#THE ALIEN GOD MADE HIM THIS WAY DELIBERATELY AND THEN SET HIM OFF LIKE A FUCKIN AFTERTHOUGHT

[heraldofcrow]

wait, you’ve now got me wondering, who’s shittier, Micolash or Hojo?

(Sorry for the wait on this one!!!)

Alright, we got the squad curious and I’m actually thinking on it myself now so…..

Which one of these cackling, deranged, shriveled, greasy-haired unethical scientist/scholar bitches is winning the sicko-off?

(Idk why I’m laughing so much at both of them rn. Their stupid mannerisms paired with the pure insanity of the atrocities they commit is the funniest contrast ever 💀)

Let’s see.

They have both:

✅ Abused, kidnapped, mutilated, and killed humans and animals for experimentation

✅ Created/Bred mutant monsters from humans and animals

✅ Sacrificed countless lives (for science!)

✅ Betrayed people that trusted them

✅ Supported or worked with corrupt organizations

✅ Fucked up entire villages/civilizations/environments

✅ Violated the Geneva Convention several times

However, I am actually going to give Micolash some grace here, because thanks to cut dialogue, we know that he had/has something that Hojo isn’t shown with much of.

Humanity.

You can hear his cut lines here, but there is something desperate and almost sad in how he sounds in his search for understanding. He seems almost jealous of Rom maybe, a little bitter, and very, very alone.

Now he did violate human rights to the nth degree—don’t get me wrong. I mean….he’s responsible for….

….this fucking thing….

Masses and masses of sacrificed human bodies, reborn in a cheap attempt to recreate an evil god. Micolash is responsible for all the dead scholars chained to the Mensis Ritual. He is responsible for the desecration of Mergo, the godchild. There are dead children in Yahar’gul, and implications of women being kept alive only for their fertility. There are mutilated animals. There is the Brain of Mensis which is apparently made up partially of dead scholars. There are kidnappers roaming around on his behalf, sent to snatch up innocent victims for the rituals. It’s disgusting. There’s no end to the horrors Micolash has set in motion, and what’s worse—he clearly had the charisma to lure others to his side. He has dozens of Pthumerians and Yahar’gul hunters working for him. Edgar, a traitor to the Choir, rejoices when he kills you and stops you from progressing further towards Micolash. There are hints of the power Micolash held and his brilliance, his allure.

I think Micolash was genius and dangerous, but even still, I will afford him SOME leverage here for that dialogue. I really think he was desperate and was the type to sacrifice everything to get his way.

Hojo is a bitch ass motherfuc—sorry, ahem, Hojo is easier to judge because we SEE him do shit and listen to a lot of his dialogue, but I also think he is just objectively worse in some ways because of the scale of damage he caused? The world was almost completely wiped out thanks to him using his son for an experiment.

That was really where it all started if we’re being fair. Sure, it wasn’t initially his project but he took things to the next level by marrying a woman and agreeing with her to use their child to test out the effects of aliens cells fusing with humans. WHO DOES THAT.

Maybe he could have averted the horrific results had he treated his child…like a child…but since the OG and beyond, we’ve only been given more and more disgusting hints of how Hojo massively fucked that up. Deliberately. He was treating the whole thing like an experiment from beginning to end. He was never a father, just an unethical scientist.

On that note, everything he does is just repulsive and violating.

Sometimes I remember the scene with Aerith….where he…just is so creepy. He makes my skin crawl.

Who the fuck asks an innocent girl if she’d like to see the remains of her dead mother through a microscope…the mother Hojo basically caused the death of and then catalogued and stored in…pieces….ffs I am going to throw up 💀

Yeah, and then there are the atrocities of course, that go beyond what Micolash could afford loll. Hojo had a bigger budget being backed by Shinra, so the amount of people, animals, ENTIRE VILLAGES, and who knows what else was all subjected to his brutal experimentation. You know it’s bad and especially perverse when fucking Sephiroth, who had been involved in literal war since he was a child, saw it in Rebirth and started freaking out.

I felt queasy too when I fully understood the mako pods in the Nibelheim reactor.

They were built to CONDENSE mako (liquid) into materia (solid)….like extreme pressure cookers…and Hojo put people and animals in them ;-;

Yeah, he’s awful. They both are, and they’re basically the same guy, yes. But Hojo is just on another level of twisted thanks to some extra details and the amount of destruction he caused, methinks.

[manynarrators]

@fluctuating-fanby | 👀

You have opened a can of worms by allowing me tot talk and I appreciate it so much! ...I accidentally deleted the post but shhh... it's fiiiine.

First please enjoy a quick and easy map of how the Desert is laid out!

The capitalization is deliberate! It is a desert, but this one is specifically the Desert. It has some mild degree of sentience, and is protective over it's chosen Voices.

Each city is connected to route 800 through two exits, and this means that say... people in Night Vale can travel to Red Mesa without going through Desert Bluffs, just near to. Somewhere on the map is a secret, hidden 7th town called Radium Cavern.

A note on all the voices: There are 3 sets of 2. Red Mesa and Cactus park, Night Vale and Desert Bluffs, and Haven Lake and Pine Cliff (Radium Cavern is weird). The same applies to the towns themselves. Additionally, each Voice has two main people in their family, none of which are the same. (Ie. Kevin and Cecil have an older sister, Emory and Edward have a twin brother).

The impossible geography is never mentioned or made a note of. It’s treated as perfectly normal. So onto the the towns themselves!

Towns

Night Vale Central Horror: Probably surveillance mixed with some more eldritch aspects. Emotion?:Suspicion Voice: Cecil Palmer Distinguishing geographic feature: Flat, dry scrubland Common NPCs or other fun facts: Theseus Noble (weatherman— he and Ted are Doubles, Rian is not). More or less canon compliant-- in the particular AU where these cities originate, it falls to Strex.

Desert Bluffs Central Horror: Business Emotion?: ...Joy? Voice: Kevin Distinguishing geographic feature: sand dunes (The reason why Strex uses Kevin as their Voice, instead of killing him and replacing him with someone loyal is due to this! They nearly did his first re-education, until the city itself started to sink into the sands. Strex decided it was better not to kill him, and it stopped. The Desert is mildly sentient thing and it protects its chosen Voices). Common NPCs or other fun facts: Vanessa (radio intern), Ted (weatherman), Dan (Vanessa's brother, former intern, current mayor), Maddy (Kevin's sister), Jocelin (Maddy's kid), sometimes Daniel (producer- former human, under Strex made into a biomachine).

Red Mesa Central Horror: Space, to a smaller extent, aliens. Emotion?: Guilt (They took in a decent number, but no where near enough refugees and escapes from Desert Bluffs as Strex became more entrenched) Voice: Pandora (Probably the most well-adjusted one of them to be honest). Distinguishing geographic feature: Mesas-- the city proper is built on the largest one of these. Common NPCs or other fun facts: Zadie (would have been Vanessa's fiance. Left DB when Strex came), Pandora's father (schoolteacher), Pandora's Uncle.

Cactus Park/Stone Meadow (Eventually it will become Cactus Meadow, but that's still a ways off-- the art is discordant as a result_. Central Horror: Beauty (The reason it's split is the town itself is. Half of it values a sort of unnatural beauty-- everything is fake, plastic. There's a massive income of plastic surgery. Stone Meadow values the beauty in the natural world instead. The two sides do not get along). Emotion?: Disgust Voice: Persephone (alongside Kevin, they are the most physically altered Voices; she keeps her third eye closed, but can, if so desired, open it). Distinguishing geographic feature: Cacti Common NPCs or other fun facts: Persephone's father (Left the city when Cactus Park became more powerful. Stone Meadow through and through), Persephone's Uncle (Agreed with Cactus Park, powerful figure in community). For those who go under the knife, it's tradition to keep a locket of what they looked like before

Haven Lake Central Horror: Religion Emotion?: Devotion Voice: Emory Hable (he and Edward’s tattoos are both still. Edward because he is a ghost, and Emory, in the great flood, died very briefly… and saw nothing. No God, no Heaven. His tattoos didn’t start moving again). His tattoos are grey/white. Distinguishing geographic feature: The entire city is built on a lake. The original city suffered from a drought one year, and then there was 40 days and 40 nights of rain, creating the lake. The original city is long gone. Common NPCs or other fun facts: Lisette (Radio engineer), Rian (weatherman, Lisette’s brother), the other two or three (as yet unnamed) people who work at the radio station, Cyrus (Emory's twin and defacto leader of the city. Head of the church), their mother. Has a sort of vintage vibe to the whole city. The city has virtually no cars, but does have an incredibly refined trolly system.

Pine Cliff Central Horror: Ghosts Emotion?: Acceptance Voice: Edward (His tattoos are black vines) Distinguishing geographic feature: Cliffs! Pine trees! You would never guess it's inside a desert. Common NPCs or other fun facts: Edward's twin and their mother. The Doubling effect of the cities is why Pine Cliff is a bunch of ghosts and not wiped out, and why Emory is sort of perpetually caught between.

Radium Cavern Central Horror: Knowledge Emotion?: Pride Voices (a set of triplets): Cassius, Elijah, Penelope Distinguishing geographic feature: bioluminescent phenomena inside the cave the city is built in. The central bell-tower is called the Citadel.

[general-grey]

i posted these on twitter before but i wanna post them here too, this was an..... illuminating part regarding Douman's role under the Alien God's rule

my main takeaway from here is that:

- hasendow is literally more powerful than God

- hasendow is also the first and foremost authority over the character of Ashiya Douman

- LB4's shitshow makes a WHOLE lot more sense like this

- Limboguda is more real than ever

- i will cherish this evil clown wizard more than anything

[fanaticartisan]

The Legends always forgot how quiet he could be...

It was partly his doing, of course. When in the arena, he disengaged his shock absorbers fifteen percent so his teammates would hear him, clanking and clattering along beside them like some two-bit MRVN. That way, they knew where to look for him when shouting about their foes. They  wouldn’t jump at a crucial moment and miss their shot just because he spoke aloud. He liked when they jumped – didn’t like when he died because the enemy was still alive. So, he made himself audible.

And they forgot he could be silent.

Nights like this, where they were all aboard the ship, heading to a far-off arena in a journey that would take the better part of a day and a half, he wore that silence like an old, well-used coat. He was bored, bored, bored, and if he couldn’t kill any of his so-called companions until they got to the games, he’d settle for the next best thing: sneaking around and finding their little secrets for later torment. Sometimes a snide remark, a hint that he knew something he shouldn't and could spill their hidden weaknesses like entrails, was as good as a blade to the kidney. Some of his companions seemed like they’d prefer the latter, when certain subjects were involved.

He had to repress a laugh even now, as he crept past their doorways. He knew which Legends cried in the night. He knew who begged in their sleep, who reached for salvation that wasn’t there, for loved ones long gone, chances long lost. He knew who took comfort in ways that shamed them, and who couldn’t sleep at all for the worries that kept them up long, long after the others had succumbed to exhaustion. He’d heard it all before, a dozen times over.

But his stealthy steps slowed, then stopped, when he heard something new.

Singing.

‘Sofðu unga ástin mín. Úti regnið grætur.’

He recognized that voice, though usually its roughness and pitch were concealed through a respirator’s filter. It was strange to hear sound from within that familiar door when no light shone at the cracks.

Usually the Hound slept early, when they traveled long.

‘Mamma geymir gullin þín, gamla leggi og völuskrín.’

Revenant moved closer, drawn as if by a spider’s thinnest thread. He didn’t care if it was fascination that pulled him on, or eagerness to have caught the hunter in such a compromised situation. He didn’t let his mind calculate that far. He focused only on the stillness, the deliberation of each step placed without noise.

‘Við skulum ekki vaka um dimmar nætur.’

The metal of the door was cold against his palm as he turned the handle, slowly, so slowly. The fingers of his other hand slipped into the crack that opened just for him. He caught a glimpse of the hunter sitting on the floor – back straight, legs crossed, their form ever so slight without all that armor to protect them-

Then the axe slammed into his hand, the sparks of metal on metal illuminating a scarred face with eyes that promised death more eloquently than any spoken threat ever could. For a moment, for that flash of agony and light, he believed the promise, and knew his grunt of surprised pain would be the last noise he made before he woke up in his new body-

And then the moment was broken as a cough raked through that thin body with claws crueler than even his own. The hunter fell back, gasping and choking, fumbling in the dark until their desperate hands found their respirator. Once they’d pressed the mask to their face, once the cough stilled and their breathing steadied into a rhythm more suited to the living than the dying, did they look at him. Not the darkness, but their own self control hid their emotions from Revenant’s eye. 

Their voice had an edge of frost when they finally broke the silence. “Knocking is a courtesy that is not beneath your practice.”

“All courtesy is beneath my practice,” Revenant responded, scorn curling the edges of his words better than any smile ever could. 

He pulled his hand back through the door – or, tried to. It was stuck, nailed to the metal surface by that twice-cursed axe. He made a mental note to find another descendant of the programmer who had thought it a good idea to build pain receptors into his system and teach them the true meaning of the word, then looked back at the hunter. 

They were still standing, staring at him, one hand keeping the respirator clamped over their face, the other holding a sharp knife Revenant was more familiar with than he cared to admit.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” Revenant said. “Sounded like you were having a grand old time. Are you practicing for a concert?”

The sneer in his voice seemed to have no effect on the Hound who, after another moment of consideration, sat themselves on the floor once more, keeping the knife in plain view. “It is not for others that I practice,” they said.

“You just like the sound of your own voice that much, do you..?” Revenant wiggled his hand. Hurt zinged through his arm, but the axe stayed firm. He wondered if he could reach around with his other limb to pull it free. He didn’t much care for the amount of exposure that would grant to the blade that breathed so loudly not six feet away.

“It is not for my voice that I do this,” came the calm reply. 

Revenant hated all the Legends, but right now he hated the Hound most, for their unflappable honesty, for their unbreakable politeness. However much he needled them, they were ever unwilling, or perhaps even unable, to descend to his level of petty backtalk. “Tell me then, oh mighty hunter,” he said, using enough sarcasm for them both, “As it seems I won’t be going anywhere until you’ve had your say.”

Bloodhound watched him, their lenses reflecting the yellow light from Revenant’s own eyes back at him. When they next spoke, each word was measured, answering, but not confessing. “I would like, some day, to be able to breathe freely.” A pause. “If the gods will it.”

Revenant fell silent at that. His gaze lingered on the Hound’s face, on the hand holding the respirator over their mouth and nose, on the lingering scars that traced every visible surface of facial tissue. “...by singing to enhance your lung capacity?”

Bloodhound nodded once, some of the tension leaving their shoulders. 

That caught Revenant’s attention. 

He didn’t like this. He didn’t like understanding them, or them willingly trusting him with information he preferred to steal himself. He liked even less knowing there was nothing he could do with this confession of weakness that would be a satisfactory vengeance for his current position of compromise.

He tugged at his hand with more violence than before, making the door rattle. Bloodhound didn’t flinch, and neither did their axe.

“Get me out of here,” Revenant demanded.

The hunter stood, respirator still held firm, and walked close. They waited a moment, just long enough for Revanant to glare, and to see his own reflection in those stupid goggles, before taking firm hold of the axe handle and yanking it free with a crackle of sparks.

Their calm annoyed Revenant even more than the unwilling hiss of pain drawn from his voicebox. Without another word he slammed the door in their face, meaning to storm away and find someone more fun to bother.

But he didn’t. His feet stayed where they were, inches from the closed door.

Perhaps a minute passed this way, in silence. He didn’t let himself wonder why he stayed. He waited, telling himself he was the predator awaiting the footfalls of his prey. 

But when the noise came, it was not that of booted feet against the airship floor, but of cloth rustling as the Hound lowered themselves to the ground. It was the soft brush of a back against the door, of legs being folded. It was a deep breath taken before the respirator was set aside.

And then, once more, the rough, unfiltered voice in the darkness - but so close now Revenant could almost touch it.

‘Það er margt sem myrkrið veit, minn er hugur þungur.

Oft ég svarta sandinn leit svíða grænan engireit.

Í jöklinum hljóða dauðadjúpar sprungur.’

He was going to kill them for this. He was going to make them suffer, for forcing him to stand here and listen to their voice, as raw and vulnerable as any death cry, gentle and drifting as smoke on the wind. Were they doing it on purpose, twisting the melody so mournfully that it tugged at a soul Revenant was sure he no longer had?

‘Sofðu lengi, sofðu rótt, seint mun best að vakna.’

He was going to kill them. He would make that soft voice scream in agony.

‘Mæðan kenna mun þér fljótt,meðan hallar degi skjótt,’

He would learn the words to their song just to croon it in their ear while he plunged his fist into their chest and ripped out their heart.

‘að mennirnir elska, missa, gráta og sakna.’

He’d have to stay a bit longer, though, to study the thing properly. He wasn’t sure he remembered the beginning right.

But for a second the song faltered, and Revenant felt an unexplainable pang at the thought that it was over, and the Hound was done for the night.

A flap of feathered wings. An accusing caw. From the other side of the door came that rough voice, soft and soothing. “Hush. I know. It is alright.”

Another deep breath, and they began again.

‘Sofðu unga ástin mín…’

Revenant closed his eyes. No… killing them wouldn’t be punishment enough. They’d just be dead. Better would be to find someone else to kill, to make it very public, very bloody…

‘Úti regnið grætur.’

Then, when the newspapers reported his good work, when the survivors cried on television about a robotic voice chanting in an alien language, he would meet Bloodhound’s eye across the room, and the Hound would know, and Revenant would know they knew…

And that would surely be the sweetest revenge of all.

[crushed-like-an-ant]

how to calm down an angry billionaire

Step 1. Deflect.

Peter was good at deflection. Always had been. It was a skill he'd picked up after people constantly tried to ask him about his feelings after his parents died, then again when Ben died. Any questions he didn't want to answer quickly turned into an animated conversation about whatever his mind thought of first (there had been that awkward time he'd asked a fellow orphan how their parents were), an apology and fast excuse to get the hell out of there (mostly worked except when he was panicking and the best he could come up with was a cheese making competition, that had caused a lot of questions Peter would rather never deal with again), or just flat out running away (sometimes he ran into poles or walls which was always a bit embarrassing given he was literally Spider-man). Sometimes Peter had to use all three options. So Peter knew when Tony finally decided to have the dreaded conversation about the whole not-my-first-time-holding-up-a-building thing, he would be able to deflect it. Or so he thought. Turns out, Peter had drastically underestimated the sheer stubbornness of Tony Stark.

It was a lab day, around three weeks after the incident where Peter and Tony had been stuck under a building and Peter stupidly let slip that he’d held up a building before. Peter had thought Tony had forgotten about his words. He was comfortable, tentatively confident and optimistic that it wouldn't be brought up again. He had no idea how wrong he was.

"Hey kid?" Tony said, cutting the comfortable silence between them as they worked, tone slightly hesitant. Peter should've picked up on it. He should've realised. But he'd grown complacent. So Peter ignored the dread pooling in his stomach and lifted his head from the mess of wires in front of him to look at Tony.

"Mr Stark?" he replied with a smile that Tony didn't return. Nor did he try to tell Peter to call him Tony. And that was how Peter knew something was wrong. Nerves skittered down his spine, clod fingers of dread snaking around his neck as nervous energy filled him and he began to tap on the desk. Anything to distract himself from the sorrow and worry shining in his mentor's brown eyes.

"Look kid, uh, I," Tony fumbled for words. Shit. This was bad. If Tony Stark was struggling to say something, you knew it was serious. Peter just stared at him in silence,unsure of what to say, anxiety coursing through his veins at the grimace that clouded Tony's features. What could possibly have gotten him into this mood? Had Peter done something wrong? Was he gonna, oh god, was he gonna take the suit? "Pete, I need to know what you meant when we were under the building," Tony finally managed to say, Peter relaxing. Oh. That was all?

"I just meant that I'd lifted a lot of heavy things," Peter half-lied, looking Tony straight in the eyes and lying to his face, mindful to make sure his tells were carefully under control. Training with Daredevil - despite Tony's misgivings about Double D - had been one of the best decisions Peter had ever made. He felt a twinge of guilt as he lied to Tony but it's not like he could tell the truth. And he wasn't really lying. Just withholding the entire truth. He shrugged nonchalantly, "Anyways, you reckon you can help me with this? I'm stuck. My mind kinda decided to go and die on me." Peter chuckled quietly. Tony wasn't laughing.

"I want to believe you, kid," Tony told him, "I really do. But I can't. You had a panic attack under there. What aren't you telling me Peter? Whatever it is, I'm here for you. You can tell me anything. And I don't want to pressure you into telling me anything until you're ready but I-I just-I need to know what happened. I need to know what you meant." Peter's resolve almost broke as Tony's voice broke. No. He couldn't tell Tony. Not only would Tony think he was weak, but Peter knew that Mr Stark would blame himself because he took the suit. Peter couldn't let him do that. Option one had failed him, so it was onto option 2. Make a quick exit without raising any suspicions. Yeah, he didn't think that was gonna work. Worth a shot though.

"Hey, Mr Stark," Peter said after checking his watch and pretending to look shocked at the time, "I'm really sorry but I have to go. I promised Ned we'd work on our Bio project tonight and I'm already seven minutes late." Mr Stark raised an eyebrow and pulled up a picture of Ned on his holiday in California.

"Nice try kid," Tony replied drily. Peter sighed, shoulders slumping. Time for option three then.

"I-I don't really know how to tell you, uh," Peter deliberately stuttered, guilt eating him up inside as he put on an act for Tony. For option three to work, Peter had to catch Tony off guard otherwise he'd react too quickly and lock the tower down. His act work, Tony's features softening and body relaxing.

"It's okay, bambino, take your time." And if that didn't make him feel like a horrible person, nothing would. Peter stood and padded over to some machinery near the exit, pretending to be trying to busy himself as he worked himself up to answering Tony when he was actually getting closer to the door.

"I, uh," Peter stumbled. Tony was now far away enough that Peter could easily run without being grabbed and stopped. The door was right there. Peter took his opportunity. He ran. Out the door, down the hallway, flying to the elevator. Pressing the button frantically, Peter groaned when nothing happened. Great. Tony had stopped the elevators. Sighing, Peter pulled the mask from his pocket and pulled it over his head, sprinting at the window. Peter burst through the window in a shower of glass, activating his web shooters as he fell, quickly shooting a web and catching himself. And he was swinging, swinging, swinging. Allowing himself to smile at his escape, Peter was unprepared when he was grabbed from behind by two cold metal hands. Thanks for nothing spidey sense. Tony flew a sulking Peter back through the broken window and into one of the meeting rooms, setting him down firmly in a seat. Peter crossed his arms, pouting as he pulled off his mask, Tony's Iron Man suit unfolding around him and the man stepping out, an unimpressed look painted across his features.

"You done deflecting yet?" Tony asked, a single eyebrow raised. Damn. Peter wished he could do that. Alas, no amount of practising in front of a mirror had ever given him the talent to lift one eyebrow and not look like a demented monkey. Time for a different strategy. Deflection had failed him. But Peter would not go down easy.

~~~

Step 2. Deny.

The unfortunate thing about this step was that Peter would always over-deny. He would deny everything or nothing. There was no in between. For example, he was once denying eating the last bit of chocolate and ended up accidentally telling May his name wasn't Peter and that he was an alien from outer space with a severe lettuce allergy. Don't ask. Peter really didn't want to relive that trauma. So although Peter always tried his best with denial, it never really worked out in his favour. Honestly, it was through sheer dumb luck that he managed to keep Spider-Man a secret from his friends and family for so long. It was probably some good karma that had been waiting for the perfect moment to help him out. It was a little late but hey, better late than never right?

"No," Peter blurted in a panic. Shock splashed across Tony's face as he folded his arms.

"Kid, you know you can tell me anything, right?" Tony told him gently.

"No," Peter exclaimed again, hurt painting the billionaire's face. "I mean, yes." Shitshitshitshitshit. Peter was an idiot. He had to deny everything - but not everything, Peter, remember the lettuce incident - so Mr Stark wouldn't find out. But Peter had always been shit at denial.

"Look, I know this is probably hard for you to talk about," Tony continued on, oblivious to Peter's internal panic, "but I won't judge you. I love you, bambino. You know that right? And I'll support you no matter what but I can't help you if you don't let me."

"No," Peter said. It was the only word he knew. Any more and he would have another lettuce incident or he'd end up rambling the truth. He couldn't do that. So his current vocabulary was limited to 'no', 'no', 'no' with a side of 'no'. Which wasn't suspicious at all. Totally.

"What the hell, kid?" Tony asked, mostly confused, slight irritation colouring his tone. Peter was hyper-aware of the thundering beat his heart was drumming to, the way Tony's slightly picked up when he said 'no', the sweat covering his body like a second skin. Tony's sigh sounded like a bomb to his sensitive ears, the sharp intake of breath before he spoke like a blaring alarm. "What did you mean when you said it wasn't your first time?"

"I didn't," Peter responded, brain not quite computing, "nothing happened." Tony's gaze narrowed. Shit. Was Tony going to take the suit if he didn't tell him? But Peter just couldn't tell him. He couldn't.

"Fucking hell Peter, just tell me dammit!" Tony exclaimed, running a hand through his messy brown hair in frustration. Peter knew - with the certainty that he knew his own name or the colour of his eyes - that denial had failed him. Time for Peter's next strategy.

~~~

Step 3. Stretch the truth.

When Peter's other strategies failed him, he turned to stretching the truth. It was simple really, just take the truth and dial it down from boiling hot to freezing cold and give it to the person on a silver platter with a charmingly innocent - and only slightly nervous - smile. Half-truths were easy to fool people with. Someone had said that the best lies were the ones based on truth. Peter couldn't remember who exactly had said that. He had never been very good with that sort of stuff, unlike MJ. So although stretching the truth was Peter's third option, he'd always been surprisingly good at it. People seemed to believe he was too innocent to be able to lie. Which was absurd because he'd spent ten years living with his Aunt and her terrible cooking and she still didn't know he hated her walnut date loaf.

"Okay," Peter conceded quietly and the rage slowly left Tony as he deflated like a balloon, looking smaller without all the fury. Peter sat down in front of Tony. "It was back in the fight with The Vulture and he threw a wall at me. I caught it and threw it back at him but he dodged it with his super awesome flying skills." Tony looked him straight in the eyes for a few seconds, Peter holding his gaze before Tony leaned forward.

"Cut the bullshit," Tony whispered, dangerously quiet, tightly compressed anger stemming from worry swimming in his brown eyes. "A wall wouldn't stay together if it was thrown, caught and thrown back. Even then, you wouldn't say it wasn't your first time while holding a building up unless you'd held up a fucking building already. And you wouldn't have a panic attack from holding up a building about something thrown at you. So stop lying to me, Peter Benjamin Parker." Damn. The full name. Peter released a heavy exhale, knowing he was beaten. He had to tell Mr Stark the truth.

"It actually was in the fight with the Vulture," Peter began, "so I wasn't lying about that. And I did have to catch a few walls." Tony raised his eyebrows at Peter's weak attempts at defending himself. "I went to his warehouse and he sent his flying suit at me. It wasn't particularly good at attacking 'cause it hadn't even touched me. I said that and Toomes told me it wasn't trying to." Tony inhaled sharply, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking, Peter trying not to listen to how Tony's hands still hit each other gently. Enhanced hearing sucked sometimes. "He had directed the suit to take out all the supports in the building." Tony gasped, expression contorted into one of such extreme guilt and sorrow that Peter wanted to shelter Tony from the world for the rest of his days because goddammit he's seen too much and been through enough and couldn't the world just give him a fucking break for once? No one deserved one more than Mr Stark did.

"I took the suit," Tony whispered, voice thick with emotion, "I took the suit. It was your only protection, damn it, and I took the fucking suit!" Tony was yelling now, self-hatred and rage dancing in his wild brown eyes.

"It wasn't your fault, Mr Stark," Peter tried to tell him.

"How?" Tony scoffed, laughing bitterly, "How was this not my fault. I took the suit and you got hurt because of my mistake."

"It's okay, Mr Stark, you didn't know," Peter said.

"But I should've," Tony replied, "I should've known." Peter's features hardened, spine turning to steel. He wouldn't let Mr Stark blame himself for this. The blame was on Toomes and only on Toomes.

"Did you pilot the Vulture suit?" Peter asked firmly.

"What?"

"Did. You. Pilot. The. Vulture. Suit." Peter repeated, staring defiantly at Tony.

"No, of course not," Tony replied, slight confusion clinging to his features.

"And did you cause the building to fall?" he continued.

"No."

"Then it's not your fault," Peter told him simply.

"Kid, I shouldn't have taken the suit," Tony began, dropping his head into his hands. He opened his mouth to continue but Peter cut him off before he could say anything equally self-deprecating.

"Maybe," Peter allowed, "but then I wouldn't found out I was strong enough to get back up again. 'If you're nothing without the suit then you shouldn't have it'. You told me that. I thought the suit made Spider-man and I lost sight of what Spider-man really meant. God, I started out in a fricking onesie. That's what Spider-man represents. Not a hero with a multi-million dollar suit, but someone with nothing but their will to save others. Without you taking the suit, I never would've remembered everything Spider-man stood for.; With great power comes great responsibility. You gave me that tough love moment and I needed it. Now it's my turn to dish out some tough love for you." Peter took a deep breath. "You, Tony Stark, are being a fucking idiot. The blame of what happened in the past lies with Adrian Toomes, and Adrian Toomes alone. So stop this self-deprecating bullshit and use your fucking brain for once in your life. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault." Tony looked up at him, the self-hatred drained from his features, a slight smile adorning his lips which Peter returned.

"You're right, kid," Tony said, "when did you get this wise?"

"I've always been this wise, Mr Stark, I just wanted you to feel better about your lack of common sense," Peter joked, Tony chuckling.

"It wasn't my fault," Tony repeated. Peter tilted his head, confused at the strange undertone in Tony's voice only to see a fire lit in his caramel eyes. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch."

And it was then that he knew he fucked up.

~~~

Step 4. Try some breathing exercises.

Peter had always been shit at breathing exercise. He just didn't have the patience for them. While he was breathing, someone could be getting raped in an alley, a shop could be getting robbed, or a kid could be getting beat up. So - despite the constant reminders to just try the damn breathing exercises for the love of god - Peter had never done anything of the sort. How could he? With his enhanced senses, it was impossible to relax. Would you be able to sit there and breathe while screams rang in your ears and sobbing pounded in your mind? Naturally, this meant that Peter wasn't the most experienced when it came to said breathing exercises. Maybe he should've practised. Life always had a funny way of throwing Peter in the deep end headfirst and tied to a ten ton weight and expecting him to swim. However, he had once read in a self-help book that breathing exercises were good for calming people down, so he decided to hit fuck it for the sixth time in the last 48 hours and try it out. I mean, it was that or release an angry billionaire in a metal suit decked out with the most advanced weapons in the world (except for maybe what HYDRA had because honestly Peter knew better than to underestimate them and he mildly respected their cockroach-like survival skills) who was hell-bent on revenge and gave zero fucks into the world. The second option was beginning to sound quite tempting, Peter would be honest.

"Mr Stark, you need to calm down," Peter told the man gently, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony tilted his head up to look at Peter - rage splashed across his face, tension lining his body - before he shrugged off Peter's hand and jerked into a standing position. And the room was suffocating, suffocating, suffocating, because damn had Tony always been that scary. A cloud of darkness surrounded Tony, filling the lab up and winding itself slowly around Peter's neck, stealing the breath from his lungs. Tony stormed through the lab, footsteps like thunder, anger crackling like lightning. Desperately, Peter followed the billionaire. "Mr Stark, Mr Stark, please calm down," Peter pleaded with him.

"No," Tony spoke, voice cold and flat, tone totally devoid of emotion, so totally opposite to the fury painting his entire body like a second skin. "No I will not calm down, Peter. He dropped a fucking building on you. He deserves to die."

"But you don't deserve to live with the guilt of killing him," Peter begged, tugging at Tony's sleeve in a desperate attempt to stop the man from his warpath. Peter knew he could easily overpower Tony. But he was hoping it wouldn't come to that. "Trust me, I know how it feels to want revenge, I really do, but you have to let it go. Please, Mr Stark."

"Dammit Peter, he hurt you!" Tony shouted, whirling around to face Peter, features twisted and manically furious. "He hurt you a-and I wasn't there and you had to deal with being crushed by a fucking building and then you got up and kept fighting because of that sick son of a bitch so I swear to fucking god I will murder him." Tony's eyes held a frenzied wildness in them, chest heaving up and down, Peter could hear his heart racing.

"Mr Stark, try some breathing," Peter said out of desperation, completely and utterly out of ideas. "Just breath. In and out, in and out." Tony's momentary surprise shocked him out of his anger, confusion flickering across his face momentarily before the anger was back, stronger than ever. Tony pivoted on his heel and walked away from Peter, heading towards where he kept his suits and leaving a heavy sense of dread pooling in Peter's stomach and twisting his insides in knots. So breathing hadn't worked. Thanks for nothing self-help books.

~~~

Step 5. Hack the most advanced AI in the world.

When in doubt, do something potentially illegal. A mugger had once told Peter that after Peter caught her trying to rob a young man. That lady had been fucking badass. It was honestly a shame she's gone to prison but a criminal is a criminal. Turns out the lady had been responsible for a string of high-end bank and jewellery robberies. Peter wondered how she was doing. Probably not well, considering how shit the American jail system is. Peter always tried to find alternative ways to stop criminals, only really sending in the pedophiles, rapists, murderers and the more professional robbers. Sometimes people had no choice in the shitty hand life had dealt them and goddamn if Peter didn't get that. People were just pushed and pushed until they were left with nothing but desperation. Maybe if the government or any of the fucking American systems were better or did their jobs properly then people wouldn't have to steal just to keep themselves and their families from starvation. Maybe Toomes wouldn't have started his alien tech business and then none of this would have even happened. Peter wouldn't be in this situation right now. And Peter was now out of options. He had an angry billionaire on his hands and absolutely no idea what to do. So, he took the lady's advice and decided to do something potentially illegal. He hacked the most advance AI in the world. (What, like it's hard?)

"Hey FRI?" Peter called with a wince.

"Yes, Peter," the AI replied.

"I'm really sorry," Peter told her before bringing up FRIDAY's code. (A/N - I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT COMPUTERS SO THIS IS GONNA BE SOME VAGUE, QUESTIONABLE AF HACKING) Fingers flying across the keys of the laptop, Peter bit his lip in concentration, brows furrowed. He had to hurry and shut down Mr Stark's suits before he reached them and left to murder Toomes. Adrenaline coursed through his body, brain whirring to life like the computer before him as he deleted lines of code, rewriting and altering the code that created FRIDAY as he tore down the firewalls Mr Stark had built. Peter vaguely registered that this was probably illegal and that Mr Stark would most definitely be mad about this later but he quickly waved the thoughts away. He didn't have time for them, he didn't have time, he didn't have time. Barely registering what he was doing, Peter submerged himself into the world of numbers, immersing himself completely in the ocean of lines of code, fingers instinctively knowing what t do as though he'd been born to hack. Again, probably not a great thing that this was so easy. But computers had always made sense to Peter. After what felt like hours but was really only a few minutes, Peter was into FRIDAY's system. And with a few taps, Peter shut down the suits. Quickly exiting the browser, Peter dropped his head into his hands. He'd done it. With a long exhale, Peter relaxed, leaning back into his chair and running his shaking hands through his hair. An enraged roar broke the peaceful quiet surrounding Peter and he squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he ignored it, Mr Stark's anger would go away. He couldn't deal with this shit. Peter was too young to die.

"Peter Benjamin Parker I swear to fucking god-"

"You probably shouldn't fuck god, Mr Stark," Peter couldn't resist remarking with a shit-eating grin. "People might get a bit mad. And who knows, you may even end up pregnant which I can't imagine will be very fun."

"What the fuck?" Tony whispered into the silence that followed Peter's statement. "I don't even want to know what goes on in your brain." Peter hummed in agreement. To be honest, he had no idea what was going on up there half the time. He was just along for the ride. And hey, if it distracted Mr Stark from his anger then it was a win win situation right? (How Peter won in this scenario he didn't know but he didn't question it).

"It's the trauma," Peter replied flippantly, as casual as one would be if they were discussing the weather.

"The-" Tony broke off into angry, confused gibberish that Peter didn't even try to decipher. Crisis averted. Now to deal with the aftermath.

~~~

Step 6. Watch a movie.

Peter Parker wasn't good with emotions. Being a socially awkward sixteen-year-old genius had that effect on a person. Not to mention the fact that he had a crime-fighting, sarcastic alter ego. Yeah, he wasn't great with feelings. Especially not his own. And now he was attempting to help Mr Stark clam down after the whole Toomes-dropping-a-building-on-him-reveal thing. And the only way an emotionally stunted teenage genius superhero knew how to help an emotionally stunted adult genius superhero was something most people would not class as a healthy coping mechanism. Distraction. Preferably with a movie.

"Hey Mr Stark, wanna watch Empire Strikes Back?" Peter asked. Tony fell into a confused silence which Peter took as an agreement. "Yes? Perfect, let's go." Grabbing Tony's arm, Peter tugged him out of the lab and into the elevator, confusion splashed across Tony's features as they entered the movie room. Peter dropped onto the expensive yet incredibly comfortable couch in the centre of the room, pulling Tony down beside him. "Hey FRI? Can you please play The Empire Strikes Back."

"Certainly, Peter," FRIDAY replied, a hint of warmth in her robotic voice. The Star Wars theme filled the room, Peter lips kicking up into a smile at the familiar sound. And as the movie played, Peter reciting every single line with the characters, he felt the rage and tension slowly drain out of his mentor as he relaxed.

"Hey, kid," Tony whispered, interrupting Luke and Darth Vader's showdown. "I sorry for getting angry. I just... I just didn't know what to do. Instead of asking if you were okay I blamed myself and wanted to frigging murder a guy who's already suffering in prison."

"It's okay, Mr Stark," Peter responded with a smile, sincerity gracing his tone. "I get it. After Ben died, I found his murderer. I almost killed the guy," Peter chuckled without humour, Tony watching him with sad eyes, the movie forgotten. "Point is, I know how it feels to want revenge. Don't apologise for being human."

"You really are the best of us all, kid," Tony remarked, a smile adoring his face, features relaxed as he looked at Peter.

"I learned from the best," Peter replied with a shrug.

"Thanks, kid," Tony said, throat tight with emotion.

"I meant May," Peter joked lightly, the heavy emotion clouding the room vanishing as Tony laughed.

"Are you okay, kid?" Tony asked, seriousness settling over them again.

"Honestly?" Peter responded, "no. But that's alright. Because I will be." Peter held Tony's gaze, warmth blossoming in his chest at his mentor's caring eyes, as Darth Vader's voice filled the room.

"No, I am your father," Darth Vader spoke. Peter turned back to the movie, watching as Luke jumped and fell.

"You're gonna be okay, kid," Tony whispered, "we're both gonna be okay."

Because Peter would be okay. So Tony was okay too.

And if Pepper walked in three hours later to find them curled up against each other, fast asleep she never said anything. (She got FRIDAY to take a photo and saved it to Irondad and Spiderson - an unsurprisingly large file. She should probably get Peter to do a DNA test. They did look rather similar)

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

it wasn’t power i coveted; it was acceptance.

Titans 3.06

y’know, i was just thinking the other day that 1.06/1.07 and 2.06/2.07 were the best episodes of their respective seasons, so i have great hopes going in to this one. fingers crossed!

as always, typing this up as i see the episode.

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. oh! um... that was a Cold Open, all right. *nudges* get it? cold? because it’s snowing? and two people got murdered in cold blood? eh?

... oh, i’ve just started.

1.5. i wonder if “i want to be sipping pina coladas on a beach with you” is the new “i’m just one day away from retiring.” i was so on edge after that--i kept expecting that car to explode. even so, the way they died wasn’t an anticlimax: brutal, and quick. 

1.75. so i’m assuming that’s the titular lady vic! this show better bring up why this doll was important or why these two cops needed to be killed, and not leave it to the ether like jericho’s little mindscape jaunt in 2.08 (i’m still dying to know what that was about???)

2.

i love how deliberately unappealing wayne manor is. 

(sorry for the pic quality. i don’t have hbo max! ssshhh.)

2.3. i love the many references to “home” and “our house” when they’ve been here for less than a week and saw one of their friends get blown into pieces. i mean, i unironically love it: home is where family is, after all!

2.5. i’d like to say that kom is playing some sort of long game here, especially given the build-up we had last season and some of the more niggling details this season: why did kom choose now to use her bond to lure kory when she’s been on earth for months? why did justin call kory now, just around the time that she started getting kom’s visions? and what about kom’s ability to exactly imitate other people? hmmm.

2.75. the reason i wrote i’d like to say is that i’ve made the mistake of assuming plot complexity where there is none; i was so invested in the jason todd orchestrated his own death theory for instance, when it turns out that oops! ra’s al ghul just happened to leave a little lazarus puddle in gotham, and oh yeah! scarecrow just happens to have a network of henchmen working for him on the outside and a fully functional laboratory and a weapons cache fit for a new supervillain in the basement of the high security psychiatric unit/prison that he’s in! 

(no i’m not bitter, why do you ask)

2.8. iiiii don’t know what to say about the implications of sex slavery being a thing on tamaran, so i’m not going to say anything at all. for now.

3. gotham, six years ago... wasn’t it five years before s2 that jericho died and the titans disbanded? and when was the flashback from 1.06 where dick let zucco die? i think it was after the events of 2.08: jericho? i can’t seem to find any transcripts or reliable information online, so i’m going to have to rewatch 1.06 at some point. 

(i love the old-fashioned batman music in this heist scene)

3.5. “security is a joke... it’s my way of keeping my dad on his toes”. what you’re an ethical thief now, like an ethical hacker? i don’t think that excuse is going to sell, barbara, on the day you do encounter a decent security system and your father is forced to arrest you.

(then again, gotham’s security is piss-poor. did you know that you could just walk into arkham asylum without any official clearance, ply one of its most dangerous inhabitants with contraband, and said inmate could get away with having an entire laboratory and weapons cache--NO I’M NOT GOING TO LET THIS GO)

3.8 so that flashback between dick and barbara was really cute! and also illuminating:

a) dick sounds so light, so... um. look. i have some apologies to tender to mr thwaites, because while i’ve always thought he does a fine job as dick grayson, i’ve never been terribly fond of his cadence as he delivers dialogue. it’s often monotonous, i thought, but then again, he’s usually delivering exposition or dealing with one soul-crushing crisis or the other. so i was pleasantly surprised to hear dick sound so carefree and alive in his conversation with barbara, laughing frequently, his emotions so bare and bubbling to the surface. it’s really a fantastic contrast to the traumatised and world-weary dick grayson that we see now, even more so than the costume department just bunging a backwards-baseball cap on mr thwaites’ head and hoping that will convince us of his relative youth. 

b) and god, when he wakes up from that memory, all alone in his bed, bleeding from bullet holes in his shoulder (bullet holes that are--in a somewhat convoluted way--barbara’s fault)? yikes. it’s great. you have my apologies, mr thwaites!

c) can you imagine dick just... crawling back to wayne manor, trying not to be seen by anybody, shedding his suit and just... collapsing onto his bed without even tending to his wound? the sheer emotional and physical exhaustion of it? 

d) it’s so interesting to see how barbara and dick approach the idea of legacy--a big theme on the show!--in this flashback. barbara is the one bucking the idea that she should follow in her father’s footsteps, while dick seems pretty content with the batman-and-robin setup, and even tries to get barbara to join their team (robin-girl. pfffft). obviously after this several traumatic things happen wherein dick ends up questioning and then resenting his role as robin, his relationship with batman or even returning as a vigilante at all. and barbara... ends up replacing her father as commissioner. it’s tragic, really. 

e) the dynamic between dick and barbara in the flashback reminds me of how it was between dick and donna in 1.08 and even between kory and dick in early s1. it’s like having an older, strong-willed woman by his side means he gives over the steering wheel for a while and lets himself... unspool, a little bit. it’s kinda endearing.

also:

*pinches his cheeks*

3. you know, we talk about dick and Eldest Daughter Syndrome, and that’s definitely valid, but here gar seems to me the embodiment of it, with all the emotional gardening and firefighting that he’s expected to do. he’s kind of the guy expected to keep his shit together and take care of everyone else while they are falling completely to pieces, unable to carve out time to process his own trauma. he’s also picked up dick’s and kory’s tendencies to bottle up their struggles and shun appearing vulnerable, and he’s struggling in the shadow of both dick and kory undergoing acute crises, his best friend (and frequent confidante) on the other side of the world, and seeing hank die, utterly helpless to stop it. 

i’m glad that he got a chance to tell dick even a smidgeon of what he really feels, and i hope this is at least a semblance of a wake up call for dick to actually sit down and work with the people he repeatedly calls family.

3.5. it’s heartening to see that dick immediately makes it his priority to go talk to gar. but don’t blow off kory in the process, man!

4. i’m really loving this dynamic between kom and conner--i get the idea that both of them consider each other as Unknowns, alien two times over. but conner’s only ever known the titans, who embrace being different, and kom’s only ever known... well. 

anyway, kory is Really Stressed, and honestly? #relatable. 

when you’re forced to bring an estranged family member to hang out with your friends...

4.5. i love that the titans are spending so much time in the kitchen. a real family!

5. jonathan crane is a creep and i absolutely cannot stand him.

5.25. how did he get a whole lab setup (in the basement of a hospital...?) with a bunch of whitecoats to work for him? how did he just waltz into the viewing room of an operation theatre when he’s one of the most wanted men in gotham right now? why is jason wandering around maskless when--presumably--as the adopted son of the most famous person in gotham he’d be a tad more recognisable than your average joe?

why do i expect this show to answer anything anymore?

5.5. that’s not necessarily a criticism, mind; i’ve said since season 1 that titans is very comics-like in this aspect, all about the Aesthetic and the splash-page splendour rather than the niggling unimportant details of how or when the characters got to said location. like. the camera gliding over the operation being set-up, lady vic bursting in and doing her murder dance (imagine the luck of the poor intern who chose this day and this surgery to assist) and jason, shocked and slack-jawed, framed by blood.

5.75. it’s a sobering reminder for jason that, though he chose this path in order to gain control over a world that seemed like it was rapidly spinning out of his grip, he’s only succeeded in handing over even more control to a man with an agenda that is very clearly not aligned with his own. he’s in too far to stop now, though.

5.9. i have a lot more thoughts about jason! saving it up for the end of this recap, though.

6. more kitchen time! i better see dick do some cooking soon...

(”our kitchen”! it still delights me! kitchens are So Important)

6.25. so much of dick’s issues have revolved around his relationship with bruce, so it’s completely understandable that in the wake of a huge crisis where bruce literally asks dick to replace him and be a “better” him, dick would default to all the worst things he learned from the man. and i’m glad kory’s having none of it, but come on, guys. the woman’s literally fetched her fratricidal sister out of a hole in the ground with no idea what said sister is going to do next and experiencing a burgeoning sense of guilt far, far beyond her history with the titans, and dick’s too far into his autocolonoscopy that he can’t see that she needs help.

6.5. “he services your urges”--well, as far as we know, kory is the last person he had sex with...

7. “i hope [gar] isn’t angry with me...” SIR! i thought you’d already spoken to him! smh, as the kids say. kory wouldn’t be needing to reassure you if you just took the effort to build two way emotional relationships with the rest of the team. @superohclair​ was taking about dick’s relatively low emotional intelligence? i agree.

7.5. “i got my own problems [...] you and barbara? fix it.” YOU TELL HIM, KORY

8. man i really like this weird, sad tension between dick and barbara--this sense that both of them are approaching the other based on how they remember them and are ultimately disappointed by the truth. barbara thought she could trust dick to... well, be a better batman, but dick has not only failed at that in her eyes, but repeatedly undermined her while exploiting the authority that she gave him. in dick’s eyes, this is nothing like the barbara that he knew, rebellious and ready to do whatever it takes to find something. 

like. this show sometimes really hits me in the chest about the ways it shows kids grow into adults and into caretakers, and the way it’s stop-start, the ways nothing can happen at all for a long time and then it’s Crisis Central all at once and there’s no space to breathe. the weird sort of sadness that comes with nostalgia. 

8.5. oracle name drop! i agree with barbara, any system that can just randomly tap into gotham phonelines is a monster.

8.7. (i don’t know if it’s my imagination, but is dick holding himself... differently in this episode? like that wound is definitely bothering him, and he’s running on fumes)

9. man, that was a really sweet scene between kom and conner. “feeling alien in your own world”... “not quite here nor there”

honestly this team runs on conner and gar’s faith in their value as a family, and it’s a sign of conner’s generous heart that he extends that opportunity to blackfire. this arc of maturation for him, where he’s now able to consciously choose which parts of himself he can use to do the thing he wants to so--save people--has been so fulfilling to recognise. this baby’s grown with the titans! and what he’s learnt is that people can get fucked up, but the titans is a place where they can be fucked up, and grow.

MY MAN CONNER

10. oh man i’m drinking in the gar-dick interaction in this episode like i’m three days into the desert and it’s the only source of water for miles around!

a) gar is absolutely not dealing with dick’s bullshit this episode and I LOVE IT. it’s such a far cry from the man who was idolising dick/robin back in s1 and expecting him to solve all their problems. dick is fallible, dick is fucked up, but he Tries His Best and that’s ok.

b) dick, huffing and puffing through that vent, unable to put any pressure on his left shoulder, trying to have a heart to heart with gar... fuck i love this asshole. 

c) bruce took in a kid who was suffering... “and made him into a weapon”. well. i absolutely agree with dick that it was bruce who put these kids into these horrible situations with him and they came away with a bucketload of trauma to add to the one that they already had. but we know that bruce was really trying with jason, and at the end of s2, dick was coming to acknowledge that bruce had offered him something that wasn’t just darkness. jason’s death and bruce’s reaction to that shattered that fragile progress.

d) “gotham got to me too.” i feel more sympathetic towards dick running off on his own than most, and it’s not just because i’m an unapologetic stan.  we’ve seen before that dick... devolves when overwhelmed, and he lashes out and makes ill thought out decisions and just Does Not Deal. it happened after hearing the news that deathstroke had returned in s2, and it didn’t help that everyone around him was reeling at the news, either. this time, however, he has his salvation in his family, and despite some stupid decisions like running off and kidnapping supervillains without telling his team, he’s been really on the ball this season. thinking clearly and logically, holding it together and working on a plan, thinking two steps ahead of the villains... yes.

e) gar needing to believe that jason isn’t beyond redemption... there’s a lot of blood on his hands, too, from when he was manipulated by cadmus last season. it makes sense why he’d relate to jason’s predicament, and i hope dick picked up on that.

f) my head just added a plaintive ow after dick jumped feet first into the storage room

i need, crave gifs of this scene!

11. *sits on hands* i’m going to talk more about red hood, i promise!

12. more gar and dick! is it my birthday??!!

(actually, according to the tamil calendar, it is my birthday! my “star” birthday)

12.5. excellent. dick using some implausible training that bruce taught him to solve a mystery? passing some of that knowledge onto gar? that proud smile when he sees gar perfectly execute moves that he taught him? MY HEART IS EXPLODING

13. aw, i love flashback!dick and barbara, they’re so cute <3

13.25. why does it not surprise me that the way he proposes a relationship to barbara is by saying “we make sense”? this guy can deduce exactly who was present where and what weapon they were holding from a garbled audio recording but other times he’s utterly clueless, and that’s a consistent character beat right from s1

13.5. so.... that’s why lady vic has it out for... barbara....? i don’t get it. it’s flimsy. but hey! the fun thing about titans is that i don’t have to get it. the payoff has nothing to do with the plot.

14. i can’t believe that barbara fell for that, but at least that wheelchair fight looked awesome, so.

15. oh yeah, i forgot that red hood bullied the mob into helping him and scarecrow... at least that explains the whitecoats and the elaborate set-up.

15.5. honestly i love how this dynamic between kory and kom is developing, though i wish more of the team would pay attention to it. time to call justin, i think!

16. i wonder what happened after that second flashback where barbara got hurt during that heist. did she give up on doing any more (maybe jim caught her)? was it because dick was called away by bruce and then the titans and got caught up in his own issues? maybe barbara froze him out because she wasn’t looking for the relationship that he was looking for? maybe the idea of doing that with someone turning into batman-lite was just... unappealing? scary?

whatever it is, it doesn’t look like dick ever processed the end of that relationship. it’s very intriguing to see where their dynamic goes next.

17. so.... what, did vic deliver some fear toxin to barbara? i... what?

17.5. and i TOLD YOU that they would never explain that doll or why vic attacked those two cops at the beginning! oh, titans. never change. 

18. did jason just randomly have tim’s restaurant burgled? god, i’m feeling a bit nauseous... are they going to kill tim’s father?

18.25. i feel like the rest of the season is going to wrestle with jason’s culpability in the horrible stuff he’s doing and i’m already seeing that prospect divide fans. on one hand, his story is taking a lot of oxygen away from other equally interesting story arcs, and he’s done some truly awful things, like indiscriminate murder, threatening to kill children, blowing up hank, and potentially killing tim’s parents. 

there’s something to be said for the kind of hold that crane has over him, and the so-called ‘anti-fear’ drug that he keeps plying jason with--he’s alone, drugged almost constantly (to the level of dependence), fresh from the trauma of being bludgeoned to death. he hasn’t conquered fear; he’s ruled by it. on the other hand, given that he’s the one character on the show given an obvious and identifiable ‘mental illness’ arc (maaaaybe dick too), one can argue that it’s irresponsible to show this progress into such violence: jason was vulnerable because he was struggling, and that left him vulnerable, but it took only a push before he became a fucking serial killer.

but that could mean we underestimate the degree of that vulnerability, and the mechanics of this universe where he fell into the clutches of the one supervillain perfectly designed to exploit that vulnerability. that helpless spiral into further and further self-destruction is all too real. it’s valuable to know that someone who has sunk that low can still seek help--actual help--and get it. 

18.5. i don’t know. it’s not a question i’m going to resolve at the end of an overlong recap at 1 in the morning. i don’t believe it’s even a question that titans can resolve. but i am interested in where they’re going next with jason.

19. this episode was genuinely great! i’m pumped for the rest of the season!

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

 (Wednesday, 11:00 am)

  Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

[heyheydidjaknow]

I do not have a decent title for this. I’m also not even going to bother with an image (even though I know it would generate more traffic) because I’m not going to steal someone’s shit. It’s about 3500 words, so have fun with that.

Chapter 1

Dying is not fun.

I do not know if you knew that until last night. Maybe you figured that since it was romanticized so much that it would not suck as much as it so clearly and obviously did. Maybe you dreamed of dying relatively peacefully, surrounded by your loved ones. Alas, those dreams were dashed last night when you, oh so wise Y/N, decided that you were going to try baking and forgot the most essential step; taking the thing out of the oven. You remember that night so clearly, the screams of your family begging for their lives still bouncing around in your ears like a torturous golf ball that made a habit of forcing itself into your throat, the feeling of your hair catching alight as your skin bubbled and charred, and rational thought became a foreign concept. You do not remember if you had died from a heart attack or hyperthermia or smoke inhalation, but you had a general idea that, yes, that night had been your last on Earth.

So, where the fuck are you?

You pull yourself into a sitting position, your back pressed against something hard as your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness. The air smells like rotten food and exhaust engines as you pull yourself off the concrete, looking around the alleyway that you had found yourself in. It’s small, narrow, unremarkable in every way, with graffiti covered dumpsters near the entrance. Dazed, confused, generally out of sorts, you make your way to the entrance, patting yourself down for injuries you did not seem to have.

You rub the side of your face with your hand. ‘My head is killing me.’ You slip your hand into your jacket pocket, feeling a key and a piece of paper. ‘God damn it is cold in this alley.’ You zip up your jacket, walking out into the open as you pull the note out, beginning to read.

“Dear Y/N,” you mumble as you read, “we are pleased to inform you of your acceptance into our transference program, yadda yadda yadda, whoopdeedoo…” You skim ahead of some introductory jargon before getting near to the point of the note. “From this point forward, enjoy your permanent residence at ten West.. fifteenth street… apartment number six two two… New York, New York?” You blink. ‘I… that’s not my address.’ You pull out the key. ‘Wait, hold on.’ Your eyebrows furrowed. ‘New York? Wait, I was dead, wasn’t I?’ Your eyes become unfocused. ‘I don’t live anywhere near NYC. Where am I?’ You look around for some sort of landmark, street name, anything to give you some idea of where you are.

You hear a car squeal to a stop on the street corner in front of you, snapping you out of your stupor. As identical men start climbing out of the back of the vehicle, all marching deliberately towards you, a fifteen-year-old girl, your immediate reaction is to run like hell. Unfortunately for you, apparently your speed was not comparable to that of the men who quickly apprehend you, scooping you up and dragging you kicking and screaming into a van. You hear vaguely familiar voices outside, but your focus is less on the mayhem and more on the more pressing matter of getting yourself out of the van. You pound at the door, feel for any sort of locks on the inside, something, anything to get you out of the van, still screaming your head off as you hope whoever was outside had the common sense to call nine one one. You feel your eyelids droop as your breathing slows, your voice dying as your pounding becomes less intense. You slide to you knees, eyes closing even as you mentally scream at yourself to get up, keep at it. You passed out.

--

You wake up laid on the floor this time, the pulsing of electricity above your head almost soothing as you open your eyes. You stagger to your feet, looking around your well-lit enclosure, pink florescent lights lining the ceiling and walls like arteries. After taking note of your new bruises and checking to see if you still have your few personal belongings—you do—you ran over to the door, eyes fixated on the mind boggling, ridiculous scene taking place in front of you.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ You back away from the slot in the door, trying to process the blatant larping headassery. You had not thought that you would honestly be able to say that, apparently, you were kidnapped by the mother fucking Kraang, yet, in some stroke of tomfuckery on behalf of whatever deity controls your universe, you have, obviously, been kidnapped by some seriously hardcore cosplayers. If nothing else, you must admire the obviously advanced set up.

You run your fingers through your hair, chuckling almost manically. “So,” you say to yourself aloud, “I got kidnapped by TMNT fanboys. Great. Fantastic, even!” You pace around the room, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I guess this makes me April O'Neil, then? Cool.” Your voice is extremely tight as you shake with intense, mostly negative emotions. “So, I’m somewhere in New York, kidnapped by the Kraang in the worst convention ever. Let me guess,” you laugh, losing your mind a little as you speak to nobody. “I’m gonna have a run in with the Teenage Fucking Ninja Turtles next, right?”

As if on que, you hear laser blasts and shinking metal. The high pitched beeping on an alarm sounded as you heard people—‘Male, teenagers… fuck my life,’— talking about power or something as their footsteps approach your room. You pound on the door. “Hey! Over here!”

You see a brown set of eyes look in through the window. Your suspicions are confirmed; ‘Definitely TMNT larping.’

“We found her,” the owner of said eyes, the one cosplaying as Donatello, calls to the others. Lasers shoot by his head as he turns to stare death in the eyes.

“We’ll hold them off. You pick the lock.” ‘Leonardo.’ You breathe a soft sigh of relief; if nothing else, you are apparently on the side of the people trying to get you out in this game. You hear footsteps going towards the firing.

“Don’t worry,” “Donatello” reassures you, voice tight with apparent anxiety, “I’ll have you out of there in a second!”

“Thanks, Donnie.” You give him a half-hearted thumbs up, trying to see what he was doing through the window. “Take your time.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

You sigh. “Look, man, I don’t know the script for the first episode by heart. You’re gonna have to cut me some slack for not being off-book.”

“Off—what?” He stares at you blankly.

You purse your lips. “I’ll explain if you let me out,” you promise. “Just pick the lock before the blue one gives you shit.”

“Oh, right! The lock!” He nods, grasping onto the logical thing you say and leaning down to start working on the alien technology. He pulls the cover off a control panel by your door, starting to fiddle with the wires.

You lean against the door, watching him work curiously. You hear the battle cries of “Michelangelo” and the toppling of robots as he works, clearly focused on his task. You zone out again. “This is some serious shit,” you mumble.

He mutters in frustration. The one dressed as Raph marches over, more impatient. “Oh for the love of—get out of my way,” he snarls, proceeding to take a very real looking sai out and stabbing the panel with a very in-character ferocity. You almost feel the urge to applaud the acting, and you might if this weren’t such a high stakes situation.

The door in front of you and behind you open at the same time and, deciding against getting captured again—you remember something about hanging from a helicopter in that scenario and you want nothing to do with that—you run alongside the turtles like your life depends on it, stumbling to a halt once you reach outside and slamming the doors closed behind you, blocking it with your back.

Your feet scramble to gain some traction on the cement. “Donnie,” you snap, almost impressed by the force used to pound against the doors, “put your staff in the handles of the door. We gotta go ASAP.”

“Wait, hold up.” The one dressed as Raph jabs his thumb towards you. “How do you know his name?”

You groan. “For fucks- it’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, not fucking Happy Sugar Life. Get the thing in the thing before the vine thing kills us!”

“The what?” Donnie and Raph seem much more confused than before, staring at you inquisitively and angrily respectively.

“Uh, guys?” Mikey pointed. “I think she means that vine thing.”

From the shadows emerges a towering creature made of plant life, its vinelike limbs draping across the ground like roots as it rears its ugly head. Its exposed, pulsating heart pressed against what remains of the creature’s ribcage. “You did this to me,” It growls. “Now you’re going to pay!”

“It’s-“

You cut Leo off. “Snake guy. Mutated into a weed. If you wanna kill it, go for the heart.”

He looked back at you, joining the other two pairs of piercing stares. “Cut that out.”

“Then don’t monologue and kill it before it has mobility!”

“On it.” Raph charges at its lumbering form, and within moments, it falls to the ground in a heap.

The pounding against the door is getting more intense. “Donnie! Staff!”

“Right!” He runs over, sliding his staff in between the door handles.

You stumble forward, the pounding already starting to crack the wood. “Alright, now we can leave.” Without waiting for the others, you sprint away from the building like your life depends on it. The others, clearly confused, follow.

You got a fair few city blocks away before you slow down, breathing heavy and palms stamped with the outline of the key you were holding desperately onto. “You run really fast for cosplayers,” you pant, “with all the- the paint and all.”

“Yeah, about that.” Donatello stops next to you, a thousand questions apparently swimming around in his head. “How do you know our names?” His mouth moves a mile a minute. “How did you know the weakness of that vine creature? What do you mean, cosplay? Who are you? Who were they?”

You cut him off. “One question at a time, hot stuff. Deep breathes.”

His pupils dilate. “H-hot stuff?”

Leo cuts in. “How did you know what we were—uh—cosplaying?” he asks tentatively.

“Odd time to cut the act, but alright.” Your heart rate lowers to a decent pace as your mind still struggles to comprehend what had just happened. You slow your breathing. “I mean,” you explain, gesturing with your hands, “it’s TMNT. It’s iconic.”

“Iconic?” He nods. “Well, since you know so much about it, then why don’t we test your knowledge? To see if you’re a real fan..”

“Y-you think I’m hot?”

“I don’t see the point, but I’m down.” You shrug, deciding to ignore the melting turtle for a second. “Shoot.”

He thinks for a moment. “Who’s the main character?”

You shrug. “You four, I guess.”

Mikey jumped in. “What’s the theme song?”

“Gonna have to be more specific there, buddy.”

“Is it really a great idea to just talk out here in the open?” Raph crossed his arms across his front.

“Probably not.” You look around. “Unless you have a map on you, I’d suggest we go back to your lair.”

“Our—what kind of stalker—”

“Look, honey,” you sigh, “if we’re going to go over every aspect of their lives that I know about we’re going to be here for a long time. For our purposes, just assume I know everything I need to know, and if you’re curious about specifics, we’ll go on a case-by-case basis.” You start walking down the sidewalk. “I’m guessing you guys hang out in the sewer, right?” You feel almost tempted to say that they’re just flat out psychotic, their blatant conviction in their own characters almost frightening. ‘I’ve heard of kinning,’ you think, pulling up a manhole cover you see at the end of an alley and wincing at the smell, ‘but this is ridiculous.’ You blink at the surprising lack of weight.

“Yeah.” Mikey—no, the Michelangelo cosplayer—walked over, already hopping in. “Our show must be super popular, right? Who’s the favorite character? How long have we been running?”

“Oh, you guys are—” You stop talking. “Wait, what year is it?” You start climbing down.

“Two thousand and twelve. Why?”

You step off the ladder, starting to walk behind him as he lead the way. “Well, it’s not tweny twelve where I’m from. It’s twenty twenty.”

“Wait, hold up.” He turns around to face you as he walks. “You’re from the future? That is so freakin awesome!”

You rub the back of your neck, trying to ignore the smell. “I mean,” you confess, “being from the future would be cooler if I was from a better time, I think.” ‘I wonder where they—’ You shake your head. “But, If we were running on the same time, I’d only be seven, I think, so it’s pretty cool I get to be here, I guess.”

“Dude, totally!” He turns a corner. “Our first day up top and we meet a time traveler?”

“Technically,” a voice from behind you makes you jump, “if what she’s saying is true, she somehow also knows interdimensional travel as well.”

‘Mother fucking ninj—cosplayers, focus. Don’t let them pull you in too.’ “Well, I really wouldn’t say—”

“Guys, is there not a clearly bigger concern on our hands?” You were already getting sick of not hearing footsteps. “Like, say, I don’t know, the fact she’s claiming we’re fictional characters?”

“Look, man,” you roll your eyes, “I already said I’m more than happy to answer any questions I can. In fact,” you continued, stopping in your tracks as you stared the red—clad turtle in the eye, “I’ll even stay put until we sort this whole situation out.”

“Fine by me.” Leo and Raph both face you, eyes boring into your soul as you stand there awkwardly.

“Let’s start off with the basics.” Leo’s tone is awfully light compared to his blatant skepticism. “What is everyone’s name?”

You force yourself not to roll your eyes again. “You’re all Hamatos.” You point at the tall one with the gap in his teeth. “That one’s Donatello, the yellow one next to him is Michelangelo, you,” you point at the red one with the broader shoulders, “are Raphael, and the sensei appointed leader is Leonardo. Easy.”

Leonardo nods. “Okay, you got the easy one.” It is at times like these when you wish you could read people. “What are we?”

“Teenage mutant ninja turtles.” You don’t have to hesitate.

“How did we become the way we are?”

“Splinter had a Kraang run in and you got ooze on you. Last thing you touched before you transformed was a person, so you became turtle/human hybrids.” You rest a hand on your hip. “Oh, happy birthday, by the way.”

A sea of blank faces face you. “Wait, you know who those things are?” Donatello is the first to speak after a pregnant pause.

“Well, yeah.” You shrug, the reality of the situation not yet dawning on you. “They almost take over the world in at least two season finales.

“They what?”

“Yeah.” You stick your hands in your pockets, fingering the key and note, confused by their apparent horror. “I mean, I’m still on the season three finale, but alien invasion is this show’s bread and butter for the most part.”

“I- what?” Raphael appears to be having a stroke. “What- bre- I- huh? What the-“

“Is he okay?” You look, completely unconcerned, at Donatello, who is swaying on his feet.

“Alien.. invasion…”

You blink, walking over to him and placing your hand on his cheek. You were surprised at the feeling of skin under your palm. ‘Not face paint..’ You look his incredibly pale face over curiously. ‘Not a mask…’ “Oh.” Your fingers slide down and off his jaw, falling slackly. “You weren’t joking, were you?”

If nothing else, he seems less concerned than he did a second ago.

Leonardo—‘The actual—hold on a minute.’—grabs your shoulder. “This isn’t a joke.” His face is stone. “You’re being serious, right?”

You felt blood drain out of your face. “Sadly? Yes.” You force yourself to take deep breaths so as to not pass out. “But, on the bright side,” you smiled weakly, “I can guarantee your survival for at least a few months.”

“What do you mean a few months?” Raphael is shaking as he yells, his voice roar echoing in the enclosed space. “How is it only—what the hell?”

“The show only ran over the course of an in-universe year.” You fight to keep your voice steady as dread seizes your throat. “I don’t know what happens after the year is up, or if it even lasts the whole year.”

“So we have less than twelve months to live?”

“This is so not cool.” Michelangelo is having a bit of a mental breakdown. “So, so not cool.”

“Hey, it’s not a guarantee!” You put your hands up reassuringly. “That’s just how long the show runs. Besides, it’s a kid’s show. There’s no way they’d kill off the main characters.”

“The hell they—who the hell is they?”

“Nickelodeon.”

“What the fuck is Nickelodeon?”

You groan. “Look, I’m just saying that you four are definitely going to survive the next few months!” Your voice rises easily to his volume. “I don’t know what happens after those months are up! I haven’t gotten to that point!”

“Why the hell not?”

You ran your fingers through your hair, laughing incredulously. “What, do you think I knew I was going to meet the IRL Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and had a chance to plan accordingly? No!” You throw your hands up in the air. “I died last night and now I’m here! Hell, I don’t even know where the fuck I’m going to go, fuck knowing who’s going to get the fucking axe between now and the series finale!”

“Will you two both cut it out?” Leo snapped, shutting you two up.

You put your hands up, still fuming and glaring at Raphael. He responds in kind.

“What’s your name?” He looked at you.

“Y/N. Y/N L/N.” Your breathing slows slightly.

“Alright. Y/N, you said you’ve seen up to season three, right?”

“Yeah.” You nod.

“Meaning you know what’s going to happen in the next few months, right?”

You nod at the leader.

He thinks for a moment. “Then we need to stay in contact. If what you’re saying is true, your knowledge of our show could be extremely valuable to us.”

You rub your eyes with your hands, sighing, trying to cool down. “I can do that.” You put your hands down. “If nothing else, I’m more than happy to offer up emotional support. The next few months are going to be extremely physically and emotionally difficult for you guys.”

Donnie pipes up. “Do you have a place to stay?”

You pull out the piece of paper. “I have an address and key, but I don’t know my way around NYC.” You smile slightly at the unintentional rhyme. “Do you guys know where ten west fifteenth street—wait, it’s your guys’ first day.” You nod. “I forgot.”

“It’s alright.” Donatello is oddly quick saying that. “I-if you want, I—we can help you find it.”

You rub your arm, your previous indignance replaced with extreme embarrassment at your previous actions. “Nah, it’s alright,” you reassure him. “I’m sure I can find a map or something.”

“It’s really not safe to just wander around New York so late.”

You pause at that. “That is an extremely good point.” You nod. “Alright. But I owe you guys dinner or something for trusting me this far. Also,” you smile teasingly, “what you’re currently eating is legitimately revolting.”

“Amen to that.” Raphael, if nothing else, seems to have calmed down.

Mikey hopped in. “Oh, we just found this crazy awesome food—”

“I can order pizza,” you reassure him.

He punches the air excitedly. “Let’s go!”

“If you want, you can sleep on the couch for tonight,” Leonardo offers. “It’s going to get light pretty soon, and we really shouldn’t be seen.”

You shrug. “Works for me.

As you follow the teenagers down the sewer, conversating as you walk, you take a moment to reflect on all that has happened so far. A part of you, oddly enough, is almost excited by the prospect of spending time with these guys. But a stronger, darker part reminds you sweetly of the dangers you knew lay ahead.

You close your eyes. ‘I’m never going to see my family again, am I?’

How that is the least of your worries, you don’t know.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 2

[venialsun]

to begin with, take warning (2/3)

[read on ao3]

1 | 2 | 3

When Damian found his way to his first class of the day, having missed something called homeroom and the first ten minutes, the instructor shook his head playfully and made Damian introduce himself and explain what he had done over the summer. He could not say he had spent the past few months traipsing across the globe, hanging out with killers and thieves, and dying more often than not as he tried to escape the oppressive feeling that had descended upon Gotham after years of tragedies and increasing catastrophes. So he said he spent some time with his mother’s family on their private island, which was close enough, took a seat at the back of the room, and listened to his classmates reconnect with old friends and talk about their vacations and holidays with an increasing sense of annoyance.

The rest of the morning classes were no better. The teachers would guide the students through introductions and some small talk, go through their syllabus, and sometimes begin a lesson that Damian was entirely bored by. A few of his classmates tried to speak with him, asking him questions about his family, about himself, and smiling welcomingly at him, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk about that can of worms. He was not sure what he would say, how to spin his life into something half-truthful yet still benign. He’d never had to before. The rest of the students ignored him, and he was more than happy to ignore them right back.

By lunchtime, he was contemplating leaving and telling his Father he was done with this whole experiment. But Yanez’s yellow slip burned in his pocket, and Damian was not one to give up so easily. He would make it through the day, if nothing else.

The technology atrium was between the main academic building and the arts auditorium. A squat addition to the main building with walls made of glass and supported by steel beams, it stuck out like a sore thumb against the dark slate stones and high neo-Gothic arches and spires of the rest of Gotham Academy. Damian glowered as he neared and realized this was not only the technology atrium but, according to the placard over the main entrance, the Kenneth H. Wayne Technology Atrium.

Of course.

Inside, rows of computers and long tables encircled a central desk where a young woman sat typing at a laptop. She looked up as Damian approached and asked, “What’s up?”

Damian fished out the yellow slip and showed it to her. “Principal Yanez assigned me community tutoring or whatever.”

She took the slip and scanned it. “Already? Dang, kid, what’d ya do?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say. Hold on. Let me pull her notes.” She busied herself clicking and scrolling, then paused. “Oh, wow. I see. Well, hi, Damian. Glad to have you. I’m Miss Daisy.” She handed him back the slip.

“Daisy?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Well, Miss Daskalakis, but I got tired of all you runts mispronouncing it.”

“Miss Daskalakis,” said Damian, exactly.

Daskalakis smiled. “That was pretty good, actually. Okay, in about ten minutes, we should have some of the PSAT and SAT kids show up for their first prep. Make yourself comfortable at one of the tables, eat some of your lunch, and when they show up I’ll introduce you and explain the rundown.”

“Lunch?”

“You brought something to eat, didn’t you? Or you can go pick something up at the cafeteria.” She glanced at her laptop. “There’s still time, and since it’s the first day, there’s no rush.”

Damian hesitated. “Principal Yanez said I was to report here.”

“We’re not going to make you skip lunch, Damian,” said Daskalakis. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. Here, what do you want?” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll message my assistant to bring you something. He should already be at the cafeteria.”

“Anything vegetarian,” he said.

Daskalakis gave him a thumbs up. “Got it.”

He went to sit at one of the long tables. Surreptitiously, he pulled out his phone to figure out what in the world the PSAT and SAT were supposed to be. He was puzzling his way through the most confusingly worded, backwards maths questions he had ever read, when the door opened. Damian glanced up and froze.

The red-headed boy at the entrance to the atrium also froze, eyes wide like he had seen a ghost.

“Colin!” called Daskalakis. “Hey, this is Damian. Thanks for grabbing lunch.”

“Colin,” Damian said.

“Damian,” said Colin Wilkes. “Oh, my god. Damian. Dude!”

“Do you two know each other?” asked Daskalakis.

“No,” said Damian, at the same time Colin said, “Yes.” Then Colin said, “No,” at the same time Damian said, “Yes.”

“Cool,” said Daskalakis, dragging out the oo. “Cool, cool, cool. Can you guys figure that out? We have, like, five minutes.”

Colin approached and deposited what looked like a rice dish with vegetables in front of him. “Um, this is for you. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got you a taco bowl minus the taco.”

“Thanks,” said Damian, accepting the not-taco bowl.

“So.” Colin sat across from him. “Long time no see, huh.”

Damian snorted. “I’ve been busy,” he said.

“No shit. Your family has been freaking out for like the past six months, saying you’re missing and Robin went rogue or something. Then the old Robin came back. The Titans restarted. Then there’s video of another Robin sword-fighting crime all over the world. I assume that was you. Dude, I thought you were dead.”

“To be fair,” said Damian as he opened his taco bowl and mixed the ingredients, “I was. A couple of times. Doesn’t seem to stick.”

Colin laughed. “Your mom?”

Damian chuckled, startling himself. “Something like that. Though the first time was a few years back. I was—gone—for nearly a year, and my Father resurrected me with alien magic.”

“Sick. I remember that,” said Colin. “You dropped off the face of the earth. Didn’t come by the orphanage anymore or sneak out with me for patrols. People were saying Batman went crazy. I thought you just decided you didn’t want to hang out anymore.”

“I—” Damian spooned some rice into mouth. Chewed, swallowed. Colin looked at him throughout, unrelenting. “I didn’t ignore you deliberately. And then after I came back, things were so…”

Colin waved a hand and unwrapped a greasy slice of pizza. He took a bite. “It’s cool, man. You literally just told me you’ve died multiple times. Plural. I can get over my hurt feelings. Seems kind of trivial in comparison.”

Damian frowned and ate some more rice. Colin ate his pizza. Then Damian set his fork down, resolute, grip tight on the handle. As evenly as he could, he said, “I apologize for not being a better friend to you.”

“Whoa.” Colin’s eyebrows shot up. His expression pinched with worry as he searched Damian’s face. “What happened, man?”

Damian swallowed.

Then the door opened again, and an older boy—sixteen or seventeen—peaked inside and asked, “Is this SAT prep?”

“Sure is,” said Daskalakis from the central desk. She stood and indicated Damian and Colin to follow her. “Come in, come in, I’ll set you up right over here.”

Damian stood. “Later,” he said in an undertone. “I’ll explain later. I promise.”

“Okay,” Colin agreed. “But if you disappear on me again, this time I know where you go to school, so there’s no use hiding.”

“Have you known me to ever hide from anything?”

Colin smirked and said nothing.

Damian’s face felt suddenly warm. “Shut up,” he said. “We have work to do.”

•

Surprisingly, tutoring his fellow students was not the disaster he thought it would be. There was some initial skepticism from the upperclassmen about being tutored by a fourteen-year-old, but after Daskalakis declared him “a genius prodigy or something, according to Yanez,” that eventually quieted. It helped that though the PSAT and SAT problems and questions were simple enough, the wording and specificity grated on him, and soon he was insulting the intelligence of the College Board and standardized tests in general. That endeared him to the upperclassmen, and afterward the rest of the lunch hour passed without trouble.

Colin sidled up next to Damian as he gathered his materials to leave and showed him a crumpled-up piece of paper. “What’s your next class?” he asked. It was his schedule.

“Physical education,” said Damian. He had already memorized his own.

“Oh, really? Sweet. Me, too. We’ll go to PE together. I met Coach Freeman at the orientation. I think you’ll like her. What about after?”

Damian listed off his afternoon classes: physical education, then biology, then ancient rhetorics, and ending with a free study period. They shared no core classes, only homeroom, lunch, and physical education. Colin teased him for taking the honors track, and Damian started to complain that the classes were not interesting let alone challenging. But then he got sidetracked by wondering why Colin was somehow not in the honors track but still Daskalakis’s assistant for community tutoring (which, Damian insisted, was a dumb idea for punishments and an even dumber name). Colin laughed and explained he mostly helped with the younger kids. He said he was good with them, thanks to all the practice he’d had helping the nuns wrangle traumatized orphans and foster kids while growing up in the orphanage.

“After all that, spoiled rich kids are easy,” Colin said. He nudged Damian in the ribs. “It’s why we’re friends.”

“I thought that was because we both liked beating up on creeps a little too much,” said Damian, wry.

Colin grinned, and for a moment his face seemed to take on the grisly severity of Abuse—Venom-distorted and menacing. “That too.”

Physical education—“Just call it PE, dude,” Colin said—was a bore, more than Damian had anticipated. After changing into their gym uniforms and the requisite round of introductions, Coach Freeman set them on an obstacle course made up of rubber tires and colorful ropes. Damian was not impressed. But he remembered what his Father had said about damaging school property and refrained from destroying the so-called obstacles as he passed his struggling classmates and returned to Coach Freeman.

“What now?” he asked. To his frustration, he had hardly broken a sweat.

“Excuse me,” said Freeman. “Why aren’t you on the course?”

“I’ve finished it.”

“You’ve finished it?” Freeman checked the stopwatch hanging from her neck. “In slightly under six minutes? I don’t think so. Did you take a shortcut?”

“No,” said Damian. “It was easy.”

“Right. Well, if it was so easy, then hop to it. Do it again,” she said. “And this time, I’ll be watching you.”

“Weren’t you already supposed to be doing that?” asked Damian, but he did not argue further and restarted the course. It was better than doing nothing and standing around like an invalid, anyway.

This time he forced himself to go slower, aware he had done something abnormal. But it wasn’t his fault he was above this child’s play. He jogged the 100 meters to the start of course, climbed up the wooden incline, jumped down, belly-crawled under the mesh ropes, alternated jumps between tires then between wooden slats, climbed the rope to ring a bell, balanced across the too-wide beams, swung from bar to bar, and finished off by climbing over three wooden walls of increasing height. At the last wall, he paused and pulled a girl who had been struggling for the last two minutes up and over. Then he jumped down and high-fived Colin, who had finished his first runthrough. Going slower had forced him to focus the strain on his muscles, and the burn in his body and clarity of mind was starting to feel comforting and familiar.

He jogged back to Coach Freeman. “Shall I go again?”

She clicked her stopwatch and stared at it. Then she stared at him. “Slightly under eight minutes,” she said. “What’s your name, son?”

“I’m not your son.” He crossed his arms. “And name’s Damian. Damian Wayne.”

“Wayne, huh?” Freeman grinned. “Well, Mr. Wayne, Gotham Academy’s happy to have you. What’s your poison?”

“Pardon?”

“Your sport, Mr. Wayne. Your sport. Everyone’s got one. And if you don’t, not to worry. The Academy’s got a team for everything. You’ll be attending the end-of-day assembly, correct?”

“It is mandatory,” said Damian.

“Perfect,” said Freeman. “The main teams will be doing showcases there. Scope them out, see what you think. General tryouts are in two weeks, and I expect to see you there.”

Damian grimaced. “Do you now.”

Freeman nodded. “Sure do.” Then her attention drifted; her nose scrunched, she blew her whistle and screamed across the field, “You two, under the mesh! Keep your hands to yourselves! No one needs to see all that!”

•

The rest of the day passed quickly. He ran the course twice more, for the hell of it, alternating between pausing to help a classmate over a particularly difficult hurdle or shouting at them to hurry the hell up so Damian could finish already. He got used to the rhythm of it, the formula of general teacher attention interspersed with student social-play. By Ancient Rhetorics, he was an old hat at describing his incredibly fun island adventure halfway across the world and not scowling whenever anyone bemoaned their envy at the life of a rich socialite without responsibilities or true problems. He had even managed to hold a few short conversations with two or three of his classmates, though for the life of him he could not remember their names. A day of nothing but introductions had thoroughly fried his brain and prevented him from retaining anything more complicated than Jessica—because there did seem to be an awful lot of Jessicas.

His phone buzzed as the early bell rang and he merged into the streaming crowd of students heading for the auditorium for the back-to-school assembly.

It was a message from his Father:

Dinner tonight.

He frowned and tapped out a quick reply.

“Hey, Damian, over here!”

Damian looked up. Across the auditorium, Colin was surrounded by a group of teenagers and waving him over. Damian approached, pocketing his phone as he went. Then he paused and groaned when he recognized the small girl with yellow hair ribbons hovering excitedly between Colin and another group of older-looking students.

Fuck it. Damian ducked behind some large boys in jerseys and helmets—not hiding, per se, just utilizing his extensive array of evasive maneuvers to achieve a desired outcome—but it was too late. She had already spotted him.

“Oh my crap! Damian! You’re here?!”

Damian sighed and accepted his fate. With as much dignity as he had left, he emerged from behind the football team.

“Of course you two know each other,” he muttered.

“Huh?” said Colin.

“It is you!” exclaimed Maps Mizoguchi. “Olive, look who it is!”

From the group of older students, a girl with platinum blonde hair glanced over and, seeing Damian, scowled. “Oh,” said Olive Silverlock. “I did hear a Wayne was coming to Gotham Academy. Weren’t you expelled already?”

“You’ll find I’m hard to get rid of, Silverlock,” said Damian.

“Yanez is a softie, of course she let you back in,” continued Olive, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Hammerhead would’ve rather died.”

“You guys know each other?” asked Colin, looking concerned and glancing between them.

“No,” said Damian and Olive, at the same time Maps said, “Heck yeah! We’re all friends!”

“Doth mine ears deceive me? Did I hear Wayne—as in billionaire, more-money-than-I-would-know-what-to-with, bordering-on-unethical-wealth Wayne?” An older boy with sunglasses popped up behind Damian and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Good sir, might I interest you in—”

“Remove yourself from my person at once before I break your arm.”

The boy held up his hands and stepped away. “Got it, got it. No touchy. I can respect that,” he said. “So, Wayne, how do you feel about acquiring some fireworks for your own personal mischief?” He tilted his sunglasses down, conspiratorially. “At a discounted price, of course. Us trouble-makers have to stick together, y’know.”

“Quit it, Colton,” snapped Olive.

“Yeah,” laughed Colin. “That was Damian being nice.”

“You associate with these people?” Damian asked.

Colin shrugged. “I’m a part-time member of the Detectives Club.”

“Pizza club,” corrected Maps.

“The what.”

“Nerd club that solves school mysteries and shit,” said a girl from Colin’s group of younger students. She waved. “Hey, I’m Jess. Nice to meet you.”

Another fucking Jessica.

“Damian,” said Damian, putting up a hand in greeting.

This started another round of introductions and names he immediately deleted from his memory. Who knew Colin was so popular? It was the first day of school; he had not thought it was possible to align yourself with so many friends so quickly unless your name was Dick Grayson.

Slowly, both groups of younger and older students shuffled forward to their seats, helped along by the half-hearted encouragement of manic-looking adults. Somehow, Damian found himself squished between both groups, Colin on one side and Maps on another, as they chatted across him about summer and clubs and the teachers they already hated. Sensing an opportunity Damian told them of his run-in with Headmaster Hammer that morning, which triggered another round of commiserating laughter and louder complaints about what a hardass Hammerhead was—for they called the headmaster Hammerhead. Olive and Maps were the only ones to defend him, citing his one-man defense of the Academy when Joker had tried to take over the city two years ago.

“So?” said Damian. “Joker’s a bitch. He tries to take over the city all the time. That’s not impressive.”

By which a stuffy-looking blond boy in the row behind them became offended, scoffing, and Damian begrudgingly felt his respect grow for Colin’s friends as they immediately dog-piled on the boy for his shit opinion. Then no one could agree who of the Gotham rogues wasn’t a little bitch. And the argument devolved from there until Olive said Batman was a little bitch, too. Everyone laughed.

The lights dimmed. An off-key note rang out as the school band warmed up, and Headmaster Hammer and Principal Yanez stepped on stage.

Slowly in fits and starts, the auditorium quieted, and the assembly began.

next ->

[nevermore-ocs]

Azrael x Plus-Sized!Reader: A Real Alpha

Author’s note: IT IS FINALLY DONE 9.3K WORDS OF THE FIRST PART OF AN X READER WITH THE ONE AND ONLY HUNTER ALIEN BOI AZRAEL!! Summary: After a painful break-up in between you and your previous partner, Azrael sees to it that you’re comforted and happy again to the fullest extent. Warnings: NSFW closer to the end THAT’S ALL-

“You do not have to shed any more tears for that mudak (asshole), (Name).”

Your ears nearly blocked that out, the sniffles staggering out of you with your body twitching in time your hitching breaths, Azrael’s words were almost muffled to you. “I-I’m sorry, Azrael,” you whimpered out, for what felt like the 50th times and like the numerous utterances before, he shook his head to brush off the apology, and his large, strong arm tightened around your waist and with gentle pushes urging you to snuggle your head onto his shoulder, he quietly spoke up again. “You have nothing to apologize for, little one, this is that cruel dog’s fault, not yours.” His hand, taking up most of the free space on your side, stroked slowly up and down, his digits lingering on your waist in soothing pets, it drew a shaky sigh from the depths of your chest. You at least attempted to even your breathing, but every rampant thought that rushed through your head and dug its way into your brain like a deadly spike and imprinted itself there. Any progress that you made of controlling yourself went down the drain, you felt the sobs start to rip through your body once more and on impulse, your arms shot out to Azrael and you clung onto him tightly, with your face buried into his broad chest. It felt like you were crying your eyes out, that if you kept going, you weren’t totally sure if you’d even have anymore tears to shed.

Azrael, overcoming the surprise of the swift, tight hug you threw around him, his open arms carefully closed around your frame in a much softer but warm hug, like as if he hugged you as tight as you were, he’d break you like a wilting flower with the gentlest breeze of wind bristling crumbling the weak, dead petals, but, his hands still traveled up and down the small of your back in slow, tender strokes, his digits taking a few moments to massage a certain spot in the middle of your tense, locked shoulder blades, surprisingly, it did make your rigid shoulders gingerly relaxed from their raised position, even if it was a gradual, crawling pace from the desired, fully rested goal, it was improvement, and even the tiniest amount was enough to make a gentle smile paint itself onto the alien’s face. “There you go, little one, there you go, you are safe, I swear it…” his low, accented voice rumbled through his chest, you felt it, what with your head nestled so much against him, his voice, as if it were a warm, quilted blanket, surrounded you in a comforting aura, to think that someone so dangerous, so otherworldly, would take the time out of his day to make sure that you didn’t cry over someone who didn’t deserve it, it surprised you, sure, but it made you happy more than you realized. Daxton was a dangerous place, humans being a smaller percentage of what roamed in the city’s streets, the fact that not only were you somehow good friends with the worst of the worst in this place, but you were currently being cradled in one of their arms definitely made you take a moment to compose yourself. You sniffled and tried to force your tears to halt for now to finally take a slow glance up at Azrael, the hunter alien who was from a distance icy planet who knows how far away, the same man who’s killed creature after creature with the very same tools that were petting your back and threading their fingers through your (hair color) tresses and taking those few extra steps to pet at your scalp before brushing back any lingering strands away from your face, sometimes you questioned to yourself how an alien could be so much kinder and sweeter than the humans you’re used to but after what happened, it didn’t take too much convincing anymore. If anything, humans could take a few lessons from Azrael in that department. You, at first, were going to sit back in the dip of Azrael’s lap and just let yourself relax, perhaps even drift off to sleep  as crying took more energy out of you than you originally thought, but, that’s when your eyes really drifted over the alien’s features to take in even the smallest of details. He was the enticing combination of cute, almost boyishly so, and worn-out ruggedness with every hunt that he’s been through taking one toll after another on not only his body, but his mind too. You could only begin to imagine the story behind the three long scars that bore deep across the entire horizontal length of his face, across his sets of eyes, his nose, even his mouth. “Azrael?” You peeped up, your voice, sounding more level than it did, was quite gentle and quiet to the ear, but his talented, pointed ones instantly heeded and he turned his head to face you and his half-lidded, sweet gaze met yours again. “Yes, little one?” He responded with the same kind of light whisper as you. Your heart fluttered, his deep voice honey on your ears, you leaned further against him, your head tilting some to the side and it rested on one of his shoulders comfortably and you gazed up at him in a trance, you couldn’t describe it at first, your emotions left your mind a disoriented, fuzzy mess but this felt right, this warm closeness with him, how his large, strong arms fit around your full, curvaceous body with little effort, and just how he was taking so much time in the world to comfort you, to ensure that your tears would stop that you would rest well and content tonight. He didn’t have to do this for you, at all, it wasn’t his job to, but with how he carried himself right into your room and made himself at home to fully care for you and only you, it was almost as if he needed to or else it wouldn’t sit right with him in his head, in his heart. “You don’t think I’m too big, do you? I-I know this is kinda out of nowhere-well, n-not out of *nowhere* but s-still, I, heh, I know it’s not the most attractive thing in the world-” His hand lifted and he cupped his palm over your mouth to silence your words, and your surprised eyes flickered up to his face, and his taken aback expression read of quiet hurt, as if the question itself, when you uttered it, it insulted him. He, at first, silently shook his head and then he spoke up, “Not at all, little one! Why would I be bothered by it? Is beautiful, yes? Is more to love! A fool would be bothered by something as trivial as that, who would complain getting to hug every inch of you? If you were my woman, you would be getting your body worshipped by me every single day, whenever you asked for me to do so. The Gods graced this world, this universe, with the perfect form of you, there is nothing wrong with you,” you didn’t know what to say, your mouth was partially hung open, words hanging off of the cliff of your tongue but they didn’t take that plunge, so, they stayed stuck in your mouth and you couldn’t help but the stare that came from you, riddled with disbelief and it seemed to the resonate with him as he picked it up, and he continued. “If you really think there is something wrong with your body, (name), let me reassure you, from the bottom of my heart and spirit that there is not one problem, yes? You are not ‘too big’, is not possible! Personal preference, I would want a bigger woman, be too afraid to squeeze a smaller one; I would break her!” His words melted into laughter, hoping that his little joke would conjure up some kind of laugh from you too, and his internal wishes were granted as the quietest of giggles escaped from your lips and left a smile on your face in its wake. “A real alpha,” he started again whilst he stood up from the bed finally with you hoisted up in his arms so easily, he held you in a bridal style and instinctively, your arms shot up from their resting positions on your stomach, and they coiled around his strong neck. Turning to face the bed, he bent over to slowly lower you to the cradling embrace of your mattress, and he slipped your looped arms over his head and he gingerly laid them across your chest and stomach, giving one of your arms a slow, deliberate caress til he reached back with the same hand and he even fluffed up a couple, or a few, of pillows amongst the bevy of them splayed across the head of your bed. “Wouldn’t let something so unimportant get in the way of making the person of their dreams their mate. To us, to me, it does not matter what you look like, you are kind, you are sweet, you are smart, you are a light that can be seen from even the darkest of caves, never forget that. How your body is shaped, how much you fill out your clothes, a dress, a palm even, is bonus!” He quietly chimed with a light chuckle fluttering out of him. Again, you found yourself at a loss for words, not even knowing what to begin with other than just laying there in a stunned silence with your (eye color) orbs gawking at him with your mouth hung ajar. Sometimes you wondered how he even existed, only to be quickly reminded he was an alien for a myriad of reasons, tons of which you were thankful for since in the back of your gnawed at the back of your mind, a thought that a human who even attempted to mirror the same kind as uplifting qualities as him wouldn’t even exist. He thought of you in such high regards that didn’t even fathom with you at first, but it touched you to say the least. He grasped the edge of your blanket and pulled it up to the bottom of your chin and he straightened it out across your body, making sure that it laid comfortably flat against your body, his hand, placed on top of your hip, cascaded down in a slow, smooth motion, rubbing the warm fabric down against your body. “Azrael…” You breathed out, he was crouched down next to the side of your bed with his chin resting on his crossed arms laid on the edge of the mattress as all four of his eyes glanced at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue, if you could this time.

“Thank you.” It wasn’t much, but it was definitely the loudest phrase echoing throughout your mind at first, if anything was gonna come tumbling out of your mouth in shy, touched mumbles, it was those two words. His eyes softened and his smile spread wider, enough for the tips of his sharpened teeth to peek out from underneath his lips, and somehow, it made him even cuter in your eyes. “You are most welcome, little one, and if you ever, and I mean ever, need to be reminded that you are a gift from the Gods themselves, do not hesitate to come to me again, okay? To see your eyes light up with sincerity and feel proud of yourself once more, it is the greatest treasure in the universe, and nothing would make me happier than to indulge in it more.” His hand unraveled from his crossed arms and he moved it up to one of your hands holding the edge of your blanket and he wrapped his fingers around yours and gave you a gentle squeeze, his thumb grazing over your knuckles and where finger met palm, his trained eyes making sure to watch his claws and to pull them away when they even got a centimeter too close to your skin, and after giving your hand a few more squeezes, he, to you, regrettably, retracted his hand back to his side and stood back up to his towering 11’0” height. You had to catch yourself, but your hand had outstretched from underneath the blanket’s edge, reaching out to grasp and hold his all over again, however, somehow, he didn’t notice, thanks to his head turned away to take a quick glance around your room and when he did finally lock gazes with you again, you snatched your hand away in time and hid it back under the darkened cloth. “It is late, and I can imagine crying made you tired. You should get sleep, rest up and get your strength back, yes?” He gave you one more genuinely sweet smile with a quiet hum flowing from him, before turning around to face the door and he even started to step towards it.

And it was there, staring at his fleeting back that the rest of the world seemed to just fade away until it was just you, gazing at the man who single-handedly changed the entire night for you, who made your negative thoughts seem to melt away into nothingness, to be long gone and forgotten about and to never grace your mind again to cause you harm, to actually put your faith again into something, what started to feel frivolous and unimportant, like love. The words fled from your lips quicker than you could catch them. “Azrael, wait.” Your eyes widened when you heard yourself, and then you were sure that your eyes were going to pop out of their sockets when he turned around to you all over again.

“Yes, little one? Something wrong?” What did you wanna say? Your mind was cluttered, the remnants of what happened prior still littering around in your thoughts in hurtful piles but then also growing overwhelmed with the comforting, blinding feelings towards Azrael’s overshadowing the damage that was done, it was confusing, you couldn’t explain it, but, you knew you didn’t want him to leave so soon already, did you?

“Stay with me.” 

Well, that certainly came out a lot stronger than you originally wanted or planned. Azrael’s eyes widened, and he jumped very slightly with the sheer shock running through his body, he almost did a double take by glancing at anything else in the room, away from you, only to find himself staring back at your own stunned face. You flickered your gaze around, your lips forming the possible fragments of words coming to your mind but nothing came out, it just looked like you were physically trying to search for the words in front of you instead of mulling them over in your cluttered mind. However, from staring over your form, the alien’s talented, analytical eyes studied you for only just a few moments, quietly deducing just what was bothering you all over again, and the cause of your outburst, both sets of his eyes softened whilst a low, quiet sigh escaped his nose, returning to your bedside, he reached up and placed one of his large, clawed hands onto your shoulder and he held it, squeezing in a soft, soothing way. “You are feeling обеспокоенный (troubled), conflicted yes? Trying to heal quicker from the pain done unto you, with me. Do not say things that you truly do not mean, you can feel better without me.” His tone had a gentle firmness to it, not coming off too strong that he was yelling at you or anything vile like that, but as if he was trying to teach a lesson to you, words of wisdom that hopefully would help brush away any of the confusions entangling your thought processes in its wicked web. You did listen, of course, even your eyes drifted downward to the top of the mattress. Maybe he was right. He certainly sounded sure of himself. Was this some kind of attempt to rush and hurry your soul through any pain? By getting over the awful excuse of an ex with someone who was most assuredly better than them in every single way, shape, and form? But, it wasn’t like you to do this with just anyone, I mean, you’ve known all of the villains for a couple of years now, and found yourself close to all of them and you considered Azrael one of the closest to you, and he you, but, did you *really* wanna take that dive? To do something more with him? It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before against your better judgement, it was confusing, and made you second-guess some other things in your head that once were set in stone, was now crumbling into unsure doubts. Then, there were those other feelings, like having him this close where his warm aura radiated from him and covered around you like a blanket, the black, deep-set, caring worriedness in his blacked out eyes and how they were focused on you and only you, Hell, even the very obvious size difference in between the two of you was heavily noted, not only by the fact that he easily towered over you when he stood up beforehand, but how when you reached your hand towards his, your palm and fingers managed to coil around, at most, two of his clawed digits and you held them tightly, almost emitting the fear that he would leave sooner than you wished. Dragging your eyes back up to his scarred face, your hand at your side traveled up and you cupped his cheek to the best of your abilities, being so much smaller compared to him. You thumb, in a gentle, ghost of a tender caress, rubbed over the risen skin from the part of the scar situated right underneath his upper right eye, and with you two locked in such an intense gaze, now it was his turn to slowly don a light blue blush that spread across his face in a gradual glow, even the tips of his pointed ears started to brandish the same kind of bluish hue. You gave him a defiant shake of your head, “I want this, I-I want to do this with you, I do, I know I do, t-this isn’t some kind of…” you rolled your wrist, searching for the word, “Coping thing or anything, I swear…! You mean a lot to me, Azrael, and I wanna do...something, anything with you, only you, please…” Getting all of this off of your chest, both of your hands shot up to his cheeks and you cupped them, corralling all of his wandering, nervous eyes from going all over the place to focus solely on you and as if mirroring you, he opened his mouth and his lips attempted to form the words coming at his mind all at once to the point where no words found their way out and instead was replaced with a quiet squeak similar to that of a puma’s, it was too cute for you not to let out quiet giggle while a smile snuck its way onto your lips. Craning your head forward, you pressed your forehead against his in a nudge, something small and sweet that he’s done with you before as an affectionate gesture and almost instantly, his head leaned forward into yours and he returned it, nuzzling the side of his head against yours as a low, rumbling chuff-like noise emitted from the depths of his chest, again, seemingly identical to the chuff noises that a tiger can make. “Is it okay?” You questioned again, one of your hands glided down the side of his face and rested on the nape of his strong neck, letting your fingers trace over the start of a scar underneath the skin-tight under-armor he leisurely wore, “If you don’t want it too, you know you can tell me that right? I-If this is like, I-I’m pressuring you or anything, tell me to stop, and I’ll stop, and I’ll go to bed like you told me to,” you hurriedly reminded him, honestly, how he was feeling about this whole situation burned at your thoughts on top of your own, Azrael wasn’t human in the slightest, if that wasn’t obvious enough, and with how he had no partner with him when he came here in the first place, the thought of him having never done anything sexual before flashed through your head for a moment or two. “N-No, no! I...my apologies, (name), you, grace me with your kindness, being so patient with me.” He was always so sweet, it made your pounding heart flutter and you smiled wider at him as you reached up and threaded your fingers through his ridiculously soft strands of pastel blue hair, petting through the light tresses. “I am...more concerned with how you feel. Being in a hurt state can make you want things to stop the pain and I am more than happy to lay here with you until you do rest, but, something like this...it cannot be big, if there is something smaller that you humans indulge into with your own mating rituals, I can be open to that, but it cannot be anything else.” You blinked, “Why not-” suddenly, you remembered, and you swallowed up the question just before it left you too soon. “That’s right, your kind, you...mate for life.” You dragged out a long groan, your hand shooting up to your face to clap your palm over your forehead, almost as an attack onto yourself for forgetting something so crucial like that but him being much more nervous than you now started to make a lot more sense. “I am *so* sorry I forgot about that part of your culture, Azrael, I-I, ugh god I wasn’t thinking at all.” Rubbing down, you squeezed the bridge of your nose with a hint of annoyance towards yourself before dropping both of your arms onto your lap in defeat with your head turned away and your eyes narrowed along with your brow furrowed, you quietly scolded at yourself under your breath. “I do not want to take advantage of you.” The words surprised you. Lifting your head back up and facing him all over again, your wide eyes gawked at him, worried and curious, especially the first since you had no idea that he was thinking that if you two really did something like this, that he was taking advantage of you. “Azzy, what? Why would you think that?” You questioned, his eyes glancing away momentarily before he started to explain in a low tone. “On my home planet, it is not rare for Alphas, most certainly male, to take advantage of betas and omegas, fearful of them, if they have to give up their bodies to keep them alive, a lot of them fell obedient to others.” His eyes finally locked back onto your face, “And with your heart being hurt, feeling inadequate when you shouldn’t at all…” his hand crept up, cupping your cheek this time and his hand easily covered up almost the entire side of your head and face, his thumb grazing over the skin right underneath your eye. “I did not want it to seem the same. Это ужасная вещь, которую делают жестокие собаки (it is an awful thing done by cruel dogs), may the Gods forever damn the ones who do it, is just one reason why.” You leaned forward quickly and slung your arms around the alien’s large, broad frame, barely making it around the middle of his chest, letting your head burrow into his front as if you were a tick, “Well you,” you started, lifting your head enough to let your chin rest on the top of his chest to gaze upward at his curious expression, teetering on hurt thanks to the not-so-fun fact that he told you about his people, it was almost positive he was worried it would alter your opinion about him at all since he always referred to himself as a true, real Alpha. “Are nothing like those assholes, you know that? I mean you really pride yourself in that-” You gently teased in hopes to get him smiling again and it worked, a little, when the crack of a smile started to break out across his face, “You’re so much more sweeter, nicer, kinder, sometimes, honestly, it surprises me how you’re even called a villain here! I-I mean other than the whole, ‘taking skulls thing’ but still-!” The minimal distraught that had casted over him prior faded away at your emphasis and he couldn’t help but let out rather hearty laugh, one of his strong, large arms hooking around your waist to finally return your tight hug with his head craning down, he nestled his face into your (hair color) hair and you felt the soft rumble of low chuffs blowing through the soft tresses against your scalp. “You like the skull I gave you, yes? That was not too evil!” He joked in return, and it pulled more shared laughter out of the both of you since you bubbling up into a fit of a giggles caused his own laugh to come from him too and, thanks to the happiness sweeping you up, and momentarily brushing away any crumbs of darkness shadowing your mind, you leaned up and pressed a kiss again his nose. The alien squeaked out one of those puma-sounding noises at the small sign of affection, and after drifting his gaze back down at your expression to study your features, he leaned in and returned it by brushing his lips against your forehead so lightly and gently in a chaste kiss, he was always so careful with you, and you had no problem returning it. “Something small, is okay, right?” He questioned, a lilt of shyness threading through his voice as he brought up the prior topic and with a nod of your head, and a gentle smile walking onto your face, “Something small.” You reassured him. However, naturally, Azrael assumed it would be focused on you over himself, since he started to gently stand back up and start to peel the blanket off of you again and it seemed as though when he saw more and more of your body became exposed in a slow, gradual show for him, his sets of eyes traversed the pleasantly long journey of your plush-soft, curvy sides and wide hips, how the belly you had dipped down and, beforehand, you would find yourself being shrouded in the crippling shadow of your own self-doubt and self-conscious but there was something different now, it wasn’t there. It didn’t even begin to manifest itself over you when he was peeking further and further. Maybe it had to do with just how comforting Azrael’s gaze was, riddled with understanding and not a speck of judgement anywhere within the darkness of his four eyes. When he looked at you, it sent a static through you, a spark that was more than determined to reignite the flame inside of your body, and its attempts were more than capable in doing just that. His four orbs alone were enough to make your heartbeat throb harder in your chest and make your breath hitch in your lungs, as if it were glued to the very edges themselves. Although, something stirred within you, sure, the thought of Azrael taking the reins to whatever you two were planning gnawed at your mind in pleasant chews, there was another idea that started to swirl around in your mind, not one of negativity, nothing like that, but something more on the giving side. He did so much for you tonight, striving to do what he always did so masterfully, maybe it was time to do something back for him. Just before the grand reveal of your lower half, his free hand inched over towards your hip and laid it palm down against your skin, pulling a quiet gasp from the back of your throat. His hand, effortlessly taking over almost all of the space on the top of your thigh, was the combination of both soft from the extra padding on his digits and palm, with the scattering of calluses splayed on the edges of his hands and in the bends of his fingers, manifesting a silent story of just how much he pushed himself into his hunting. Your heart pounded, the thudding of it slamming against your chest rattled through your skull and pierced through your eardrums, practically silencing everything else whilst you stared at him, the softened expression that stayed true to his face, decorated with relaxed, half-lidded eyes and a warm smile spread across his lips, his four orbs flicked up at you, you assumed at first, but it took only the feel of his sharpened claws gently pricking and prodding at the thin material of your panties as a little warning to you that he was about to tug them down and off of you, and it was a gentle, silent reminder of what you had planned and on the fact that he even took the time to ready you, to ask wordlessly if it was okay for him to do so, the motions of your plan sparked to life as if they had a mind of their own. “Azzy wait-” your hand crept up, and you grasped his wrist, to the best extent that you could, actually holding a part of him really put into perspective just how much larger he was compared to you as your digits barely even wrapped around one of the sides. He screeched to a halt in record time, both his palm and fingers left your side much to your chagrin, nearly snatching his hand out of your light grip, “Have you changed your mind?” He questioned softly with an understanding lilt flowing through his tone, however, you shook your head, and you sat up more properly on the mattress so that you could turn and swing your legs over to the edge of the bed like how you were prior, and your softened eyes flickered up to his adorably confused and concerned face, he even gave his head a slow tilt to one side as if he were a large puppy. “No, no not at all, but…” you soothingly cooed whilst you leaned forward and in time, the alien moved back just a step or two, to make sure he wasn’t crowding you. You released your grip on his wrist and now, it was your turn for your own private little show when your eyes started at the top of his broad chest and in a deliberate crawl down the contours of his sculpted body and internally, you were thanking your lucky stars for the thin piece of under armor that Azrael worse ever so casually, its fabric hugged around his defined torso, outlining every little ridge of his trained, bulging muscles, it left little to the imagination. “You did so much for me tonight, and, I know you’re gonna like, disagree, but you didn’t have to,” and just as you predicted, his lips parted to start the said disagreement, until, it was replaced with a quiet, husk of a gasp tip-toed out instead, thanks to your hand laying palm down onto his chest, and in a slow-moving, downward stroke, you dragged your palm lower and lower across the length of his torso, the tips of your digits rising when they crossed over the ridges of his defined body and the risen skin of a scattering of deep-set scars, shielded away from your gaze. Then you felt it, where his top met his bottom armor, seemingly blended in together to seem conjoined as one full piece only to be disproven when your fingers curled over the edge of his pants and nudged rim down ever so slightly, enough for your intruding eyes to sinfully sneak a peek at the thick-haired base of whatever he had down there. That was the thing about Azrael, with him being an alien, your imaginations were the limits of picturing just exactly what he had hidden down there, and you had your excitement of finally seeing the grand reveal to blame for when your thighs lightly pressed against one another. “(Name)...” Azrael mumbled out, his accented voice dangerously low, a dusting of a blue blush sprinkled across his cheeks, the temptation to move his hand to yours to lead it off of him so that he can fully take care of you over the other echoed throughout his mind, and at first, his hand almost carried it out, the tips of his sharpened claws drew close enough to lightly prick and scrape against the skin of your wrist, but for once, you were faster than him. Craning your head forward, your lips brushed against his abdomen in a chaste peck, and the tiny gesture it was, was enough to send his hand into a skidding stop, his eyes went wide, almost as if all four were threatening to pop out of his skull, “So now,” you started again, whispering against blue skin, your lips sensually walked down his abdomen, leaving a trail of kisses in your wake, some of them were quick that emitted a sense of urgency to move onto the next while some of the others you held down for a few extra moments or so, so when your lips broke the lip-lock, the shiver that rushed through his body was more pleasurably intense than the last jolt ending it’s electrifying current through his senses. “I wanna do something for you. You’re such a sweetheart, Azzy, it’s only fair that I return the favor and take care of you this time,” The feeling of thick strands of snowy blue tresses brushing up against your jawline in light tickles, your eyes flickered down, studying the thickly haired base of his privates before continuing, this time, your unused hand that resided on one of his inner thighs climbed up further and further in between his legs, “You, mmhf, you do not have to do that f-for me, little one, it is the Alpha’s job after all to-hnh!~” His words were suddenly cut off with a shuddering groan when your hand moved up and placed itself onto his sack, and with slow, groping squeezes with your fingers rubbing over him, your lips attacked the base of his privates with a numerous amount of kisses through the thick fur like hair, your eyes pried open and they flicked up towards his face, doused in a deep shade of blue that spread so far across his face, it reached the tips of his pointed ears that even twitched a few times with growing excitement. All four of his eyes were screwed tight, and his hand that hung at his side had shot up and clasped over his mouth as if to silence any fleeting moans that dared to escape his lips, however, that tactic wasn’t too successful in stopping every noise that emitted from him since in the deep pit of his chest, chuffing noises rumbled throughout his body and vibrated against his padded palm, and it appeared as though he was silently cursing those purring noises since every time one crept out from in between his lips, his already closed eyes would tighten more and even his fingers gripped at his mouth and jaw harder too. With your head lowered so far your lips tantalizingly close to where you were so determined to cover in kisses and licks and suck, you certainly weren’t prepared for what you witnessed. In the corner of your eye, your head leaned back enough to drink up the sight of the tent in his pants growing right in front of you, it was to be expected, and hoped for, that he was truly enjoying what you were giving him and if it wasn’t, you were damned sure to find something that he’d love more than anything while you two were like this while you had him. You just had to. Your hand clenched the front of his pants again, preparing to tug the rest of the fabric again, however, the tent grew more, and more, and more, until the tightening thin armor expanded to such a tight bulge, the fabric snapped, and his length sprung out from its suffocating cloth imprisonment and you didn’t know really what to say at first as you sat there, gawking at the unusual sight with a dropped jaw and wide eyes and, as if history repeated itself, you found yourself at a lost for words until your stuttering lips managed to conjure something up. “...holy shit.”  You marveled. His length was anything but the norm that you’ve seen or have been used to. The shape of it alone was the biggest difference, it wasn't human, at all, it was a long, thick, tentacle-like shape that had a thick base and as your eyes traveled further up to the tip, you noted how it started wide and thick but slimmed down until the head was a point, and along the length and around the girth of it all, it was covered with small spines, no bigger than a thumbnail but still, their quantity overruled the size easily, they were everywhere except the tip since there wasn’t that much space at the thin head, but, they were heavily condensed around the the third and final part, a swollen knot that throbbed a few times now that he was fully erect and excited and in tune with each throb of his knot, the tentacle part wriggled deliberately, almost as if it were hypnotizing you to lean forward with your mouth as agape as it is now and swallow around the shaft. “Is, is problem?” Azrael’s trembling voice was like a hook, line, and sinker since it pulled you out of your stunned bewilderment. Blinking profusely with a shake of your head to top it off, your eyes snapped up onto his panting, flushed face and just before any worry attempted to leak through the lusty haze that was spreading heavily through him, you shook your head. “N-No! I’m just, s-surprised! I, Azzy you have, A LOT, down here-” “...is too big?” “It’s fucking HUGE, but that’s not what I meant-” Your still hand rested on your thigh and your fingers clenched tighter into its fist as you stared, you really didn’t have any idea on how to start with something like this, sure, you’ve given oral to past partners, even the most recent one, but Azrael was different. Not only has he never, ever, experienced something like this, but because this was Azrael, the place in your heart that he happily took over was major, he mattered more to you than you probably both ever realized, so you wanted to make this perfect, better than just enjoyable, you wanted this big alien man to get weak in the knees and need to sit down next to you after he was done or, if you really knew what you were doing with just the type of equipment he had, maybe even in the middle of it, so, with a deep breath through your mouth and out through your nostrils, your hand shot up to his length and your hand coiled around the base of it, right above the knot and you gasped lightly to yourself while a quiet snarling groan rumbled through his chest. Just barely, did the tips of your finger graze the edge of your palm, at least your hand actually managed to wrap around something of his, even if it wasn’t enough. Your hand inched up, the spines underneath your hand brushed up against your palm, they flared up and down ever so lightly in time with the twitches and throbs of his shaft, the sensation was odd, yes, but definitely not tempting. Your hand continued, squeezing around his shaft, you stroked all the way up to his tip in a slow, smooth, glide, the spines flexing out only to relax again and when your hand ended it’s test run at his tip, your thumb pressed down onto the leaking slit to tease the opening in small circles, and with each rotation, thick, warm, and surprisingly sweet-smelling precum began to impatiently seep out of his tip, coating your digit steadily and you were only more surprised when you pushed your hand back down in another pump and it milked more of his pre to steadily drip out of his tip and leak out onto his shaft and even have droplets push out over the edge of the slit and drip down onto the floor beneath the both of you. “L-Little one your, your hand is already plenty, rest, mmhmf, rest your body, you do not have to do more~” Azrael husked out, his eyes fought to stay open, and through blurry lenses, he gazed down at you. His hands resided at his sides, and only momentarily did one of them inch up and forward towards you and at first, glancing at it in the corner of your eye, you naturally assumed that it was him possibly attempting to thwart your actions again, but with how his held out hand twitched and his digits trembled halfway there, it wasn’t like he was trying to stop you, it was almost as if he weren’t sure if he should put a hand on you again, like he was worried if he grabbed you too hard or placed it in the wrong spot while you were like this, it’d hurt you, so, with another breath, his hand retracted and fell back to his side again. Witnessing this, your eyes traveled back up to his flushed face and you let a smile dance onto your lips, “Do you trust me, Azrael?” You questioned and, yes, at first, you attempted to let a flirtatious lilt coat those words to make it sound more enticing, but, you truly wanted to know, even if him letting you do this was evidence enough that he did since he could very easily stop you in a number of ways, ones more violent than the last, still, it probably eased both of your racing minds and thoughts to have consent audibly said instead of just out in the open like this. After a few moments of catching his panting breath, a thin grin pulled onto his lips and he nodded gently down at you, his multiple eyes tender and true, “I trust you, little one, I-I know you would never do me wrong in something as passionate as this, and you, mhmf, you have my word with the Gods as my witnesses, you may trust me too.”

“...god how do you exist, you’re, such a sweetheart, Azzy, I swear…~” You giggled quietly, and continued when he shrugged as a little joke, as if he didn’t know, but after glancing back up at his face, and how he stared down at you with such a loving sensation pouring from all four of his darkened orbs, you have no idea how you manage to wrangle your internal thoughts of leaning up or pulling him down to your level to kiss him where you should have willed yourself to do beforehand when you were up there, every ounce of your body wanted to just slam your lips against his in a deep kiss, to feel him kissing back with all of the experience and courage that he could offer, and have his large hands grasp at your hips and rear to keep you pinned against his broad, strong chest so the kiss wouldn’t be broken too soon, but, that would have to be saved for another time. You were already down here like this, right where your desire for him burned so brightly, if you were going to do this, it was now or you’d never be standing on this precipice of courage ever again. Your (eye color) orbs drifted back down to his twitching, awaiting length, the bizarre sight of his cock wriggling up and down or side to side with the smallest of moments intrigued you, you had your hand to planted firmly around his base as much as you could hold while your free hand propped up against the upper part of his thigh, close to his hip, to give yourself a steady form of balance in case you found yourself getting lost in this since his sweet-smelling aroma was invading your nostrils relentlessly, and the delicious scents imprinted themselves onto your mind with little effort and it triggered your mouth to even salivate more and it seemed to act as a good sign for what you just had planned since your tongue hung out of your mouth to swipe over your lips in a slow-moving lick. You craned your head forward, the pointed tip of his cock rested against your plump bottom lip and in between the both of them, the tip of your tongue peeked through and it swiped against the dripping head in a testing lick, as if you were either showing Azrael how this would work or if you were giving yourself just a taste of his seed and seeing if your nose was deceiving your tongue. Azrael’s sharp teeth gritted, you could hear the sharpened bones clicking lightly against each other, and he sucked in a sharp breath through the small gaps, the hand that masked over his mouth and nose released him and started to rub down from the side of his neck, to his chest, and finally it dropped down to his side again, he grasped the hem of his shirt and his claws nearly tore into the thin, ocean-blue fabric. If he was like this after just one tiny lick, now, you found more of that confidence peering through your worry and doubt.

“Lemme take care of you, Azzy…~” You breathed out intentionally against the sensitive flesh of his cock, the tentacle-like appendage twitched in a wriggling jump while Azrael husked out a quiet groan to himself. Your mouth cracked open, the tip of his length snaked its way into your mouth, and as you pushed your head further and further down the inches, the exotic feelings and tastes overwhelmed you. The copious amount of pre spilling out of his tip and staining the back of your throat and tongue with the spines surrounding his shaft flared out and brushed against the roof of your mouth and the top of your flattened tongue, however, this time, they didn’t relax and go back down, it was like the spines were doing their unwritten and unspoken duty in keeping his cock sheathed far down your throat and mouth, and it was at that epiphany that you were thanking your shit ex for helping you out with something like this now. You pushed yourself more, and more, until, your lips halted at the top of his swollen knot, you peered at it, and as much as you would try maybe another time, today was not the day to risk a broken jaw trying to unhinge it to try and swallow his whole length, if anything, you were more impressed with how far you got on your first attempt. Azrael though, he was another story, he had the worry of being too big in more than one ways pierce at his psyche, he had question after question after question nervously wracking through his brain to the point where he didn’t know which one to ask first, if he had to do something, if you could take him, were you changing your mind at all, just to name a few and while, he was enjoying himself, more than he thought or imagined, your sound well-being came first overall. His hand fumbled with the crinkled hem of his shirt, if he was going to place it on you, now would be the most obvious time. So, with a light huff through his nose, his hand raised and much to your surprise, he planted it on the top of your head where his claws brushed through (hair color) tresses, petting the top of your head and your scalp gingerly, “Are you, mmhmf, doing...whatever it is you’re doing good, still, (name?) Don’t you, need to breathe, should I, mmf, sit down, pull back, I-” With a lift of your hand, you planted it onto his hip and it silenced his words, four blackened eyes met yours and with a watery wink and a muffled smile, you pulled your head back, smoothly, your tongue threading through the gaps in between his spines and it dragged across the bottom of his shaft, and just before his entire length left your mouth, you hurriedly slammed your head back down to his knot. Azrael’s head shot back, pulling a long, deep groan, deep from within the alien’s chest. You repeated this process a few times, sliding his cock almost all of the way out of your throat only to quickly swallow it down again until you found a steady, rhythmic pace to set for yourself, even your hand that was clamped around his base to hold his twitching length at the ready had replaced itself onto his other hip, and you gripped at him, fingers digging into blue skin, not enough to break the surface of it, not even in the silence, but mayhaps enough to cause a speckling of bruises to pop up later for him to be reminded of just what happened tonight. Your head bobbed up and down, your tongue danced around his shaft, grinding up against the sides of it and you did attempt a few times to swirl it completely around his thick shaft to no avail, at certain parts, so you made sure to give the poised spines extra attention by letting the tip of the muscle flick across a couple of specific ones. You swallowed around him, the constricting walls of your throat enveloped around his cock, massaging the tip and shaft. “Mmmhff~ Nnnhhff~ L-Little one, by the Gods themselves, your mouth, your throat~ So warm, so w-wet~ Tight~ It’s, is too much~ T-The fact that you, you humans do this, I-hnh-I won’t last long with, hhnff, with your skills~” The rest of Azrael’s words melted into his native tongue and while you could make out some words here and there, the rest almost sounded like complete lust-driven gibberish. He had leaned over you, his knees buckled like you had hoped, not enough to make him fall, but enough to make him not stand up straight anymore, and he had the edge of the bed to act as his savior to catch him if he did, and his hand that rested on the top of you head had inched to the back of it, and you could have sworn that you felt the faintest urging push of your head to swallow him down again. One of your hands had inched down from his side, it slid down the dip in between his crotch and thigh, and you cupped his sack again, your palm groping and rubbing against him, and you felt it, that tension inside of him starting to tighten further inside of him, he was getting close, it was sooner than you thought but again, this was all new territory for someone as battle-ridden as him, and you felt a sense of pride shimmer inside of you that you were the first person ever to do this to him, and with how he was, probably the only one too. You hollowed out your cheeks by sucking harder around him, and your head bobbed up and down his length faster than before, the quiet slurping that ghosted out from your lips was much more audible now, and the tip of his cock slammed against the back of your throat, muffled whines rattled through your body and shot through his length with gags and whimpers fluttering in between the latter and it didn’t take too much, maybe 2 or 3 more fast pumps of your head when a loud, ear-piercing, animalistic roar of pleasure ripped through Azrael’s body and shot out of his mouth. Wave after wave after wave of white hot pleasure crashed over his body when his orgasm rushed over him. His seed spurted out of his tip in thick, warm ropes, and with each pump, his hips trembled and bucked into your awaiting mouth and throat, his hot cum cascading down your throat in a sweet-tasting waterfall. His eyes were glued tight, staggering, trembling groans with the hint of growls rumbling through his body, his hand forced itself to release your strands and almost instantly, he forced his eyes to pry open to stare at his open palm and claws, checking to see if he tore anything out and with relief, even more so when he lazily inspected the back of your head and saw no imperfections, he stepped back gently, his hips relaxing and pulling back, his softened cock fled from your mouth and throat, strands of your saliva stretched out and connected your lips and his length together until you broke by licking your lips, and without it being buried so far down your throat, the air flew down into your lungs in a welcomed, deep gasp before you panted out heavily. “How…” your voice was hoarse, with a lick of your lips and a clearing of your throat in the form of a soft cough, you started again. “How was that?” You panted.

The alien stood back up straight, his pants were hiked back up and adjusted the way they were set before all the while panting breaths wracked through his body, making his chest heave. Strands of his pastel blue hair stuck to his forehead with the help of the sheen of sweat that coated his skin up there, “That was...if that was your throat alone, then the Gods have certainly blessed whoever will, hnn, be your mate, yes?” He rasped, “You don’t think it’ll be you?” You questioned back, and surprisingly, he chuckled tiredly through the catching of his breath. “A Goddess such as yourself should not have to settle on the first man who treats her with kindness, I am simply doing what should be done by the one you use to spend the rest of their life with you, what that excuse of a man should have done,” man, his culture was something else. It really did take you a moment or so that process really what he just pointed out, that the two of you doing this tonight, to him, because of what he’s been taught and brought up to, this could all mean nothing if you met something literally tomorrow and decided to stay with them for, forever, instead of him.

And he’d be okay with it. Your eyes softened, “Azzy-” His hands reached down and much like before, he hoisted your legs up and back over onto the mattress and adjusted you so that you laid comfortably against the slab before grabbing the edge of your blanket and pulling it up and over you to drape it across your still warm and humming body, “Now, you should be more than tired, yes? Talk to me later today if you wish, but for now, little one, I must see you in your dreams, hm? Greet me there with kindness, (name), pleasant night.” With one more kiss to the middle of your forehead, he leaned back up to his towering height, his eyes half-lidded and fixated on your face, a warm smile played at his lips before giving you one more final nod, and he turned around, you stared at his sculpted back, the words were at your lips again, but this time, it was too late, the door opened and Azrael stepped out, but, not before giving you one more tender, true smile and even a little wave with his fingers, and the door closed.

“...I love you, Azzy.” The words found their way on the path out of your mouth after all.

[magpiemorality]

“I made a bet. I lost. It’s simple as that.” With Platonic Janus and Virgil?

I’m hot, from the bones to the flesh. + Prinxiety - Anonymous

So many POV shifts, this is messy AF, but it felt most natural to write it like this and I am loathe to edit it into something not as fun! 

AO3

***

Roman shrieked, running through the hallway and crashing through the door to his best friend’s dorm room, slamming the door shut behind him. Remus looked up with a raised eyebrow, giving the other guy a once over before hitting pause on his ps4 and pulling his headphones down around his neck.

“Okay what the f-”

“He’s a monster!” Roman yelled, beginning to pace. “An actual monster! I think he wants me to suffer!”

“Is this about-”

“Virgil! My evil roommate!”

“... Right.” Remus mentally prepared himself not to go back to gaming anytime soon and got comfortable as Roman’s vent began.

Five weeks ago they’d moved into their new dorms with bright smiles and heaps of enthusiasm, pleased to be in the same building, on the same floor, even if they weren’t rooming together. Remus had lucked out with Patton, the nicest guy to ever nice, who didn’t mind his odd hours and strange taste in decor. In fact Patton had seemed delighted to have someone to parent, by virtue of being the oldest in a family of six, and only a little morbidly fascinated by the chaos gremlin that was Remus on a daily basis. The going theory was that Patton was probably from a pretty conservative upbringing, and Remus was either his gay awakening or just his introduction into the reality of college boyhood. The bet was still ongoing but Roman remained hopeful.

So yeah, Remus had got very lucky. Roman on the other hand, had been stuck with Virgil. Virgil who was beyond weird. Roman could have handled weird, but Virgil seemed more determined to mess with Roman’s head, and boy was it working. 

“He said, get this- he thinks his eyeshadow is starting to tattoo into his face, but he needs to sleep on his face more. But he’ll use a straw so he doesn’t suffocate overnight. He can’t be real, Remus! And then when I went to close the window because it was getting cold he just, he just said, oh what was it? Yeah! ‘I’m hot, from the bones to the flesh’. What does that even mean?!” Roman wailed, arms wildly flailing to express just how passionately outraged he was. Remus just stifled a snort and the thought that Virgil sounded pretty great fun, offering Roman a vague humming sound of sympathy and a pat on the shoulder. Roman never really needed much of a conversation in these moments anyway, he’d be fine just monologuing. 

Several dorm rooms down the corridor a similar dialogue was taking place over the phone. Virgil groaned as he confessed the random impulsive thought he’d voiced that day as his own best friend Janus cackled on the other side of the call. “You said what?!”

“I know! I know. And his face! Oh god, Jan, he’s so hot and it’s so sad. Do I really have to keep this up the whole year?! I just want to date the pretty boy, Jan!”

His friend’s heavy sigh was music to his ears, signalling a possible end to this terrible torture. There was only so long you could stand being made to convince your hot (and also incredibly gay and available) roommate you were from another planet after all. 

“Fine, Vee, fine. But you gotta keep it up until, maybe Thanksgiving? So you can go away and then pretend you came back normal and he was imagining the whole thing!”

“Janus!” Virgil whined. 

“Okay! Alright. You can tell him. But don’t you dare try and talk about sappy love stuff with me if you actually get together. Swear it.”

“I swear, I swear. Thanks Jan. I gotta go now though, he could be back soon. I want to get this makeup back to normal now I don’t have to play the part of asylum zombie number three.”

“You’re gross and romance is gross but knock ‘em dead I guess.” 

Janus rang off with a click and Virgil made sure to send a spree of emojis to properly finish their chat before setting to work. 

The Virgil that Roman returned to was almost certainly not the one that he’d left. For one thing the crazed eyeshadow had become a tasteful and highly attractive makeup look, deepening and warming his brown eyes. Huh. Now Roman hadn’t not noticed that Virgil was pretty cute, willowy and well-groomed with dimples to boot, but that had been the first impression before all the other stuff started, so he’d kinda forgotten. It all came back as Virgil stood from his bed, wiping his palms on his jeans quickly and offering the most awkward of half-waves and shy smiles. 

“Are you a pod person?” shouldn’t have been the first thing out of Roman’s mouth but, well, it was, and there was no going back from that. Virgil’s hand faltered in the air and then rose swiftly to the back of his head with a sheepish chuckle. 

“Um, no. But I do have a confession to make?” He replied. “About uh, my behaviour. It’s been kinda weird. But that was deliberate. Not that I like, actually wanted to weird you out, that was just an uh, unfortunate side effect. It’s just that, well, okay I made a bet. I lost. It’s simple as that. And the guy who won, my friend Janus, he’s cool but god can he be a bitch. Never ever play any game against him, I swear. But! Back to the ah, the point! So the forfeit was, he told me all these weird things to do and say to my roommate and I had to do it! I mean I guess, I could have just not done them? But it was kinda funny, like a prank. Um, a harmless one. Right? Well anyway that’s done now! No more weird Virgil! Totally normal me! That’s, that’s good. I hope.” He trailed off as Roman continued to just stare at him. 

In all honesty his thoughts were mostly full of ‘wow he’s really cute’ and ‘he’s talking a lot does that mean he’s nervous does that mean he likes me does that mean we can date now’. Only Virgil waving a hand in front of his face brought him back to reality enough to reply, clearing his throat and blinking quickly. “Oh! Um, very good. Yeah, that’s cool. It’s cool you’re not actually a pod person, or an alien sent to study human life through experiencing college. Which was definitely not a theory I had okay let’s just move on from that right now.”

Virgil snickered, shrugging a shoulder. “Okay. I mean, I can see that, it’s a good theory.”

“Right?!” Roman gasped, stepping forwards. “There was the whole utensils thing, and then the-”

“The jelly?”

“The jelly!” They shared a laugh, watching each other closely. “So you’re not actually like that. What are you like, Virgil?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy,” Virgil shot back, sitting on his bed comfortably. He cast his eyes over at Roman when he sat on his own bed, smiling back shyly. 

“Yeah, I would.”

Virgil just returned the smile, ducking his head down when a blush threatened his cheeks. 

The conversations with their respective bff’s the next day would end with Remus laughing for so long he turned purple, and Janus hanging up no less than six times in ten minutes as he tried to avoid the lovesick speeches Virgil was determined to throw at him. 

It was a much better way to continue the year. 

-

Masterlist | Buymeacoffee

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Green

My first attempt at a modern au! Based off a fantastic idea by @minky-for-short where Stephen and Lucien's relationship starts off as a sugar daddy arrangement!

Please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3

-----------

If anyone had asked- God forbid, he’d rather die- Stephen would have rushed to his own defence. He’d probably have done it while turning bright red and spluttering but he’d have insisted it was just a matter of timing.

It wasn’t a lie. He’d have to work right up until he went to meet Lucien if he wanted to get the reports on his last few cases submitted in time. Lucien had meetings early in the morning, Stephen didn’t want to ask him to push their date back any further than he already had and the thought of cancelling...well that wasn’t an option. Not because of Lucien, who was extremely flexible and understanding as far as people in this kind of arrangement went. He just couldn’t and he wasn’t going to give it any more thought than that.

But it was just because of the timing. Stephen wasn’t getting off on this or anything. There just wasn’t going to be time to change into it between the end of his overly long day at the justiciary and the start of his date so wearing it all under his work clothes was the only option. He’d have insisted that until he ran out of air, if anyone had asked, probably before jumping out of the nearest window.

But this, Stephen did have to admit to himself, was entirely indefensible. This was just because he was a hopeless degenerate.

“Just going to the bathroom,” he announced in what he hoped was a casual tone, dropping his pen down with a thunk on the blanket of newspapers spread out on his desk, ones he’d been scouring for signs of magical miscreancy. More than half of their cases came from just noticing something odd in those tiny stories crushed up into the margins of local papers.

From the desk that joined onto his, though much neater and better organised and with less coffee cup rings etched permanently onto it, Esther looked up with a frown.

“I’m not your teacher, Steph. But okay, good for you,” she muttered before turning back to her computer. She’d lost their game of rock paper scissors that morning so it was her turn to deal with all of the emails that were inevitably sent to the justiciary every day, majority of which were complete nonsense and all of which were painful to read.

Stephen winced, snatching up his phone and making a quick exit before he could make it any more obvious that he was hiding something. Getting to the bathroom was harder that it really should have been, given how close the desks were shoved together, how many stacks of papers sat precariously on desk edges, how many odd trinkets and artefacts humming with magic were left to scatter across the faded carpet. But Stephen had worked there amongst the justiciary’s chaos for long enough that he made it to the other side of the cramped office without causing a disaster, only needing to nudge a few things back into place with his power as he went. Thankfully at this hour there was no one else still here to express their irritation.

The bathrooms in the Council Building were a microcosm of the rest of the place- too small, poorly maintained, outdated and a decent place to cry when overstressed, overworked and overwhelming. But for once, Stephen was rather grateful for that fact because it meant the bathroom was only built for one person at a time, meaning he could lock the door and be confident that no one was going to walk in on him doing what he was about to do.

Stephen pushed back his hair and gave a long, steady exhale. Since he’d entered into this arrangement with Lucien Vaudrey he’d been doing a lot of thinking with cock rather than his brain and, honestly, he’d had no reason to regret it yet. Save a few mornings where walking wasn’t as easy as it might have been.

So his brain didn’t get a look in, he put his back to the door and quickly yanked open the first few buttons of his shirt, just enough that he could pull his collar aside and show a little of what was underneath. Not too much, just the start of the lacy paneling that made up the band that circled his upper chest, the edge of one of the black straps that zig zagged across his body in an array that had taken longer to work out than he was willing to admit.

Stephen ran his thumb along the black lace, shivering a little. He’d been so wrapped up in his work since walking into the office that he’d mostly forgotten it was there but every so often he’d shift in his chair or he’d stand too quickly and he’d feel the feathery touch of all that silk slip between his skin and his clothes like a caress. He’d had to shove the awareness away very quickly before it could send any more than a quick jolt to his groin and was just thankful that today had been one spent entirely at his desk.

But he was only wearing it because of the timing. He was on a tight schedule. Of course.

Now, as he flicked his phone camera open with a thumb and held it at a slightly raised angle like he’d seen people do when they knew far more about taking selfies than he did, he couldn’t help but be aware of it all. The way it snaked around his body and held him tight, branching out like roots hidden in the ground, putting the barest pressure on his hips and chest and the curve of his arse like the ghost of Lucien’s hands. Invisible under his deliberate choice of a dark blue shirt and his usual shabby suit, except for the barest glimpse he was allowing. Only known to him.

And now to Lucien.

Stephen took a quick photo of himself, holding his shirt open with one hand, using a little of his power to brighten his eyes. Of course he didn’t find the picture particularly impressive, all he saw when he looked it back over were the hollowness of his cheeks, the jut of his overly large nose and the immense bags under his eyes. How his hair needed brushing and the out of place tooth that showed in the slight part of his lips. But he’d learned to trust Lucien’s opinion on these things, his blindness to all the flaws that jumped out to his own eyes, and his lover’s response to this picture was too good to pass up for the sake of insecurity.

So he opened up the many texts he’d been exchanging lately with the contact in his phone that was nothing but an emoji of a feather. He typed out a quick message before attaching the photo and sending it on it’s way.

Got your present this morning. What do you think?

Stephen gathered himself together quickly, buttoning his shirt again and checking swiftly in the mirror that nothing was showing through. He wasn’t sure what someone looked like when they were wearing lingerie under their clothes but he tried to make his whatever the opposite of that was. With a thought, he set off the old, roaring hand dryer so it would sound like he’d been doing something people were supposed to do in bathrooms. When dealing with Esther, there was no such thing as overcovering his tracks.

He navigated his way back through the obstacle course of office equipment and magical paraphernalia to where Esther was scowling at her computer screen and stabbing the keys as she typed.

“I swear, if we get one more sodding email about UFOs I’m going to throw this thing out of the window,” she declared, viciously deleting like each one had offended her personally.

“Y’know there are days I wish practitioners actually were secretly working for a cabal of interdimensional aliens,” Stephen hummed, sliding back into his chair, “We’d probably have more funding if we were.”

Esther gave a mirthless snort of laughter, the text on her screen reflecting in her glasses, not even glancing from it as she took a swig of coffee. A mug had appeared on his desk too, freshly steaming.

Stephen was about to thank her when his phone buzzed in his hand, making him jump. He scrambled to check it, feeling his heart thud when he saw it was from Lucien. Two messages, short and sharp and impossible not to read in his cool tones.

Beautiful witch

You are in so much trouble

The handful of hours between those messages and half past ten had felt like an eternity. Enough that Stephen couldn’t hide his haste as he nearly sprinted from the Council Building to the Underground. He spent the long ride from the shabby borough the justiciary called home to Knightsbridge staring at his phone, rereading that message over and over again, his mind running away with all that so much trouble implied. He knew fine well he was going to arrive flushed, already half hard and salivating, ready to do whatever Lucien asked of him.

He wove his way through the evening crowds, stumbling into the bar they always came into. It was a sleek, expensive looking place, the kind of bar he’d never set foot in if he hadn’t been beckoned by Lucien. He felt every penny in his meagre paycheck when he walked through the door but he did like the warmth, the rich leather, the fact that nearly all of the other couples there were pairs of men too. He liked how Lucien would put his arm around him as they sat in their usual booth and he’d feel that flicker of belonging, in spite of everything else.

Stephen’s eyes, betraying his excitement more than anything else by being a sparking gold, tracked over the room until he spotted him. Lucien, having far more control over his working hours, often arrived well before Stephen and sat with his laptop or a book or a newspaper, a glass of whiskey at his elbow. But today the table before him was clear of distractions, he simply sat with his fingers steepled at his lips, his fine features set into an expression of patience. The kind of face a hunting cat would wear, knowing their prey would be along in due course.

And when his clear, grey eyes locked on Stephen, he simply smiled.

Swallowing hard, the younger man leapt to attention, clearing the bar and sliding into the booth with his lover.

“Evening,” he tried, casually, though his heart was hammering and his cock was aching.

“Just what did you think you were playing at, sweet boy?”

Lucien dispensed with the pleasantries, his voice already dropped into the low, rolling tones he used when Stephen was about to lose his clothes. He spoke softly so their conversation didn’t carry past the oak panelled confines of their booth but not enough that Stephen missed the heat in his tone. He tried to get a grip on himself, he had a feeling he’d need to walk across the room before too long.

“I thought you’d want to see,” he shivered as his tone slipped almost unconsciously into something playful, something teasing and faux innocent, an affectation that would have made a past version of himself gape in disbelief, “It looked so pretty and the note said you wanted me to wear it tonight…”

Lucien’s eyes flashed, “Did the note say to be a little prick tease and send filthy pictures to me while I was infuriatingly far away and couldn’t get my hands on you?”

Under the table, Stephen felt Lucien’s far longer, wiry muscled legs slide over his own. After waiting all day even that bare contact, through two layers of clothing, had him swallowing back a whimper.

"No...” Stephen dropped his chin, seeming to bow under the intensity until he let his eyes flicker up and catch Lucien’s, “My lord.”

He watched as the hard line of his lover’s jaw tightened. They’d been in this arrangement for a couple of months now and one thing Stephen had learned, amongst a host of new desires he’d never suspected he owned, was those words. Those words, referencing the titles that Lucien actually did own but denied in his everyday life, were essentially a crooked finger. They were Stephen essentially pinning a badge to himself that read ‘complete and unapologetic brat’, carte blanche for Lucien to master him however he saw fit. To break him, if required.

“Then you deserve everything you’re getting, don’t you?” Lucien shifted into something not unlike a lion winding back to pounce, “Because if you’re going to act like a slut, that’s exactly how I’m going to treat you.”

Stephen felt those words grip him by the nerve endings and he knew fine well he was fidgeting but didn’t know how to stop. He just looked at Lucien with mute, pleading surrender.

“I am going to get up and go into the men’s bathroom,’ Lucien gave the low command, “In five minutes, when you’ve got some kind of control over yourself, you’re going to join me. And I am going to show you what happens when you think you can make me wait. Colour?”

That last word was ever so slightly softer, offered rather than dictated. Lucien never failed to check in with Stephen whenever they were playing. It was in their agreement, of course, but Stephen had the strong sense this was just how the man would be with all his partners, for all his domineering tendencies.

Stephen swallowed and glanced around. There weren’t many people in at this late hour, this bar was more of a sophisticated runway for a night out and most of the crowds had moved to somewhere louder and more raucous. Just a few couples, like them, more wrapped up in each other than anyone else, not quite ready to let their dates end. He did some nervous mathematics on how likely they were to get caught, balancing the number of other customers with his ability to double lock the door with magic, dividing in the failsafe that he could always use a little bit of fluence in a real emergency…

Hopeless degenerate, Day, his brain sighed.

“Green,” he murmured and he couldn’t help the grin that flickered to life on his face, just for a moment.

Lucien clearly forgave the break in character, answering with one of his own before composing himself and smoothly rising, looking effortlessly in control as he loped casually towards the gent’s. Stephen stared at his arse the entire time without much remorse. He’d already made his bed, after all.

He timed the five minutes on his phone, drinking the remainder of Lucien’s whiskey in the meantime, giving the heady, smoky taste of it every scrap of his attention in an attempt to redirect some blood flow. It took the full time before he judged himself ready to walk across the room, before he could scramble up and follow like a dog at his master’s call.

Twice in one day, Stephen found himself endlessly thankful for single-person bathrooms, as he was yanked into one by the front of his shirt and the door slammed behind him with the very reassuring click of a lock. He double secured it with a little magic, all the same, as Lucien kissed him fiercely.

“There you are,” Lucien purred once he was done bruising their lips, not letting go of Stephen’s lapels and keeping him awkwardly standing on his tiptoes, “Surprised you managed to wait the full five.”

“You told me too,” Stephen gasped, aware that Lucien’s eyes were looking into his shirt, hungrily tracing the lines of lace that were now visible.

Lucien chuckled, “Too late to try and be a good boy now, darling. Shirt open. Trousers down.”

Stephen willed the ether into work, knowing it always impressed Lucien just a little to see the buttons and zips and buckles falling away with apparently no effort at all. It was quicker too, only a few moments before he was as instructed, all of the lingerie now visible to Lucien’s searching gaze. He seemed to drink in the sight, his gaze ravenous as those grey eyes slid up and down the length of him.

“Didn’t I tell you that you’d look divine?” Lucien groaned appreciatively, running a finger under the lace trim below his chest, raising goosebumps as he went.

“Uh huh,” Stephen gasped, unable to be more articulate than that, his need drowning everything else, “My lord…”

“Against the sink, sweet boy,” those strong, slightly calloused hands took his shoulders and guided him until he was bracing himself on the edges of the sink, Lucien’s chest pressed against his back, “I want you to see yourself.”

So Stephen watched this other version of himself in the mirror, bathed in harsh light from overhead. He watched as his pupils blew wide, as his slightly swollen lips parted in a gasp when he felt Lucien shift to pull a bottle of something out of his jacket pocket. He watched this ethereal, high contrast version of himself flush as one large hand caressed the curve of his ass through the lace before hooking it to one side. He watched his eyelids flutter and his head tilt back when a slick finger teased him open, and saw his lace wreathed chest heave when it breached him. Stephen watched this man who was somehow him be opened and readied with care and attention, felt every moan reverberate in his own chest, felt his own nerves pulse and thrum with pleasure. And he found himself thinking, as much as he’d been unable to say it before, Lucien had been right.

He’d told him he’d look divine and he did. He’d told him he was beautiful and he was. Maybe he always had been.

“Ready?” Lucien murmured, grazing his earlobe with his teeth, “Give me a colour, sweet boy.”

“Green,” Stephen gasped, voice raw and ready to snap, “So green, my lord, please…”

He felt Lucien’s laugh echo through him, his arms coming around to press them close, “You need to be quieter, darling, or we’ll need to find a new date night place.”

“Well get on with fucking me then,” Stephen grumbled, forgetting himself in his desperation.

“Ah ah ah,” Lucien let his voice grow dangerous again, one hand snaking down to squeeze his aching cock through the lace panties, none too gently, “What kind of tone is that, sweet boy?”

Stephen whined, biting his lip and shuddering, “Sorry, my lord.”

“Better,” Lucien pulled his hand back, using it to unzip himself, “Don’t I always give you what you need?”

He proved his point as he moved the panties aside again, pressing into Stephen, now giving him everything he needed with no hesitation, right up to the hilt. Stephen had to fight to stay quiet, gripping the sink with white knuckles, planting his feet as far apart as he could to try and make room. Lucien paused, kissing the crown of his head, before finding a steady, natural rhythm with his hips, aware they didn’t exactly have a lot of time.

Stephen melted into it, gasps and grunts as soft as he could make them wrenching from his chest, shuddering as Lucien’s hands began roving again. Between the hand working him through the fabric and the cock pounding into him, the tension climbed punishingly fast, until he was scrabbling for balance, heart pounding, breath coming in desperate pants.

“I...fuck, Lucien, I’m there, I...oh god,” he gasped incoherently, arching back against his lover.

“I’ve got you,” Lucien groaned, shifting to work at a deeper angle, “Come for me, sweet boy.”

Stephen did, with a strangled moan, all of the waiting and teasing and tension unravelling in one blissful moment that turned his vision white. A heartbeat later he felt Lucien empty into him, heat pooling low in his stomach which then ignited into the familiar rush of power their lovemaking always gave him. He went rigid, feeling that rush that was so, so close to too much, but he knew it would ebb and leave him boneless and trembling in Lucien’s arms.

“We...may not have thought this through,” Lucien panted, steadying him gently.

“Because I’ve ruined the lovely underwear you got me?” Stephen murmured, closing his eyes a moment, “Because we’ve somehow got to clean ourselves up and walk out of here with some dignity? Because you might have to carry me because I’m not sure I can actually walk?”

Lucien chuckled, “All of that. But also…”

He held out his arms, showing the patches of tan skin where the magpies should be. They were off again, animated by Stephen’s magic, a few already exploring under the lace, pecking curiously.

“I really should have worn long sleeves,” Lucien admitted.

Stephen couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, both hands flying to his mouth to try and muffle the sound. Lucien dissolved too, burying his face in Stephen’s curls as he shook with wracking laughter.

Stephen knew, with his trousers around his ankles and shirt slipping over one shoulder, standing in a public bathroom freshly fucked and wearing lace lingerie, he should be feeling like a hopeless degenerate. And he did, pleasantly so. But that wasn’t the only thing.

If anyone had asked him he would have denied it. But in that moment, Stephen felt loved.

[dclevinson]

August 21: my kaddish month

I’ve sent this to a number of people, but I’m putting it here too in case some readers who might be interested will stumble across it:

A little more than a month has passed since Cindy died, and I get asked a lot how I’m doing. My standard answer starts with a couple ways of framing:

 --- the earthquake is over, but there are lots of unpredictable emotional aftershocks

 --- I’m past the Shock & Numbness phase, but normal life doesn’t seem normal. Lots of How Can This Be Real moments that can be disorienting and distressing

 --- many times emotions collide: how much to lean into or away from grief, how to feel it’s OK to feel OK when I do, how keep her with me and move forward too, etc

 I suppose at some point a fascination with grief can start to make others uncomfortable, but grieving has a logic of its own. One key part of “after” life was the 30 days of daily religious services I attended to honor her memory.  I found the routine and --- surprisingly, the ritual --- spiritually nourishing. Cindy’s eyebrows always shot up at the word “spiritual.” Usually mine too. I hope those of you I send these four pages to don’t find it too tedious Perhaps it’s a way of keeping Cindy in your thoughts and hearts too…

       I am a most unlikely daily mourning ritual observer. I didn’t do it for my father, and he asked us not to. But the ritual mourning prayers and the place where I’d be doing it meant a lot to Cindy, so I just committed without much deliberation. One problem in writing about a fairly traditional type of observance is that the spectrum of Jewish religious practice can be mystifying, even to many Jews. So how explain it to outsiders? I’ve tried to do it without being either too reverent or irreverent.

 One basic mourning commitment is to say “kaddish”, the mourner’s prayer, for a set amount of time. Jewish practice and custom is intellectually intricate and often arcane; there are rules and exceptions to rules and different interpretations of rules, etc. There are other customs/demands for remembrance too. Many think of saying kaddish as a year long commitment. Plus yearly anniversaries, set to a moving Hebrew calendar --- just to add to the degree of difficulty. But even the year thing has permutations: actual practice for some groups is 11 months, not 12.

 Why?. Different interpreters and communities make their own choices on duration. Our ritual director says “eleven.” Basically, some 13th century source says that “the wicked in Gehinom took 12 months for their souls to reach the highest levels of heaven.” But most Jews don’t even believe in a physical heaven!? Never mind. So, the reasoning goes, if the wicked took 12 months, we’ll mourn for 11: because our beloved Was Not Wicked. Welcome to Talmudic reasoning. But, traditionally, the year(ish) is for parents and children. For spouses the allotted time is 30 days. Though many people today may just do a year for anyone in the family. Thirty struck me as the perfect amount for the act to stay meaningful, helpful and not something I would treat as an increasingly resented chore.

 It’s not a prayer that religious custom allows you to say by yourself. You need a minyan (quorum) of 10. It used to be men, but now men or women, at least at our conservative temple (shul, synagogue, whatever --- more insider confusing terminology). But some do say it by themselves for the comfort it brings if finding a group is too arduous. And I cheated a couple days by joining the group virtually. But I found being with a gathering of supporters did matter to me. I could have gone to a shorter evening service to do this, but preferred the morning time. And came to think a 40ish minute observance time a good block to have meaningful daily impact.

 And then there’s the prayer itself. I realized right away that the weekday morning prayer service had many different kaddishs, similar prayers of thanks for and praise to a divine entity. But there’s one specific mourner’s version, said 3 times in oour short 40ish minute service. Twice, almost in succession at the end --- overkill or emphasis, depending on your point of view. Why the repeats? Haven’t pursued that yet. And, as some of you know, the prayer for the dead doesn’t mention dying or losing loved ones or honoring their memory, etc. It just profusely praises God (and lots of different words or phrases to refer to such entity since he/she/it is too holy and all powerful to mention the Real Name). Some phrases: “May god’s name be exalted and hallowed, his sovereignty soon accepted… glorified, celebrated, lauded, worshiped, exalted, honored, extolled and acclaimed… Lots of current Jewish religious practice incorporates the Middle Ages wholesale. Or earlier. Read the English on the facing page of the prayer book and much of the service sounds like the practice of a small, threatened tribe huddling in the desert thousands of years ago.

 There’s a lot about Jewish practice that seems natural and essential to practitioners but might alienate the uninitiated.  Or reluctant observers like me. The head coverings. The shoulder covering prayer shawls. The standing for this (many do: why not all??!), turning right for that, covering eyes for this line, fingering prayer shawl strings (tzitzit) for that. Whew. So many prayers and practices for so many different occasions. Designed, I’ve thought, to cement the devotion of believers. But it repel skeptics, too, I surmise.

 One such example: in these early services most men put on tefillin. Leather straps with little black boxes attached (a prayer inside) that have very specific wrapping/unwrapping  procedures for arms and head. It’s deeply moving to believers, but I’ve always thought it look repellent or ridiculous. Way too much like the garb of the ultra orthodox “crazies.” There are lots of I’ll do this/not that decisions in religious practice. I understand there’s a tenuous dynamic that exists between any minority and majority community, and clinging to tradition and being true to oneself can seem preferable to “selling out” to fit in. But sometimes it strikes us skeptics as more a clinging to “guns and religion” type intransigence.

 So, if you walked in on these services cold (I was lukewarm), there’s lots that would be pretty mystifying and potentially off-putting. How could you possibly fit in? In fact, I believe I was the only new guy or gal over my month. And there had to be a decent number of temple members who have lost family members during the time I attended. Seemingly no person younger than I was doing the morning kaddish thing. And usually I was the only or 1 of 2 who didn’t put on tefillin. Men. Women usually don’t. Though one of our female rabbis did. Good for her, though I wasn’t tempted to follow.

 I could fit in and feel comfortable at these services because a) I knew people there b) I was committed to being there and c) people took care of me. I no longer bristled at the imputation (real or just in my head?) that I’m a Bad Jew and I need instruction to be a Good One. This time I felt many there had cherished Cindy, understood why I was there, and quietly welcomed me. I was willing to look/be ignorant and accept guidance.

 It was reassuring to see many of Cindy’s compatriots from the temple sisterhood there day after day too. The whole group (20 to 40 most days) was interesting to observe: lots more joking and side conversations during the service than I’d imagined. And there was the guy older than I who usually wore cycling shorts and shirt, the much older guy who sat to my right who usually shuffled in 15 minutes late, etc etc.  Lots of accomplished people and interesting stories for another writer’s version. And --- most days --- someone called out the pages so I had some sense where we were.

 I can read Hebrew if I already know the prayer or chant. So I can’t really read Hebrew anymore. Much of the service is praising God’s amazing powers, thanking him for singling out and helping Jews (don’t let anti-Semites see this!), an intricate mix of different intricate sections that over days start to fit a pattern. There are a always some bits in any prayer book that I find edifying and worth recalling; often I’m reading in one place when the service is in another. My favorite in this one:

Rabbi Schuel ben Nahmani said: We find that the Holy One created  everything  in the world; only falsehood and exaggeration were not God’s doing. People devised those on their own.

 There’s no sermon on any days, just the chanting. And different melodies for different sections. And torah reading ritual (I could spend pages on this alone) Monday and Thursday. I still have to learn why those days. I preferred the shorter days without.

 I was most fortunate to have a long time neighbor and, like Cindy, long time temple leader who I was delighted to learn (only some 30 some years later) is a regular attendee of daily morning services. Like Cindy, he has the ability I don’t to take what’s worthwhile in religious practice and ignore the rest. He credits Cindy with his reading the new alternate section of one prayer praising the Patriarchs (Abraham, Isaac, Jacob) by adding Matriarchs too.

 It’s not supposed to be used at this particular service, but a couple women who led services on a rotating schedule snuck it in. Much to my friend Rick’s and my glee. He joked about wanting to write: Minyan, the Musical. Have to decide how reverent or irreverent to be I replied. Yes he said, and some would love it, some hate it. Like so much else in life, I thought.

 There’s way more I could describe: the various “honors” during torah reading for one. Early on I got congratulated for pulling the strings to open the torah ark/cabinet. Basically, the only task our ritual director could be sure at that point I wouldn’t flub. One more key detail: I was wearing Cindy remarkable hand knit prayer shawl. Which, of course, many of her friends recognized. Once I made the mistake when taking it off at the service end of holding it to my face: way too emotional to repeat daily. Much more detail I could include, but there’s likely already too much. Ask me if you want more.

 I was asked to say a few words on the last day, right before the concluding prayers. I told people I was a most unlikely minyan attendee, etc. Grateful for this and that person’s help and Rebbe Rick’s (joke) guidance and company. Uplifted seeing Cindy’s sisterhood comrades, etc. Hoped in coming months to find an enduring way to honor her memory, etc.

 My one specific observation: I had been hearing people recite kaddish at Saturday services off and on for over 60 years.  But I’d never given a thought to the brief parts where the congregation joins in on a quick line. Just part of the practice I’d heard without really hearing. Until I was the mourner. Then, on many days when the congregation joined in…

       Y’he sh’meh rabbvo m’orach l’olam ulolmey olmayo…

 …on many days I felt my heart lifting and a wave of emotional support wash over me. This is why you should say kaddish in a minyan if at all possible. Or I hope in your tradition or life there’s some equivalent thing to bring you comfort when/if you need it. Em and I have been lighting candles at a set time each week also. That works for us too.

 The morning group skews old. But I hope that such a group is always there for anyone who needs it. I don’t want to attend any religious services daily. Or weekly. But this is my favorite service. I’ll be back. But on a day they don’t read torah. Forty minutes is plenty.

 I decided, too, that on day 30, I would take off my wedding ring. I sensed that if I didn’t tie that act to a ritual I might have a hard time doing it.

[when-they-write-stuff]

Okay idk if ur taking prompts or if this is too vague but I really love the idea of Derek making up reasons to be close to Stiles/ touch him (kinda like how he made excuses in your shirt fic) bc he doesn’t know how to do relationships/ask for stuff/ is embarrassed. And stiles either being completely oblivious until he suddenly realizes at the end OR knowing the whole time but not saying anything bc he likes it. So if you would like, I’d love it if you wrote something like that :)

Stiles noticed the changes gradually.

The changes in Derek Hale, that is. Resident grumpy Alpha werewolf, Derek Hale, who had been throwing Stiles into walls a lot less and started acting quietly careful around him a lot more. 

He noticed the changes gradually and the thing was, he didn’t know what to do about them. Because since when did Derek not want to rip Stiles’s throat out with his teeth? Since when was he not a giant grump whenever Stiles made a single comment?

Sure, they’d known each other for a while now. Stiles would like to say that he was a lot less scared of Derek and a lot more… well, he didn’t like to dwell on that. But Stiles would even go as far as calling them friends. Or very good acquaintances. Or something like that. The point is, Derek no longer avidly hated him. He was less growly. And he only glared sometimes when Stiles was around.

Then things changed.

Because suddenly, Derek was there. Just… there. At Stiles’s side. Swinging through his window every other night. Looking like a serial killer every time Scott sat too close during pack movie nights.

It was strange.

Stiles had started cataloging his changes because he was pretty sure something was wrong. Maybe Derek had been replaced by a duplicate, maybe there was something in the water, or maybe he was secretly dying. And in the process of secretly dying, Derek realized not being nice to Stiles was his life’s biggest regret. So he was trying to do things better.

Stiles kind of doubted that last one. But hey, a boy could dream, right?

At this point, Derek wasn’t always literally ‘there’ but he was being expressive too. If expression could be conveyed by standing too close, occasionally touching the back of Stiles’s neck, and sitting pressed up against him in the loft, that is. Stiles thought for Derek Hale, that was pretty expressive.

He tried talking to Scott about it. But Scott was never very good talking about anything non-Allison related. Erica just laughed at him. Isaac rolled his eyes.

Boyd didn’t even stick around long enough for Stiles to talk.

But the point is, Stiles was pretty sure something was very wrong. And he was determined to do something about it.

It started when Derek swung through his window that night.

Stiles turned slowly around and leveled the werewolf with his very best death stare. Derek froze with one foot in his bedroom and one foot still on the roof, and actually looked nervous. Derek Hale never looked nervous. 

Something was so truly and unbelievably wrong.

“Stiles,” Derek said slowly, pulling himself the rest of the way inside. Stiles crossed his arms and tilted an eyebrow, and Derek blinked at him. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know, Derek, is something wrong?”

The other man stared at him. Then he huffed and moved over to Stiles’s bed, dropping down on the edge. “No. Have you started the research yet?”

“I don’t know, Derek, have I started the research yet?”

“What’s wrong with you.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved himself up. Clearly, this line of questioning wasn’t getting them anywhere. 

Derek tracked his every move, looking a little wary, and Stiles paced the length of his room before turning around and pacing it again. He finally stopped in front of Derek and narrowed his eyes, studying the man. 

Derek didn’t look any different, but it could be underneath the skin. Cautiously, Stiles reached out and poked at his face. Derek snarled and smacked his hand away.

“Stiles, what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me, Sourwolf, something’s wrong with you!”

Derek gave him a flat look and Stiles resisted the urge to poke at his face again. After a long moment of having the most murder-y staring contest in his life, Stiles tore his gaze away with a groan and Derek pushed himself up, shaking his head. “Just… have something to bring to the loft tomorrow.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever, Derek. If that’s even your real name.”

Derek gave him one more flat, confused look before pulling himself out the window. Stiles rushed after him, before the man could vanish into the night. Like a vampire. Or Batman. Or whatever the hell he was.

Because it wasn’t Derek Hale.

“I hope you know I’m onto you!” Stiles shouted after him. Derek didn’t even bother looking back, moving across the lawn and literally melting into the shadows.

Stiles slammed his window down too hard and lined it with mountain ash.

- 

The next day, he arrived at the loft early. The only werewolves around were Derek and Peter, and Stiles shot Peter an unimpressed look the moment he stepped over the threshold.

But then he paused. Peter crooked up an eyebrow from the couch and over in the kitchen, Derek watched him warily. Stiles was pretty sure he was getting suspicious. Or nervous. Or something.

Good.

“Stiles. You’re early.”

“Am I?”

“Did you get anything done last night?”

Stiles studied the man. In truth, he had not. Nothing for the monster of the week, that is. But he had done quite a bit of research on doppelgangers, alien abduction, and brainwashing. Among other things. “I got more done than you’ll ever suspect.”

Derek looked confused. From the couch, Peter tilted his head and looked intrigued. 

Stiles glared at Derek for a few more minutes before crossing the room and grabbing Peter’s arm, dragging him back toward the door. The werewolf made a noise of surprise and Derek was looking concerned now, but Stiles pointed one threatening finger at him and he froze. 

“Stay, Sourwolf.”

“Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Stay.”

Derek’s expression turned murderous, but he didn’t move. Stiles dragged Peter out of the loft and then down the hall. 

“Tell me when he can’t hear us anymore.”

“What?”

“Tell me when the thing inside the loft can’t hear us anymore,” Stiles said, shaking Peter’s arm. The man gave him an incredulous look and Stiles sighed, finally coming to a stop where he hoped Derek’s hearing didn’t reach. Finally, he let go, and Peter was looking at him like he’d just grown horns.

“The thing in the loft?”

Stiles crossed his arms. “Yes. I don’t trust it.”

“It.”

“Yes, it. Dude, are you even listening?”

“Derek.”

“That is not Derek.”

Peter’s eyes sparked and he titled his head, studying Stiles up and down. Then he sighed. “What has my ridiculous nephew done this time?”

“Oh my god, you’re not listening. That is not Derek,” Stiles said, jerking his chin toward the loft door. “He’s been replaced. Or possessed. Or duplicated. Or something, but that is not Derek.”

“And why would you think that?”

“Because,” Stiles hissed. “He’s less grumpy, he’s less growly, and he’s less intense. He’s nice to me, Creeperwolf, nice to me. A few days ago, he let me borrow a shirt when I spilled juice on mine and spent the rest of the afternoon smiling.”

Peter stared at him. Stiles swallowed hard.

“I think he’s been abducted by aliens and this is an imposter.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! There’s something wrong with him!”

Peter had an expression on his face like he’d like to throw himself off the nearest cliff. He closed his eyes and sighed, before looking at Stiles again with an expression of thinly veiled distaste. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t… you don’t understand?” Stiles said, staring at him. “How the hell am I supposed to better explain this, Peter? You’ve lived with him! Don’t tell me he hasn’t been acting different. Like, light, smiley-er, and calmer different.”

“Yes,” Peter drawled. “I do live with him. And I have noticed.”

“So what the hell don’t you understand?”

“I don’t understand,” Peter said deliberately. “How you’re such an idiot. Or how my nephew has fallen in love with such an idiot.”

Stiles blinked at him. His jaw snapped shut.

“Why does an Alpha werewolf growl when people get too close to his things, Stiles?” Peter said. “Why does he bask in self-satisfaction when the object of his desire goes around wearing his clothes, or carries his scent from movie nights being pressed up too together? You’re a bright boy, Stiles. Can you put two and two together?”

Stiles’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Peter rolled his eyes.

“The pack meeting is canceled and I’m leaving. The next time you decided alien abduction is the answer, try ruling out the more obvious things first.”

Stiles blinked after him. Then he turned around and stared at the loft door before slowly moving toward it. Derek was still in the kitchen when Stiles poked his head inside and he arched a brow from the kitchen.

“Where’s Peter?”

Stiles just stared at him. Derek slowly set down his mug.

“Stiles, what did you do to Peter?”

“What? Nothing. He left.”

Derek looked suspicious and Stiles grinned nervously, pushing into the loft. He was pretty sure Peter was wrong and Derek was not in love with him. Alien abduction was the truth.

But at the same time, Stiles suddenly… wasn’t so sure.

“So,” Stiles said, fiddling with his hands. “There’s something I’m going to say and if it’s completely wrong then feel free to growl or rip my head off or maybe never talk to me again. That’s totally acceptable.”

Both of Derek’s brows were raised now. Stiles took a deep breath and nearly choked on his own spit, the words coming out so fast.

“Are you in love with me?”

Derek went still, his eyes flickering. Before he could lose his nerve and maybe melt into a puddle, Stiles plowed on.

“I mean, you’ve been all nice and soft and fluffy lately. I mean, you haven’t pushed me into any walls in a couple weeks and you sometimes loan me clothes, and get this weird expression on your face when I’m anywhere close to you and—”

“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting him off. Stiles closed his mouth with a miserable expression, sure he was about to get either punched or brutally told off. But instead, Derek looked a little nervous too. “Stiles, it’s the… alien abduction.”

And Stiles’s heart stopped.

Later on, when the story was retold, Stiles would deny to his last breath that he grabbed the nearest thing he could find (a table lamp) and nearly brained Derek with it. He’d also never admit that he was pretty sure Derek nearly attacked him at that.

But in his defense, Stiles had no idea Derek had a sense of humor up until that moment. And also? He hadn’t dragged Peter far away enough and the asshole of an Alpha listened in on personal conversations. 

But Stiles didn’t brain Derek. And he’d never give Peter any of the credit to things that might have occurred in the loft after that.

Because see, Stiles noticed the changes gradually.

But there was nothing gradual about his (or Derek’s) reaction when figuring them out. 

- -

This prompt was adorable, nonnie, thank you for sending it! And I hope I didn’t disappoint <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your underpaid student writer? Seriously, I’d adore you guys so much). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

[where-theres-smoak-2]

Riverdale 5x09 Review

Well I didn’t hate this episode like I hated the last one but I wasn’t exactly blown away by it either. It wasn’t a bad episode but I think my issue with it is if you dropped it into the middles of season 3 or 4 it would have fit in. It was fine it was just nothing new which you know doesn’t exactly make me excited to watch more. It was definitely one of those episodes where I either found myself checking to see how long was left or was rolling my eyes at something. Still there were moments I enjoyed. But without further ado lets jump in. As always these are just my own opinions and interpretation also there are clearly spoilers. 

 Betty and Polly

So a good chunk of this episode was following Betty as she continued to investigate what happened to Polly after finding the crushed telephone booth. Betty hears back from Glen and is told that the blood found on the booth is a match to Polly’s so with the amount of blood that is there it is likely she is dead. When she tells Jughead he tells her that he might have a lead, someone who might have seen something. So they go to see My Dreyfuss. He tells them on two other occasions a phone booth has been shredded like it was with Polly, in the summer of 77 and 82. He explains that its caused by the Mothmen ship’s antimatter fusion reactors which create a gravity field that allows them to levitate but anything that gets caught in that field gets crushed. Which you know sounds legit to me. Though I will say I did think the look Betty sent Jughead when Old Dreyfuss started talking about the Mothmen was hilarious. Needless to say Betty wasn’t exactly sold on this version of events. Which again I found kind of funny considering she hunted down something called The Gargoyle King in high school but apparently aliens are even too weird for Betty. 

I am not at all surprised that Polly’s storyline is linking up with the Mothmen one, I’ve been saying for a while now that I thought all the storylines would converge at some point and I expected that Jughead’s and Betty’s would be the first to do that. My theory is that the Mothmen mystery is to do with military testing and that will tie in Archie as well, I also think as the Mothmen body Nana Rose had was found in the maple groves, and Hiram has an interest in the maple groves, that Hiram’s storyline will also be linked in, which will also link in Veronica and the other characters who are going up against Hiram to save the town. I did wonder if maybe its not really Hiram that wants Riverdale to be shut down but rather some rogue section of the military who want to cover up the testing they’ve been doing and that’s why Hiram unincorporated the town, maybe the military are paying him to help them. 

So in her grief at what has presumably happened to Polly has sent Betty off the deep end. Now here’s the thing with this I appreciate that not every character’s development goes in a straight line. That’s what makes a character’s storyline interesting. There are twists and turns and they have set backs. That being said this return to dark betty didn’t really work for me. I mean I can understand that she is grieving for her sister, she’s going through trauma because of TBK and all that is making her turn back to her dark side. But for me I thought they wrote a good end to that whole storyline with her going under the hypnosis and kind of telling her younger self she could go play, and basically ‘killing’ dark betty before she is ever born. I liked how, well how I thought they had brought a close to that part of Betty’s character development. I honestly thought we were done with ‘dark betty’. But I guess not. I suppose we see where they take it maybe it will be well written but I’ll be honest it did kind of make me roll my eyes a bit in this episode, I just feel like it was a bit too on the nose and predictable especially after her speech last episode to Archie about how this thing with her sister would probably be the darkest she’d ever have to face. I said to myself then watch them bring back dark betty, so when they did I was just kind of like of course they are going there again. I think that was the issue was it is just more of the same stuff which I just find boring. 

There was one thing that I did find a little interesting though and that was the way she was thinking in that moment. The idea that the person in front of her was a horrible person who had hurt someone she loved and so deserved to have justice brought to him in the form of death. Sound familiar? Because it should, its exactly the same way Charles thinks. I do wonder if that was deliberate and we were suppose to draw a comparison between Betty and Charles there. 

I think in that moment when she is about to kill the trucker, Jughead’s call telling her that Logan had gone missing reminded her of why she was an FBI agent, to protect people and I think that kind of snaps her out of it. In that moment she could have killed that man or she could go and find the missing child who really needed her and who needed protection which is what she was saying earlier in the episode, that she wouldn’t let what happened to Polly happen to anyone else. At first she decided the best way to stop anyone else from getting hurt is by going after the truckers and stopping the women who are tricking there. But her method has flaws in it and I think getting that phone call reminds her that its not as black and white as she was looking at it.   

So poor Alice, I felt really bad for her in this episode she does seem like she was very much giving up hope. I mean Alice has been put through the wringer so I don’t really blame Betty for lying about it being a match to Polly’s blood I mean it wasn’t advisable because the truth was going to come out eventually but I could understand why Betty did it, she just couldn’t bear to take away the little hope that her mother had left. I am glad that Betty turned to Cheryl for this. I said that I thought if it came out that Polly had been killed then I thought Cheryl would be the best person to help Betty through that. You know different people can help with different things and like I keep saying how I really do think Archie will be the best person to help Betty through the TBK trauma I do think that Cheryl was the best person to help Betty here. She gave her some good advice even if Betty didn’t follow it. I think it was important what Cheryl said about how it is best to know the truth because then that allows you to grieve and heal and move on. I also loved that hug Cheryl gave Betty. If anyone needs a hug right now its Betty. Also I do like when they show Betty and Cheryl actually acting like family. 

So lastly I want to cover Glen. I’ll be honest Glen and Betty’s relationship confuses me. Because in the first episode of the time jump they seemed to have something going on between them in that they kissed. But I said then that it didn’t seem like Betty was that interested in him. But since then it seems like she just doesn’t like him at all. I could understand why she was angry in this episode when he says he’s sorry about Polly and she says that if he cared that he would have done something to help. I know Riverdale are trying to paint Glen as this bad person, like how he shows up at the end and tells Alice about the blood and takes over the case. I just know that they are trying to do this because they either want Glen to seem suspicious or they are actually going to go the route of he is evil and somehow involved in it all. What I will say to that is oh for the love of god please no, not this crap again. I just if they make another FBI agent a killer in this series I just no. Can we not keep rehashing the same damn storylines over and over. Can we please introduce a character to the show and not have them turn out to be some psycho because its just boring now. Also like I said I know they are trying to paint Glen as being the bad guy here, but it makes perfect sense for them to take Betty off this case. For one she is still a trainee who is severely traumatised by her capture by a serial killer. On top of that this case involves her family member, there is a reason why irl certain professions don’t allow you to work on cases involving your family members and that scene where Betty had tied the trucker up was seriously considering killing him is why. Firefighter, police, doctors, paramedics and I am going to assume FBI agents aren’t allowed to work on cases of a personal nature for that very reason, they are too invested and that clouds their judgement. Glen should have taken Betty off the case when Polly first went missing, or rather Betty should never have been on the case at all. Also the other question I have is if Glen is here who the hell is feeding Toffee? He better have brought that cat with him. When I made my prediction post for episode 10 I hadn’t seen the episode and so was very confused at the opening shot of the promo where Betty is slapping Glen squarely across the face but I am going to assume it has something to do with this situation. Or maybe he tries to make a move on her and she isn’t down for it? Or another situation is he could find out about her and Archie’s arrangement and make an unfavourable comment about Betty which she decided to set him straight about? Either way there is most certainly going to be some tension between Glen and Betty next episode. What I do find interesting is that apparently the only actors Glen’s actor is following are Lili, KJ, Hart and Wyatt so I am assuming that he has scenes with Archie, Charles and Chic. I do wonder if instead of having Glen turn out to be bad they just have either Charles or Chic kill him. 

To be honest I am still in two minds as to whether Polly is actually dead. On one hand that was a lot of blood on that phone booth and we do know that she was in that phone booth and someone was coming for her. On the other it seemed like they were being very careful to say it was the same blood type as Polly’s and not that it was Polly’s so there is that uncertainty. I mean if they have the blood surely they would be able to DNA match it not just go off the blood type? 

Jughead and Lerman. 

Ok so I’m not hundred percent sure what the point of this storyline was, I feel like its just another piece of the puzzle and we won’t really know the significance of it until the rest of the mystery is revealed. But what did annoy me was the fact that Jughead was reprimanded for talking to his student who he was worried about. I mean when the parents were like oh if you were worried something was wrong at home then why didn’t you come talk to us instead of ambushing our son. I mean the answer to that is obvious if the parents were mistreating their son then talking to them isn’t going to do any good because the parents would just lie. Even if they aren’t really doing anything wrong like these parents they might be wary about telling the truth out of fear of being judged, I mean they didn’t offer up that information about Lerman sleep walking until he went missing, so I think talking to his student was exactly the right thing for Jughead to do. Also since when was there another English class, I mean I thought the school was struggling with staff and that's why they needed the core four to become teachers? 

It does seem like something odd happened with Lerman with him going missing and then not being able to remember anything. What is very odd is that you’ve got two sets of missing people. You’ve got the women who keep showing up dead usually with some catastrophic injuries. Then you’ve got the men who disappear for hours at a time but then return but have no memories of where they’ve been. Yet all of it seems to be connected so the question is why are the women dying but the men are surviving? It because physically the men are able to take whatever the testing is but the women can’t and so their bodies end up with these terrible injuries. Or is it that whatever they use to wipe the memories of their test subjects doesn’t work on the women so they are forced to kill them after? I mean physiologically women and men are different so maybe the difference in the hormones or something is what’s causing this difference in outcome between women and men. 

By the end of the episode Lerman and his parents have moved out of town and haven’t left any forwarding details. This does seem a little weird but I guess maybe the parents are worried about what will happen to their son if they don’t get him out of there. 

Veronica, Archie and The Bulldogs.  

Ok I know I said I wasn’t a v*rchie shipper and that as a barchie I didn’t want to see any of that, but Riverdale you didn’t have to stick them in the darkest room ever to have them kiss. Like I know that Riverdale is known for bad lighting but that one scene between them was even more ridiculous than normal. Look if you like V*rchie then that’s all good, there were some scenes that I think were probably enjoyable for you and I am happy for the V*rchie shippers. For me though I don’t know if its just because I’ve seen so much of them at this point that its made my mind go numb to them but I just found their scenes boring. I was actually surprised they didn’t talk more, especially seeing as they’ve just got back together, she’s going through a divorce, but none of that was brought up. Their scenes seemed to be really short and not much happened in them, it was just a couple of kiss scenes and then one bed scene were Veronica says oh I have a plan and then that was kind of it. I thought they’d at least have a scene where they say something like ‘I’m so happy we got back together’ or ‘I’ve filed the divorce paper’s I just have to wait for Chad to sign them’. Just anything to get that continuity, but nope nothing.    

To be honest I really wasn’t that fussed about the football storyline. I did find it kind of funny that when presented with the problem of the team losing every game Veronica’s solution was to just throw money at it, like somehow that would magically make them better players. That being said there were some elements of it that I did enjoy. I loved Archie making that speech to encourage people to support their team. It is true that having a crowd behind you and supporting you makes a difference in sports so I liked that they put some attention on that. I also love Britta and I am so happy she was the one that scored. The other thing I liked was that when the kid who was like their star player, Derek transferred to Stonewell there wasn’t any tension between him and his old team. Like I think Hiram was expecting there to be but instead when they met on the pitch he and Britta were really respectful and just fist bumped and got on with the game and I loved that. Also after, he came and spoke to Archie and again he recognised that Archie had taught him something valuable that he was going to keep with him. Again it was very respectful and supportive. Both Archie and the team recognised that it wasn’t personal, it was just that Derek knew he had a better shot at going to college with a football scholarship if he was playing with the Stallions. 

Speaking of things that I liked, lets give a hand for Reggie. I have so much respect for the fact that when Hiram was saying he wanted Reggie to basically beat up some of the Bulldog players, Reggie refused and said it wasn’t necessary. Then when Hiram fired or ‘benched’ him as Hiram put it Reggie still didn’t back down and even said that he would be standing with the Bulldogs. Also it was good to see him back in that Bulldog jacket and even though it was a very small scene I loved the three way hug between Veronica, Reggie and Tabitha. 

Ok the other thing we had was that part of the plan to raise the teams spirits was to fill the stands, which you know makes sense, like I said I do think having a crowd supporting you makes all the difference. Cheryl decides that one thing that will fill the stands isn’t just a Vixen’s performance but one that includes her. Now me personally I don’t think she’s wrong, like if I heard that the new Vixen coach who was the town recluse and had spend the last seven years holed up in her gothic mansion of horrors was going to be putting on a performance with her Vixens, I am there, front row baby. This I want to see, at best it might actually be good and at worst it’ll be a cringefest but either way it’ll be entertaining as hell. I just think that scene with Cheryl performing was peak Riverdaleness. I know alot of people complain about those kinds of scenes but me personally I think they’re part of what makes Riverdale, well Riverdale. So I just choose to embrace the Riverdaleness of it all.   

Overall I think the issue with this whole football storyline is it is once again the same thing we’ve been seeing for the last four seasons. It’s Veronica and Archie vs Hiram and that’s just nothing interesting about that anymore. 

Kevin

So Kevin got his own storyline this episode and we got a little background story on him. I’m a bit conflicted about his storyline and this idea that he is ashamed of being gay because I never really got that sense before. To be honest I always thought he was proud and confident of being gay. However I could see him having this experience with his mother where he feels ashamed of being gay when she makes a insensitive comment and then him getting into the whole cruising in the woods as a coping mechanism. It also explains why he still continued with the cruising when the Black hood was around. But then if I remember rightly he did stop for a bit. So maybe he started to heal a bit and become more confident and then that incident with the director from Katy Keene happened and that made him feel ashamed again and brought all that back up again and Fangs was away alot Trucking so he asks for a open relationship so that he can turn back to that old coping mechanism of cruising. That would make sense to me but they don’t really touch on that trauma he experienced in New York with the director in this episode. 

Cheryl acting as a relationship councillor was sort of amusing. I mean it was sweet that she wanted to fix Kangs, I think she recognised that what she did was wrong and so she wanted to help mend it. But like Fangs said the games Cheryl played just brought up deeper issues that were already there. I feel so sad for both of them. I mean Kevin is clearly struggling but I really felt for Fangs when he said that Kevin had never really been all in and that he wants to know everything about Kevin the good and bad. In that moment I could see that Fangs really does love Kevin. Also I think the fact that Fangs hit the nail right on the head with Kevin being ashamed of being gay shows that Fangs really does know and understand Kevin. I do feel like Kevin’s view on things right now is very similar to how Betty was seeing things with Archie. I think like Betty didn’t want her darkness to effect Archie, Kevin doesn’t want his to effect Fangs. Both of these views are flawed though because when you’re at your darkest that’s when you need someone to draw you back to the light. I do hope he talks this through with Betty and little because I think they could both help the other see the truth of their situations. 

The scene in the sauna was rough to watch. Kevin didn’t deserve that, it was an obvious mistake, he misread the situation and there was no need for that guy to react with violence unfortunately, its sad to say, but we live in a world where this kind of thing happens, where toxic masculinity results in males reacting with hate and violence towards gay men and that is never ok. I don’t think this helped Kevin in dealing with his shame at being gay, it most likely made it worse and that just makes me so so sad.   

I’m not gay, so Kevin’s story didn’t hit me on a personal level like I think it might have for other viewers, but his scene with Tom when he was talking about how he was made to feel ashamed of being gay really moved me to tears. I think it was a very touching scene and both actors did a good job. I am so glad that Kevin did open up to his dad. I also thought it was really good how when Tom worried that he might have done something to make Kevin feel that way Kevin reassured him that he had always been supportive of Kevin and had never judged him and I do think that is why Kevin felt he could open up to Tom. Just everything about that scene was done really well. I really do hope that he does find the courage to talk to Fangs about it though. I think Kevin does still love Fangs and its not that he doesn’t want to be with him, its that he doesn’t think that he deserves to be and that is just heart breaking. I still have some hope for Kangs though and I’m really hoping we get to see Kevin healing and working through things. I do think next weeks episode might help Kevin realise what he really wants. We know that he is in a potentially life threatening situation with a gunman in the school so maybe that makes him reflect on his life choices. Seriously though nothing better happen to Kevin. 

Little bits

Ok so these don’t really relate to any of the other sections really so I just figured I throw them all together at the end here. 

I loved that little parallel to season 1 with Barchie where Betty hears Archie over the speaker and sort of looks up at the sound of his voice. Also that shot of Betty working on the car I don’t know why but she looked really pretty, I really like her hair in that shot. 

Sticking with Barchie this one is a complaint about continuity. Riverdale seems to really struggle with this for some reason. But like I said with Veronica and Archie and how there didn’t seem to be any connection with the events of the previous episode this is the same kind of thing. Last episode Betty said she wouldn’t go through everything with Polly alone she would still go through it with Archie and yet despite there being big changes in the case Barchie didn’t interact at all. It could have been something really small like Betty giving Archie a call to let him know that Polly’s blood was a match and him offering her help, her saying no it was ok focus on the bulldogs, him telling her he was there if she needed anything. It isn’t much it wouldn’t have taken up much screen time but it would have given a link back to the previous episode. The same can be said for Minerva. Last episode her and Cheryl kissed which to me was a major development in the relationship and yet in this episode she’s no where to be seen and she isn’t even mentioned. Again Toni, where’s Toni? I thought they would at least mention something like she’s on maternity leave or something. Nope nothing. In fact the only link back to last episode we got was Cheryl talking to Kangs about the games she played causing problems for them. It’s just one of the things that frustrates me with Riverdale the lack of continuity.

No idea what this might mean if anything but did anyone else notice that when Dreyfuss started talking about the Mothmen ship his little burner with the teapot on it, suddenly the flame became higher before it went back to normal? Like there was some kind of energy in play there maybe? 

I was really glad to see Tabitha interacting with people outside of Jughead and I liked the little scenes she got with Veronica. I know Erinn said in her instagram takeover that Tabitha would be interacting with alot of the other characters too soon so I am looking forward to that. As much as I love her and Jughead’s dynamic I think it’ll be interesting to see her with others. 

Ok well that’s it for this week. I am still looking forward to next weeks episode. I do feel like this episode was a bit of a filler episode but next week looks like its going to be action packed so it should be a good watch.   

[fandumbstuff]

The DC Extended Universe, Ranked Best to Worst.

1. Wonder Woman Directed by Patty Jenkins

Wonder Woman might be the only good movie that DC has made. Patty Jenkins really hits the nail on the head and perfectly captures the voice of the character. For a character so old and so iconic, there are many versions of Diana’s story, but Patty Jenkins really manages to deliver a definitive version. Gal Gadot, like Christopher Reeve or Chadwick Boseman before her, is perfectly cast in a role that is so much more than just a movie character. Diana is as strong as she is compassionate. The character flaws she needs to overcome is her own naivete, rather than the misguided angst so many of DC’s other characters grapple with. While other action sequences in the franchise have been overly cluttered, Wonder Woman’s cinematography offers some of the slickest, most iconic action scenes in the genre. It’s an altogether incredible achievement and a milestone for cinema in general.

2. Wonder Woman 1984 Directed by Patty Jenkins

The greatest fault I could find with this movie is that it didn’t lean into the 80s setting more. It does tread the line of a rather schmaltzy central plot, but solid performances from cast members like Pedro Pascal make it believable. It’s an absolute joy to see Gadot and Pine return to their roles, and an even greater joy to see ther choice of outfits for every scene. Solid. While Kristen Wiig is expectedly brilliant like with everything she does, she’s handling a character arc that seems derivative and outdated. Like it’s predecessor, WW84 showcases some pretty stellar action sequences, with Jenkins once again showing a knowing eye for big, impressive set pieces paired with frenetically paced fight sequences.

3. Aquaman Directed by James Wan

After the convoluted mess of ensemble films like Suicide Squad and Justice League, and even some of Marvel’s recent fare, it was refreshing to see a more traditional origin story. This was ultimately what drew my interest to superheroes in general, and while this film doesn’t have the same elegance of a Superman (1978) or Batman Begins, it’s an origin story that modern audiences can sign on for easily. It’s strongest scenes are in the lore-expanding quest that Arthur and Mera go on, simultaneoulsy a National Treasure-esque adventure and a showcase for solid chemistry between Jason Momoa and Amber Heard. And while Ocean Master does seem like an exaggerated villain at times, It’s Patrick Wilson’s solid performance that manages to sell it and make him arguably the best villain DC’s had.

4. Shazam! Directed by David F. Sandberg

Obviously, an inordinate amount of fun. Shazam doesn’t try and be something it’s not. Ultimately, more than any other superhero film, Shazam understands that this genre was always intended for children. And while at times the plot might seem thin or the conflict inconsequential, Shazam never loses sight of it’s heart. A capable cast of child actors make this believable, and subverting the genre tropes makes the film charming and witty. While it seems overly simplistic in terms of it’s storytelling, in DC’s world of confusing plots, this is a welcome change.

5. Man of Steel Directed by Zack Snyder

Perhaps the strangest portrayal of Superman to date, Zack Snyder honed in on the mythos of the character and what makes him “super” Unfortunately, it seems to completely ignore what makes him a “man”. We’re left with a wholly alien representation of the character- a gross misunderstanding of who Superman is supposed to be. Horrible character choices for both Jor-El and Jonathan Kent leave Clark a shell of the hero he’s supposed to be. We’re left with a character more willing to grapple with moral dilemmas and his own inner angst than actually step up and do the right thing. Henry Cavill has an undeniably affective presence, and he certainly feels right for the role, but he’s never given a chance to actually play the part. Aesthetically pleasing to look at, and generally quite entertaining, it’s unfortunately the way Man of Steel fails its character that makes it so unbearable.

6. Birds of Prey (And the rest of the title) Directed by Cathy Yan

I mean, this is basically just a Harley Quinn movie with some other random characters thrown in. Considering Margot Robbie wrote the film, I find it particularly bothersome that the most work she does for character development is for her own character. We see brief intriguing glimpses of some of the other Birds and unfortunately never get more than a taste. Some of the fight scenes are handling quite capably, trading in the more grittier feel of the standard DC fare for more amusing prop and set work. However, much like Suicide Squad before it, I feel like the movie suffers from “soundtrack vomit”-  a post Guardians of the Galaxy symptom in which a movie tries to assemble catchy songs and them slot them into the edit with no real motivation. 

7. Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice Directed by Zack Snyder

An absolute misfire from DC in a sad attempt to make themselves relevant amidst Marvel’s runaway success. A focal point in the movie is the collateral damage caused by Superman in Man of Steel. And apparently the best way for the movie to deliberate on this is by exhibiting even more collateral damage. Showcasing the conflict between these two iconic characters seems like a good idea on paper, and it’s certainly been captivating in past comics. But the movie seems to devolve it into nothing more than a bar fight between two dumb jocks. We see Batman get cyber bullied by Lex Luthor, and Superman get coerced by a stupid plot hole. Then they beat each other up like idiots. A movie that spawned a thousand jokes, it’s really only worth watching to make fun of.

8. Joker Directed by Todd Philips

Apparently, this movie isn’t supposed to be counted as part of DC’s Film Universe. But I couldn’t resist the opportunity to remind you what a steaming pile of garbage it is. It would be inaccurate to even call this a movie. It’s really just a desperate actor trying to win an Oscar from an Academy that continues to be woefully out of touch. And an even more pathetic attempt by a incel director to stay relevant. The talented work from it’s cinematographer and composer force me to show some restraint from putting it at the bottom of this list, but rest assured- while there might be films I put below this, there are none I hate more. 

9.  Justice League  Directed by Zack Snyder(?)

Painful to watch, I went into this movie with the lowest of expectations, and they were somehow not met at all. It feels altogether rushed, poorly constrcuted and boring all at the same time. They forego any need for world building and instead toss us headfirst into a horribly convoluted storyline. They rush through an origin for Cyborg and introduce Aquaman like he’s the douchebag you never invited who shows up to your houseparty. Batman over-compensates for his eye-rolling seriousness in the last movie by being overly witty in this one. And they solve Superman’s death by having a hilarious grave robbing scene that I guess is supposed to be funny but is so ridiculous to watch that it felt more at place in an Adam Sandler movie. And to top it all off, the movie in general is one big eyesore. It’s honestly painful to watch the shoddy CGI that constitutes the main antagonist and the waves of enemies we watch the JL plow through. And while the opening scene I think is supposed to be a last ditch effort for them to make Superman relevant, it would be promising if I could look past his god awful CGI lip.

10. Suicide Squad  Directed by David Ayer

A hilarious comedy where the characters don’t actually have any dialogue and instead just speak in one-liners. A touching romantic drama where the Joker abuses Harley Quinn. A moving character study where Deadshot just wants to be a better father by killing Batman. A thrilling action movie where we hope the heroes can overcome Cara Delevigne’s dumb dancing and blow up the generic pillar of doom she’s summoned in the middle of Gotham. Suicide Squad is all of these things and more- so there’s my rousing endorsement.