: the witch and zombie take advantage of being a team to terrorize both divisions of the gang at the same time, including the witch seeming to fly after them. But the discovery of a modern fan-powered airboat tucked into a passage in the riverboat also leads to the discovery that the flying witch is nothing more than a painted sheet thrown over a balloon, a cheaper trick than most Halloween decorations.

The airboat’s throttle gets stuck, and Scooby tosses down an improbably large anchor. The jarring stop brings up a lot of swampwater... and an entire armored bank car. Soon, the gang have improvised a rope-and-pulley system with some sturdy trees, and pull the truck to shore, finding sacks full of money with big old dollar signs drawn on, in case you were confused about what the enormous bags secured inside an armored bank car could possibly be.

Fred’s trap this time around is to leave some of those bags out in the open, where the witch and zombie—who the gang rightfully conclude have been hunting for this, using the metal-tipped pole to sound out the swamp floor for the metal roof of the car—can find them. Without breaking character, the gruesome twosome run up to the bags, cackling and mumbling with glee.

Of course, the bags are mostly filled with Scooby and Shaggy.

Kasem’s delivery on this line is magnificent, by the way. Leading the costumed crooks into a trap, the plan almost goes off without a hitch, but as usual, Scooby gets knocked along with the villains into a waiting wagon that rolls downhill towards the open back of the armored car. It’s only Shaggy demonstrating improbable line-casting skill that keeps Scooby from being trapped with the villains, as he uses a fishing pole to snag the bag Scooby is still wearing and pull him back uphill.

Jinkies, but Shaggy is strong. Why is this boy scared of anything? He could probably lift most of the villains of the week with one hand. I feel like there’s a lot to be said about the fact that Shaggy is a jock who doesn’t realize he is one, especially when we get into the episodes and movies where he actually competes in sports.

The gang meet up with a sheriff outside of the General Store, and it’s unsurprisingly revealed that the witch is Zeke, while the zombie is Zeb, explained as having hijacked the armored car in the first place, sinking it to find it later after the heat died down. The Scooby wiki notes that this episode seems to feature a rare example of a character from outside of the gang being reused: the Sheriff originates in the very first episode, as seen in this model sheet from a now-defunct Cartoon Network page, though the episode number doesn’t match up.

The episode ends with the gang musing on this having begun as a fishing trip, and Scooby is still dipping his tail-strung line into a bucket in the back of the Mystery Machine. “Give up,” says Fred, but less than a second later, Scooby pulls a hooked fish out of the water!

As Scooby defies the laws of physics and common sense once more, the gang share a laugh, and... fade to credits.

(like what i’m doing here? It’s not what pays the bills, so i’d really appreciate it if you could send me a bit at my paypal.me or via my ko-fi. Click here to see more entries in this series of posts, or here to go in chronological order) 

[englishchinesetranslations]

RED CHINA IS JEW CHINA: THE DISTURBING ORIGINS OF CHINESE COMMUNISM AND THE DEEPENING CHINESE-‘ISRAELI’ TIES OF TODAY

OCTOBER 21, 2018

MADDCOLDSONOFKUFA

5 COMMENTS

by Jonathan Azaziah

You wouldn’t know it upon first glance, but China and the Jews are chum-chum-chummy. It’s a historical relationship that goes back to the very inception of Chinese communism. In a July 9th, 2012 piece entitled “A Jew In Mao’s China” by Laura Goldman for “The Schmooze” of the Jewish Daily Forward, she revealed, “In fact, 85 to 90% of the foreigners helping the Chinese at the time of the Communist takeover were Jewish. This included the daughter of the founder of the brokerage firm Goldman Sachs, who left the comfort of her Park Avenue home to assist the Chinese.” In conjunction with these startling anomalies, the US ZOG had a base in Tianjin from 1945-1947. Tianjin was home to a sizable Jewish community, particularly Russian communists. It was from the Tianjin base that the Dixie Mission of the OSS trained, financed and armed none other than Mao Zedong and his merry band of “revolutionaries” to fight the Japanese–which, contrary to popular opinion, weren’t “imperialists” nor “warmongers” but rather, liberators of Brown and Yellow peoples colonized by the ZOGs of Europe. That however is another story for another time.

The OSS itself was a den of Jewish and Judeophilic intriguers, set up for the sole purpose of infiltrating and ultimately destroying Germany and Japan. There were a multitude of Jewish operatives who were brought into the fold strictly because of their Jewishness and connections with businessmen and bankers in Europe who also sought the downfall of the Axis Powers. Leading this effort in organizing, coordination and recruitment was Nahum Amber Bernstein, the lawyer for the genocidal Jewish Agency and preeminent funder of the Haganah. Another key OSS operative was the notorious Major Louis Mortimer Bloomfield, a wealthy Montreal-based lawyer who was also connected to the Haganah as well as a main player in Permindex, the shadowy Jewish-dominated corporation that helped murder President John F. Kennedy. These are the types who the Chinese communists took assistance from. No dignity whatsoever as just a few decades earlier, the Sassoon family, known as the Iraqi-Jewish Rothschilds, crippled large swathes of the Chinese population with opium addiction. All of this, as well as what is about to be discussed, is extremely relevant as the Chinese-‘Israeli’ relationship of today unfolds at an increasingly expansive rate. Now allow us to delve into Red China’s Jewish patrons. And founders.

Grigori Naumovich Voitinsky (birthname: Zarkhin) – Russian Jew. One of the founders of Soviet Sinology. Handler of Chen Duxiu. Cofounder of the Chinese Communist Party, which he and his colleagues established in 1920. Bolshevik. The process of forming the party in its nascent stages can mostly be attributed to his strategic thinking. Bolshevik propaganda was disseminated through the Shanghai Chronicle–which he managed. He can indeed be identified as the godfather of Chinese communism as well as other branches of communism in the Asian world.

Manfred Stern aka Emilio Kléber aka Lazar Stern aka Moishe Stern aka Mark Zilbert aka General Kleber – Ukrainian Jew. Leader of the International Brigade in Spain. Bolshevik. Helped put down the anti-Soviet rebellion in Mongolia. Became the GRU’s chief spy in the US with his missions centered around stealing American military secrets. Would become the chief military advisor in the Jiangxi–Fujian Soviet, with Mao, Zhu De and others reporting directly to him.

Solomon Adler – Jew with origins from Karelitz, Belarus. US Treasury Department economist, Treasury rep in China during WW2. Pegged as a Soviet spy by Whittaker Chambers, returned to China to spearhead translating Mao’s works into English. Was also with the International Liason Department, a vital organ of the CCP whose functions included foreign intelligence.

Henry Kissinger – Among history’s worst human beings. Involved in a slew of genocides, massacres, war crimes, destabilizations and other acts of psychopathy–particularly in Asia. Masterminded the opening of trade with China and sold out America’s manufacturing power to the Chinese. Grandsire of transmogrifying China into a commie state to a cappy state.

Jakob Rosenfeld aka General Luo – Austro-Hungarian Jew. Minister of Health in Mao’s provisional government and top Mao advisor. Served in the Chinese Communist Force from 1941 on and participated in the Chinese Communist Force’s march on Beijing. Settled in the Entity after the Communist takeover of China was complete. Statue of him was erected in his honor in Junan county, Shandong and a massive exhibit was named after him in 2006 in Beijing’s National Museum of China.

Sidney Rittenberg – Charleston, South Carolina Jew. Descendant of slave-owners. First American to join the CCP. Close advisor to Mao, Zhu De, Zhou Enlai and other high-up CCP leaders. Trusted translator of the Chinese Communist “revolution”. Married into the Chinese family of Wang Yulin. Cultural Revolution supporter. Played a key role in transmitting Chinese Communist propaganda for Xinhua and Radio Peking. Ascended to the head of the Broadcast Administration – i.e. propaganda production – in an unprecedented move that nobody ever thought could be held by a foreigner. But in Communist China of course, Jews weren’t foreigners but “comrades”. Returned to the United Snakes of IsraHELL in 1980 to found Rittenberg & Associates, a company which became a vital go-between for American corporations and China.

Sidney Shapiro aka Sha Boli – New York Ashkenazi Jew. Member of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Council. Head of Communist China’s propaganda apparatus. Top translator, writer and publisher of works on China, as well as an actor in Chinese films focused on American villainy. Conducted extensive research into Jews in China and got the works translated into Hebrew and published in the Entity. In December of 2014, the China International Publishing Group announced it was establishing a Sidney Shapiro Research Center in his honor to investigate model criteria for translation between Chinese and English.

Israel Epstein – Polish Jew. Anti-Japanese spy. His father was a Bolshevik agitator. Member of the NKVD’s China divison. Mao’s Minister of Finance/Appropriations. Honored by Mao, Zhou Enlai, Deng Xiaoping, Jiang Zemin and Hu Jintao. Member of the CCP and editor of China Reconstructs/China Today. His wife was a top contributor to one of the most widely used Chinese-English dictionaries published in China.

Frank Coe – Richmond, Virginia Jew. Treasury Department official from 1934-1939 who worked with the Silvermaster spy ring that featured Harry Dexter White at the head of Operation Snow–the precusor to Pearl Harbor. Friend and co-conspirator of Solomon Adler. Key player in Mao’s Great Leap Forward.

Robert Lawrence Kuhn – Jewish investment banker, Kissingerite and international corporate strategist with an “expertise” in China. He’s been advising the CCP on economic policy, science, technology, media, culture, US-Chinese relations and international communications for over 20 years.

Mikhail Borodin aka Mikhail Gruzenberg – Jew from Vitebsk, Belarus. Top lieutenant of Lenin. After the Bolshevik takeover, he engaged in spying activities in the UK ZOG, US ZOG and Mexico. Then led a group of Soviet advisors in Guangzhou. He negotiated the First United Front between the Chinese Nationalist Party of Sun Yat Sen and the Chinese Communist Party. Under his guidance, both parties reorganized on Leninist dogma and organized training institutes for mass organizations, such as the Peasant Training Institute, where none other than a young Mao served, and the Whampoa Military Academy. He arranged shipments of Soviet arms and kept a balance between the radical communists and the “bourgeios” Nationalists.

David Crook – Staunchly anti-Russian Jewish supremacist from the UK. Fought with many other Jews in the International Brigade during the Spanish Civil War. Got recruited by the NKVD as a result of his actions in Spain and was sent to China where he also doubled as a British intelligence agent, working with communists against the Japanese. An architect of China’s foreign service and active in the CCP’s theft of private property, aka “land reform”.

Adolph Abramovich Joffe – Turkic Karaite Jew from Crimea. From a very wealthy family. Associate of Trotsky and Hungarian-Austrian Jew Alfred Adler. Ally and supporter of Lenin. Chairman of the Petrograd Military Revolutionary Committee that overthrew the Russian Provisional Government. Ambassador to China, signing agreements with Sun Yat-Sen and overseeing the distribution of aid and weapons to the Kuomintang as well as cooperation between the Kuomintang and the Chinese communists.

Richard Frey aka Richard Stein – Jew from Vienna, Austria. Arrived in China in 1939 and joined in operations against the Japanese. Member of the CCP and took part in the 7th National Congress of the Communist Party of China in Yan’an – the political and military base of the Communist Party of China– as a guest auditor. Pioneer of Integrative Medicine Treatment in China. He founded and managed the first computer database for the medical information center in Beijing. Chairman of the Information Institute and curator of the Medical Academy of Sciences of China. Helped build relations between Austria and China. Honored by Hu Jintao.

Shafick George Hatem aka Ma Haide – Syrian-Lebanese Jew often mistaken as a Maronite who lived in both upstate NY and Lawrence, MA. First traveled to China’s Shanghai with Jewish colleagues (and communist agents) Lazar Katz and Robert Levinson. Traveled to communist HQ in Bao’an (modern-day Zhidan) to directly assist Mao’s troops and personally examine Mao to dispel rumors of Mao’s impending death via a mysterious disease. Chief organizer for recruiting foreign medical personnel to treat Chinese communist forces fighting Japan in northern China. Became a public health official in China after the communist victory in 1949 and holds the distinction of becoming the first foreigner granted Chinese citizenship. Known as the “American Physician Savior to Modern China”.

Hans Shippe aka Morzec Grzyb – Jew from Krakow, Poland. Germany Communist Party member. Soviet journo. Joined Chinese communists in Guangzhou as a translator and interviewer, spreading interviews with top CCP leaders including Mao. Associate of Shafick George Hatem (Ma Haide). First Jew to fall on the battlefield in China’s war against Japan. Monument erected in his honor by Chinese communists in 1942 in Shandong province.

Ruth Weiss aka Wei Lushi – Jew from Vienna, Austria. Said to be the last surviving European eyewitness of the Chinese communist takeover of China. Top educator at the Jewish School in Shanghai, the School of the Chinese Committee of Intellectual Cooperation and West China Union University. Did propaganda work for the Publishing House for Foreign Literature and financial work at the China Welfare Fund. Named one of eleven foreign experts by the Communist Party of China that were part of membership of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference in 1983.

Rewi Alley – Crypto-Jew, homosexual and probable pedophile from New Zealand. Associate of Ma Haide, Ruth Weiss and Hans Shippe. Became a secret member of the CCP in the late 20s/early 30s and by 1932, was carrying out mission after mission for the communists. Set up the Chinese Industrial Cooperatives to bring in foreign and local high-born money for the war against Japan. Credited with introducing “guerilla industry” to China. Became a top propagandist for the new regime, writing works praising the CCP and its actions nationwide, including the Great Leap Forward. Bragged of his “familial” ties to the CCP’s top brass, including Mao. Rewi Alley Memorial Hall and Research Centre at Lanzhou City University College erected in his honor in 2017. Also honored with the Queen’s Service Order by the New Zealand ZOG and was instrumental in forging strong bonds between Beijing and Wellington.

Betty Chandler aka Chen Bidi – Jew from Manitoba, Canada. Close to Israel Epstein and Sidney Shapiro. CPPCC member. Active participant in the management of Red China’s state affairs. Worked as a medical professional on the front lines against Japan as well as a propagandist, disseminating pictures of alleged Japanese atrocities to US papers as a means of defending the Chinese communist narrative. Carried on the hasbara work at the Publishing House for Foreign Literature, serving as an English-language lecturer.

Hans Miller – German Jew. Came to China in 1939 and held the title of director in at least four different hospitals. CCP and CPPCC member. Trained with Mao and participated in fighting against the Japanese. Helped develop medical science in China and was appointed VP of Beijing Medical University. His contributions during the war against Japan were said to have been critical, especially in Yanan.

Gunther Stein – German Jew. Soviet spy and Red China spy part of the Sorge spy ring. Used his journalist credentials with AP, the Manchester Guardian and the Christian Science Monitor to mask his clandestine activities and deflect attention off the fact he was disseminating propaganda on behalf of the communists. Wrote the book “Challenge of Red China”, celebrating the defeat of Japan and new regime of communism. Today this book is touted by none other than the Rothschild-bankrolled CFR.

Philip Jacob Jaffe – Ukrainian-Russian Jew from NYC’s Lower East Side. Co-founder and policymaker of the Committee for a Democratic Far East Policy (CDFEP). Associate of Israel Epstein and Gunther Stein, who were both CDFEP members. Function of the CDFEP was to instill communism deep into Chinese society through anti-Japanese propaganda. Met with Mao as early as 1924. Published the journal “Amerasia” with money from the Judeophilic Vanderbilts. Amerasia was raided by government authorities for publishing classified materials and Jaffe along with his colleagues and his presumed source, a Jewish Office of Naval Intelligence officer named Andrew Roth, were arrested for espionage. Was a friend and financier of Thomas Arthur Bisson aka T.A. Bisson aka Arthur, a propagandist for Chinese communism in America, suspected Soviet spy who collaborated with Jewish agent of the Soviets Joseph Bernstein, and prolific anti-Japanese writer.

Eva Sandberg aka Eva Xiao – Polish-German Jew. Soviet citizen and spy. Known as the “Only White Western Woman in Yanan”, she married Chinese poet Xiao San, an old classmate and boyhood friend of Mao. She helped Xiao run the editorial department at the Lu Xun Academy of Arts and disseminate communist thought. Was also just one of three Soviet women in all of Red China.

Ursula Kuczynski aka Ruth Werner aka Ursula Beurton aka Ursula Hamburger aka Sonja (codename) – Prussian-German-Polish Jew. Her father, Robert Rene, was a well-known and wealthy economist. Her Yahoudling husband, Rudolf Hamburger, was an architect of the German Communist Party and also a Soviet spy who worked with her in China. Infiltrated MI5, the Royal Air Force and the OSS. Eulogized by the Jew York Times as a “Colorful and Daring Soviet Spy”. Attained the rank of Colonel within the Soviet military. Awarded the Order of the Red Banner for her espionage in China. She ran a spy ring in Shanghai and her missions prominently featured the interception of Japanese communications and sabotage of Japanese military positions in Manchuria. She stored weapons and secured bomb-making materials for Chinese communist guerillas. It is said that Japan would not have pulled out of Manchuria had it not been for her work. Collaborated with the Rosenbergs, David Greenglass, Harry Gold and Klaus Fuchs to get classified nuclear armaments info to the Soviet Union and is credited particularly with being responsible for ***the transmission*** that started the Soviet nuke program. Fuchs, for the record, was recruited into services for the Soviets by none other than her brother Jurgen Kuczynski, an internationally renowned economist.

Michael Menachem Greenberg – Polish-Romanian-British Jew. Managing editor of the Institute of Pacific Relations (IPR) publication, “Pacific Affairs”, where he disseminated a heavily anti-Japanese line. He became a China specialist at the Board of Economic Warfare and an assistant to the agency’s head, Lauchlin Currie–who was revealed to be a Soviet spy connected to Jew Harry Dexter White and the Silvermaster espionage ring. Later worked as a Foreign Affairs Economist in the Administrative Division, Enemy Branch, of the Foreign Economic Administration. His tasks involved finding ways to economically squeeze Japan. Revealed to be a spy for Red China by the investigations of Joseph McCarthy, whose “red-baiting” wasn’t so immersed in paranoia, megalomania and bigotry as liberals (mainly Jews) would have the world believe. Ultimately escaped prosecution and imprisonment and returned to England where he wrote the hasbara book, “British Trade and The Opening of China”, attacking the British for colonially exploiting China in the Opium Wars but deliberately obfuscating the role of the actual opium traders–the aforementioned Mizrahi Jewish Rothschild lieutenants, the Sassoons.

Mark Gayn aka Mark Julius Ginsbourg – Russian-American-Canadian Jew born in Manchuria. Schooled in Russia’s Vladivostock, China’s Shanghai, California’s Claremont and New York’s New York City (Columbia). Writer/journalist for the Jew York Times, Washington Post, Time, Toronto Star and Newsweek. Worked for and passed info to the spy den masquerading as a journalism magazine of Philip Jacob Jaffe, Amerasia. His home was raided by the FBI and 60 classified documents were found. Declassified FBI files reveal that he was Soviet/Chinese spy who had stolen these OSS documents, which related to Chiang Kai-shek’s battle plans against Mao. The theft of this info proved crucial in the Chinese Communist Force defeating Chiang Kai-shek and attaining power. Inexplicably, despite the arrest following the raid on his home, he was let go under the pretext that he would serve as a double agent for America but this never materialized. More probably however, it was Jewish Lobby pressure and his importance to the Maoist cause that procured his release. Said to have obtained information that JFK was going to be assassinated–significant considered the Jewish-‘Israeli’ role in that crime. Traveled to the Soviet Union every year between 1964-1970, not to mention multiple visits to China and was able to get two sit-downs with Mao–more than likely because of his spying almost 20 years earlier.

In conclusion–and a damn clear conclusion at that–there’d be no communism in China without the contributions of these Jews and many others still to be discovered and documented. From the subversive efforts of Gayn and Kuczynski, to the state-building efforts of Epstein, Chandler and Shapiro, to the primordial efforts of Stern and the godfather of them all, Voitinsky. Also, China would not have become the world power it is today if Henry Kissinger hadn’t opened up the doors to trade. Moving further forward, as discussed at the start, we see China becoming disturbingly more ingratiated with the ‘Israeli’ entity in the fields of military, intelligence and technology cooperation as time goes on–no doubt an extension of Jewish-Chinese familiarity going back almost a century.

Jonathan Pollard, the Jewish-Zionist traitor and most destructive spy in American history, gave classified intel to ‘Israel’ which then sold the bombshells to Beijing and he passed stolen secrets to China directly too–at the behest of his “Tel Aviv” handlers and to help his wife’s business plans. ‘Israel’ and China worked hand-in-glove during Operation Cyclone to bring down the very Soviet Union that made Chinese governance “red” in the first place! In 1982, ‘Israel’ provided the Chinese with advanced missile tech and upgraded their tank fleet. This turned into a full-blown defense relationship that prospered after the events at Tiananmen Square.

As it stands at this moment, ‘Israeli’-Chinese bilateral trade has reached a whopping $13 billion, about 260 times what it was in 1992 when it was just starting to take off due to the military ties. Chinese students are flocking to the usurping Zionist entity in record numbers for studies, especially technology, which means, whether they know it or not–though you better believe that the ‘Israelis’ know it for certain–they’re being tapped as Talpiot fifth columnists when they return to China. There are extensive, regular direct flights operating between “Tel Aviv” and Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, Chengdu and Hong Kong–which aeronautically links the Zio-Tumor to major cites of China’s north, south, east and west.

China’s explicit backing of the Saudi war on Yemen–a Zionist war through and through–is another blatant display of Chinese-‘Israeli’ collusion. Chinese Vice President Wang Qishan is currently visiting the illegitimate ‘Israeli’ regime and he said unequivocally that “cooperation” between the two “needs” to be “taken to the next level”. Baby-killer Netanyahu called China “very important” for the Jewish gangster “state”. We see their words coming to fruition already as China has been given control of two ‘Israeli’ ports, including occupied Haifa where the ‘Israeli’ enemy maintains its nuclear submarine array –signifying that the genocidal Halakhic-Talmudic regime sees Beijing and its “One Belt, One Road Initiative” as vitally integral elements of its security along with its hegemonic system.

This isn’t to say that there aren’t nuances. Mao locked up several of the Jews mentioned in this piece for overstepping their limits and he went against the advice of those who still curried favor with him when he decided to provide arms and military training to Palestine’s PFLP–which ended due to pressure from who else but war criminal Henry Kissinger. He always seemed to be teetering on standing with the peasantry from which he came and the Jewish-led international hegemonists who sought to turn China into “theirs” since they couldn’t break it with the opium pandemic. And he always sold out to the latter.

We are aware of the involvement of the CIA in destabilizing China on numerous fronts. Tiananmen Square (Operation Yellow Bird) comes to mind–the NED and George Soros were involved too–as does Taiwan, where neocon Jews led by Michael Goldfarb and his Orion Strategies LLC seek to maintain sedition and division, and of course Tibet, where the CIA has been active for nearly 6 decades. Nearly everything you read about Tibet in the Western press is from the CIA. Even the Dalai Lama is a paid stooge of the Company. Moreover, the latest bunch of hasbara about “Uyghur Muslim internment camps” is more Sorosite-NED trash, meant to obfuscate the very real Turkish-Saudi-American-‘Israeli’ covert interventionism in backing Takfiri terrorists in the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region. And lest we forget that these very same Uyghur Takfiri terrorists, who flocked to Syria in big numbers as foot soldiers for Zion, literally look to ‘Israel’–that’s right, ‘Israel’–as their model for a “homeland”.

But fighting back against imperialist meddling with ‘Israeli’ technology and military support doesn’t make you an anti-imperialist superstar nor will it endear you to millions of Muhammadi-Husseini revolutionaries seeking to liquidate the transhistorical framework of oppression led by Islam’s greatest enemy. Hell, it doesn’t endear you to revolutionaries PERIOD–Muslim or otherwise. What it makes you is a lollygagging fool. Because ‘Israel’ is playing every side while it further cements its global dominance and paves the way for its Dajjalic false messiah–we see it already with the previously noted Uyghurs. ‘Israel’ will discard China to the curb just like it does with all other Shabbos Goyim. So this piece, apart from its fact-finding nature, is also meant to serve as a warning to our Chinese brethren who have Anti-Parasitic vision and consciousness, not to mention a strong sense of patriotism. Get out while you still can before ‘Israel’ sucks you dry.

First it was Bolshevism. Now it’s Zionism. And in both instances, Red China means Jew China and the named-names evidence… the hard, direct, named-names evidence… proves it beyond all shreds of skepticism. The only question that remains now is… Will a nation with a history as vibrant as China allow itself to be nothing but a ZOG in service of a “nation” as accursed as the cancer calling itself ‘Israel’? Or will it reassert its civilizational glory as well as its place in the pantheon of Global South Resistance and disassociate itself from the Zio-Tumor? With Chinese tycoons like Jack Ma enamored with ‘Israel’ and China’s political leadership all the way up to Xi Jinping pushing to merge China and ‘Israel’ closer and closer centrally when it comes to technology, it doesn’t look good to say the least. God help the Chinese people. God help us all. And may God damn World Zionism and all of its tribalist agents as well as its collaborators past and present to the Naar.

[simkjrs]

No, no, don't apologize, that post was fantastic, the concepts are amazing, YES TO MINI IZUKA AND MINI SAIKI. Also, 'hey can you help me my friend got kinapped' is such a crazy phrase to say, but not more crazy that Saiki's whole life, I love all ideas you can tell us all about them. DO TELL US.

okay!! i feel like i now have two (2) “my hero saiki” crossovers to write: the one where saiki’s first encounter in the b/nha universe is accidentally teleporting into yuuei during the USJ incident and being mistaken for a villain, and the one where saiki visited the b/nha universe as a child. THERE’S JUST AN ABUNDANCE OF CROSSOVERS HERE, the hijinks all write themselves, saiki still has no luck in any of his endeavors but at least he still has his ungodly arsenal of questionably useful powers. 

ANYWAYS, as requested, here are all the shitty ideas that have been stubbornly spawning in my head despite all my efforts to the contrary: 

the one where izuku is talking with his mom about saiki, maybe allowing himself a moment of grief after all these long years. where did saiki disappear to, he laments. sometimes, he says, sometimes he wonders if saiki is still alive – if saiki has found a home, or a, a family – if saiki is happy, and if so, if saiki sometimes thinks of them —- he hears a whoosh. he turns. a familiar face sitting at the dinner table, stone-faced, but the glint of his glasses still manages to convey a sense of bewilderment. …tadaima, saiki says. izuku screams. izuku’s mom screams. saiki mentally contemplates whether or not having a tendency to scream when surprised is a useful and cathartic character trait, concludes it is not, but feels that sitting blank-faced at a table does not adequately express how much he doesn’t want to deal with this right now, either. maybe he should give this screaming thing a try.

izuku holds this against saiki forever and brings it up whenever possible. i’m impressed that you kept up with your heroics hobby all these years, saiki says. well, i had to occupy myself with SOMETHING while i thought you were DEAD, says izuku. 

oh, you have a brother? i didn’t know, that, deku! uraraka says. i would have told you sooner if a certain someone hadn’t DISAPPEARED for SEVEN YEARS, izuku says loudly. stop holding it against me. it’s not like i meant to, saiki thinks, annoyed, and goes to his room to sulk be alone. 

izuku: seven years ago this day, i lost someone very dear to me. saiki: quit telling everyone im deadizuku: sometimes i can still hear his voice

the villain!au crossover, where saiki returns to the b/nha universe seven years later only to find out that his friend has become a notorious villain. what the fuck, izuku. 

classic villain!deku edition: “don’t try and convince me to return to the right path!” so you acknowledge that you’re not on the right path. “the heroes are a corrupt institute. i won’t be like them. i’ll teach them a lesson.” you’re more corrupt than they are right now. 

izuku tries to pull off a crime. that’s illegal. saiki foils his plans and stares izuku down judgmentally from the rooftop or something 

saiki tails izuku and investigates the villain alliance. okay, he’s not letting this go on any longer. he destroys the villain alliance, drops off the villains in front of the police station, and drags izuku forcefully on a soul-searching roadtrip around the world or something. and by roadtrip, he means “teleporting to different locations as it suits his whims.” and by soul-searching, he mostly means making izuku gain some perspective. stop focusing on revenge plots, drink some coconut juice. whatever

villain!deku fugue state: “…sorry, i never knew anyone named saiki kusuo. don’t get in my way, please.” i.e. the one where izuku has been brainwashed or w/e is popular these days, and he doesn’t remember his family or saiki. saiki kidnaps forcibly teleports izuku to a psychologist’s office. the psychologist shouts in surprise. izuku tries to climb out the window. saiki grabs izuku’s shirt collar and points at izuku like he has memory problems. fix them please, 

noumu izuku xover: saiki is pissed and fucks shit up with the villain alliance. nice

The Villain!Izuku Comedy That We All Need But Don’t Deserve: at first saiki is kind of pissed and determined to drag izuku back onto the right path. then he’s just kind of confused. 

saiki, internally: …i leave for seven years, and izuku turns villainy into a celebrity occupation? (he is grudgingly impressed.) 

izuku is overjoyed to meet saiki! he isn’t sure who saiki is but HE’S GLAD TO MEET HIM ANYWAYS. izuku immediately ropes saiki into helping out with his schemes. saiki resists, valiantly. sort of. he succumbs to izuku’s persistent, cheerful insistence in the end. 

every time i tell myself “this au can’t get any more ridiculous than it already is” ideas like this happen, and i’m full of regret

the AU where saiki’s brother, kuusuke, meddles with saiki’s control devices; as a result, saiki accidentally catapults himself and his brother into the b/nha universe. now saiki will have to work with his brother to get them both back home. 

kuusuke: cant you… teleport us back home? kusuo: no. it takes three minutes before i can teleport again. shouldn’t you know this? havent you been looking for a way to beat me for 14 years? aren’t you a top cambridge student?

hijinks: breaking into high-security or Very Important locations to get the equipment & materials that kuusuke needs. this one is fun because a) it puts them on the heroes’ radar, and b) it puts them on the villains’ radar. kuusuke enjoys riling up and baiting both sides far too much. kusuo is upset

i like this idea is because kuusuke and kusuo have a bad relationship, so being forced to cooperate would be so INTERESTING for their character growth!!. AND it would… maybe… show them… that they care about each other (^: 

PLUS, IMAGINE THIS: kuusuke gets into serious trouble. kusuo is pissed off in a cold fury sort of way, and wreaks all sorts of hell in order to get kuusuke out. and kuusuke… well, kuusuke has never cared about anyones feelings for a single second in his life, but!! but maybe!!! this incident stirs up feelings other than competitive admiration and jealousy!!! this is literally like 99% of the reason i want to write this idea

kuusuke: my brother… really cares… about me…kusuo: like hell i do. i just need you to find a way for us to get back home.kuusuke: no need to be so tsundere, kusuo, 

SCENARIO: kusuo and kuusuke are meeting with the heroes for some reason. kusuo is mistrustful, wary, and wants to leave and have nothing to do with the heroes. kuusuke tells the heroes not to mind kusuo, he’s basically just a bristly cat. kusuo bristles, because he is NOT. fuck off kuusuke 

there’s just a really interesting dynamic that could come out of this, and it’s really good 

SAIKI KUSUO / OPM AU THAT NO ONE ASKED FOR: saiki somehow loses both his control devices, teleports to the OPM universe, accidentally destroys a large swath of land because he can’t control his powers. he’s frustrated, and he’s also frustrated with all the people showing up to attack him – and he’s so frustrated that he can’t control his power enough to defeat them without seriously hurting them!!! saitama shows up and is able to withstand saiki’s attacks. maybe he tries to fight saiki a little bit because,,, hey,,, he wants a good fight,,,,,, but then he’s like “….you’re just a kid??” and stops 

“hang on,” the bald man says, frowning and leaning forward slightly to inspect kusuo’s face. “aren’t you a little young to be destroying countries or whatever? you’re like, a kid.” i’m SEVENTEEN, thank you very much, saiki thinks resentfully. 

so i guess this is the one where saitama stops trying to fight saiki and starts teaching him how to control his powers or something? maybe saiki can finally sleep without worrying about destroying stuff in his sleep? 

this post is unbearably long 

[wecheesecanread-blog]

Pericles: Prince of Tyre by William Shakespeare

9/10

Okay, so I have a confession: I don’t really consider myself a literary snob, per se, but when it comes to Shakespeare I have many opinions (all of them the proper opinions, of course... okay, maybe I am a little bit of a snob).

I read Pericles a long time ago, and I mostly forgot about it, until I recently had the pleasure to see a staged reading of the work. And... I think this is my favorite Shakespeare play. Maybe. Hamlet is still pretty close to my heart. And of course there’s Much Ado About Nothing...

Back to my actual point: Pericles is great. It has everything. There’s mistaken identity, ship wrecks, adultery, true love, lewd fisherman, inexplicable villainy, drowning, people coming back from the dead, and much more. Sure, at about 3 hours, it did start to feel that maybe something could have been cut, but overall it’s incredible. 

Let me take you step by step through this crazy play: (Spoilers ahead!)

Prince Pericles of Tyre discovers that the King Antioch is having an incestuous affair with his own daughter (whom Pericles at one time was trying to woo; you dodged a bullet there buddy). He then has to flee Antioch to escape death, and ends up deciding he can’t stay in Tyre or risk bringing the incestuous King’s wrath down on his people. So he goes to Pentopolis, but on the way there we experience the first (and not last) storm of the play, which shipwrecks Pericles’ vessel. Pericles is the only survivor. He enters a tourney in Pentopolis, and having won he is given the Princess Thaisa in marriage, and the two end up falling in love (because of course they do). The King of Antioch having died, Pericles (and the now pregnant Thaisa) travel home to Tyre. AND THEN there is a storm on their way home to Tyre. Thaisa gives birth during this second storm, and then appears to die. Pericles puts her in an airtight coffin and sends her overboard. Then he takes his newborn daughter and LEAVES her in the care of some folks he knows in Tarsus. Meanwhile back at the ranch, Thaisa’s body washes ashore in Ephesus. She is REVIVED and taken in as a priestess. And then we get to the SIXTEEN YEAR GAP IN THE ACTION. The family that has taken in Pericles’ baby (who, by the way, is named Marina since she was born at sea) has decided that she is TOO PRETTY (or, in any case, prettier than their own daughter) and try to have her killed. Instead, she ends up a slave in a brothel, where every man who comes to have their way with her is swayed out of doing so by the goodness of her heart. The brothel then sells her to a wealthy (if also sleazy)  governor named Lysismachus. Pericles goes to visit Tarsus, sees the monument built to his not-dead daughter, and falls into a misery so severe he can not eat or drink. I’ll take this time to remind you he hasn’t seen this child in sixteen years, but he’s still sad so maybe not the worst dad ever? Skipping ahead, Pericles ends up reunited with his not-dead daughter and his not-dead wife, and they all FINALLY return to Tyre so Pericles can become king. At Last. After all these years. Oh, and Lysismachus is rewarded for not sleeping with Marina by being... allowed to marry Marina. And they all live happily ever after? 

It’s such a shame that it’s hardly ever performed... necessary costume changes alone could lead to some great modernization. 

AND WHAT ABOUT THE MOVIE? There are several filmed version of the play, as well as one (maybe two?) films that are either based upon or adapted from the original. But remember: I’m a snob. I haven’t seen any of them.

Oh well.