#i need to drop him into a vat of acid i think

[triptychofvoids]

blatant and completely shameless fan service for ME but you guys can look at him too if you want

[clipartdinosaur]

Griddlehark Fics

I have read an absolutely insane amount of Griddlehark fanfics in the past few months so I figured I could make a like...list of all of my favorites that I bookmarked. I'm not sure if anyone will use this but if anything it will be for my own self-indulgence LOL. Just a heads up, this list WILL contain spoilers up to Nona the Ninth, so proceed with your own discretion. Anyway here we go!

(♥︎ = favorite!)

Short (<15k):

"By the Sword" by JeanLuciferGohard (2.6k)

The Reverend Daughter of the Ninth, Necrosaint, Ascended, the greatest bone adept in an Age, does one push-up, and collapses. Harrow does not beg for her cavalier. Harrow rakes her hair back and snarls, “Nav, I am going to unzip your cranial sutures. One by one. And zip them up again sideways.”

"Your Necro Questions Answered" by Magichorse (8.8k)

Syndicated columnist "Nav the Cav" offers a sympathetic ear to cavaliers across the galaxy and dispenses practical, no-nonsense, real talk advice on how to properly manage and care for your necromancer.

"A Lesson in Bones" by Magichorse (3.8k)

One of the laboratory trials at Canaan House compels Harrowhark to swap bodies with her cavalier. What will Gideon do with the power of the most talented bone adept in generations at her disposal? Nothing good, probably.

"Visions of Gideon" by tothewillofthepeople (13k)

Oh my god they were roommates...

"true love's kiss, or something equally nauseating" by corpsesoldier (4.6k)

She was where she needed to be. She was going to pull her necro out of this godforsaken tomb, end the game of musical bodies they were playing, and then everything would be all right. Harrow would be alive. And Gideon was going to give her shit for approximately the next myriad for not just taking what she’d offered and saving them a whole lot of trouble.

"The Big Warm Dark" by decalexas (haelstorm) (2.7k)

Gideon Nav knows how to swing a longsword, brandish a rapier, bridge the gap between life and death, punch the dead in the face, and maybe overthrow an Empire along the way. What she doesn't know how to do is reach for the girl who made all of this possible.

"carrion comfort, despair (not feast on thee)" by NotAFicWriter (5k)

Some time after Alecto wakes, Harrow and Gideon finally have a moment to speak to one another. Hearts are bared. Teeth are bared. Intentions are bared. It all comes at great personal cost (emotional honesty).

"never exhale all the way" by pigflight (1.2k)

Harrowhark paints Gideon's face.

"such an almighty sound" by CountingNothings (10k)♥︎

“I need you to marry me,” Harrow says, a propos of absolutely nothing that Gideon can see. And, uh, okay, this is not what childhood best frenemies say to each other upon discovering that both of their graduate programs have weird residence requirements. “What,” Gideon asks, “the fuck?”

"A Handsomely Dangerous Thing" by zoicite (1.5k)

Had Harrow ever looked at Gideon and felt pride before? Surely not. It sat like a tumor in her chest, a cancerous lump that had grown where it did not belong.

"How it didn't happen" by Nary (1.5k)

"How did you lose it?" Coronabeth asked, more softly than her sister's shrill voice. The group assembled at Canaan House barely knew her, and yet here they were, asking the most irritatingly personal questions, and acting as if they were being kind and thoughtful by prying into her secrets. "I dropped my pen into a vat of acid and reached in to grab it without thinking," Harrow said dryly. Coronabeth recoiled, screwing up her pretty nose. Ianthe looked unsure whether to believe her or not. Their meatslab of cavalier just stared blankly. "The Daughter of the Ninth House was blessed in this manner from her birth, as a symbol of her strength and power over the mysteries of necromancy," Ortus interjected. Harrow glared at him. "Oh," Coronabeth said, an expression of disgusting sympathy on her flawless face. "But then you would never have known who your soulmate was!" Harrow's glare intensified. "My soulmate is bones."

"Halcyon Nights" by Morike91 (10k)

It was hard to tell what was worse: feeling the full warmth of those unguarded honey eyes fall on Harrow, or watching them narrow in recognition and contempt, their warmth now hotter with something else.  “What can I get you?” It has been at least four years since Harrow last heard the voice of Gideon Nav, but it was still as familiar as her right hand. 

"I completely fucking hate you" by ClaraZorEl (7.5k)

In the coming weeks, Harrowhark learns an unfortunate great deal about Gideon Nav. The kind of porn she likes, the number of bread rolls she can fit into her mouth at once, that she always leans too heavily on her left leg when she fights but can do fifty-seven push-ups in a row without stopping, that her biceps rates 11/10 on the scale of good biceps, that her laugh rumbles like an army of skeletons, and most importantly, that she can’t fucking stand her. Gideon Nav is so grating that Harrow has no doubt she will be her undoing. OR Harrowhark Nonagesimus has been invited to Canaan University's ball. But to successfully represent her house, she needs a cavalier, and unfortunately, her only option is her least favourite barista from her least favourite coffee shop.

"A Thousand Teeth, Yours Among Them" by pipistrelle (7k)

"In the end, she poisoned Ortus; so it was Harrow Nova who walked out to the shuttle a half-step behind the Daughter of the Ninth, the chain of Samael Novenary wound about her offhand wrist, the black blade of the Ninth at her side."

"The Only Prayer We Know" by pipistrelle (12k) [Part 2 of "A Thousand Teeth, Yours Among Them"]

It's like a bad joke: two cavaliers (alive) and two necromancers (one dead) walk into a rebel faction of humanity, looking for a new life -- in every sense of the phrase. What they find is each other, and (in some cases) themselves.

"The Flames of Hell Are Warm" by silverapples (7k)

In which Harrow is a repressed evangelical Christian and Gideon performs burlesque in a lesbian nightclub. Feat. nipple pasties, chewing gum, and a steaming mug of gay coffee (wake up and smell it, Harrow).

"Necro Business" by rnanqo (1.6k) ♥︎

“Gideon,” you said carefully, “I will need to examine your mouth. Various structures, primarily the jaw, but also the lingual muscles—the tongue—” You stopped there. Your cheeks were going red, probably with indignity. “Yeah,” I said, a bit too loudly, “yeah, sure. Do it.”

"Holy Cross, Alaska" by softieghost (10k) ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Harrow meets Gideon. They go through it together.

"my love will be your armor" by TheKnightsWhoSayBook (2.3k)

"The princess has a right to bestow her favor on whoever she wishes to win a match," Gideon tells her. "Are you going to?" "Why would I? I don't want to marry him," Harrow answers bitterly. "Do you want me to win?" Princess Harrow will be engaged to the winner of the tournament, and her only champion is her useless bodyguard Sir Gideon Nav, who isn't going to save her. Unless...?

"The Meaning Of The Word" by pipistrelle (8.4k)

Harrow, along with a good percentage of Canaan University's necromancy students, has the flu. Gideon has a lot of feelings that she is in no way equipped to handle. It's a tough week.

"(i shine only with the light you gave me)" by sashawire (1.7k) ♥︎

God prods, gently, “Even just starting with their physical description, and we can go from there.” “Imagine,” you say, from somewhere outside your body, “the worst shade of orange you’ve ever seen in your life.” * Harrowhark receives her saintly title.

"i will learn to love the shears" by corpsesoldier (4.7k)

The avulsion trial left Harrow's hair in a sorry state and Gideon offers up her expertise with a blade. Or, Gideon gives Harrow a haircut.

"The Titty Texts: A Work of a Stupendous Titty Nature" by EleniaTrexer (3k)

Gideon accidentally sends Harrow boobs. And then just keeps on sending them.

"can we start over?" by breeeliss (10k)

Gideon needs a tutor. Harrow needs someone to get her out of college gym class. All in all, a pretty straightforward arrangement to make with your ex.

"Dark Mode Enabled" by senseoftheday (12k)

Tech Company AU in which a certain Sales bro with no filter decides to ruin Harrow's life (and feature roadmap) by initiating the cross-functional project from hell. At least, Gideon has the decency to work remotely, and Harrow's new office crush makes some pretty great coffee.

"deconsecrated graves" by emotionsandphenomena (4k)

Gideon and Harrow got out of the cult they were raised in. Okay, what's next?

"settle up in heaven" by liesmyth (3k) ♥︎

“Isn’t this arrogance, Harrow?” Kiriona says. “Think you could fix what God couldn’t?”

"Quoth the Maiden" by Sarsaparilla (10.9k)

The bold outlaws Nova Hawk and Gideon meet for the first time on a narrow log-bridge. But is it really their first meeting? Or: what if Robin Hood and Little John were both lesbians?

"twice in a blue moon" by sinshine (8.7k) ♥︎

Gideon snapped out of her depressing reverie and blinked at her. "That's a really good idea." "Obviously," said Harrow, and it was only a little bit condescending. "Step one, sneak out of the party. Step two, acquire the necessary items at a store. Step three–" Harrow gestured vaguely at the deer in Gideon's hands– "And step four, profit." [G&H rush to fix a smashed snow globe that Dulcinea made so that Cam doesn't kill them before the clock strikes midnight at their NYE party. The fact that Gideon is back in her hometown after a long time away and she and Harrow have unresolved romantic tension is secondary and definitely won't be a problem.]

"It Came From Planet Slut" by LockedTombMemes (8k)

Well. Evidently going undercover to an Idan society fling in order to deliver a message to a high-profile BoE agent was a tits-out kind of look.

"Apostate's Yuletide" by sinshine (12.6k)♥︎

Gideon raised one eyebrow comically high. She smiled easily, erasing any hint of the anxiety that Harrow might have sensed. "What's with all the questions today?" Harrow huffed indignantly and fidgeted with the blanket draped across her lap, worrying the frayed hem with her fingers. "I thought your ego would appreciate the interest." "Yeah, but it's weird coming from you. I'm used to you monologuing, not playing twenty questions." "Perhaps it's a Christmas miracle," suggested Harrow, with an expression so absolutely devoid of joy that Gideon couldn't help but laugh. [Harrow and Gideon burn down a church on Xmas.]

"when it's over" by Adertily (2.5k)

Harrowhark had sworn to herself to live to see the girl in the locked tomb awaken. Alecto has risen. Now God is dead, along with everyone who had ever been dear to her - and Gideon has returned as a distorted creature. The war is over. Harrow wishes she could be too. Or: A character study based on Harrow's suicidal ideation and Gideon's determination to never run anywhere unless she absolutely has to.

"Supernova Bloom!" by sinshine (13k)

"It's just for a week, and then you never have to see me again," said Gideon. "I don't have time to find anyone else." And, "Please." Slowly, Harrow took her hand off the door and cautiously turned around. Gideon watched a dozen unspoken questions flicker across her face. She voiced none of them, but eventually settled on an expression of grim resignation. "I suppose I could suffer you for a week." [Gideon needs help getting her new flower shop ready for the grand opening. Harrow needs cash.]

"I still need your teeth around my organs" by sinshine (7.8k)

Although she was a beloved Daughter and a talented necromancer, Gideon's greatest vice was that she dearly loved to fuck around and find out. Knowing this, perhaps it shouldn't have been as shocking when she lifted one of Nova's hands, flipped it over, and kissed her palm. [4 times Gideon kisses Harrow, 1 time Harrow kisses Gideon]

"cuckoo, cuckoo" by sashawire (1.2k)

What Wake gives it is not a name. To do so would be a moronic, unnecessary cruelty. But she does deign to give it the microscopic dignity of a title, a goal, a purpose. Bomb. Eighteen years later, in the rubble of a once-sacred home, Harrowhark Nonagesimus reaches up and touches Gideon Nav’s grit-covered, blood-rimed face, splits a laugh like the world is ending, and calls her “flower.” * Six times God's unwanted daughter was nicknamed, and once she wasn't.

"my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear" by sashawire (<1k) ♥︎

Gideon chomps into her tongue as hard as she can convince herself, stifling a very dignified squawk. Her eyes water, Emperor’s left tit that fucking hurts, but—it works. Blood weeps from the bite marks, creeping down the back of her throat, up into her nasal cavity, staining her teeth. Okay. She has blood in her mouth. Blood that, somehow, needs to get into Harrow’s mouth. * Step #6: Consume the flesh.

"fifteen percent concentrated power of will" by surreptitiously (9k)

Teaching someone to do a push-up is a love language, when that person is very annoying.

"GHAZAL WHERE I'M BEGGING YOU TO TOUCH ME" by igneousbitch (12k)

You had your body and I had mine, and it was a miracle. Your hands against my face were a miracle. The rest of your meat attached to your hands was a prayer answered and a promise broken, but we were flush and gasping and alive, and Harrow—I really thought you might’ve kissed me then. But I felt it happen. The way your breath suddenly stilled, and your body locked up beneath mine, remembering. How with splintering gentleness, you pushed me away. “I’m so sorry,” was the second thing you said upon waking. The first thing had been my name. Stranded in a safehouse on an Edenite moon, Gideon and Harrow try to put themselves back together.

"catch you on the flip side, sugar lips" by corpsesoldier (4.9k)

Maybe if Harrow's brain runs enough scenarios, she'll find a way to keep what she's lost.

"hand to heart, I swear" by corpsesoldier (5k)

Gideon has a broken heart, and there's only one necromancer who can fix it.

Medium (15-30k)

"If you're doing it right you'll break their ribs" by almostnectarine (22.4k)

"How do you know Nonagesimus has gone somewhere dangerous?" asked Isaac. "Have you wired some kind of alert system?" "It's, uh. It's on the schedule," said Gideon. "I just... forgot. Because of the bread." Nobody was convinced by this, least of all Gideon. "It's a Ninth House thing," Gideon went on, backing away with increasing desperation. This was a slightly more plausible explanation, if only because nobody wanted to look too closely at what fell under the awful skeletal-ribbed and rotting umbrella of Ninth House things. "Gotta go—!" And she was out the door, gone. But it wasn't a Ninth House thing, except inasmuch as it was happening to the only two representatives of the noble and decrepit Ninth House on this quite literally godforsaken rock. Gideon knew Harrow had gone somewhere dangerous—knew that Harrow was back in the lab where they had only just completed a horrible trial—because she could see it, clear as day: an awful overlay on her vision of that terrible dangerous room and a pair of terrible dangerous hands drawing some kind of ward next to the plinth. The hands were definitely Harrow's. This was definitely a problem.

"If Home Is Where the Heart Is (Then We're All Just Fucked)" by JeanLuciferGohard (17k) ♥︎

When Gideon Nav gets a call that her ex-girlfriend, who never bothered to change her designated emergency contact, is in the hospital, she goes against her better judgement and responds. Everything after that just gets more complicated.

"blue gray green lavender" by smolranger (29k) ♥︎

Laser Radial sailor Gideon Nav just wants pass her classes, win a few regattas, and keep her head down. FJ sailor Harrowhark Nonagesimus has grand plans to qualify for the Olympics, preserve her parent's legacy, and save her home town. Despite the ties binding them together, the two have kept their college lives carefully separate for two years. But when Harrow's helm, Ortus, suffers a concussion mid-way through the fall season, their carefully separated lives collide. Harrow needs someone capable of taking Ortus' place for the remainder of the season or her Olympic dreams — and Canaan College's entire sail team — are in peril. And Gideon is her only option.

"Daughters of Hungry Ghosts" by zoicite (24k)

Harrow and Gideon and times they have (and also have not) shared a bed over the years.

"Disney World, Florida" by softieghost (24.6k) [Part 2 of "Holy Cross, Alaska"]

After the events of Alaska, Harrow thanks Gideon the only way she knows how: devotion. -- Chapter 3: The journey concludes. More confessions.

"we've got a good thing goin' " by sinshine (14.6k) ♥︎

“Not to sound ungrateful, but being here makes me wish that you had left me for dead,” said Harrow. Gideon had been staring hard at the face of the fountain’s statue. She was pretty sure that it was carved in the likeness of Naberius himself, but she didn’t want to say it out loud and make it true. She shook her head and turned to Harrow. “Leaving me to live out eternity in your bony sock puppet of a body? Hard pass.” Palamedes and Camilla shared a look. It was the mutual understanding of two people who had been trapped in close quarters with the bickering of Gideon Nav and Harrowhark Nonagesimus for far too long. [Team 69 hide out in Babs's vacation home. Because it's not like he's using it anyway.]

"Cake by the Ocean" by zoicite (15k)♥︎

Okay, so the thing was, Gideon had always been shit at plans. She knew that. Everyone knew that, but this--she really didn’t think it would be this hard! Gideon’s voice was like the least memorable thing about her. Bargaining her voice for a well-shaped set of human legs--that really should have worked in her favor.

"careful fear and (un)dead devotion" by sinshine (23k)

[Gideon and Harrow wake up back in their own bodies but both of them are missing large parts of their memory. Camilla tries not to kill everyone.]

"who ya gonna call?" by igneousbitch (24k)

“Fret not, honeybun.” Gideon shook her red hair out of her eyes, belligerent. “I’m not totally sold on your whole skepticism thing.” “Well,” Harrow said, ignoring the nickname. She turned to the rest of the room, clearing her throat politely before addressing the empty air. “Ghosts, if you’re real, give us a sign. Make a noise. Move something. Send a shiver down our backs. Whisper softly into Nav’s left ear—” “I seriously fucking hate you.” - (Casual sex and paranormal investigation. Not necessarily in that order.) (or: the Buzzfeed Unsolved AU in which Gideon is ready to fight a ghost, and Harrow just wants to be haunted.)

Long(>30k):

"Beneath a Blue and Foreign Sky" by zoicite (35k)

Harrow has a decision to make.

"A Heart Full Of Sutures" by Rohad (40k)

All Gideon wanted was to get outside and ride her motorcycle. No part of that plan had included eight weeks in Canaan Medical Center with a broken Pelvis and the meanest little doctor this side of the eastern seabord.

"Midnight at the Mithraeum" by zoicite (66k) ♥︎

It'd been two years since Gideon Nav gathered her wine key and her gaming license and escaped The Locked Tomb, a speakeasy-style cocktail bar managed by the hateful Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Now, dealing tables at The Mithraeum Hotel & Casino, things were really looking up. So when Gideon scored a date with the most beautiful showgirl in the Gilded Halls of Ida, the last thing she expected was to wake up married to her old nemesis and former coworker. The story starts the night of Gideon's date and alternates between the events leading up to the wedding and the weeks that follow as Gideon tries to navigate life married to someone who claims to want nothing more than to forget she exists.

"Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" by pipistrelle (90k)

Being the journal of Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus, chronicling the journey of the Emperor's warship Cenotaph on its hunt to slay an immortal Resurrection Beast. Or: the Moby Dick crossover AU that nobody asked for.

"The Darkest Night, The Brightest Light" by eternaleponine (50k)

Harrowhark has known for a long time that her home's financial situation is dire, and not getting better. She has plans to fix it all, but can't implement them until she turns eighteen in a few months. When her parents announce that the best (perhaps only) way to save Drearburh is to marry off its heir, Harrow realizes the timeline has changed and she needs to take action now to save her home... and herself. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all. Enter Gideon Nav. Detested foe, and Harrow's only hope.

"putting your fist through a thick sheet of glass (i know you don't want to)" by oretsev (46k)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus and Gideon Nav have always been at each other’s throats, and the animosity has only intensified since the death of Harrow’s parents. But when a car accident leaves Gideon without any memories of her past, Harrow sees a chance at the clean slate she’s wanted for years. Becoming involved in Gideon’s recovery assuages some of the guilt, but as she and Gideon become closer and increasingly involved in each other's lives, Harrow worries that some of her secrets may be more than she can atone for.

Ongoing:

"semi-charmed kinda life" by strangedelight (182k+) ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Gideon asked questions. Harrow surprised her with answers. They reached an agreement; they decided to be smart, to be patient. Gideon made a promise, Harrow gave her one in return. Wait and see. OR the year is 1994, and Gideon and Harrow leave their small town for life in the city. OR team 69 roommates au only this time it's the 90s

"Intern the Sixth" by apocalypticTaco (33k+)

ADDRESSING THE HEIR TO THE NINTH HOUSE, OR PRESUMED EQUIVALENT: PALAMEDES SEXTUS, HEIR TO THE SIXTH HOUSE, PRESENTS HIS COMPLIMENTS TO THE NINTH AND REQUESTS A FORMAL ARRANGEMENT WHEREIN HIS MASTER WARDEN AND CAVALIER APPRENTICESHIP UNDER THE NINTH FOR FOUR YEARS IN EXCHANGE FOR THE SIXTH’S SERVICES. *Details to be discussed. Please turn to back page. Timeframe variable. Services and agreements variable upon the Ninth's request. An internship of this caliber is highly unprecedented and likely unheard of, but any information valuable to the Ninth and into the Tomb will remain undisclosed upon request; Primary experience and study is required as the Master Warden has already decided upon such being his final thesis prior to his end studies. No takebacks, no denials. Pleased to meet you. Palamedes Sextus, Heir to the Sixth and Master Warden and Camilla the Sixth, Cavalier Primary and Warden's Hand of the Library

TO THE MASTER WARDEN: FORMALLY REJECTED.

"What's Eating Gideon Nav?" by labyrinthineRetribution (40k+)

After a miserable fifteen years at Blessed Saint Anastasia's School for Girls, Gideon's luck finally changes.

"We Have Always Lived in the Apartment" by labyrinthineRetribution (171k+)

John looks up from his Jack and Coke in drunken curiosity. "What's with the face, Harrowhark?" he asks, genuinely concerned. "Contrary to popular belief," Gideon butts in, "her face just fuckin' looks like that, bitch." She tends to use "bitch" as liberally as commas when off her ass. "You're piss drunk," you shoot back. "And you, my good bitch, are just as contemptible as the day you clawed your way up from Hell." - It is Harrowhark Nonagesimus' birthday, and it only gets worse from there.

PWP (basically):

"I'll hold in these hands all that remains" by corvidlesbian (6.5k) ♥︎

“Do you want me to try?” Gideon said. “What?” “You got all hot and bothered without me trying. Do you want me to try?” Their newfound habit of cuddling gets interesting.

"sting of a wasp" by brightbolt, imperfectlyctor (42k) ♥︎

"You’re a virgin,” Gideon said, testing it out. "Huh." Harrow didn’t like the sound of that huh. She knew Gideon’s noises, and that was a thoughtful, sinister huh. That was the same huh she’d made before putting canned tuna in Crux’s work boots. Her eyes narrowed. “What.” Gideon cocked her head to the side. “Is there a reason you’re waiting?” There was no judgement in the question— only genuine curiosity. Perhaps it was this that made Harrow more inclined to answer. “I don’t have the time to look for someone new,” She shrugged. “And my available pool is… somewhat limited.” “Well,” Gideon said, with just a hint of conspiracy in those glittering golden eyes. “If you ever want to change that, you have my number.” What? What? Harrow blinked. “What?” Or: the five times Gideon and Harrow successfully bone, and the one time they don't.

"Suckle, Honey" by zoicite (7.9k)

“You crave my juice,” Gideon accused. “I do not crave your juice.” “Fuck, you do though. You went off to explore that study alone, without your cavalier, using a key that I nearly gave my life for, and then you snorted some powder that made you crave my juice! Harrow. I never would have let you sniff powder from a ten thousand year old jar.” This was untrue--Gideon probably wouldn’t have noticed Harrow breathing in a puff of jar powder until it was too late--but it sounded like something Camilla Hect might say, so Gideon went with it anyway. Camilla definitely would have stopped Palamedes from accidentally sniffing old as fuck Eighth House jarred juice addiction powder.

"Five Times We Hatefucked and One Time We Didn't" by rnanqo (8k)

“Fuck you,” you said. “Fuck me yourself, you coward.” You ran a hand through my hair, fisted it, and pulled my head up. From here I had a spectacular view of your weird blown-out seething expression, like I was the worst thing you’d ever seen. Also a view up your blood-crusted nostrils. Choice. “Maybe I will, Griddle,” you said. “Maybe I will stop fucking you over and start fucking you." Gideon and Harrow realize, abruptly, that their hatefucking is no longer hatefucking.

"a call to motion" by groundedsaucer (coasterchild) (10k) ♥︎

Harrow and Gideon watch a porno.

"put her canine teeth in the side of my neck" by stranded_star (8.8k)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus is getting a PhD and a divorce. Against her better judgment, she goes out to the bar to celebrate and meets an incorrigible, absolutely ripped salt-and-paprika butch who takes her home and gives it to her good. To her horror, it's the best night of her life, and she sneaks home with her tail between her legs. Harrow has more important things to worry about - like raising her daughter and building the next stages of her career. But when her daughter's favorite teacher, someone named Griddle, turns about to be the Gideon she met at the bar, she's forced to contend with allowing herself (and her daughter) to find the happy ending she never thought they'd have. Featuring MILF!Harrow, Teacher!Gideon, and a very amused Camilla Hect.

"The Wound That Swallows" by seelieunseelie (7.8k)

Harrow can make out an uncomfortable amount of detail about Gideon’s body beneath. Powerful, strong as ever, yet somehow vulnerable for its supplication below Harrow’s. “Are we gonna get this over with?” Gideon says in a voice softly scratchy. She blushes then when Harrow sits on the edge of the bed. “It will hurt,” Harrow says. “Yeah,” Gideon says. “I think I can handle it.”

[lets-try-some-writing]

i remember the younger primes being outcasted/mistreated by the older primes after the battle w/ unicron in the covenant of primus, though i don't remember if thirteen was also mistreated since i haven't read it in a long time

so i was thinking maybe a short story about thirteen being mistreated? but like, marginally more since he's thr absolute last of the thirteen

I got you pal.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Giftless, powerless, without purpose. That was what they said about him nonstop. They did not mean to be cruel, Thirteen could see it in their optics. They were merely stating what they saw as a fact. That didn't stop it from hurting. That didn't keep him from wandering aimlessly in order to escape their backhanded words.

Most of his siblings ignored him or otherwise regarded him distantly. He was a decoration at the best of times and a roadblock on days when the patience of his kin was limited. Prima threw him out of the way once, and Quintus threatened to drop him in a vat of acid just to see if an energy being could melt. If he wasn't a waste of space, he was a training dummy. There really wasn't much of a choice on his end. he didn't feel pain, so of course it was only logical that he assist in things that had him performing as an object rather than a person. Thirteen was not their equal, not in the optics of his fellow Primes.

The only one who treated him well was the most unlikely of the Primes. The only other partial outcast.

"Thirteen, my little Prime, what have they done to you this time." Solus ran her digits along his armor, the armor she made for him when she saw how damaged his original shell had become. It was a gift forged with love after she finally witnessed how carelessly he was being treated.

Where before she had largely ignored him, now she coddled him. Perhaps it was the fact that Thirteen was being damaged, or maybe it was simply because she had been mostly unaware of his presence. It could have even been because she saw another outcast in him. Whatever the case, she tended to him.

"Another scorch mark..." She sighed as she pulled him into a hug. It was a new thing for him, but Thirteen melted into her embrace all the same. She was the only one who understood. She was the only one who cared.

"I'm sorry they cannot see your light as I do." She shook as she caressed his helm so lovingly forged for his use. He could feel her tears trickling onto his armor. He wanted more than anything to wipe them away, but there was little use. She was the only one of their number who did not match the mold set by the others, and Thirteen was the broken Prime lacking in power and frame. They were outcasts, and neither of them were going to cease being scorned for their oddities any time soon.

"I promise you, I will change things for us. We will be seen, and when I can convince the others, I will personally make you a seat at our table." Solus cupped his face, her violet optics burning bright with passion. She would do as she promised, regardless of the cost. Thirteen wished he had a voice to deny her wishes with. He was fine being discarded so long as he had her. He needed no seat at the table of the Primes. He needed no respect or honor despite how much he longed for it.

He just needed Solus, and he needed her to be safe. Standing up for him would only make her a target. Her oddities already had her position hanging by a mere thread. If she were to act out on his behalf...

"Don't, please don't. they will hurt you as they do me."

His words meant nothing. She could not hear his pleading thoughts as she comfortingly began the process of touching every new scar upon his frame. It did not hurt. He was incapable of feeling pain. But by Primus, did every mark feel like a scorch on his spark.

"I will speak with Megatronus. If all goes well, we may gain him as our ally and fix things. Don't you worry Thirteen, this too shall pass." She pressed a kiss to the crest of his helm, a motherly gesture that Thirteen cherished. He prayed that she would endure, that her passionate spark would last forever.

And yet, he had a feeling it was not to be.

[abbatoirablaze]

Porcelain Doll, Chapter 8

Word Count:  1.2k

Warnings:  unprotected sex/smut, sex pollen, Stockholm syndrome, basement husband bucky barnes

Bucky smiled as he stared down at your sleeping form.  The makeup that you’d worn 12 hours ago was no match for what the two of you had just been through.

Your knees nearly buckled, but his arm was quick to wrap around you, “there will be time for you to be on your knees later.”

“Wh-why am I-“

“The pollen,” he explained, cutting you off, “it gets into your blood stream and heightens every sense in your body.  Even the way my voice sounds to you right now is just making you wetter.  Making you want to spread those pretty little thighs and let me cum inside you again and again until you can’t move and you’re sated.  Hydra used it against me for a long time, Margo…I can only imagine what it does to you…”

You whimpered, unable to argue with him. He leaned forward, his lips brushing delicately against yours.  You threw your arms around his neck, and pushed forward, not wanting anything other than him, “Bucky…please…”

He smiled, “is this what you want, Margo?”

Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire.  And only he was the water that could quench it and remove the need. Otherwise, you were going to explode. You nodded eagerly.

Your lips worked in tandem, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths and fighting for dominance.  Your hands slid down his chest, your body reacting to every ounce of his toned body.  The vibrations from his moans sent a shockwave straight to your core. 

“Bucky!”

“So needy,” he commented with a husky chuckle.  You moaned, another wave of juices dampening your sex and making your legs feel sticky, “see that’s what it does…it makes you need to cum.  It makes you want to have so much sex that you do-“

But you cut him off once more, your lips attacking his as your hands snaked down to his cock.  The second your hand wrapped around his shaft he hissed, “Fuck, doll…”

Your eyes met and you went to drop to your knees, but he stopped you, “if you go down on your knees I’m going to fuck your throat raw…use your hand, doll…”

You didn’t make a move. 

For some reason you could only watch the way his lips moved.  The way that they formed to create words.  And you wondered if they would move that expertly latched onto your clit. 

Your knees nearly buckled again as his hand came in contact with your pussy.  He lightly slapped it, snapping you from your stupor.  You jumped at the sensation, but it felt all too right.  You leaned in against his hand, and it slid against your folds until he collected enough of you.  Then his hand went back to his cock. 

You moaned, watching how he was using you to lubricate himself.  There was something so undeniably sexy about it.  Your mouth began to water again as you reached for his cock once more. 

But he slapped your hand away.

“You get it when I say you do!” he said firmly.  Your legs clenched and he smirked once more.

“H-how are you-“

“I had decades with them trying to control me on the pollen,” he grunted, stroking himself firmly.  You watched as his cock bobbed with every stroke.  The tip was getting angry and red, and you knew you were imagining it, but it seemed like he was hard as a rock, “I know how long I have before I go completely feral on you…just like I know what it must be doing to you right now.”

“Wh-what is it doing to me?”

He licked his lips, looking up and down your body, “when you first breathed it in, it felt like acid in your nostrils…it burned.  But then your skin became too sensitive.  Your clothes were itchy.  Your nipples are hard as diamonds.  You’re practically drooling from both ends…if I don’t give you my cock soon enough, you’ll start cramping.  The little sensitivity that you think is so much now, will start to feel like someone is setting fire to your nerves and then throwing it into a vat of acid.  That pleasure turns to pain, and in a flash…and the only way to get rid of those feelings is by cumming.  The endorphins that are released sets off a chain reaction, turning the feeling of pain back into pleasure.”

Your breath caught in your throat. 

You didn’t know any of that when you had gotten it. 

And you especially didn’t expect it to be used on you.

“I-“

“Didn’t think it through, did you?” he taunted, walking you backwards out of the room.  You shook your head, and he guided you back towards the bedroom.  Your eyes remained focused on his cock, “I can see how bad you want it…but tell me why I should give it to you, hmm? For all I know, you want it now, but afterwards, I’m just another toy on your shelf.  I’m like Barber…just someone to fuck you until your next little obsession.”

“I-I don’t think that,” you whimpered, falling back onto the bed, “I-I want you.  Forever…”

He slotted himself between your thighs and you gasped, opening up for him, “promise me, doll…I’m not doing this again where I let myself fall in love with a dame and she sleeps with my best friend…promise me that you’re my doll.  My little porcelain doll.  You want me and only me…”

“Yours,” you whimpered, inching yourself forward towards his cock.  You whined when he held you on his tip, the thick, bulbous head already stretching your entrance open.  He lifted your chin so that your eyes met his, “Pr-promise…only yours.”

“Good!”

And with that he wasted no time, spearing into your core.  Instantly, you wrapped around him, your legs locking around his waist as he went as deep as he possibly could inside of you.  Your eyes rolled back into your skull and your nails dug into his shoulders, “BUCKY!”

“Oh, fuck!” he moaned softly as he sank all the way in to his base, “you feel amazing, doll.”

“Yours,” you repeated again, entirely lost in the way he felt, stuffing you full, “all yours.”

“Oh most definitely,” he agreed.  He pulled out at a slow pace, before allowing his hips to slam back into you, “I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to control myself with you, doll…you feel too good.”

“Wanna cum,” you whimpered, feeling the slightest bit of the cramping in your stomach.  He shushed you, rolling his hips enough that you could feel the ridges and veins in his cock, “FUCK.”

“Soon, doll,” he replied simply, starting up his own pace.  He reached for your face and stroked your cheek, “don’t worry…I won’t let you feel the bad stuff…I’ll take care of you doll.  Always and forever.”

“Cum in me!”

Bucky leaned down, his lips pressing against yours in a much gentler, sweeter kiss, “don’t worry, doll.  I’m not cumming anywhere else, ever again.”

You shifted, snuggling up against the super soldier as you began to awake from your slumber.  When your eyes opened you couldn’t help but to smile, “good morning…”

“Morning, doll.” He said gently.  He leaned down, capturing your lips with his own.  You whimpered into the kiss as his hand sank from around your waist, going to cup your sensitive cunt.  He gave a light, airy chuckle as he pulled away, “sorry…it’ll probably take a day or so before you’re feeling up to it again.  We did get a bit intense…”

“Worth every moment,” you sighed happily, snuggling into his chest, “I’m your little porcelain doll…right Bucky?”

“Yes…yes you are.”

Tag List:  @teambarnes72, @lohnes16

[giddlygoat]

always get back up - chapter one | 1,823 words

in which drake comes to realize just how vital launchpad is to gosalyn’s life - and his own.

“well- UHK! maybe you could- EEK! hurry up a bit!” drake croaked, squirming away from flying droplets of searing acid flung from the bulbous, splattering bubbles below him. 

launchpad embodied the spirit of a flying bullet as he scurried towards the control panel suspended in the catwalks of the decrepit warehouse, scanning the vast array of colorful buttons and levers at his disposal - and in a very grim literal sense; darkwing’s disposal. 

“u-uh, i dunno which one to push, deedubyah!” launchpad called over his shoulder, relentless flashes of hot and cold panic accompanying a steadily speeding heartbeat. 

“just push the-“

“LEAVE HER!” megavolt’s shrill yell crackled not unlike the electricity popping at the tip of his menacing new toy. launchpad jumped, preparing himself for anything. “get away from her, you- you-“ megavolt snarled in frustration, unable to think of a word to describe the giant in his rage. launchpad wasn’t exactly sure who ‘she’ was, but he had bigger fish to fry. by the looks of it, he would be walking out of this fight smelling like a barbecue. 

“where did you even come from?” the villain huffed, clearly exasperated. launchpad furrowed his brow. “i’ve been here the whole time, just like always.” he shrugged. megavolt groaned. “wh- whatever, just MOVE! all i care about now is- is- is pulling your plug!” 

even from his deadly duck shish-kebob decent into certain doom, darkwing cringed at the delivery of that awful pun. 

launchpad flexed and curled his fists nervously, mentally planning how best to take down megavolt. his panic was starting to get the best of him. come on, LP, think- what would darkwing do? 

he cracked his neck. “so, are you one o’ those misunderstood genius types,” launchpad spread his stance, preparing himself to spring when the time was right. “or is this some kinda power trip?” 

megavolt raised his oversized taser at the slightest movement, clutching it tightly. if launchpad didn’t know better, he’d say the poor zap was shaking. 

“either way, looks like you need to find a better outlet, pal.” the almost taunting smile on launchpad’s face drove a furious shriek out of megavolt, who fired a careless jolt of surging light at launchpad’s feet. unfortunately for him, launchpad leapt out of the way last second. even more unfortunately for him, his precious control panel absorbed the shock, and it wasn’t long before smoke began streaming from between the rattling plates. 

“wh- no! NOOO!” megavolt dropped his taser gun, rushing over to the fried machine. launchpad looked between the sputtering rat and the gun slowly. 

“LAUNCHPAD!” darkwing screamed, blasting the giant back into the moment. he was scooping up the discarded weapon before he knew what he was doing, and in his haste he accidentally pulled the trigger. a stray crackle of lightning splashed the ceiling, shattering several light tubes. 

“YOU! you did this!” megavolt heaved, clawing at the air in his general direction with very clear murderous intent. 

“heh, i gotta run.” launchpad excused himself from megavolt’s immediate vicinity with an urgency. he diverted all of his focus to drake, who was now only mere feet above the surface of the roiling vat of battery acid nipping at him eagerly. even with the machine fried, the masked mallard’s decent never once flinched. launchpad ground his teeth as he raced around a maze of catwalks, parking himself directly above drake’s precarious position. 

“hang on, deedubyah!” 

drake could hear the fear in launchpad’s voice. he had been threatened by a dozen vats of deadly substances before, but never this close to his life. he curled his knees up as high as he could and bit down the searing speckles of pain slowly swallowing him. this was going to leave freckles in his feathers for sure. 

a panic like a crashing tide washed over launchpad as he realized it was now or never. no time left to weigh the risks or formulate a plan. he fired a bolt of electricity at the mechanism powering the chain hoist. 

what he failed to consider was- 

“EUCK-!” darkwing croaked and sputtered as crackling electricity singed his feathers, his skeleton flashing for a split second before his twitching limbs fall slack. 

his feet just inches above the acid but- but staying put. launchpad was already descending the stairs and rushing to the chain hoist, which he considered briefly before deciding to simply turn in its entirety 90° to the left. darkwing blinked slowly as he drudged back into consciousness, groaning in honor of the impressive variety of pains nagging him. 

suddenly he wasn’t constricted by bruising chains, and he fell into something big and soft. 

launchpad scanned his crumpled napkin of a partner from head to toe, grimacing. “don’t worry, deedubyah, i’ll get ya back home before ya know it.” as far as darkwing was concerned, he was exhausted, safe in launchpad’s arms, and there was nothing left to do. he gave back in to unconsciousness with stupid ease. 

“what? no! how did you-?” 

launchpad looked up in the catwalks, making eye contact with an incredulous megavolt. “uh-oh.” the pilot decided to bolt, for lack of a better word. 

“wait! come back here!” megavolt’s boots clattered noisily on the catwalk floor. “do you have any idea how expensive it is to procure this much battery acid?!” launchpad was already out of the warehouse, eyes zipping around until they landed on the thunderquack. bingo! 

“launchpad, did you leave something on the stove?” darkwing mumbled. launchpad chuckled nervously as he chucked his fried friend into the passenger seat. “i think you’re right, aheh, i’ll take care of that right away.” he decided not to suggest that darkwing himself was the source of the burning smell. 

and just like that, they were in the air. 

the blood rushing in launchpad’s ears eventually gave way to the hum of the jet, which helped to calm his wracking nerves. they made it out safe. drake is going to be okay. launchpad let himself breathe again. 

…

by the time they reached the house, drake was ebbing back into consciousness - not without a constant hand on his head and an ‘ouch’ on his tongue, though. 

“dad?” gosalyn scurried out the front door only moments after they landed, spotting launchpad climbing out of the cockpit. “dad!” she zoomed up to join them the moment she saw a flash of purple. “careful, gos. he’s pretty banged up.” launchpad set him gently on the driveway, supporting his arms so his knees wouldn’t give out. gosalyn gasped. “what happened?” 

“no, no, just a minor - wheeze - shock, is all. don’t you worry.” drake’s words slurred a bit as he was ushered through the door. he squinted when the bright overhead light stung him. “i just need to lie down,” he assured, which launchpad couldn’t disagree with in the slightest. 

the couch welcomed him with open arms, and launchpad made sure he was as comfortable as possible with pillows tucked under his head. 

“megavolt tried to drown him in battery acid,” launchpad began to explain. gosalyn gasped in horror. “oh, dad! i’m so sorry, i’ll never give you trouble again! just come back to me!” she knelt at his side, sobbing hysterically. 

“woah, g-gos! he ain’t dyin’!” launchpad insisted, kneeling down next to gosalyn and patting her head. “but… i thought you said megavolt dipped him in acid? he looks pretty burnt to me,” 

speaking of, launchpad’s face kind of burned. “aheh, that was, uh, me. i sorta accidentally electrocuted him when i was savin’ him.” 

“what?” gosalyn’s tone suddenly went disbelieving, her whole attitude turning on its head in an instant. “get over it, dad! a little electrocution is nothing.” she waved him off as some sort of drama queen and lost all interest immediately. “i’m gonna go get a snack.” 

both launchpad and drake watched her leave in total astonishment. “h-hey! is that any way to speak to your- ouch-“ he shrunk back into the pillows, finding that jabbing a pointed finger at her was too much too soon. 

“i’ll uh, go talk to her. you just stay here. and don’t move,” launchpad raised a finger and gave drake a stern look before he could argue. 

watching his sidekick lumber into the hall and out of sight, drake felt a strange soberness wash over him. it always took a while for his body to emerge from danger mode, but here in the safety of his own home, he allowed himself to loosen up just a little - and reflect on what exactly had just happened. 

holy shit, drake really would have died without launchpad. 

“hey, watch the language!” launchpad scolded, wagging a finger. 

“sorry,” gosalyn muttered. “but when you put it like that, it’s kind of terrifying! i just-“ she wrung her hands, looking at any of the four walls not made of feathers. “he’s always getting into bad situations, sure, but from the sounds of it, he would’ve-“ 

“hey,” launchpad’s tone was miles softer than before as he knelt down to her level. “your dad is real tough, alright? and for all the times he lets his ego drive, he never once takes his eyes off the road. he’s gonna be okay.” 

the wet look in gosalyn’s eyes made launchpad’s monster of a heart break. she wiped her face on her sleeve, sniffling. “i can’t be the only one who worries about…” when her pouting lip began to quiver again, launchpad pulled her into a hug. there was no hesitation in her tiny arms clinging to his sides, however majorly incomplete her embrace ended up being. the feeling of her small body against his made his heart swell with a swirl of bittersweet emotions; concern being nearly as prominent as pride. 

he hugged her tight, careful not to squeeze her lights out. soft, muffled sobs etched a terrible memory into launchpad’s skull, and with it came an unshakable resolution. he would do any and everything in his power to make sure gosalyn never has to cry like that again. 

“launchpad, i know you said not to-“ drake stopped with his hand on the doorframe, mouth open. 

suddenly gos was emerging from launchpad’s embrace, hastily wiping away the wetness in her eyes. “hey dad, glad to see you’re feeling better! i’ve got a high score to beat, see ya!” she practically zoomed past drake, who spun to watch her stamp up the stairs. “oh- okay, have-“ her door slammed. “…fun.” 

launchpad was standing again when drake looked back. the pitch black window behind him and dim yellow ceiling light casting a halo on his back reminded drake of just how imposing he was. instinctively, he swallowed. 

“i told you to stay put.” launchpad sighed. “what is it with you and running off?” 

something nervous and monumental took up residence in drake’s curling stomach as a hundred repressed anxieties nagged at his heart. “well, you know me - ” a false lightness in his tone, “i always get back up.” 

[aziraphalalala]

Hey :)

Ask you anything? Okay :D

If you would fall into the back of the bookshop right now and Crowley would be there, staring you down, unblinking, what would you do?

This poured out of me. Thanks, @nerdypixel

--

Aziraphale was gone.

Well, good riddance. Better to have the ugly truth of him come out now, rather than later.

He gave it his all, but it was in vain.

The “I forgive you” still trembled in him, like a wild, hungry thing. It ate at him. It carved him out, left him brittle and broken.

Aziraphale was gone. The fucking Supreme Archangel Aziraphale had fucked off to fucking Heaven and left Crowley alone.

From the backroom sofa, Crowley extended his hand petulantly. Another bottle of Château-neuf-du-Pape 1921 floated unsteadily to him. He uncorked it with a vicious gesture (which was considered rude in the extreme in several cultures, including this one), and drank deeply.

He didn’t need that fucking angel—

“Excuse me?”

“Wot?”

There was a lady. A lady had entered the bookshop. Hadn’t he closed the door? Crowley couldn’t remember.

“Excuse me. Are you Mr. Fell?”

“WOT?”

“The door was open, and it started pouring like the end of the world out there, and me with no umbrella, so I thought, ‘Why don’t I drop in that delightful bookshop in the corner, I’ve always wanted to see it’, and—“

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I ssssaid, do I look like I run a bookshop?”

“Um, well. Don’t you? It kinda looks like you do.”

Crowley heaved a heavy sigh, and wobbled up to his feet.

“Nggyyeeeaaaah. I suppose I must do.” He picked up a stray book off the table. Jane Austen. Of course it bloody was. “Umm, so, what was it you said you wanted, exactly?”

She squinted, looking suspicious, and asked: “Are you drunk?”

“No. Yes! A little. What of it?” stammered Crowley.

“Nothing! I don’t mind a tipple myself, now and then.”

She looked half-intrigued, half-ready to escape back into the safety and predictability of English weather. Having been raised with three brothers and a mother with a penchant for bra-burning, she wasn’t easily intimidated. She could deal with a moody bloke. She resolutely stood her ground. 

“Lost someone, did you?”

Crowley’s head snapped up. His mouth was opening and closing, like a fish on dry land, struggling for breath.

Any other day, he would have snapped his fingers, and slung this nosy, too-curious-for-her-own-good insolent woman straight into a vat of acid.

This was not any other day.

This was this day, and he was a post-heartbreak demon, attempting discorporation through tears and extraordinary amounts of alcohol.

“Yeah,” He sighed with visible exhaustion.

“Was he the blond one?”

“Coulda been a she,” he retorted, cheekily.

She levelled a gaze at him, utterly unimpressed.

Crowley stared back, mutely.

“Yeaaahh, the blond one.”

“Was it your fault?”

“Was it my fault?!” he blurted, like spitting out food that tasted rotten.

“He wants to save the world. I think he can’t, and shouldn’t try. I wanted to run away. He wanted to stay. End of story.”

He sat back, indicating he was done arguing, and that he was undeniably right.

She stepped closer, understanding in her eyes. “So, he left you… for a job opportunity?”

“Nngggghhhyyeeaaaah, you could say that.”

“Well, good riddance. If he didn’t choose you, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“He kind of does, you know.”

“Rubbish. I’ve been there, you know, it’s absolutely not worth it. If he’s got an ounce of sense in him—“

“He really kind of doesn’t.”

“—then he’ll come to realise his mistake soon enough, and come crawling back.”

Crowley slumped even deeper into the sofa. Staring at his shoes, he poured himself another generous helping of wine.

“I… hope so.”

“He will, or damn him.”

“He’s just, he’s an angel, you know?”

“He’s really not, if this is how he treats you.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” he paused. ”And, if he does come back, I’m gonna make him do the apology dance for a century.”

“Do what now?”

“He will watch the entirety of Golden Girls with me from start to finish. Twisssce,” he hissed.

She looked a little confused, but decided to show support. “Attaboy.”

“Not a boy, but thank you.”

Crowley stoop up abruptly, wobbling a bit, and went to pick up another glass from the tray on the side table.

“He’ssss going to hate it, and he’s going to remember he misses m— sushi, and Shostakovich, and the bloody Sound of music!”

She stepped closer again, pleased that this strange, dark not-a-boy before her was emerging from the worst of his gloom. The rain had stopped.

Crowley wielded the bottle of wine at her like a sword.

“Care for a tipple?”

[the11tailedwrites]

1 - Osiris

CW: Angle Trap from Saw so heavy gore

@hidden-scarlet-whispers @braindamagedrizz

They saw trapped my man.

Osiris awoke to a pounding behind his eyes. His head pulsed and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did adjust, Osiris had absolutely no idea where he was. It was a dark and musty room with only a single light. He shifted slightly and pain flared up from his chest and he hissed in pain and glanced down. There was a strange ribbed metal cage around his chest. He could feel metal twisting inside him, and he bit his lip to hide a hiss of pain. He grabbed at the cage with his fingers, desperately trying to pry it open.

“Rise and shine, little phoenix,” crooned a feminine voice.

A screen in the corner of the room lit up, bathing Osiris in artificial light. Osiris glanced over at the screen to see a masked woman. The mask was pure white, with nothing on it, not even holes for the eyes. The woman’s bright red hair made her white mask almost seem to glow.

“Who the fuck are you,” snarled Osiris, jerking forward before grimacing in pain, feeling blood leak out from under the ribbed cage.

“I am Chaos, pleasure, my dear boy,” said the woman, “Now let’s play a game, yes?”

“What?” hissed Osiris

“You don’t have much of a choice, give I’ve already strung you up,” said the woman, “Now, here’s how it works; as you can probably tell, you are strung up with ribbed metal around your chest, embed to the bone. In front of you is a vat of acid. When the timer starts, the key to unlock the ribbed cage drops in. Failure to get the key out of the acid before it melts results in no way to get the cage off. 60 seconds later and the machine activated and rips out of your chest. The fun thing about guardians is that this won’t keep you dead, so you get to try out so many different methods!”

“I am going to kill you,”

“You can try,”

Osiris’ eyes flicked over to the vat of acid, neck pricking slightly. He stomach twisted painful. Why was he so nervous? He was the phoenix of the dark ages, the student of Lord Felwinter and a damn powerful warlock. A simple trap shouldn’t set him on edge, but it did. Maybe it was because he could barely feel Sagira.

“Wait,” he shouted, “What have you done to my ghost!”

“She’s fine,” said the woman, holding up Osiris’ beloved ghost in one hand, “I need subjects for my experiments anyway and you are fascinating. Make sure to smile, you’re being recorded!”

Then the timer ticked on, and a key dropped into the acid. Osiris wasted no time reaching his hand in. He bit down a scream as the acid bit apart his hand as he groped for the key. After a few painful seconds, his hand clasped around the key and he pulled into out quick, splashing some acid onto his legs. The smell of chemically brunt flesh filled Osiris’ nose as he forced the key into the lock, though it took almost four seconds.

It clicked.

It opened.

It fell off.

But the ribbed cage did not.

Confusing spread through Osiris as he stared at the fallen lock. Osiris gritted his teeth and gripped the cage, ripping and pulling, desperately trying to free himself.

5.

Osiris thrashed.

4.

His nails broke off.

3.

His heart was in his ears.

2.

Why couldn’t he stop shaking?

1.

The sound of tearing flesh and the searing pain almost blinded him. He only got a few seconds to look down before gravity took hold of his organs. He could only watch as his intestines fell out before nothing.

Osiris awoke lying on his own organs. They felt warm and squishy, and Osiris pushed himself up.

“Sorry, no way to win,” came Chaos’ annoying voice, “Good quality video, though, I sent it to the Iron Lords. Wonder what they’ll think?”

“Bitch” snarled Osiris, forcing himself up, entire front drenched in his own blood.

A piece of his intestines clung to him for a moment before slipping off and hitting the floor.

Chaos’ laughter filled the small room.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to tend to,”

The tv turned off and Osiris was plunged into darkness.

It took incredible effort for Osiris to move away from the pile of organs and crawl into a corner. He tried to create a solar flare, for light or warmth he didn’t know. It didn’t matter because he couldn’t create light at all. He wasn’t bound in any way with void suppression, so Osiris wasn’t sure how he wasn’t able to use light.

Osiris leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

Tearing flesh. The wet sound of organs falling to the ground.

Osiris snapped open his eyes.

“Fuck,”

Osiris wished he could feel Sagira. He could really use her comfort right now.

Distantly, he wondered who that other guest Chaos was talking about was.

He tried to remember how he ended up here. He memories of recent events was hazy at best.

He had been on patrol. Lord Felwinter has requested he look into something nearby. He had gotten there, checked, nothing odd. He had been on the way to sweep the nearby area. His neck had pulsed for only a second and everything had gone dark.

Did Lord Felwinter set a trap for him? No, that wouldn’t make sense. If Lord Felwinter wanted him out of the way or dead, he would have done it himself. Lord Felwinter was not the kind of person who tortured his targets before he killed them.

If not an Iron Lord, then was Chaos working for herself?

Osiris sighed.

He was getting nowhere.

All he could do now was hope for a rescue. He didn’t even know if anyone would care enough to rescue him. Maybe they would come for whoever else was trapped here and leave him. He wouldn’t be surprised.

He was used to being abandoned.

[distort-opia]

You are one of the people who have the best character interpretation, so I would like to ask a question regarding N52's final issue. Joker delays his transformation to his actual self by saying, "not yet." Why do you think he wanted to stay longer? Bruce already returned being Batman, but (amnesic?) Joker seemed to want to be on hiatus. Is it because he enjoyed the human side?

Thank you so much! I'm happy you're enjoying my interpretation of these complex characters.

There's no doubt amnesiac Joker wants to stay human longer, and away from his real self. It's directly spelled out in Batman (2011) #48, when he asks Bruce not to become Batman again, and the reason for it is mentioned there too, more or less:

"At rest." In one word, that's the reason they both wanted to stay longer: peace. The unattainable dream that haunts Batman and Joker's characters relentlessly, because it's something they both had, but lost in such a traumatic way it made them incapable of having it again.

I'll go in more detail as to why he wants to delay his return as Joker under the cut, because I ended up citing comic panels and making this long again -- but also because there'll be heavy discussion of depression and suicidality, so. If that is something that triggers you, please take care.

Sigh. So the thing about Joker is... that he's deeply suicidal, and always has been.

Snyder's origin for him in Batman: Zero Year -- Secret City has the original Red Hood letting himself fall into the acid vat, refusing Bruce's outstretched hand, grinning as he falls:

Then, this is how Bruce recalls it in Endgame:

So. This is how Bruce remembers it going down, as shown in both of these comics. However, in Death of the Family, when Joker records himself talking out of the Red Hood helmet as Harley is parading as him, he says this:

"Where you knocked me off this very catwalk and bathed me in fire and burned away my false skin."

Interesting, isn't it? Joker doesn't remember it as him choosing to fall, he remembers it as Batman tipping him over. And the pattern continues with Endgame. In DotF, Joker gets so terrified by Bruce's bluff of knowing his identity he jumps off a cliff himself:

And yet, this is what he says in Endgame:

"You dropped me off a cliff!" It keeps happening, and I love the parallel Snyder made here-- not only the perpetual thread of a Joker always falling and a Batman who's unable to save him (even in Flashpoint), but the way they both remember the fall in entirely different ways. (Tbh, I think neither of these versions are the truth, and that it's much more impactful if we as readers don't know the truth either. This way, it's all about what Bruce and Joker need to believe. But that's a meta post for another day.) Bruce thinks Red Hood chose to fall, but Joker thinks Bruce pushed him towards his death, every time.

It's because he needs to believe that. The identity of Joker that he's forged for himself after the fall into the acid (and after the trauma that came before it) fulfills many functions, but a crucial one is just... keeping him alive. The same way Batman and The Vow is a way Bruce has come up with to stave off his own suicidal tendencies (something explicitly stated in Tom King's Batman: I Am Suicide). Joker can't believe that he tried to kill himself both times he fell, and that Batman tried to save him; he has to believe Batman did it on purpose. If he believes Batman had a hand in his creation, made him, that means Joker has a purpose. As long as that purpose is Batman, he cannot die. This is how he fights to stay alive... by throwing himself against the wall that is Batman's no-killing rule. It's all so goddamn tragic, I swear to fucking God. Joker genuinely wants to die, but by believing only Batman deserves to kill him, and by doing everything in his power to make him go dark and break his rule, he's keeping himself alive. Batman is, paradoxically, both his preferred method of suicide and his reason for living. (I’m fine. This is fine.)

However, amnesiac Joker doesn't have this to rely on! He's wiped clean of the memories that made him Joker, the decisions he's made to get there. And as a slate wiped clean, he's shown to still be craving death -- still fighting what is unavoidably depression. Without Batman, in the initial months, his life as a normal person felt meaningless, so he nearly kills himself... But then, he finds a way to survive. He finds this island of peace with the bench and the lake, this sliver of hope. He goes to that bench and puts the gun in his mouth and doesn't fire, and that's how he manages to stay alive, and content, and happy with his normal job and normal apartment. 'I have the power to leave everything behind at any moment, but there are things here to live for.'

And here's where my main point comes in: amnesiac Joker is so desperate to preserve this, because his original Joker identity is incapable of this by design. Joker, as we know him, is incapable of being truly happy, the exact same way Batman is. Amnesiac Joker and Bruce are parallels and inversions of each other in this story, like they are in everything else; Bruce is driven to become Batman again, while Joker is the one fighting against it. Alfred is so desperate to preserve Bruce as he is, keep him away from being Batman, because as Bruce Wayne he has a chance at happiness. And Joker doesn't have an Alfred to spell it out, but it's the same thing for him. Without Joker, he has a shot at genuine peace. But Batman and Joker are too deeply intertwined for Joker not to come back if Batman did, and that's ultimately why amnesiac Joker asks Bruce not to become Batman again. Their peace, and their torment, are inextricably linked.

But... you know what moment haunts me most in Batman #48? Fuck it, if I started ranting about this, might as well get it all out of my system.

Bruce turns back. When the explosion goes off, he starts running towards Jules and the people in danger, but then he stops and looks back at Joker... but there's no one there. Joker is gone. There's no one near the bench. And when he goes off running again, his face is in shadow, as if to symbolize a return to Batman.

Insert me going 'Snyder!! What does it mean?? What does it all mean??'. What would've happened if the explosion didn't go off? Was Joker actually intending to kill himself? Was it because he sensed Bruce would become Batman again no matter what he did, and would rather die while still having this fleeting happiness than go back to being Joker? If so, why didn't he kill himself any of the times after? Was Bruce's presence while he did it, in any capacity, something he needed? And if so, why? Did he need Bruce there to try and stop him from killing himself, or did he need him there because he didn't want to die alone? Is this a parallel to the end of Endgame, in which it was Joker desperately trying to stay alive while Bruce doomed them both to death? Is this a reversal of it, with Joker trying to stay human this time while Bruce is slipping back into Batman?

And why, why did Joker run away? The implication in those panels is that Bruce hesitated. What if Joker had still been there when he looked back? If Joker had insisted, or went with Bruce to the location of the explosion, if he had stayed... would that have made a difference?

God, this is why I would have loved more insight into amnesiac Joker's head! In the issue you're referring to, #51, we're shown both visually and textually that he's fighting becoming Joker again, and all this after the events of #48 transpired. Leaving aside him saying "Not yet," in DotF and Endgame, Snyder has used flies as a way to signal Joker's influence or presence. And in these panels we can see amnesiac Joker crushing the flies that keep coming at him, symbolically keeping his real identity at bay:

This does indicate a certain degree of self-awareness, at least an unconscious knowledge of who he used to be, and I need to freaking know why he ran away that time, and how he reacted to Batman returning, how he managed to stay this person instead of becoming Joker again. For that matter, we are also never told how that happened! Snyder intended to have a comic explaining what transpired after the events of Batman (2011) #48 and #51, but that comic unfortunately never came to be. Between these, which have an amnesiac Joker with no bleached skin or disfiguration, and Dark Days: The Forge and Dark Days: The Casting, there's nothing yet in canon to explain how he became the classical Joker again. We know how Batman regained his memories, but not Joker, and it bugs me immensely. In The Casting Joker says that even when he was not himself, he felt the call (of Barbatos, essentially, since both Bruce and Joker have been revived by dionesium, one of the Nth metals) -- so did he just spontaneously freaking get white skin, a grin and green hair at some point? Or did he intentionally throw himself in a vat of acid again once the memories came back? How did Joker end up imprisoned in the Batcave then, how did Bruce drag him there and why did he actually need him? Also, why did the dionesium pool restore Joker to life at the end of DotF but kept his physical Joker-like traits, but post-Endgame it healed him entirely of everything, restored him to pre-Joker appearance? Snyder!! I need answers!!

[deep breath] Anyway! I'm sorry anon, this went off the rails more than a little. Any in-depth talk of Snyder's stuff tends to send me spiralling. But I hope you still enjoyed some of my rambling!

[ltleflrt]

So Misha has said in private M&Gs that it looked like Cas was in the Heaven Roadhouse, but it was actually Jimmy.  Looking at that from the POV of a writer, I assume the idea there was to add a sense of tragedy to the ending.  As much as I hate 15x20, THANK FUCK they didn’t go with that.  I hope someone looked at that script and went okay no that’s Too Much, take 20% off the top there guys.  Because what’s the point of sending the boys to Heaven and giving them a big happy reunion with everyone they know, if they then immediately slap viewers in the face with a PSYCH HAHA EVEN IN HEAVEN DEAN IS SAD ABOUT SOMETHING.  Like... no.  Cutting Jimmy out of the finale was a good choice, and I will chose the shitshow that we got, with the implication that Cas has been rescued from The Empty, over the tragedy of Dean being elated to see Cas only to have the rug pulled out from under him.

On the other hand, I feel like having Cas be in Heaven, either with the full intended Roadhouse Reunion, or the watered down “Cas Helped” that we got, is a deliberate choice to cut off any and all attempts at a continuation.  Someone, somewhere high up, decided that SPN needed to be wrapped up and cut off so thoroughly that the boys can never be part of a new story.  Having Cas in heaven means he doesn’t need to be rescued.  Which is my preferred ending, thank you.  But what on earth (or in Heaven) would give Dean and Sam any reason to leave their happily ever after in the afterlife for more adventures?

I know Jensen wants to revisit things some day.  But with the way things ended in 15x20, what more can they do?  “They get bored and ask Jack to send them back” is valid, but also doesn’t really come with a solid story base for 10 episodes.  I do not want 10 episodes of MotW.

Well... unless Cas is in every single episode, and episode 3 is Amazon Prime levels of sex between Dean and Cas.  Herogasm, but only Dean and Cas finally fucking out 12 seasons of sexual frustration.

But anyway, horny shipper thoughts aside, my POINT here is that the Jimmy Ending would have sucked balls and I honestly think it would have driven me to real actual self harm, but it would have left an opening for a continuation.  And I think whatever changes were made to Misha’s finale storylines, Dean and Cas side by side in the Roadhouse when Sam shows up or “Cas Helped”, is an Honest to Chuck attempt to kill any Sam and Dean continuations.

This is all speculation, of course.  In the end it all boils down to “someone at CW made some stupid decisions, and I wish I could study their brain before dropping it in a vat of acid”.

[thesoftboiledegg]

I think that season 5 Rick is the man that fans thought he was back in season 1--someone who's blunt, argumentative, emotionally immature, deeply troubled and hard to get along with, but ultimately loving toward his family members.

Seasons 1 and 2 Rick was a mean bastard. He cursed out his grandkids, shit on Jerry constantly and manipulated Beth and took advantage of her desire to have a relationship with him so she wouldn't kick him out of the house. He crapped on Morty constantly to destroy what little self esteem he had left and make him an obedient little adventure partner. Once in a while, he had his moments, but he was overall a toxic presence in his family's lives.

In season 3, after he was emboldened by breaking out of prison and destroying the citadel, Rick became the worst version of himself--an egotistical monster who separated Jerry from his family, scared and traumatized the fuck out of his grandson, manipulated Summer, caused more destruction than ever and constantly pushed his family away while simultaneously demanding their love, attention and respect. He also seemed to be straight-up losing his mind at times, like when he went on that unhinged rant about szechuan sauce in the garage.

Fortunately, his family knocked him on his ass at the end of the season. It didn't destroy his ego entirely, but in season 4, Rick was clearly changing. He still had his asshole moments--hitting Morty in the face, the shitshow that was "The Vat of Acid Episode," sabotaging Morty's Netflix deal--but eh...he wasn't the same guy who cursed out his grandkids every five minutes. He was a little more forgiving and willing to own up to his mistakes. When he and Morty thought they were dying at the end of the Glorzo episode, Rick started frantically apologizing to Morty and saying "Daddy loves you, Beth!" In other words--he tried to act cold and aloof, but the ice was starting to crack.

At the end of season 4, Rick lost control of his family entirely, which was the kick in the teeth that he needed to start his transformation in season 5. Make no mistake, Rick was still Rick--he was irritable, aloof, selfish, haunted by his past and reluctant to show affection. But he also started owning up to his mistakes and showing real emotion in front of people. Instead of arguing over every little thing, he was willing to roll his eyes and let it go once in a while. Even when he was mean to Jerry in "Amortycan Grickfitti," it was pretty tame compared to the shit he'd pulled in the past.

As the season progressed, he backed off Jerry a little, showed protectiveness over Morty, got over his pointless dick-measuring contest with the president and openly admitted that he loved his best friend. When Memory Rick lodged himself in his consciousness, he was annoyed at first, then shrugged it off and offered to give him a physical body (and a beer.) He also accepted genuine love and affection from Summer and returned it in his weird, backhanded way.

Then, at the end, Rick showed Morty love and sincerity for maybe the first time in the entire series. After all this time, he was finally willing to drop the mask--for a few minutes, at least--and stop pretending that he didn't love him. In return, Morty saved his life and offered him forgiveness.

Of course, none of this erases all the damage that Rick's done (and will continue to do, probably), but we're starting to see the human being inside that fans always talked about.

[soulmate-game]

Harley’s Plea for Help: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before she decides to sneak out?” Nightwing asked over his comms, lazily leaning against the balcony railing in front of him with his head resting on one hand.

“Dude, I started sneaking out almost twenty minutes ago,” a girl’s voice made Nightwing squeak and turn around, to reveal a teenage girl leaning against the door that led to the balcony he was on. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by doing unnecessarily showy gymnastics down from my hotel room’s balcony, no matter how much fun that would be, so I just snuck out one of the hotel’s back exits. Then I looked up to admire the moon and saw you here, staking out what is clearly my suite, and decided to come pay you a visit.”

“How long have you been there? And how did you even get behind me? I hope you didn’t break and enter, that’s an actual lived-in apartment behind us right now,” Nightwing asked, turning around to analyze the daughter of Harley Quinn for the first time in person.

She looked just like in her pictures, of course. Jet black hair like her father’s, except it seemed to have a bluish shine in the light. And her eyes were definitely Harley’s— thank goodness for that —vibrant blue and clearly analyzing him with the same amount of intensity as his did her. He had to bite back a chuckle. In a turn of complete irony, she really did look like a Wayne kid. Fit all of Bruce’s usual criteria to be adopted. But she was tiny, even smaller than Harley’s lithe form. He, Bruce, and Tim were of the hypothesis that the exposure both her parents had to Ace Chemical’s vats of acid likely had an effect on her DNA that stunted her growth. Perhaps there were other effects that they wouldn’t be able to figure out until they got to know her better, too, though it was clear that her skin was a likely one. It wasn’t unnaturally pale like her parent’s after their acid dips but it was paler than normal for sure, just a shade or two shy of being paper white.

And he could see, now, what Harley meant when she referred to Marinette as a powerhouse. It wasn’t very noticeable in pictures, but up close Dick could see the carefully honed muscle of an acrobat curling over her otherwise slim build. Combined with the knowledge that Marinette had been taught at least some serious self defense from a young age, he could see how such a tiny package could be a remarkable threat when necessary.

Marinette grimaced as the other Batfam, who were all nearby staking out her room from different angles, dropped onto the large balcony with them.

“Uh, well. I didn’t break and enter, I rather not get off to a criminal-ly start on my first night in Gotham, you know? But I realized that even though I was able to figure out the exact room you were staking me out from, I realized as soon as I got into the first floor of the building that I had no idea how to actually get to you. So I just climbed the stairs all the way to the roof and scaled my way down to this balcony, and pretended I’ve been here for a while when really I was barely able to hear you ask when I was gonna sneak out. I’m still out of breath, actually,” she put a hand on her chest and sure enough her breathing was still slightly fast. But not enough to be worrying or even all that noticeable. Yet another piece of evidence to show that she was a very active individual and had resistance built up to physical activity.

“Yup,” Robin groused grumpily, crossing his arms. “With all that rambling, you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but Quinzel’s.”

Marinette’s face immediately flushed pink all the way to her ears. “I’m sorry! I’ve been trying so hard to quit that habit, too!” She grumbled a bit to herself, putting her face in her hands. They all chuckled at the display. Red Hood ambled over, draping his arm over her shoulders (he nearly had to bend in half to do it, the height difference was that bad).

“As adorable as your freak out is, why’d you even come up here anyway? There’s no way you’d scale down a ten-story building just to say hello.”

She let out a heavy sigh at that, slowly peeling her face out of her hands. “Yeah, I recognized you guys right away. And honestly, as much as Momma Harley would be super proud of me for managing to give an entire group of vigilantes the slip, she’d also ground me for life if she found out that I saw you guys and still snuck away even though she probably swallowed her pride and asked you guys to babysit me, right? Self preservation. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have some.”

“Wait,” Red Robin held up a hand, brows clearly furrowed under his cowl. “You expected her to ask for our help?”

“Well,” she made a so-so motion with her hand. “I didn’t think of it beforehand, but it all clicked once I saw Nightwing. I know how much my mom is worried about me, especially since you-know-who broke out a few days ago. She is more than worried enough to ask you guys for help. Even if she does complain about you guys, a lot actually, she also has made it clear that she trusts you guys with the stuff that actually matters.

“‘You know who’?” Batman repeated, arms crossed. If Marinette squinted, she thought there might have been a grin on his lips. “Is that how you always refer to him?”

“What else am I gonna call him?” she asked, face going deadpan. “Sperm donor? Source of a large amount of my self doubt and depreciation? The prime reason I haven’t been able to see my mom in person more often over the years? Oh, I know! How about I just always refer to him as ‘that bastard I wanna punch,’? That sounds good!” she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Only one person in this world has the right to be considered my father in any capacity, and it sure as hell isn’t him. Genetics notwithstanding.”

Red Hood straight up guffawed at that, landing several rough pats on her back that made the girl stumble a bit. “Yep, I like this one! But as fun as it would be to see you give that jackass a mean left hook, it’s better if he never finds out who you are or knows that you’re here,” the vigilante’s voice got dark and serious very quickly. “He doesn’t forget people he finds interesting easily, and if he ever finds out about the connection you have to him, he’ll be a constant threat in your life.”

“I know,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “And if this conversation was happening two years ago, I’d say that my mom’s concerns aren’t unfounded. That I am too easily emotionally compromised and despite my deep seated issues and hatred for that man, I couldn’t guarantee he would be unable to get to me.”

Batman straightened up, as did all of his sons around him. None of them had missed the ‘if’ there. Batman’s voice went from charmingly deep to it’s usual gruff grumble. “What changed in two years?”

They all watched as Marinette gulped, taking a deep breath as she stalled for time, looking out at the view on the balcony before seeming to steel herself and return her gaze to Batman’s. When she did, it was suddenly full of iron will.

“I didn’t lie when I told Mom that I came to visit her— but that isn’t the whole truth, either. If I just wanted to visit her in Gotham, I would have waited until I was eighteen like we agreed. But I can’t wait, Paris can’t keep going on like this. I entered that contest because it was the fastest way to see you. I didn’t know if I would win, but… I had to take the chance. There was no way I’d be able to get to Gotham behind my mom’s back otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Robin hissed, stepping up to his father’s side. “Paris has been silent. If anything were happening, we would have heard about it by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Marinette corrected, never losing that ironclad look in her eyes. “Because a combination of magic and politics is keeping it quiet. No news about Paris’ situation is able to leave the city limits. Magic makes any non-native who leaves Paris think that everything they experienced was just a crazy dream. Natives won’t forget, but politics has all of us under very strict NDAs if we leave city boundaries, and all of our local news and social media is blocked from being accessed by anyone outside the city. But, I figured a little breaking of the rules wouldn’t exactly put a stain on my family’s reputation or anything, so,” she dug in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, holding it up for all of them to see. She swallowed again, but never stopped her eye contact with Batman. She held out the thumb drive.

“I came to Gotham to ask for your help. This sped things up, I didn’t expect to see you on my first night here, but two years in Hawkmoth’s Paris has really taught me how to roll with the punches. This,” she shook the thumb drive. “Holds videos of every fight since HawkMoth first showed up. It has all the information I’ve gathered over two years, tracks his movements and lists all his targets and— everything. But I’m not a detective, I’m a designer. I make clothes, I spar on the weekends, I am not good at getting evidence to prove that someone is a magic-abusing villain holding an entire city hostage.”

“We’re gonna need some details, Little Q,” Red Hood finally removes his arm from around her shoulders, instead crossing his arms and looking down at her sternly. “If your city has a villain holding it hostage, is anyone fighting him? And if you do have someone fighting him, why don’t you need our help, or why didn’t they call the Justice League? The JLE should be in Paris, right?”

Marinette snorted, face scrunching up in obvious distaste. “I’ll have to answer those a little out of order. First; the JLE was kicked out of Paris. They moved their headquarters to Italy about five years ago, I’m just surprised they apparently kept that secret from you,” she gestured to all of them, who indeed seemed very caught off guard by that tidbit. But Marinette just sighed and continued. “Though that’s a good thing, actually. We do have heroes, it started out as just a pair but it’s grown into a small team out of necessity. They didn’t call the Justice League because the last thing we need is any powered heroes coming in and making it worse— your league doesn’t have the best reputation for letting newer heroes take the lead even on their home turf, you know,” she pointed out, which made Batman shift a bit guiltily. He knew the JL was often a bit… heavy handed in their methods.

“What makes the situation so bad that you don’t want to bring experienced heroes into it?” Red Robin cut in, sounding as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was determined to sort out. Which, really, was exactly what Marinette had been counting on. She shot him a finger gun, grinning.

“That’s exactly the point! Hawkmoth uses a magical artifact, like I said— but this artifact can brainwash anybody who experiences even the slightest negative emotion. Sadness, anger, fear— anything negative. And it gives them powers, but puts them largely under his influence,” her expression twisted again, this time into a wry little grimace. “I guess you can say that my momma’s psychiatry background has secretly come in handy a lot over these past two years. And Hawkmoth is exactly why I try to tell Momma Harley to stop visiting me— I have worked my butt off to keep her from finding out about his attacks or getting Akumatized. Every time she shows up it gives me a heart attack!”

“Akumatized?”

Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the term used for when someone is turned into a super powered villain because of HawkMoth. The brainwashing— really it’s more similar to a straight up corruption. The person usually lacks their usual moral compass, and just seeks to soothe whatever set off their negative emotion in the first place. Usually, that means they seek a bloody revenge. And if someone who already has extensive training or extremely strong powers gets Akumatized, guess what?” She made jazz hands even though her face was deadpan. “Extra powers, or amplified ones, for the metas or superheroes who are Akumatized. And imagine what someone with, say, Batman’s level of experience could do if he had powers and no moral compass,” the silence that followed her words was deafening. She just nodded, knowing she had gotten her point across. “I’ve been working my butt off to stay positive, because if I’m Akumatized…” her shoulders fell, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “... I have no idea what I’d turn into, but if you take into consideration both my training and my family history… it’s really best if we never find out what kind of magic-powered supervillain I’d make.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Nightwing said after another long moment of silence for that to all sink in. He gestured at her with an open palm. “You’ve been dealing with a terrorist for two years who targets emotional vulnerability, you apparently have never been corrupted by this magic at least to present day, but your mother still worries about you being very emotionally fragile. And your heroes are not detectives, which is clearly what you need or you wouldn’t have asked us for our help.”

Marinette nodded. “I used to be very impressionable. At the start of all this, I was a huge people-pleaser. I got attached to new people in a matter of minutes. My mom always said I reminded her too much of herself— but two years of fighting off a guy trying to get into my head—“

“Wait,” Batman nearly barked, taking a step forward. “He’s been targeting you? You specifically?”

Marinette nodded grimly, mouth a straight line. “Not from the beginning, but this past year it’s been painfully obvious. He might be able to sense the strength of people’s emotions, and unfortunately I don’t exactly experience my emotions very… gently. All of my emotions tend to the much more intense side of the spectrum. If that’s true, then he might know that any negative emotion I feel will make an extremely strong Akuma. Either that, or he’s going by process of elimination. All of my friends, except for one, have been Akumatized already. So has my Papan and my grandmother. But it’s obvious when he’s targeting someone, I’ve felt him try to override my will on several occasions. But I can’t just repress all of my negative emotions forever, so consider us working against the clock right now. That thumb drive has all the details you need about our heroes, how exactly Hawkmoth’s powers work, and so on.”

“Do your heroes know you’re asking for our help?” Red Robin asked, gaze burning a figurative hole through Marinette’s face. “Better yet, if this drive has as much information as you say it does, how did you get it?”

Marinette handed the drive over to Batman, who finally took it and tucked it in his belt as she answered.

“Momma Harley might have a lot to say about your detective skills, but you are all still strangers to me. So consider this a test of your abilities— I expect that you will all go to extreme lengths to verify all of the information I gave you anyway. After all, I’m still the daughter of your most hated enemy. Right?” She met each of their gazes, one by one, with a challenging one of her own. “You’ll just have to figure out my connection to the heroes on your own. And how I got the information, too. It shouldn’t be too hard for the so-called world’s greatest detectives. And maybe this can double as a trust exercise. I fully expect you guys to scour through every inch of my past, and dig up everything you can on me. I encourage you to try to find everything you can, so that hopefully you can decide to trust me on your own once you have all the details laid out in front of you. By the way, for your own sanity? I’d start with reading about all of our heroes’ powers and abilities before you watch any footage of past attacks.”

Red hood rocked back on his heels, trading glances with the other vigilantes before they all shared a nod. Apparently having decided their course of action, Red Hood leaned down and hoisted Marinette up into a princess carry. All traces of her previous iron will melted away in favor of the high pitched squeal of surprise she gave, and once more she became an overly flustered teenager.

“Alright, little cutie. Let’s get you to your mom’s place before she and her crazy plant lady fiancé come hunting us down.”

“I can walk! I can freerun on my own! Mon dieu please let me down! Eeeeek!” She squealed again as Robin slapped a domino mask over her eyes and Red Hood wasted no time jumping over the balcony railing with her still in his arms. The fact that they were lowered down by a wire wrapped around Hood’s waist didn’t seem to take away any of the fright that came with a sudden drop over an eighth-story balcony.

Part 1

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman (didn’t work sorry)

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 4

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Perma tag: @nathleigh

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever

Marinette almost missed Hawkmoth. Sure, she ended up extremely emotionally repressed, but hey! At least her opponent was stupid, at least she never had to fear losing.

But, yeah, that was why she didn’t notice the fact that chloroform was on the floor. That was way too smart for a villain, in her opinion. Wasn’t Joker supposed to be insane or something? Why wasn’t he completely stupid like Hawkmoth had been?

Those were her last thoughts before her vision blacked out.

She blinked her eyes open one time while she was being transported, but… it wasn’t enough. Her head pounded, her limbs felt like lead. She tried to pull one of her arms away from the five goons carrying her around -- she giggled at how much effort they were going through to keep a half-conscious person down -- but it was too weak to even break their grip. She wasn’t going to be getting out of the situation anytime soon.

She rested her head back against the chest of whoever was carrying her head.

Her eyes fluttered shut without her permission.

It took a while for her to be able to open her eyes again, and when she did she was almost tempted to close them. She was tied up with Red Robin, hanging upside down over a vat of acid. Decidedly not a good situation to be in. Maybe she could ignore it for a little longer…?

She buried her face in the neck of Red Robin’s suit, using the cool material as a kind of cold pack to try and soothe her pounding headache.

… wait... Red Robin!

She had a bit of protection because of her mask covering her mouth and nose and miraculous immune system, but he was a human and both his mouth and nose were uncovered! Shit!

Marinette pulled back as much as she could to check his face and see if he was okay and then cursed the domino mask blocking his eyes from her view. What she could see wasn’t good, though: the skin of his face had broken out into hives where he had come into contact with the chloroform. Ouch.

She tried just poking the good parts of his face with her nose to get him to wake up, but clearly that wasn’t working. Alright, new plan.

“Red Robin?” She whispered.

Nothing.

“Red Robin Red Robin Red Red Red Red Red…”

She was pretty sure she was doing this annoying thing right. She didn’t have siblings, how could she know?

Wait wait wait, what was that one thing that his siblings always said to him?

“Reeeeed Robin, yum~.”

Not even that got a response? Damn, he must really be out of it.

Time for drastic measures, then.

She tipped her head back as far back as it could go and then slammed her forehead against his. This evoked a lot of swearing from both parties. Apparently, headbutting people doesn’t help headaches.

When her head stopped ringing as loudly, she peeked her eyes open. “Sorry, checking to see if you were alive.”

He gave about as much of a nod as he could. “It’s… I understand why you had to do it.”

She gave a tentative smile. “Right. Still, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured her, then glanced down to see what they were working with. He bit his lip anxiously. “Ah, that’s not good,” he said after a few moments of consideration.

She rolled her eyes because, yeah, obviously. She didn’t say that aloud, it wasn’t productive, so she said: “I’m going to squirm. See if you can free your arms a little?”

“Do you think I have some kind of gadget in my gloves for every situation?”

“Don’t you?”

He hesitated. “I mean… yes, I do have something that could help us out of the ropes, but we are kinda over acid right now. How fast is your reaction time?”

She tipped her head from side to side with an awkward smile. “Not great.”

“Then maybe we should just wait for backup --.”

“Do you think they’ll get here before Joker does?”

“... you’re right. Start squirming --.”

“Wow, you two hate me that much? I’m hurt,” a voice cooed.

Marinette jumped out of her skin. She craned her neck to glare at Joker for scaring her…

And immediately regretted it. Why was his face not attached to his skull properly? Did he cut his own face off? Who even does that? Ew.

Red Robin scowled at him. “I can’t say we were all glad to hear you were out.”

“Red Robin...” she warned.

“Wow, not even old Batsy was happy to hear the news?”

“Nope. Didn’t say anything, actually.”

Joker’s smile wavered. “He didn’t?”

“Um, Red,” she tried again.

“Nothing,” he confirmed. “Not. A. Word.”

Joker didn’t seem to know what to do about this information. Batman wasn’t even paying attention to him? What was the point, then?

Marinette was also concerned about what was going on, but for a completely different reason. She leaned close to his ear and whispered: “Why are we trying to anger the psychopath?”

He gave as much of a shrug as he could while tied up. “If he’s talking he’s not trying to kill us.”

“And what if he gets angry enough to kill us?”

“He probably won’t.”

She winced. “Okay, I really don’t like your use of ‘probably’ there --.”

With both of their hands forced behind their backs, the only comfort he could really give was pressing his good cheek to hers. It shouldn’t have worked, but apparently life or death situations mess with your emotions.

“Just… trust me?” He pleaded quietly.

She sucked in a deep breath before turning to glare at Joker, who was still having a crisis over the fact that Batman didn’t care as much as he did. Well, she guessed that she had to take out her headache on someone. Might as well be the bitch in ugly clown makeup.

“You know, I don’t even understand why people are scared of you.”

Joker frowned and turned to look at her. “What?”

“I mean, I get why Poison Ivy is feared, I get why Mr. Freeze is feared… I even get Penguin and Riddler since they both have a high enough intellect to make up for their lack of powers… but you’re just… some guy.”

Joker gave her a cold look. “I could kill you.”

“So could a particularly determined cow, you’re not special.”

Red Robin snickered. She smiled, a little proud of herself for making him laugh.

Their grins were wiped off their faces when the rope holding them up dropped.

It caught them again dangerously close to the acid. Red Robin was a few centimeters from getting a new haircut. Marinette wondered, morbidly, whether her suit would go with her if she disintegrated.

“Not going to kill us, huh?”

“... well, I did say probably,” he mumbled, his face a little red.

She swallowed thickly. “If we live, I’m going to kill you.”

“Fair. Want to mess with him if he’s going to kill us anyways?”

“... yes.” She whipped around to glare at Joker again. “I mean, honestly, why aren’t you dead yet?”

“We don’t kill,” supplied Red Robin.

She grinned. “Sure, and I get that. I’m also not fond of murder... but is every citizen in Gotham just agreeing to not kill him? Does Batman spend all his time making sure that civilians don’t do it? Why hasn’t anyone seen him on the street and just tried to run him over?”

“... I mean, Robin hit him with the Batmobile once.”

“See?” She grinned. “And don’t even get me started on Punchline and your goons, Joker. How did you find so many people loyal to you?”

“I love him!” Said Punchline defensively.

“... sweetie, if you want a pasty white guy with green hair just watch 2016 Jacksepticeye.”

Red Robin nodded. “At least he’s kind of funny sometimes.”

“If you need the guy to be evil, how about the evil alter ego he made… what was he called?”

“Antisepticeye.”

“Ha, you’re a fucking nerd,” Marinette teased.

Red Robin blushed (or maybe that was just the blood slowly rushing to their heads from being upside down for so long) and pointedly ignored her: “Look up Antisepticeye. It’ll probably be healthier for you.”

Punchline didn’t have a retort for that. Marinette was deciding that was because she was considering it, not because she probably didn’t know who Jack/Antisepticeye was.

She pushed on: “And, hey, you goons don’t have to give Punchline over there the glory. Stab your boss. C’mon, it’ll be cool. Doubt he’s paying you more than whatever bounty is on his head, anyways.”

“If you’re going to rally henchmen maybe you shouldn’t call them ‘goons’,” suggested Red Robin.

She pouted. “But ‘goons’ sounds cuter.”

He opened his mouth to retort but she’d never know what he was going to say because, at that moment, Signal and Robin came busting in through the skylight.

~

Tim relaxed when he heard the glass shatter. Whether Marientte’s henchmen rallying had somehow worked or their backup had come, it at least meant that Joker and Punchline were distracted from wanting to murder them.

He struggled to crane his neck to see what was going on.

Oh. Damn. Damian was back from his angsting on the weird murder island? And he was here? Nevermind, he’d prefer Joker and Punchline. Damian was never going to let him live this down.

Speaking of Damian, a weight jumped onto their ropes and the three vigilantes became a pendulum. Tim grit his teeth tightly and Marinette let loose a long string of swears as their headaches worsened.

But, apparently, the world wasn’t done with them. Damian sliced the line at the highest point and they went flying across the room. Tim was the unlucky one on the bottom when they hit the ground, which he doubted was an accident.

Damian left them to deal with things on their own from there. Least he could have done was cut them free with his katana, but Tim supposed that was too much to wish for from the youngest brother.

He rested his head back against the cool floor for a second. He could feel Marinette stretch across his shoulder to do the same. They sighed in relief. This was the closest they had come to treating their headaches and wow was it nice.

But, frankly, resting in the middle of a fight isn’t a great idea. So, they wriggled around on the floor until he was able to flick open the tiny knife in the index finger of his gloves and cut the rope binding them without, y’know, cutting one of them instead.

Freedom! What did they do with this newfound freedom, you may ask? Scratch their heads. Turns out chloroform sucks for many reasons and one of those is that it’s a major skin irritant.

He also vomited. Thank god they’d been freed. He’d been only a few seconds away from throwing up on Marinette. He felt especially bad about that when she peeled a hand from her itching to hold his hair away from his face.

The fight was over soon enough. Duke and Damian came over to watch the two of them attempting to peel their skin off layer by layer.

“Pathetic,” chided Damian.

“Don’t be a dick --.” Marinette cut herself off, her hand flying to her mouth. “I swore in front of a baby.”

“I’m twelve!”

“Exactly: a baby.” She reached out and cupped a very affronted Damian’s face in her hands. “Look, you still have baby fat! You shouldn’t be fighting crime!”

Tim couldn’t tell if she was messing with Damian for being rude to them or if she genuinely saw him as a little kid. He wasn’t going to correct her. She’d remember he was a gremlin soon enough.

Damian wrenched his face from her grip. “If I hadn’t come you two would have been burned in acid.”

“Please, we all know Signal probably could have dealt with this entirely on his own,” Marinette waved him off.

Duke rested a hand over his heart like he was touched.

Tim rolled his eyes and pulled Marinette to him, resting his head on top of hers lazily. “We should get a checkup at the cave. Chloroform has… not nice effects and we both rolled around in it a little while fighting.”

Duke and Damian both winced, but Marinette didn’t seem all that concerned.

“I’ll be fine. My immune system is enhanced by --.”

Duke clapped his hands by her ears as loudly as he could. Neither Marinette nor Tim were particularly happy about it.

“Behold: a headache, one of the main symptoms of chloroform. Your face also has some red streaks, so don’t even try to deny that the chloroform is affecting you.”

“I take back my praise, I’ve decided I hate you,” she murmured, massaging her temples.

“I just remembered that I need the siren on my bike on to tell all the other bats we’ll need them at the cave...”

“Wait, no --.”

~

Marinette glared at Black Bat and Spoiler. The batboys had left the infirmary area for her own comfort and that was nice of them but she would really prefer if she hadn’t had to come at all.

Now she sat in some of Black Bat’s pajamas and one of Spoiler’s spare masks as they inspected her.

Her nose scrunched as Black Bat drew blood from her arm.

“This is dumb. I don’t need this.”

“We’ve been told. Humor us?” Spoiler said and, though Marinette couldn’t see her face from where she was, she knew she was rolling her eyes.

“I would if you were actually funny.”

“I think we can definitely put her down for irritability,” commented Spoiler.

Black Bat nodded and dutifully wrote it down. Traitor.

The cool metal of a stethoscope was pressed to her back and she cringed.

“Deep breaths.”

Marinette complied, however reluctantly. Might as well get all this bullshit over with as soon as possible.

… she was regretting that decision, now, though.

She gave Batman a cold look. “You can’t keep me here.”

“You need to stay so we can monitor your state overnight. You could have asphyxiated.”

“But we didn’t,” complained Red Robin, who looked just as annoyed about this as she was.

“We have lives, B,” she said.

“You weren’t going to do anything other than patrols tonight, don’t act like I’m tearing you away from something important.”

“The protection of the city is important,” Red argued.

“Neither of you would be much help tonight in the state you’re in, anyways.”

Red Robin stuck his lower lip out in a pout. Marinette gave her best puppy-dog eyes.

Batman wasn’t moved. “If you need something, Agent A will provide it.”

She blinked, eyes returning to normal in her confusion. “Who --?”

He disappeared into the shadows before she could finish the conversation, something she was, unfortunately, getting used to.

Marinette scowled at where he had last been.

Maybe she should have expected this, maybe if she had been less out of it she would have. They had given her pajamas when she’d had clothes and insisted on cleaning her old ones ‘for chloroform’. The checkup might have been a genuine checkup on her state, but it probably wouldn’t have mattered what the results were. She was always going to end up staying the night in the cold, dingy cave filled with bats.

She sighed and laid back against the stone floors. She heard Red Robin groan and looked up to see he had been locked out of the Batcomputer for the night. He leaned back in his chair and mumbled curses.

She giggled at his distress and, despite himself, a tiny grin poked at his lips.

“Want to race to see who can hack into it first?” She suggested.

He raised an eyebrow at her under his domino. “Think you can win?”

“Considering I don’t know that much about hacking, I’m going to say probably not.”

A wide smile spread across his face, now, and he waved her over. She took a seat on the desk beside the keyboard and he started teaching her everything.

Most of what he said, while technically heard, wasn’t exactly understood. She couldn’t concentrate. It was the first time she had seen him in anything but his vigilante suit and she decided that that was a crime because he looked so cute in the Batman-themed pajamas. Furthermore, the way his long hair was pushed back by a headband to keep it out of the green paste spread over his face to alleviate the chloroform’s rash reminded her of a spa day in all those movies.

And then there was the smile. It made her heart flutter in her chest because she was so used to his grins but this was just a genuine smile. He looked so passionate about the intricacies of cyber crime. She was almost sad about the domino hiding his eyes because she wanted to see the way they lit up while he explained different ways viruses could be accidentally downloaded to devices.

Basically, she was a mess for this random cute guy she worked with. She had never seen him so casual and at ease and it felt far more intimate than it maybe should.

She rested her head on her hand, nodding along as he talked about data encryption versus decoding.

Well, maybe a forced sleepover in the Batcave wouldn’t be so bad...

~

Tim was suffering a lot more than he would ever admit, and only a small part of it was due to chloroform.

He was going to be having a sleepover with one of his idols and he was going to be spending a large amount of the time trying not to throw up. And she could totally tell, too, why else would she be watching him so intensely? Someone kill him, please. He was so glad he had a secret identity because he didn’t know how he would manage if she thought Tim Drake-Wayne was a loser.

Granted, she was going to think Red Robin was a loser... but at least he had a second chance as Tim.

He rested his chin on the back of his chair. He had hacked into the Batcomputer already but it was a relatively dull night out on patrols and he wasn’t eager to be yelled at for showing Marinette some files on top of already hacking into them when he wasn’t supposed to.

“Wanna do something?”

She grinned. “Is there anything to do here other than train?”

“... nothing approved.”

She tipped her head to the side. “And of the things that aren’t approved?”

He matched her grin. “Well…”

And that was how he ended up setting up a movie projector in the cave so they could watch Groundhog Day. Marinette had taken to making them a pillow fort.

Duke stumbled down the steps, half awake, and raised his eyebrows at them from behind his domino. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot that they had made and took a long sip before sending the two of them a wary look. “Do I want to know?”

Marinette didn’t look up from her and Tikki’s base construction. “Dunno. Do you want to watch Groundhog Day with us?”

He frowned. “Isn’t that the one where that guy in a time loop stalks his co-worker until he knows enough to make her fall in love with him?”

“Just say you don’t like romcoms and go,” Marinette irritably.

“I’m fine with romcoms, it’s just… a little messed up that he uses the knowledge he gets from being in a time loop to ensure she falls for him?”

“It’s a story about self-improvement,” Tim said, sending his brother a glare. “He grows as a person until he is worthy of her love.”

“Him learning about her is part of his arc. He starts off selfish and he ends it with a deeper appreciation for other people,” agreed Marinette.

Duke held his free hand up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Enjoy your stalker movie.”

“It’s not a --,” Tim tried to argue, but Duke was already heading back upstairs.

He huffed a little and finished setting up the computer and projector, then took a seat in the pillow fort. She poured each of them a cup of coffee, put a straw in hers to maintain her identity, and then took a seat beside him.

He took it from her with a bright smile and turned on the movie.

She rested her head on his shoulder as the happy-go-lucky music started up.

Unfortunately for them, they didn’t manage to stay awake for all that long. Duke had drugged the coffee pot.

~

Marinette shifted awake a while later and promptly decided that being awake sucked.

Nothing about her current situation sucked, of course. At some point during the night they had fallen asleep and now she was laying half on top of Red Robin, clinging to him like a koala. He didn’t seem all that upset about it, though, with his arm wrapped around her and his face buried in her hair.

Unfortunately, the time on the bottom right of the Batcomputer’s screen told her she didn’t have much time to enjoy it.

She started the slow process of extracting herself from him. Getting the arm off of herself was easy, getting his face away from her head was much harder (this wasn’t helped by the fact that the paste on his face had stuck to her hair).

There was one scare where she thought he was going to wake up. She pushed herself off of his chest and he took a long breath in. Marinette froze, watching his lips tighten… and then he turned over in his sleep.

Oops, apparently she’d been suffocating him a little in her sleep. Sorry, Red.

Well, at least she was free now.

She slipped out of the pillow fort and glanced at the time again.

Even less time to do what she needed. Because that’s how time works.

She sighed and called Tikki over with a tiny wave of her hand, walking over the edge of the railing. She looked down at the abyss that stretched many feet below.

Tikki couldn’t have looked more disapproving if she tried.

“It’s just a little insurance,” Marinette signed.

This didn’t make Tikki any less upset with her, but she hadn’t really expected it to. She signed for her transformation. She tied herself to the railing with her yoyo as a precaution and then hooked her legs around the railing.

And down she went.

She flexed at an awkward angle, flashlight in her mouth, and stuck a tracker to the bottom of the platform.

And, really, she wasn’t intending on using it. Like she said, it was just insurance. They had drawn blood from her earlier and she knew for a fact that it wasn’t necessary for chloroform inhalation. The only reason that made sense for that was that they wanted to check and see if she had inhaled some but they already knew that so… what did they want with her blood?

She was willing to bet it had something to do with her secret identity. And, hey, she didn’t particularly care if they knew her identity, she trusted them, but if it ever got out because of them revealing then who the bats were would be 1) revenge and 2) a good distraction.

“Hey --?”

Thank the kwamis she had tied herself to the railing because she’d been surprised enough to let go of the platform.

“Shit, sorry!” Said Red Robin.

She pulled herself back up onto the platform with his help and then collapsed on the cool stone. She spat the flashlight from her mouth. “Fuuuuuuck, don’t do that again, please.”

“Sorry,” he said again. Then he glanced back at where she had been and, momentarily, his lips pulled into a frown. “I gotta ask: what were you doing?”

“Hm?”

Shitshitshit.

“Oh, I wanted to see if there was anything down there or if it was just for The Aesthetic.”

“Why not just use your yoyo to go down?”

She shuddered. “The flashlight barely did anything. Would you want to go down into that darkness with no clue even how far down it goes?”

He seemed to accept the answer. “It’s an old iron mine. No one uses it anymore, though.”

She nodded her understanding.

She pushed herself back up to a sitting position and looked at him.

“The bats don’t get back for a while and we’re still on lockdown, so… want to do something?”

~

Damian was the first one to get home. Apparently he had broken a leg on patrol. This was fine (well, maybe he shouldn’t have been driving himself, but whatever).

What was not fine was that he had promptly decided to be an asshole.

Tim and Marinette had been playing Minecraft on the Batcomputer and, like all younger brothers, Damian asked to play.

And, like all older brothers, Tim barely looked up from his controller to tell him: “No.”

Damian looked to be on the verge of a meltdown.

Marinette sighed and sent Tim a tired look. “Red, don’t be mean. He’s just a kid. There’s more controllers, we can just give him one.”

“But…” He started. Damian was a terrible partner to play Minecraft with because he never helped out with anything except for the farm.

However, Marinette was looking at him expectantly. Tim bit his lip, considering.

Damian looked between the two of them and a wicked grin spread across his face and oh no.

Damian took a seat next to Marinette and gave her puppy-dog eyes (a real feat, considering the fact that he was wearing a domino and therefore his eyes were invisible). “Miss Ladybug, can’t you please make him let me play?”

Marinette gave Tim a tired look. “Red, c’mon, just for a bit.”

Damian smirked a little but, by the time Marinette turned back around, he had schooled his face back into a pout.

She handed him her controller. “You can have mine. I’ll find another for myself.”

The two watched her leave and Tim sent his younger brother a glare. “I can’t believe you would embarrass yourself this much just to play a game.”

“Anything to annoy you, ‘big bro’.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but then Marinette came back and all he could do was send him a glare behind her back.

Damian retaliated by sitting himself on Marinette’s lap. She looked down, amusement making her eyes crinkle, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge it. Damian smirked and stuck his tongue out at Tim.

That little shit.

And it continued on for hours while the three of them waited for the rest of the bats to come back. Damian would cling to Marinette in some way and he would become the bad guy for glaring at a child. He was seriously considering breaking the No Killing Rule for this kid.

Finally, though, people started coming back and apparently Damian thought it too embarrassing to do such a thing in front of more than just the person he was trying to annoy because he clambered off her lap to play just a little bit away.

Bruce was the last one to come in and he looked at his kids with the patented Batdad Glare because they had managed to drag Steph into playing with them (without much effort) and Cass into watching (with much more effort). Which meant that there were currently five family disappointments. Yay them.

Tim smiled innocently. “What? We got bored. Maybe you should let us out so this doesn’t happen again.”

“I’m keeping you here for your own safety.”

Marinette and Tim both groaned.

“I have work to do.”

“Me, too.”

Bruce didn’t relent because he was a stubborn asshole.

But that was fine. They really hadn’t expected them to. Tim glanced at Marinette and she twirled her index finger against her flat palm, the sign for ‘start’.

One flash and smoke bomb later, the two of them were running as fast as they could to his bike. He grinned as he helped his giggling friend get on and hopped up himself. Arms wrapped around him tightly and her face buried in his back. They tore out of the cave, giggling all the while.

[goodfish-bowl]

@floralflowerpower here’s the fic you asked for, took me a bit but I think it turned out pretty well! 

based on this post and this headcanon

Summary: Danny had to admit, he’d never thought something like this would happen. Usually, the roles were reversed, and he’d be the one bursting in through warehouse doors, guns blazing, ready to kick some ghost butt. Never thought he’d be the one dangling precariously close to a large vat of somewhat familiar bubbling ectoplasm, while the stereotypical villain paced near the lever that would drop him to his doom. That made him the damsel in distress, a concerning idea. 

 Words: 3530 

Danny had to admit, he’d never thought something like this would happen. Usually, the roles were reversed, and he’d be the one bursting in through warehouse doors, guns blazing, ready to kick some ghost butt. Never thought he’d be the one dangling precariously close to a large vat of somewhat familiar bubbling ectoplasm, while the stereotypical villain paced near the lever that would drop him to his doom. That made him the damsel in distress, a concerning idea.

Normally, this wouldn’t be concerning, but he couldn’t phase through the chain that was wrapped around him enough times he resembled a cocoon rather than a hostage. It must’ve come from the Ghost Zone, with the light glow emitting from the mental links and the lack of burning pain associated with anti-ghost coatings and ectoranium. At least he bought local. He liked the energy coming off of the surprisingly large container of ectoplasm, radiating a glow and mist that bathed everything he saw in green, even less than the idea of being chained upside-down over said vat. He didn’t want to find out why.

Who was this loser anyway? The ghost lawyer? He’d never seen, heard, nor smelled this ghost in his entire half-life. His navy suit contrasted awfully with his green skin, violet eyes, and mint-green hair, and those red shoes definitely didn’t match any of it. What a lame villain, couldn’t even dress himself properly.

“Hey! Looser!” Danny called out, and the lawyer ghost perked up.

“Splendid! You’re awake! It would’ve been anticlimactic if you stayed unconscious,” the ghost remarked.

“Should’ve stayed unconscious, it would’ve kept me from having to witness your crime against fashion. Who are you and how’d I get here? Last I checked you didn’t ask me if I wanted to hang out?” Danny quipped.

“I am Wright, a ghost of due process and order, and your darling Valerie Gray has thwarted me for the last time! I boyfriend-napped you to draw her here! Your doom will serve as her punishment,” Wright exclaimed, like a looser.

Danny just stared at the ghost for a minute as his head attempted to wrap around what was going on, and hanging upside down, wrapped in chains, didn’t help.

“’Boyfriend-napped? Seriously? That’s not even a word, and Val and I stopped dating, like, a year ago!” Danny pointed out.

“Irrelevant,” Wright huffed, ”You still hold her affections, and your death will cause her the same grief she caused me.”

Danny scoffed, “What’d she do to you anyways? She shoots at all the ghosts, you’re not special.”

“I wasn’t aware that you knew about her… nightly activities,” Wright stated, and Danny gave him a look.

“Ok, let me get this straight, who am I to you?” Danny asked, confused. Most ghosts were aware that Valerie was the Red Huntress, and Wright had yet to make a remark about having “captured Phantom”.

“Daniel Fenton, the son of the infamous ghosthunters Madeline and Jack Fenton of Amity Park, and the former sweetheart of Valerie Gray, the Red Huntress,” Wright announced.

“Right, ok. What do you know about Phantom?”

“I hold great admiration for the protector of Amity Park! He goes through the process of capturing ghosts with efficiency and never acts without just cause! He’s a powerful ghost worthy of the titles bestowed upon him! He valiantly defends both his haunt and the people who live there, both human and ghost! Truly a pillar of order and process!” Wright gushed and Danny fought the urge to roll his eyes, ”What does this have to do with you, however?”

Danny frowned, fighting off the reflex to claim Amity wasn’t his haunt, but his home. The praise was appreciated, but he really didn’t understand why this ghost held him so high. He was more surprised by the fact that this ghost didn’t know that Phantom and Fenton were the same damn person and that he had just kidnapped someone he held in such high regard.

“What do you mean by ‘order and process’?” Danny asked, just to get a proper definition as to what this poorly dressed lawyer was on.

“He properly maintains a level of organization and protection in Amity Park, protecting the order and in every single fight plays out how it’s supposed to be. A trespasser with malicious intentions shows up, Phantom arrives shortly, they banter and fight, Phantom emerges victorious, and the trespasser is removed from the premises, thus process. Does that make sense to your feeble human mind?” Wright chastised, explaining himself carefully.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Well, aren’t you a ghost ‘trespassing’ in Amity Park? Doesn’t that mean Phantom will he show up to save m, tossing you back into the Zone?” Danny bluffed.

“But we’re not in Amity Park, I may have boyfriend-napped–“

“Please never say that word again.”

“-you from there, but that’s not where we currently are. Red Huntress operates out of Elmertown, and I would never infringe upon Phantom’s haunt!”

Huh, Danny supposed that made sense to a point, he never really dealt with ghosts in Elmertown, since they were usually just low-level specters that usually didn’t mean any harm. If Val was operating out of here, then it made sense that there would be so few ghosts, and also that the ghosts that were afraid or ‘admired’ him like Wright would stick to Elmertown rather than Amity.  

“And Val doesn’t follow your version of ‘order and process’?”

“NO! She shows up, never lets me get through my proper monologue or cause the necessary level of chaos, and then threatens my afterlife, completely uncivilized! What an improper lady! Always shooting first, never asking questions!” Wright exasperated.

“Sorry, but that’s Val’s order and process. Guns blazing and ready to kick some ghost butt.”

Valerie burst in through the doors, with perfect theatric timing, her ecto-rifle poised and aimed at Wright.

“Danny!” she exclaimed, immediately focusing on him before shifting her rage towards the ghost in the room.

Oh boy, did she look pissed. Danny wasn’t sure if he’d ever pushed her to the point Wright currently had. Her suit blazed with scarlet energy, read to fire at the drop of a hat, bright enough Danny could see it over the green haze of the pool of ectoplasm beneath him.  

“Finally! It took you long enough. I left a note and everything,” Wright complained, unmoved by her anger.

“Let Danny go, or I blast a hole straight through you this time, Wright,” Valerie snarled.

Wright sneered, ”You shoot me, and I drop the boy-toy into a vat of concentrated ectoplasm. There’s not even enough distance for you to swoop in and save him before he’s at least partially submerged.”

Valerie looked over to Danny, and he almost smiled in greeting, but he managed to stop himself as a particular detail resurfaced. Fenton didn’t know Valerie was the Red Huntress, that was knowledge only Phantom was privy to. Damn it. Valerie’s eyes were wide in fear under her visor, and her grip tightened on her rifle considerably. Danny couldn’t make a joke or anything, and he was forced to fill his expression with unfamiliarity and panic, like a proper actor. He met her eyes anyways, cool and calm, before gritting his teeth. He trusted Valerie, she would save him, but he also knew her well enough to know she hated playing along. Valerie hadn’t realized that the Red Huntress wasn’t supposed to know Danny Fenton either, so perhaps it evened out in its own way.  

“Dragging a bystander into a personal fight is just like a ghost,” she spat the word, “What is it you want?”

Wright began with a flourish of his arms, “For everything to play out in the proper order of course! For an order to be restored to your haphazard violence! We are going to go through all of the proper motions of this encounter and the winner will always be the hero! We just have to figure out who’s who.”

“I’m not letting you monologue while Da-… while an innocent is hanging over… whatever that is!” Valerie protested.

“I never expected such an aggressive and weak-minded being such as you to understand the importance of doing things the right way! That’s why I needed a hostage.” Wright huffed. “Also, It’s concentrated ectoplasm. like the name implies its densely packed ectoplasm, a powerful source of energy for both ghosts and most of your human anti-ghost technology, but burns through humans faster than hydrochloric acid,” Wright explained, and Danny couldn’t help but pale in response.

Oh… that was bad, and no wonder he recognized it, he’d seen it in small amounts around the lab. Danny also didn’t want to see how he, a half-ghost currently human, would react to it. Valerie also apparently didn’t want to find out, more than she wanted to blast a hole through Wright apparently. Her shoulders began trembling and she grit her teeth, glancing rapidly between where Danny was dangling and where Wright waited patiently for her to make her decision. Danny took a deep breath and called out to her, snapping her out of her internal conflict.

“Don’t worry about me, Red Huntress! I’ll just hang out right here! I’m not going anywhere!”

Valerie sent Danny a look, exasperated and melancholic, most likely due to the pun, before setting her gaze on Wright, who had a large grin on his face displaying way too many teeth.

“Fine,” she spat, “let’s get this over with.”

“Wonderful!” Wright clapped his hands, “As you can see, Red Huntress, I have captured Danny Fenton! And unless you defeat me in the next three minutes, he will get dropped to his doom!”

“Wait, there’s a timer?” Danny asked, and Wright ignored his interruption, hitting a button next to the lever, probably starting the timer.

“Now meet your maker, Red Huntress!”

Wright vaulted over the bars of the platform he was standing on, directly at Valerie. She met him halfway with a crimson blast, energy meeting the sole of his atrocious red shoes in a form of deflection, launching him into the air where he remained suspended. He launched several violet ectoblasts while Valerie charged up her gun again, taking to the air as her hoverboard formed beneath her feet. They began a combination of hand-to-hand strikes and blasts midair, often speeding out of Danny’s view as he craned his neck to witness the fight. There was too much blood in his head for him to focus properly, but there was something off about the way Wright fought.

One, two, three, five ecto blasts, then he switched to close combat, striking 7 times with his fists and ending in a kick to gain some distance before firing ectoblasts again. It was in order…

“Red! He’s fighting in a pattern! Five blasts, seven punches, one kick!” Danny called out.

They careened back in front of him, and Val nodded in confirmation. Wright ended with a kick and floated back into the air.

“I’ve seen you figured me out! But it will not allow you to defeat me!”

Wright fired off his blasts, and Valerie easily countered them, now knowing what to expect. Wright came in close again, attempting to rush her. His fist connected to her forearms 6 times, each blocked easily and efficiently by Valerie’s suit, doing practically no damage. She had positioned herself right near the chain that held Danny above ‘his doom’. Wright had one more hit left, but rather than take it he backed off, just as the timer beeped.

“It seems it’s time for us to end this charade, Red Huntress.” Wright declared and broke the pattern early and fired a clean and precise ectoblast behind Valerie.

The chain went slack, and Danny plummeted. Valerie grasped it in desperation shouting something he couldn’t hear, but it was too late, the upper half of his body dunked below the surface.

It was like getting dunked into freezing water, at least before he became immune to the cold. It sent shivers and rose goosebumps along every single point of contact, he saw nothing but green. It felt like the submerged half of his body had fallen asleep, pins and needles piercing his skin, but never actually hurting him. Danny thrashed despite this, desperate to get out the concoction meant to kill him, not realizing he wasn’t in pain as panic swept away any other rational thought.

(page break)

“Danny!” Valerie shouted, grasping desperately for the chain.

It skid in her grip, a yard too late and Danny slipped halfway below the surface. His whole body thrashed sending ripples across the surface but making no sound. She screamed, her voice filling the empty void of Danny’s soundlessness. It was already too late, some part of her mind spoke, but she refused to acknowledge it. As fast she physically could, she tied the chain to the closest bar and launched herself on her hoverboard. She snapped the chain Danny was hanging from with ease and a grief-filled ectoblast, and took Danny down to the ground, careful not to touch the green sludge the covered the upper half of his torso.

Valerie’s hoverboard collapsed back into her suit, and then they met eyes, something that her mind could barely register. Even more than that, she wasn’t looking at the face that had plummeted into the vat. Phantom’s eyes stared back wide, bright green and covered in ectoplasm, stared back on her, while the bottom half remained clothed in jeans and battered red converse. Her mind short-circuited, and she was pretty sure her suit as well from the beating it had just taken.  

Danny… Phantom… whoever the hell she was staring at seemed to finally realize that he was out, let out a cough, rolling over onto his stomach to purge the concentrated ectoplasm from his lung, and heaved a deep breath of air he couldn’t possibly need once they were clear. He rolled back over and sat up, shifting in the chains, trying to get out of them.

Valerie saw red, and snatched the chains, pulling Phantom’s face close to hers, a snarl on her face. Phantom’s eyes widened and he yelped at the sudden tug.

“Is this what you do?! You teamed up with Wright of all ghosts to get to me?!” Valerie cried.

Phantom’s eyes widened, confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about! I was kidnapped!” He yelped.

“Don’t lie to me Phantom!”

Phantom froze, looking like a dear caught in headlights. He frantically tried to glance himself over, writhing in place, still unable to move his arms since he was still chained up. Valerie had no intention of unchaining him now. He caught sight of his jumpsuit and shook some of his soaked hair into his face, catching its color.

“Oh.”

“What do you mean ‘Oh’?!”

“Just learned what happens when I get drenched in concentrated ectoplasm.” His tone was even and quiet and only served to infuriate her further.

“Answer me, Phantom!”

“I didn’t lie!” He shouted right back, “He really did kidnap me!”

“Then where is Danny?! He’s still missing. Does Wright still have him?” She demanded.

Phantom shifted around in the chains again, and Valerie unceremoniously dropped him to the floor. He grunted by was focused on the chains now. Phantom’s eyes flared ice blue, overtaking their normal toxic green, and the chains froze solid. With enough strain, the metal links shattered and clattered uselessly to the floor. He stretched his arms and glanced them over.

There was a line, clear and definable, where the ectoplasm hadn’t touched him. Under the green substance, was Phantom, jumpsuit and all, but Valerie was fixated on the borderline, as was Phantom, where the jumpsuit transitioned into Danny’s iconic red and white shirt. There were no gloves on his hands, and the jumpsuit ceased existing halfway down his arms, and the skin underneath the goo was the same color as Phantom’s face, but the dry areas were the same pale as Danny’s skin.

“I’m right here, Valerie,” Phantom said, looking straight through her.

Valerie scoffed, “I see you here, Phantom, but where’s Danny Fenton?”

“I’m Danny Fenton.”

Of all the things Phantom could’ve said, that wasn’t the answer she wanted. For the second time that night, her mind reeled to a halt.

"You can’t be Danny, you’re a ghost,” Valerie justified.

“And people can die? I just happen to be caught in the middle.” Phantom said, making no sense.

“You died? Danny’s dead?” Her voice came out quietly, almost a whimper.

“I’m more like half-dead.” He had the nerve to laugh. “A bit of both ghost and human mixed together, I can be either-or.”

“What was the name of the flour baby we raised together?” She pressed, looking for a piece of information Danny would know, but Phantom shouldn’t.

“We… we didn’t name it, did we? I’m pretty sure that wasn’t one of the requirements Mr. Lancer gave us.” Phantom responded with a weak chuckle.

Valerie looked at him, really looked at him. Phantom and Fenton didn’t really look that different, in fact, they were surprisingly similar to the point it was eerie. He had always looked freakily familiar, and now she knew why. They had the same facial structure, hairstyle, and even the awful senses of humor lined up. The only difference was that Phantom was a ghost, and Danny was human.

“How can you be half-dead?” Valerie asked.

“Turns out the portal is really dark on the inside, that is until you turn it on from the inside.”

It took Valerie a minute, but then she understood. She fully understood. Her helmet and visor retracted, revealing her watering eyes. Danny was Phantom, and Phantom was Danny.  He wasn’t being overshadowed, overshadowing didn’t look like this, not half-covered in ectoplasm like he was. Danny didn’t make eye contact, choosing instead to collect a bit of it onto his finger, watching intently as his skin sizzled, glowing white and the edges and spreading like a chemical reaction until it reached the edge of the ectoplasm. The skin became discolored, and a bit of white-silver glove appeared, manifesting all on its own underneath the goop. Then he had the nerve to lick it off.

Valerie scrunched up her face in disgust while Phantom seemed to contemplate the taste, still focusing on his finger. The darker skin tone and glove seemed to dissolve away on their own back into pale skin once the ectoplasm was gone.  Danny really was Phantom.

Valerie threw herself onto the ground and punched him as hard as she could in her given state, her suit protecting her from the concentrated ectoplasm on his body that could possibly burn her if Wright was to be trusted.

“Ouch!” Danny complained, rubbing his arm where she’d hit, the ectoplasm spreading to his hand forming the glove again.

“I dated you!” Valerie protested, “I dated you, and then broke up with you!”

Danny’s gaze shifted around, confused and sheepish. “Y-yeah?”

“I broke up with you to focus on hunting you!”

“Yeah?”

“And you knew this entire damn time!”

“Uhhhhhh… yeah.” He admitted, looking down awkwardly and attempting to wipe his hand off on his jeans, but only succeeded in spreading the ectoplasm around. The patch of denim transformed into black rubber.

“You ruined my life!”

“I’ve told you a thousand times! It was an accident!” Danny protested, wiping his hand on the ground again in an attempt to get more off but finally looking back up at her.

Valerie stared at him for a moment, before devolving into a fit of giggles, getting to her feet from where she had seated herself on the floor. Danny looked up at her, even more confused than before.

“You really need to wash that stuff off, or are you going to lick yourself clean?” Valerie teased.

Danny huffed indignantly, climbed to his own feet, and a white ring blossomed around his waist. Valerie watched in awe as what parts were still Fenton transformed into equally an equally familiar jumpsuit and set of silver boots. The ectoplasm that still coated him slowly vanished, absorbed into his ghostly form. The ghostly halo around him grew in intensity, glowing brighter than before. His feet lifted from the floor and he began to float, eyes also growing in intensity. Danny gave a large smile, literally beaming bright enough to light up a good portion of the warehouse all on his own.

“Thanks, Val,” Danny said.

“For what exactly?” she asked.

“Well, you didn’t shoot me when I told you I was Danny Fenton, you saved me from witnessing Wright's awful sense of fashion any longer, and finally for Elmertown,” Danny counted off on his fingers.

"Elmertown?”

Danny put his hands on his hips matter-of-factly, ”Even if I don’t agree with your methods, you’ve been protecting Elmertown from ghosts. So, thank you,” Danny confessed.

He landed on the ground in front of her, boots barely making as sound and bright enough she was nearly blinded by it. He gave her a large, goofy smile, one that she was much more used to seeing on Fenton’s face than Phantom’s, but it only reinforced the idea that they were the same person.

Valerie smiled right back.

[baubabble]

“Subtle Differences” Final Part - Hotch x F!Reader

PART I    PART II

Summary: You and the rest of the team head to take down the Unsub as the search for the killer and Allison Wilson comes to a close. You and Hotch team up to take the loft, having each other’s backs. With all the unresolved tension between the two of you, will you finally make the first move? Or will he? Final Part of Subtle Differences. 

Word Count: 4064

Warning: CM Violence, Blood

Song I Wrote To: “Next To Me” by Imagine Dragons

Note: Thank you all for sticking with me on this one! I was only planning on making this a one-shot, but I had too much to say! My next CM work is going to be Reid x Reader and will be just one part, but I have other ideas too. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. 

-------

Standing in the locker room of the SPD, you struggled with your bulletproof vest. 

Frustrated, you tore it off and started again. “Let me.” Hotch’s soft voice reached your ears as he walked up behind you. You let go of the straps and he tightened the vest around your torso. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he fastened the velcro straps, his hands pressing along your stomach and shoulders. 

Hotch trailed his hand down your spine and you let your eyes close at his touch. He then rested his forehead against the back of your head, closing his eyes as he took a moment to be calm. Slowly, you reached your hand towards him and after hesitating for a second, you grabbed his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers with his. 

This was the most physical contact you had had with him. You stayed like that and something felt so intimate of just being in each other’s space. You could hear his breathing and feel the way he leaned into your back. This was much more than just a few gazes or smiles on the odd occasion. 

Aaron was touching you as if he had been waiting to do it for a while. Maybe it was because you were about to put yourself into the line of fire or because he was finally willing to take a step in your direction. Whatever it was, you were drinking it in.

Moving your hair off your neck, he flattened the last strap, letting his hands linger on your shoulders for a moment as he pressed his nose into your hair. Delicate fingers traced the skin at the top of your spine and you shuddered beneath his touch.

Neither of you said anything as you stilled in your small moment. 

Eventually, Aaron released your hand and leaned back. “Are you okay?” he asked and at the worry in his voice, you turned around to face him.

He was already outfitted in his vest, his earpiece hanging around his neck while his sidearm sat on his hip as always. He looked down at you with concern in those beautiful eyes of his. In that silent locker room, all you wanted to do was hold his face between your hands, but you had a job to do.

“I’m fine,” you assured him. 

“Are you sure? If you need more time, I can have you run communications from here,” he said. You gave him a small smile, fighting to keep your hands at your sides. 

“Aaron,” you breathed and his eyes locked onto yours, nearly taking your breath away entirely, “I’m okay. I promise.” Hotch nodded and then handed you an earpiece. 

“Alright,” he said, smoothing his hands down your arms before stepping away. “Let’s go. You’re riding with me.”

————

Following Aaron out to the SUVs you placed your earpiece into your ear and double-checked your weapon. Morgan, Emily, JJ, and Perotta were taking one SUV, while you, Rossi, Reid, and Hotch took the other. Sliding in next to Spencer, you pushed up your sleeves and caught a glimpse of the scar that now permanently marked your arm. Spencer was watching you, but you ignored him as Hotch started the engine and began driving towards Belltown. 

On the way there, Garcia called the entire team. “Okay, superheroes,” she said in greeting, “I have the 411 on our guy. Alan Rhett, thirty-two-years-old, born in Spokane and moved to the big city only a couple years ago. He’s worked for Ground Express for the past six months and before that never really held a steady job.”

“What else?” JJ asked. 

“Well, this guy is smart and by smart, I mean crazy smart! He holds two degrees, one in art history and the other in structural engineering. I wouldn’t put it past him to have his place enforced with some kind of fancy doodads,” said Garcia.

“I hate when they’re smart,” Rossi said and you smirked. 

“Garcia, is there any history with a woman in his life?” Reid asked. 

“Definitely, my tall friend,” Penelope said. “When Alan was seven, his mother went missing for almost two weeks. It turned out that she had fallen into a vat of chemicals at the factory that she worked at. It ended up preserving her body until the foreman found her a week and half after she died. Yikes, it says she drowned in the stuff.”

“Well, there’s the stressor,” you said. “But what was the trigger? It couldn’t have just been that one painting.”

“From the medical reports I am seeing, it looks like after his mother died, dad just shoved him onto his grandmother who wasn’t the nicest of people. She blamed Alan for his mother’s death and even abused him at times. Oh god, she used to burn him with hot candle wax,” Garcia said.

“Garcia, what happened to the grandmother?” Hotch asked. 

“One second,” Penelope said, “oh, she died one week before Mason Walker was killed.” 

“There’s the trigger,” Spencer said.

“When we get on scene,” Hotch began, “Dave and Prentiss, I want you to take the Westside while Morgan and Perotta take the East. JJ and Reid take the back. (Y/L/N) and I are going to go through the front. Our priority is finding Allison. There is a good chance she is still alive.” 

“One more thing,” Garcia said. “It seems there is a firearm registered in the unsub’s name and according to his bank records, he bought ammo for it just before Mason’s abduction.”

“He won’t hesitate to shoot his way out,” Morgan reminded everyone. 

“Which makes him that much more dangerous,” said Hotch. “Everyone needs to be vigilant and remember this usub is smart and is unhinged.” 

“Stay safe and come home,” Garcia said. 

“Always,” Rossi said and then you arrived at the loft. 

————

The team split up into the designated teams and after speaking with SWAT and Perotta’s men, you entered the building. 

The loft was a solitary unit on an abandoned street. Everything else around it was either torn down or foreclosed. You kept close to Hotch as you two entered the front of the building. SWAT officers took the side corridors as you and Aaron moved into the main building. 

Keeping your guns up, you had his back, keeping the both of you safe as you cleared each room. At the end of the main hallway, a pair of double doors stood ajar. You ran ahead, bracing your hand on the door handle. You waited for Hotch’s signal. He kept his gun balanced and then nodded to you.

With a swift pull, the door opened and Hotch rushed in. You followed close by, ready to cover him at all costs. However, when you both entered the secondary hallway, it was empty of threat. Though, something else had made you both pause. “What the hell…” you whispered as you slowly lowered your gun. 

The dark corridor was speckled with electric torches that created an eerie glow. The walls were painted a dark charcoal color and dripping down every inch of them was thick, red wax. The same wax that Rhett had covered his victims in. 

“Do you think he considers this art?” You asked Hotch as you began walking again. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Aaron said, keeping away from the wax. The entire scene looked like something out of a horror movie. You suddenly felt very closed in as if the walls were moving toward you. Swallowing thickly, you tried to stay focused as you followed him. 

At the end of the hallway, there was another door. Light was coming from the crack at the bottom and you could smell something...putrid. You and Hotch moved towards it. Aaron’s face was full of determination as he scanned your surroundings. The rest of your team were speaking in your ears, explaining that they were clearing rooms. 

The two of you had stayed silent since entering the wax-filled hallway. Pressing your ear against the door, you tried to hear anything that would indicate what was on the other side, but nothing was reading through the thick wood. You shook your head at Hotch. You then tried the doorknob and it didn’t budge. Stepping back, you gave Aaron some room. He braced himself and then with a sharp kick of his right leg, the door gave way and Aaron rushed forward.

The next moment moved in slow motion. As soon as the door flew open, you had a split second to react. Reaching out, you grabbed Hotch before he even realized why you were doing it. Dropping your weapon, you took hold of his arm and pulled him backwards into you. He stumbled but held onto you as you steadied him.

You were flush against him as you gripped him tight. He was breathing heavily, as were you, as you stared at one another. Your breath mingled with his as you tried to keep your heart rate under control. You failed miserably. His eyes were on yours as if he was drinking you in and for a fraction of a second, his gaze turned to your lips that were slightly parted. 

You wanted to enjoy the moment, but the air hit your nose and it was near acidic. Breaking the gaze, you looked to your left and your mouth fell open. “Hotch…” you whispered. You reached up and took hold of his chin, turning his face towards the open doorway. 

Confused, he fully turned and saw what had you shocked. On the other side of the door, the ground was nonexistent. The floor was dug out significantly and now resembled a very deep Olympic-sized swimming pool. The red wax-filled this room as well and at the bottom of the pit were four skeletons and two other bodies that were well beyond recognition. All six sets of remains had been coated in the unsub’s signature blend of wax and clay. 

“Morgan and I were right,” you whispered in horror, “he’s been doing this for a while.” Hotch shook his head in disgust as he looked around the hallway behind you when he spotted something the two of you had missed.

“There,” he said, gesturing to another door that was ajar just to the right of the mass grave you now stood above. Hotch leaned down and grabbed your gun, placing it in your hand. “Are you with me?” 

“Always,” you said without hesitation, and then the two of you disappeared through the door as the smell of death and decay followed after you into the darkness. 

———

The rest of the hallways were void of the horror show from the first. 

Whatever the building had been before Rhett had taken it as his home, it definitely wasn’t usually inhabited by people. Rats scurried at your feet and you fought the urge to shoot every single one. Pushing through the final set of doors, you met up with Rossi and Prentiss who had entered from the other side. 

“Anything?” Prentiss asked.

“We have more bodies,” Hotch explained. “He’s been doing this for longer than we thought.” Prentiss grimaced and then a muffled cry drew your attention followed by a crash. All four of you ran towards the sound that came from behind a partition at the far side of the room. Rossi and Hotch tossed it aside and there, lying on a surgical table, was Allison Wilson. A funnel was placed into her mouth as she was strapped down and fighting her restraints. 

You ran to her side, pulling the contraption out of her throat as Emily released her bonds. Allison was crying as you held onto her. “It’s okay, Allison, we’re the FBI,” you told her, helping her sit up. 

“Thank you, thank you,” she sobbed. 

“Where is he?” Hotch asked. Allison pointed to a stairwell.

“Roof,” she croaked out. “He has a gun.” Prentiss took hold of Allison, calling for medics while Rossi urged you and Hotch to go after the unsub while he secured the scene. You and Aaron raced for the stairwell. 

“Rhett is heading to the roof,” Hotch said to the others over the coms. 

“On our way,” JJ said back. You took the stairs two at a time as you prepared yourselves for what you were running into. Breaking through the roof access door, you were immediately met with gunfire. You and Aaron dove for cover behind the air conditioning unit, hitting the ground hard. 

“You okay?” Aaron asked, checking you over. You nodded and then rolled to the other side, ready to fire back as needed. You took calming breaths as the phantom shots were now very much real. Aaron gestured for you to flank Rhett from the left and you move silently along the roof.  

“Alan Rhett!” Hotch yelled. “It’s over! We found your other victims and we have Allison!” 

“You have nothing!” Rhett yelled back. 

“We also have Terry Owens!” you said. “Remember him? The man you tortured?” 

“He was a coward. They all are!” 

“Who is ‘they’, Alan?” you asked. 

“Everyone!” he shouted and you peeked around the corner and saw Rhett was waving his gun back and forth, trying to target you and Hotch. His hands were covered in the wax and his eyes were wild. 

“How did you get the women to cooperate, Alan?” Hotch asked. “Did you threaten them?” 

“It was easy,” Rhett said with a laugh. “I knew where they lived with their precious families.” You cringed at his words. His ruse was simple, threaten the victims’ family and you’ll get them to do anything. It was textbook. “Doesn’t matter. They were going to leave their families anyways!” 

“Like your mother left you?” Hotch asked, getting to his feet and moving to be in Rhett’s line of sight. You followed his movements on the other side of the unsub. 

“Shut up!” Rhett yelled. “Don’t talk about her!”

“It was an accident, Alan,” you said as he looked wildly at you. “She didn’t leave you on purpose.”

“She did! They all do!” 

“Is that why you kill the women the way you do? To preserve them as art?” you asked, taking a couple of steps closer to him.

“(Y/N),” Hotch warned, but you ignored him. 

“You wanted them to be beautiful and for them to be eternal like paintings. Right?” Rhett was nodding. “I saw your work downstairs. It was very nice,” you said, trying to find a thread to pull on.

“You think so?” he asked, his gaze falling on you as if he wasn’t quite looking at you. 

“Yes, Alan,” you said. “You are a true artist. Why don’t you put the gun down and you can show me more?” Rhett was smiling at you now, but his gun never wavered. 

“They were my best work,” he said. “I worked so hard on them, but I never did seem to be able to get them just right.” Hotch moved in closer as you faced down the killer. “You know what? You would be so perfect,” Rhett said before turning his gun on you. You didn’t have time to react as a gunshot echoed around you. 

However, when it was over and you checked yourself, there wasn’t a scratch on you. Instead, Rhett lay on the ground with a single bullet hole in his forehead as Hotch stood with his gun raised, breathing hard. “Hotch!” Morgan’s voice came as he, JJ, Perotta, and Reid came running across the roof from the Southside. 

“We’re okay!” Hotch yelled back. Morgan reached you first, grabbing your arm. 

“I’m okay,” you promised him. He then went to check on Hotch as Reid and JJ went to you. “Son of a bitch was gonna shoot me,” you said. 

“You seem to be making that a habit,” Spencer said, giving you a hug. “Let’s try to break that, okay?”

“Yeah, Doc,” you said, squeezing him back. “I like that idea a lot.” 

------

Once you were back on the street, you went to find Allison. 

You got there just as the medics were loading her into the ambulance. Emily was with her, holding her hand the whole time. The ringing of the gunshot was still fresh in your mind, but you were slowly calming down as everything was coming to a close. The killer was dead, Allison was safe, and now you had the opportunity to give closure to even more families from the victims you found on the first floor. 

“Not a bad first case back,” Rossi said as he joined you. 

“If you say so,” you said with a shrug. Rossi pulled you into his side and you rested your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked. 

“For being you,” you said simply. Rossi squeezed you tighter. 

“Any time, kid.”

Spotting Perotta, you excused yourself and headed over to the detective. 

“Detective Perotta,” you greeted. He turned to you with a smile. 

“Good work, Agent (Y/L/N),” he said. “I can’t thank you and your team enough. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if he had continued.” 

“You would have caught him eventually,” you assured him. 

“More people would have died without the BAU and for that, I am grateful for your help,” he said and then offered his hand. You took it, shaking it twice. 

“Good luck with everything, Perotta,” you said and then turned to go. As you headed to the SUVs, you caught sight of Aaron as he spoke with the police chief. Your eyes met his and you smiled at him. He gave you his signature smirk and nodded. Ducking your head, you got in the car and let all the tension in your body sink into the leather seats. You were ready to go home.

-------

You were the first one on the jet. 

You sat in your seat, leaning back as you waited for the rest of the team. When the door opened, you expected to see Emily or Spencer, but instead, it Aaron and he was alone. “Hey,” you greeted, sitting up straighter. Hotch placed his bag down and then joined you, sitting next to you in the plush chairs. “Where is everyone?” 

“They’re on their way,” he said, peeling off his jacket and laying it over the back of his seat. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I just needed a moment alone, you know? Collect my thoughts,” you said and he nodded. 

“How are you really?” he asked with a knowing look. You sighed, unable to resist him, especially when he looked at you with those wonderful eyes of his. 

“I’m still a bit shaken,” you admit. 

“I figured,” Aaron said softly. The two of you just sat there for a moment, listening to the pilot doing his pre-checks and you were reminded of the moment in the locker room. It now seemed like a lifetime ago rather than just this afternoon. Aaron had never been so...open with you. You longed for his touch now. Even if it was something as subtle as tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. The thought alone made your skin feel as if it was on fire. “You did well today,” he complimented, taking you out of your thoughts. 

“So did you,” you said. 

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, and then his fingers trailed along the scar that spanned along your arm. His touch felt like electricity as he moved back and forth. 

“Thank you, Aaron,” you said softly. “Thank you for having my back today.” His fingers stilled on your arm and then they moved towards your hand. His movements were methodical and he was taking his time just as he had earlier at the precinct. 

“We make a good team, don’t we?” he asked, looking at you from under his lashes. Just as you had before, you rotated your hand and laced your fingers with his. 

“Yeah, we do,” you said and then swallowed thickly. Aaron’s thumb began rubbing circles along the back of your hand and then he slowly lifted his other hand to your cheek. You didn’t breathe as he moved in closer. Aaron pressed his nose against yours, tilting your head up so he could get a better angle, and then, he kissed you. 

It was as if fireworks were going off inside your head, replacing the barrage of gunfire with bright colors. Aaron kissed you with a tenderness you didn’t even know he was capable of. His hand left yours and came up to cup the other side of your face. Instead of fire, all you felt was warmth as Aaron Hotchner held you. You kissed him back with as much emotion as you could muster at that moment. 

Eventually, he pulled back and his warm breath cascaded over your lips. Leaning his forehead against yours, he smiled. “It’s about time that happened,” you said with a smile of your own. Aaron chuckled, leaning back slightly, but keeping his hands on the sides of your neck. 

“I’d have done it sooner if I had picked up on your...subtleties,” he said, his thumbs rubbing against your skin. You tilted your head to the side slightly, looking up at him. 

“And I thought you were a profiler,” you teased. Aaron raised a brow, leaning in again. 

“Funny,” he said, “I thought the same thing about you.” His lips met yours again and this kiss was anything but tender. Hotch gripped you tighter as he kissed you with a fierceness only he had. You gripped him by the shoulders, pulling him even closer to you. Aaron nudged your lips apart as he explored your mouth further, savoring the way the two of you just fit perfectly together. Your hands crawled up his neck, fingers cascading through his dark hair.

You had imagined many times what it would feel like to be kissed by Aaron Hotchner, but nothing had prepared you for the real thing. He was gentle and passionate and every move he made had you sinking into him further. It was the best kind of high you had ever experienced. 

When you both had to breathe, you pulled back, and with kiss-swollen lips, you pecked him once more. “So, does this mean that I pass my eval?” you asked with a smirk. Aaron rolled his eyes. 

“It was never in question, (Y/N),” he admitted, “I just needed an excuse to be close to you.” 

“Weren’t very subtle about it, Aaron,” you teased. 

“I knew you’d catch on eventually,” he said with a smile. Aaron kissed you again until he heard the team approaching and then he pulled back with a sigh. “How long do you think we have before they all figure it out?” he asked. 

“Rossi already knows,” you said, leaning away from him.

“Does he?” Aaron asked, amused. 

“Apparently, I am a lot easier to read than I first thought,” you said with a shrug. Aaron reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his touch linger before pulling away. 

“On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read.”

“Is that so?” you asked, intrigued. He nodded.

“However, I am very much looking forward to learning how.” You smiled at his words just as the team boarded, talking animatedly. The two of you smoothed your shirts and hair before anyone noticed anything, but Dave had caught you immediately. Rossi winked at the both of you and you thought you would die of embarrassment right there, but then, you felt a warm hand on your leg. Hotch gripped your thigh, rubbing it soothingly and you felt calmer already.

The rest of the team followed Rossi onto the jet, completely oblivious to what had just transpired onboard. Rossi sat across from you and Hotch so you could be close to one another just in case another member of the team caught something. You would have liked at least the next six hours to be just about you and Hotch and hopefully, they would be. 

Leaning back in your seat, Hotch kept his hand on you at all times and as you flew across the country, light began to shine through the small breaks in the window shudders and at that moment, you had never felt more at peace.

“Sunrise is the reminder that we can start new beginning all over again." - Rupal Asodaria 

[gayestnerdsinfiction]

Rivalry

requested by @micapearls (ed hearing jon full body laugh for the first time)

Ever since he first met Jonathan Crane, Edward has had an unshakable fixation on eliciting any type of emotional expression from the other man. To the untrained eye it would appear Jonathan was unable to experience any human emotions beyond displeasure and annoyance. Jonathan doesn’t cry, he doesn’t shout when they argue, he doesn’t allow any facial expression to inadvertently cross his stoic features. Over time, Edward has been able to get a better feel for the subtle cues that indicate his partner’s emotional state, but Jonathan still makes an effort to hold his feelings and opinions close to his chest. Edward wants so badly to break him of this habit. He’s lost count of the amount of meaningless arguments he’d blown out of proportion in the hopes of making Jonathan visibly angry. But perhaps that’s just trauma reenactment.

It was after one such failed attempt to goad Jonathan into an argument that Edward finally got what he was looking for. He had unsuccessfully tried to get a rise out of the other man, throwing out the cruelest, most spiteful things he could think of. Things he didn’t mean, things he doesn’t want Jonathan to think he meant. Unfortunately, this only resulted in Jonathan disappearing off into the lab, leaving Edward to sulk alone in the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, staring absently at the television when Jonathan finally reappears from the basement, his expression as austere and unreadable as ever.

“I’m having a drink,” the older man announces, breezing past Edward and into the kitchen. He removes a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and holds it up for Edward to see. “Do you want one?”

Edward doesn’t particularly care for whiskey but he can recognize a peace offering when he sees one. He nods wordlessly, sliding to one end of the sofa to make room for Jonathan to sit if he wanted to.

Jonathan pours the two drinks, bringing them into the living room and handing one to Edward. He accepts. Takes a small sip, trying to ignore the unpleasant taste.

“What are you watching?” Jonathan asks as he sits down a respectful distance away from Edward.

“News,” he says. “I’m looking at it more than I’m really watching it.”

Jonathan studies the screen for a few moments, sipping his own drink steadily. “Turn up the volume,” he says abruptly.

Edward obliges, directing his own attention to the TV as well. The reporter onscreen is standing in front of the Gotham University campus. There are cop cars and officers crowded around the building, many of them with heavy tactical gear and weapons.

“Shit, I hope whatever this is doesn’t screw up the heist I had planned for next weekend,” Edward mutters as he puts his drink down on the table.

“…As you can see the police are behind me attempting to negotiate the release of the thirteen hostages currently being held on the University grounds.” The camera cuts away from the reporter to show a closer shot of the police officers at the scene. Edward can make out commissioner Gordon speaking into a walkie-talkie at the front of the group. Bullock stands beside him, looking generally burly and gruff but otherwise not contributing much. “The location and condition of the hostages is unclear; all we know is that those thirteen students and faculty members are trapped somewhere in the Joker’s sadistic maze. More updates on the way as we continue to document the most recent criminal exploits of Gotham’s most fearsome criminal.”

“Ouch,” Jonathan says dryly. “Seems unfair that I’m not the most fearsome criminal in this city but I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Edward, in the meantime, is too busy trying to navigate the mixture of anger, surprise, and jealousy that has begun burning in his chest to even register Jonathan’s comment. “He—I feel like I’m having a stroke, I mean, did that reporter say what I think she said?” he splutters, standing up from the couch to gesticulate wildly at the screen.

“What’s your problem?” Jonathan asks. “Joker does something like this every week, you can’t be surprised at this point.”

“You don’t understand,” he snaps, ignoring the heat he can feel rising into his face and ears. “I was going to do a sadistic maze at the university. Me! That fucking clown stole my idea! I mean, am I the only person with any goddamn integrity in this vile city?” He collapses back onto the couch, throwing his arms up. “I had the whole thing planned out, all the pieces built and ready to be set up and he just swoops in with his dollar store makeup and awful dye job and ruins everything like he always does. I mean, do you know how hard it is to build a maze from scratch and make it appear with fully functional traps and people in it before the cops show up? It’s not easy, I’ll say that. And it’s not cheap either!”

Jonathan watches Edward’s hysterical monologue in silence, takes a few moments to digest the entirety of the rant, and then bursts out laughing.

Edward’s jaw drops. Usually when Jonathan laughs it’s little more than a sharp exhale or the hint of a smile. But this laugh is a loud, unrestrained cackle, so raspy in places it almost sounds like a wheeze. It’s the first time he’s ever seen his partner seem genuinely tickled by something and he can’t even enjoy it because it’s at his own expense. He can’t tell if he’s more shocked to see his partner’s entire body wracked with laughter, or more indignant that he’s being laughed at in the first place. He snaps his mouth shut, his face screwing up into a scowl. “It’s not funny.”

“It absolutely is. Your whole thing with the Joker is hilarious.”

“It is not! He’s completely destroying my reputation, my career in this town. I mean, now I can never do that heist I had planned because the Joker already did it and everyone’s already accusing me of ripping off his costume and gimmick. If I even mention that I had the same idea, then people are going to try and accuse me of stealing his fucking intellectual property too.” He gets up again, pacing almost frantically around the room. “It doesn’t even make sense for him to do something with a school, I mean, I’m the one whose whole aesthetic and MO has to do with knowledge and learning. He should go terrorize a fucking comedy club or something, leave the higher education to those of us whose brain cells haven’t been fried by a vat of acid.” He glares at Jonathan who is still doubled over with laughter. “Stop laughing at me, I’m serious.”

He raises a hand to cover his mouth, though it does nothing to soothe his amusement. “I’m sorry. But you have to admit, you sound ridiculous right now.”

“I fail to see how this is ridiculous.”

“You’re demanding artistic integrity from a man who dresses like a clown and kills people for fun.” Jonathan manages to stifle his laughter a bit, but Edward knows he’s never going to let him live this down. “Besides, neither of you went to college so I don’t see how you have more of a right to a university based maze heist than him.”

He rolls his eyes. Jonathan loves to point out that Edward never went to college because it’s the only real accomplishment he has that Edward couldn’t easily replicate. Just because Jonathan suffered through nine years of higher education that would have driven Edward into a murderous rage doesn’t mean he’s better than him. “A maze is a type of puzzle is it not? Last time I checked I was the prince of puzzles which, in my eyes, makes me more entitled to use mazes in my traps. I also think it makes me sound cooler. I mean, ‘clown prince of crime’? How pathetic is that.”

“They’re both pathetic,” Jonathan says. “I don’t know why people keep trying to call us princes like we’re not all broke psychopaths.”

“I’m not broke.”

“But you don’t deny being a psychopath?”

Edward continues to glower at the other man who is still fighting against a smile. “I can’t believe you’re not on my side right now.”

Jonathan shrugs. “I mean, you have to admit your costume color schemes are remarkably similar.”

“They are not! My preferred color scheme is green and purple, his is purple and green, okay, they’re distinctly different!”

“Edward,” he says, using that tone he always takes when Edward is acting irrational, “Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too seriously?”

“Not in the slightest,” he insists, knowing that this is arguably a stupid thing to care about. “You’ll never know what it’s like to always play second fiddle to everyone’s favorite costumed criminal. At least people are scared of you. Everyone just thinks I’m some kind of joke thief.”

“Well, maybe you need to give them something to be scared of. Show them you mean business.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you propose I do that in a way that is both on brand and not derivative of the Joker’s own crime sprees?”

Jonathan’s smile changes, becoming less humorous and more devious. Edward can see the familiar gleam in his eye that indicates the Scarecrow’s mind is hard at work. There’s the Jonathan he’s used to. “I bet I could give you a few ideas,” he says slyly, finishing the rest of his drink in a single swallow. “If you don’t have any qualms about torturing people.”

Despite the fact that he’s still annoyed with Jonathan for making fun of him, Edward can’t help but flash a smile back at the other man. There’s just something about those clever, sinister eyes that always draw him right back in. “What did you have in mind?”

[inspector-montoya-fox]

so... why did Honor Among Thieves disappoint?

and i’m talking about the episode, not the game. as usual, i’m popping off on something based on my opinion, because i’m aware a lot of you like that episode. but i feel like conclusion levels aren’t SP’s forte ? let’s take a look:

Setting: if you’re gonna base an entire game on breaking into an island fortress, you better let us play in that island fortress. and that’s not the case. the setup was perfect: an evil island citadel, kinda paying homage to Clockwerk’s lair, heavily guarded by mutated animal hybrids, but inside, the entire Cooper legacy. so why did it end up being a pool of acid? and why do most preparatory missions take place around the island instead of on it? circling back to the Clockwerk level similarities, i really like the linear structure for final episodes, i think it ups the ante and the tension. the sense of choice and safety granted by optional mission order or the safehouse is stripped and with each level we get closer to the main baddie. but here, the missions feel detached because of the gang being all over the place. Sly first loses his cane and is unconscious and then the original gang disbands before entering the vault. i didn’t appreciate SP’s choice to sacrifice platforming for other modes of gameplay. i know that when game devs introduce new gameplay, they’re usually really proud of it (Arkham Knight’s over-dependence on the batmobile...) but giving us a single platforming mission in the entire final level was kinda sacrilegious, imo. i’ll touch upon the reason behind this in the next section, but this was supposed to be Sly’s level, maybe even the gang’s. but, until we get to the vault, there’s Carmelita shooting, Penelope RC, Guru brainwashing, Dimitri diving, plane fight, Murray brawling and Bentley grapple cam. i think that simply diluted the importance of this episode, and made it lacklustre. i’d rather play as Sly breaking into the island 100%. if you follow me, you probably know how i feel about TiT, but i want to reference the Feudal Japan map here: it really conveyed the sense of a palace fortress. yeah, it was a village, but throughout its circumference there were imperial structures to remind us that we were actually surrounded by the stronghold. i think it would be much more effective to have Kaine Island be some kind of military base or evil tech lab instead of a vat of acid. the game’s tutorial mission was loads of fun and very intriguing because we got to enter the island and look at its interior. that should have been maintained for the final episode. and even if SP didn’t have this vision for the island, dumping neon green liquid mass everywhere seemed lazy. if they wanted it to be desolate, they should have emulated Clockwer’s volcano exterior which was full of lava but had clear characteristics.

Themes: the reason behind the various modes of gameplay was probably to express the theme of camaraderie and show that even if this is Sly’s legacy, all thieves are honourable. everyone gets to help out in some way, and that help is elevated further when Sly, the gang’s supposedly best asset, is benched. i really admire this, i think it’s a nice concluding message to a game which focuses on teamwork and how everyone is a unique individual, despite belonging on a team. that being said, the gameplay came across as repetitive, like Penelope and the Guru’s sections, or abysmal, like the underwater bossfight. i feel like they could have showed that message in a better way, one which wouldn’t require an entire gameplay section. although it was quite “silly”, having the Panda King transport the RC car and the van was an efficient way to show how he helped out without having us endure more firework gameplay. this way, there’d be more room for, again, platforming, which is much needed in this episode. at least the theme is explored well this way, like no one would doubt that the team cares for each other now. the other major theme is, obviously, legacy. unlike the camaraderie theme, this was explicitly presented. you literally go through your dead ancestors belongings. the mission is pretty cool too, i don’t have many complaints. i like how Sly has to channel each ancestor and their signature move in order to get through the obstacles they’ve set. and when the time came to go through Conner’s section, and Sly asked him what to do because he genuinely didn’t know... i lowkey kinda felt so emotional. the theme shows how Sly has come full circle, despite his minimal character development. we start off the series by collecting Thievius Racconus entries from ancestors he only heard about when he was a child, to coursing through what they left behind for us specifically. it’s really nice, and i think it’s what prevents this episode from being a complete disaster, like it’s the highlight of the whole thing.

Plot: my main beef with this episode was Bentley and Murray not entering the vault, despite SP putting in so much some work to portray them as equals. i’ve said time and time again that i absolutely love the Bentley x Dr Matt conversation because it hinted at an older version of the gang, and that Watchmen dynamic is so powerful, especially when the predecessor reaches out to their successor in a messiah kind of way (long sentence, sorry if i’m not making any sense). point is: why would they have this conversation if Bentley and Murray ultimately ended up staying behind? i get that Bentley inherits the Thievius Raccoonus at the end, but that’s a whole different discussions. like, they should have gone into the vault to show how they are as much a part of the Cooper legacy as Sly. i’m not sure how the gameplay would be, like maybe they’d get separated and meet up at the end, but i seriously wish they had followed Sly. but anyway, they didn’t, and then the amnesia thing happens... the perfect way to describe that is ‘bittersweet’. on the one hand, the entire vault and legacy come crushing down; on the other hand, Sly gets with Carmelita. this is perhaps the most development he gets throughout the course of three games. the Coopers are obviously obsessed with maintaining traditions and the lineage (which is weird when you consider all of them dropped like flies at the sight of Clockwerk, like you’d think after a few generations the fuckers would have some sort of back-up) so it’s interesting to think that Sly is the anomaly. he doesn’t have his own cane, he’s in love with a cop, he never introduced his own move to the book, and he ultimately decided he didn’t want to upkeep the Cooper legacy but reinvent it and start anew. so yeah, like that was a nice touch but everything happens so quickly and it’s a lot to take in

i don’t want to say that Honor Among Thieves is a bad case, but i think it doesn’t live up to the build-up of the entire game. one of the reasons why Sly 2′s ending was better was because the game went out of its way to establish a specific course the events would supposedly follow by telling us ‘here are the villains’ at Rajan’s ball. and then, as a direct result, Arpeggio’s death and ClockLa’s genesis came as such a big surprise. but here, we were promised a vault so difficult to get in that we needed to recruit outcasts from all over the globe, and at the end there wasn’t a twist. that’s just literally what happened. holy hell that was blunt.