#okay dream 'this place will prove my end' endless you definitely had this one handled

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

saw some more dream in the orb angst on my dash, and now i'm thinking of overture again

like. first of all - it gets a lot worse! because overture directly precedes the main story, so dream gets imprisoned twice in the span of about three days (at least the first time was relatively quick)

but second - he gets imprisoned in a black hole, by some sentient stars who want him dead but know if they actually kill him he'll just reincarnate, whereas this way he's out of the way forever

and i feel like this page says so much about how he'd react to burgess' trap, too

fanfic often focuses on the physical pain of that space - it's cramped, it's cold, there's spikes, he can't breathe, etc. and that's definitely there, he definitely feels it, but it's layer one of this spiral

no, what hurts a lot more, is being cut off from other people

and of course it does! dream may be kind of a loner when it comes to actually socialising, he can be sullen and moody and all of that, but he's never actually alone. he can't be, he's literally made out of everyone's subconscious, every thought anyone's ever had is passing through him at all times. that's his purpose, to manage and direct all that - i'd say it's second nature but i think in this case it actually qualifies as first nature. he may not always notice it or be conscious of it, he has the library so he can file that stuff away, but for most of his life he has had every single living mind in his head, constantly talking and thinking and dreaming

until now. the combination of the sphere and binding circle burgess set up is designed to keep dream's physical form in that basement, and cut him off from anything that exists outside of it. cut him off even from the people guarding him. both of these prisons meant that, for the first time ever, dream didn't have all that background noise that makes up who he is. it should be physically impossible for him to be alone, by his very nature if he's alone he's not really dream of the endless anymore

but both these prisons managed it

no wonder that's more overwhelming than physical pain, no wonder he believes he's going to die here, it's like you've torn out all his senses and a good half of his brain along with them with him still awake and conscious to process that happening

the black hole looked like nothing, it was made of nothing, so at least that's only jarring in how absent it is. but what must the world have looked like from inside that sphere, when all of the ways you normally process the world have been torn from you? do you even see what people look like physically, or do they appear to you as collections of stories and thoughts and hopes? and what, then, must it feel like, when now you can only see the physical. does anyone here even register as a person?

how alien must the world have looked? and how loud was that silence?

[andreil-minyasten]

The Raven Killer

JereJean | T | 3755

This is my entry for the @aftgexchange Valentine round 2019. This little JereJean piece is for @fornavngoesexy who's absolutely AMAZING and keeps the fandom beautiful as f. I picked Jeremy/Jean an dark/angst with happy ending from your prompts. Hope you like it! Happy Valentine's Day <3 

Read on AO3  When asked, Jeremy Knox wouldn’t describe Jean Moreau with colors, like most people do. He wouldn't say, here, look at this coffee, Jean has hair like this. He wouldn't serve you a stick of butter and compare it to Jean's skin. He definitely wouldn't try finding a shade worthy of explaining the otherworldly luminosity of Jean's eyes.

 Instead, he would say this.         

 There is a moment before rain, before storm, when nature is holding its breath. A veil of hush is spread, suddenly the sky is backlit by the sun and then, the first flash of lightning, the first splash of rain.

 Jean Moreau is that moment, caught in a prison of flesh and blood.

This is what Jeremy Knox thought, every morning when he saw Jean Moreau cross the road to the minuscule coffee shop Jeremy owned. Ever since Jeremy started working as a barista/cafe owner, Jean has taken a liking to the chocolate croissants. Reminds him of home, he says and blushes faintly.

 Jeremy shouldn’t, really. He shouldn’t like that hint of pink on pearly skin, shouldn’t like the sight of Jean every morning. He shouldn’t even be thinking of Jean Moreau. It was very unprofessional. But it's been months and there had been a hundred mornings and Jeremy can't remember a morning without Jean.

 Today isn't an exception. Yes, Jeremy’s mind is restless with frantic worry. Yes, he feels desperate for a solution to his biggest predicament. Yes, he knows he can't do this anymore.

 But his smile doesn't falter. He brews Jean's coffee with care, serves it up with two croissants, as always. He takes out the blue tray that Jean likes. Jean returns Jeremy's smile with one of his rare ones.

 ‘Thank you, Jeremy,’ his voice is just a whisper, again, today. Jeremy can see a purple bruise almost completely covered by a bulky scarf. Almost but not quite.

 ‘How's your boyfriend doing?’ Jeremy asks when they're running out of small talk.

 Jean stiffens almost immediately, reaching up to wrap the scarf tighter around his neck.

 ‘Good, he's….. he's good, as always, Jeremy.’

 And Jeremy hates him. He hates Riko Moriyama, so much.          

                                                                                                                    -------------

 Here's what Jeremy knows about Jean Moreau's long-term boyfriend Riko Moriyama. Riko is the second son of the Business Tycoon Kengo Moriyama. Riko’s elder brother Ichirou is the crown prince of their empire, leaving Riko free to live a life of debauchery. Riko takes full advantage of it. He's called for modelling once in a while. But he doesn't actually work, as far as Jeremy can't tell. Yet, he's busy everyday, if partying could be called being busy.

 Jean is almost the exact opposite. He's never seen with Riko at his parties. Instead he works as cleric at the kindergarten opposite the shop Jeremy works at. He's been together with Riko for seven years.                    

 Jeremy also knows, every night that Riko spends in his own house, he leaves a bruise on Jean. Jeremy finds the bruises, catalogues them and wraps up the memory in a coat of fury.

                                                                                                           ----------------------

 Jean views his life as a long, endless nightmare, interspaced by little moments when he feels awake, alive, hopeful. Moments like these, having a warm drink and basking in Jeremy's presence.

 When he was young, he used to hope for a life that would always be good. He hated his abusive parents. As soon as he could think for himself he had made plans to leave them someday. And he thought he'd done it, too. One fine morning in April, he met Riko Moriyama, a bright eyed teen just like him. Jean, young and naive Jean was fascinated. He thought it was love for sure. Riko let him believe it was love, too. In reality, Jean left one nightmare and entered another.

 It wasn't clear to him, at first. Riko was nicer than his parents. Riko was the place to call home, the face he wake up to, the person he centered his life around. It wasn't easy for him to see the bigger picture.

 Yes, Riko got angry, a lot. Yes, Riko hurt him, a lot. But Riko apologized and cried and said he loved Jean too much. Jean believed him.  Jean thought this was okay. He thought he could live this life.

 Then came the bloodshed.

 A few months after Jean moved in, Riko apparently deemed Jean loyal enough, or gullible enough, who knows. One night he simply came home with a stranger, proceeded to take him into Jean and Riko's bedroom and slaughter him like a pig.

 Jean couldn’t remember the first time quite well. The only clear thing was the boy's face. He was a fresh faced teen, wide eyed and innocent the way Jean himself was, once. His slit throat was leaking blood all over Riko's bedspread. Jean was too numb to cry. But he did what Riko told him to do. He cleaned up the blood. erased the cctv footage, burned the linens. But he didn't touch the body.  

 Riko was gone in the morning. There was almost no evidence left of that horrifying night. Jean spent hours and hours curled up in the attic wondering if Riko was sick? If it was a wrong decision he'd made?

 Jean didn’t have to wait long. Riko killed again in six months. This time it was a girl of perhaps sixteen. Jean tried to beg Riko and got a slashed wrist. After breaking the girl's neck, Riko took his boyfriend to the nearest hospital and got him treated for a mishap in the kitchen, I keep telling you be careful, love.

 Years passed, and this happened again, and again, and again.

                                                                                                                 -----------

 Jean often asks himself why he doesn't just leave and tell the police, tell anyone, that his lover is the serial killer known as Raven, because he always leaves a shiny black feather with the dead body dropped in a ditch somewhere. Jean didn't, couldn’t- tell anyone the first time mostly out of horror. But later? What stopped him from speaking up in the four years that Riko had been killing?    

 No, it wasn't the fear of prison or a death sentence. Jean had proof that it was Riko, he'd kept all the footage from the second time. He'd kept them safe. He'd saved a bit of blood from every victim while Riko went out. Their house was too big, Riko never moved a single finger to clean it. He would never find these evidences. These would be enough to prove what Riko did, what he was.

 A monster.

 But Jean kept adding to the pile of his evidence, never gathering up enough courage to show someone or leave.

 Why?

 ‘You have nowhere to go, Jean. What, you'd go back to your parents? You think they want you? No one wants you, Jean.’

 It was Riko's voice that said these things in his head, and they were all true, weren’t they? Where could Jean go? Riko was his whole world.

 Jean had thought about death, about offering himself up to Riko one of those nights when he raged about not finding a suitable lamb to slaughter. But then, who would remember the faces of all the boys and girls Riko killed? Who would keep gathering evidence?

 So Jean didn't kill himself and he didn't kill Riko, didn't stop him from killing others, didn't go to the police. Maybe his life would've gone on just like that, till Riko bored of him. But that sunny, airy Thursday, something changed.

 Riko brought home Kevin.

                                                                                                ------------------------

 Jean tried to plead, reason, coerce and even bribe.

 ‘Riko, Riko you can't!’ he hissed while Riko hummed a tune and added a crushed up sedative in Kevin's vodka. ‘Kevin is a policeman! He's our childhood friend! It's too risky, you could get caught! Please, just send him away. I'll go look for… for another one. For you. Riko, please! Not Kevin!’      

 Riko went on as if he hadn't heard Jean. The tea was served. Kevin was all smiles as he downed one drink after another.

 ‘Y’know Riko, e’ryone says you're a spoiled brat but I see, I see you,’ Kevin declared, well on his way to getting drunk . ‘Your life's ssso good! You have a home and lovely, lovely Jean to come home to, mmm hmm? You're so lucky!’      

 This was like all the nightmares that came before. But Jean could feel more and more terror trickle through his veins as he watched Kevin slowly fall asleep. Riko was in the kitchen, picking which knife to use. He was going to kill Kevin, their darling friend Kevin who was snotty and obnoxious and uptight but he didn't deserve to die. Riko was going to kill him like all the others and drop off his corpse like all the others….

 No.

 Not Kevin.

 Jean wouldn't let it happen, not this time.

 He entered the kitchen. Riko had his back to the door. He trusted Jean so much.

 ‘Babe, you didn't wash the serrated one properly last time, there's rust on the handle.’ Riko chided mildly, putting down a knife and picking up a larger one.

 ‘I'm sorry, Riko.’

 ‘That's ok, love. I'll just-’

 Jean felt a little foolish about hitting Riko with the cast iron pan. But it was heavy and knocked Riko out readily. Jean spent a moment worrying if he was dead. Then he shook himself and ran to get the car. He had so much work to do.           

                                                                                                                 ----------

 Jeremy's little coffee shop closed late on rainy nights as more people craved a warm drink in their palms. Jeremy closed it around 10 that Thursday, going up to the attic that was his living space. It was small and rather messy, but warm. Jeremy was about to get under the blankets when he heard someone knocking loudly on the door downstairs. Ugh, he has to go out in the cold again.

 He's cursing and shivering when he opens the door, only to find Jean Moreau. Jean Moreau, soaking in rain and shaking like a leaf, on Jeremy's doorstep.

 Is this reality?

 How many nights had Jeremy dreamt of Jean coming to him, to Jeremy, at the dead of night? But this isn't a dream, is it? Jean looks like death warmed over.

 ‘What are you doing here?’

 He doesn’t get an answer right away. Jean's eyes look wide with terror and pain. He lifts a shaking hand to touch Jeremy's face.

 ‘Nothing, I just, just wanted to see you. I'll…. I have to go.’

 Jeremy grips his wrist before Jean can move away. ‘No, don't. Stay here.’

 ‘What?’

 ‘Stay, stay here. It's not safe to drive in this downpour. And you'll catch your death in those clothes,’ Jeremy swallows down a wave of nerves. ‘Come inside, Jean.’       

 ---------

 In the dimly lit attic with it's sugar and cinnamon smell, Jeremy could almost believe this was a fantasy his stressed brain had conjured. Jean was in his shower while Jeremy struggled to find clothes big enough for the man. By the time he found a stretched out pair of sweatpants and a bulky hoodie, almost half an hour had passed and the shower was quiet.

 ‘Jean,’ Jeremy called. ‘Jean, are you okay?’

 No answer. Jeremy's felt worry clawing in his stomach. The door opened easily. He found Jean’s tall frame folded down in the bathtub. He looked over at Jeremy as he entered, face blank.

 Jeremy put the clothes next to the toilet sink. ‘Jean, why didn't you close the door?’ he asked.

 ‘Riko doesn't like it.’

 Riko doesn’t like it, he says. What else doesn't Riko like, Jeremy wonders. What had Jean done that made Riko mad enough to hurt him like this? Jean's torso was painted black and blue. Some week-old knife scars, some scars old and silvery, some mottled and wide bruises that could only come from a leather belt.   

 ‘Did Riko do that to you?’ Jeremy asks, knowing the answer. Jean looks at him for a long second.

 ‘Yes,’ Jean whispered, ‘Yes, Jeremy. It was Riko. Yes,’ he chuckled a little. ‘You know, I never told anyone, in the last seven years, that it was Riko. You're the first. Thank you.’

 ‘Is that why you came here tonight? To get away from him?’ Jeremy had to know. He was sitting on the floor besides the tub, getting his clothes wet but he could see Jean so well, could see the almost invisible silvery scars across his jawline. How had he not noticed before?

‘Tonight,’ Jean closed his eyes and looking green.  ‘Riko was, he was…’

 ‘It's ok,’ Jeremy touched his shoulder. ‘You don't have to tell me.’

 ‘I'll tell you, I promise I'll tell you  but not now.’ Jean leaned closer to Jeremy. ‘I came to you because you're the opposite of him. You're sunlight and warmth while he's pain and darkness and I'm so tired, Jeremy. You make me forget the pain. Just let me stay near you, tonight.’

 Jean's breath brushed over Jeremy’ lips. Did he imagine Jean looking down at his lips? Did he imagine the smoky want in those eyes?

 Jean's rosy lips parted, and Jeremy didn't stop to think, to ask. It was only a matter of closing the last few inches.

 Jean was waiting for the kiss, it seemed. He kissed back after a startled second, wet fingers clutching Jeremy's hair. Closer, closer. Jeremy wanted to soak Jean into his skin. Jean nipped at his lower lip and Jeremy groaned, the little stab of pleasure-pain going straight south. Jean pulled on his hair.

 ‘Climb up,’ he said, breathless and impatient.

 Climb… did Jean mean…. the bathtub? The bathtub where Jean is sitting, naked. Jeremy's brain went completely still.

 ‘Come on, Jeremy. I need you… closer, please.’

 And who was Jeremy to deny him? If it was a bad idea to kiss him, it was an worse idea to go further, he was someone else's, he was Riko's but Jeremy would rather die than allow an inch of space between them right now.

 Jean helped to pull of his vest and shorts, then Jeremy is stepping into the lukewarm water, settling on Jean's lap, skin to skin. Jean pulled him into a kiss again, but it was explosive, this time. Jeremy poured his desperation into it. Can't you see I need you, too? Can't you tell I love you? Can't you just be mine?   

 Jean came up for air with a gasp, his face glowing with a blush brighter than Jeremy had ever seen. Jeremy kissed down the pale column of Jean's throat, nipping over the throbbing pulse. Jean moaned, his hips bucking into Jeremy's and oh, oh, Jeremy's had enough.

 ‘Stand up,’ he urges. ‘Stand up, Jean. To the wall… yes….  that's it.’

 Jean stands, backed onto the tiles and he's so beautiful it takes Jeremy's breath away. He kisses a trail over Jean's less bruised thigh, stopping to suck his own mark just below his hip bone. Jean is a moaning, shivering mess already. Jeremy takes a few seconds to assess and admire his cock, then puts his mouth and a hand to work.

 It doesn't take too long. Jeremy is enthusiastic, almost impatient. Jean is incoherent and loud, his voice reverberating in the tiny bathroom, ringing like music in Jeremy's ears. He stiffens right before climaxing, giving Jeremy a chance to pull away. He slides down into the water again, pleasure and bliss written in his face.

 Jeremy drains the water out of the bath and cleans up both of them. He's still so hard, but finding his own pleasure can wait a little longer.

 Neither bother with clothes, choosing to  slip under Jeremy's pile of blankets instead. Jean spoons him from behind, rubbing a hand over his arm to warm him up. ‘Mon soleil,’ he whispers to Jeremy. ‘you don’t know, I have wanted you for so long.’

I have loved you for so long, Jeremy wants to say. I have wanted you for even longer. Jean's hands travel down Jeremy's shoulders, over his chest, stomach and down, down.

 Jeremy would just tell him in the morning.

                                                                                                                       ------------

The morning is fresh and crisp like newly washed laundry. It's still a little cold. Jeremy wraps the blankets a little tighter around himself. They smell like Jean.

 Jean!

 He's missing from the bed, from the whole attic as far as Jeremy can tell. He's up and dressed in a minute, rushing downstairs to check. Jean isn't in the shop either. But he's left a note, atop a nondescript plastic box .

 Jeremy,

 You have been the best thing in my entire life. I still can't quite believe last night was real. It was a beautiful dream, the most beautiful I've ever had.

 This box holds evidence that Riko Moriyama is the Raven killer. They can prove that he's murdered 13 innocent teenagers in the past 4 years. Take these to the local police station and tell them last night Riko tried to kill Officer Kevin Day, who is at the Allen Medical Center near the station.  -Jean Moreau

                                                                                                             -----------

 Every step Jean took away from Jeremy's little cafe felt like one more knife added to the wound in his chest.

 Last night was the only dream in his life full of nightmares and that is all Jean could afford, could allow himself to indulge in because he was just as guilty as Riko, wasn't he? He'd allowed Riko to kill so many people. What if one of them was someone's Jeremy, someone's Kevin? No, he couldn’t let this go on any longer.

 Jeremy was warm and pliant after sex, sleeping deeply. He was asleep when Jean had slipped out of the bed in the morning. Jean hoped he would wake up soon and take the evidence to police. Riko probably won't stay in the town after getting rid of Jean.      

 The front door is open. Jean slips in quietly.

 Riko is sipping coffee in the kitchen.

 ‘Hello, darling,’ he smiles at Jean. ‘Slept well? That's a lovely hickey, by the way. Where'd you get it?’   

 Jean doesn't answer. Perhaps Riko can read his confusion, because he lets out a short bark of laughter.

 ‘Why are you acting like the world is ending? So Kevin got away. Big deal. No one will doubt me when I say he'd just had too much to drink.’

 He stands and shoves the mug away.

 ‘But you, darling… Not only did you hit me, you also ran off to Jeremy. And on Valentine’s Day! How could you, Jean? I'm wounded,’ he widened his eyes in a parody of hurt and Jean wanted to throw up. Jeremy. Riko knows it was Jeremy.

 ‘How did you know?’ Jean grits out.

 Riko laughs. ‘How could I not? Do you have any idea how you two look at each other? Holy fuck, it's nauseating!’  he casually picks up a knife from the sink. ‘Look.A dirty knife for a faithless lover, isn't that perfect, Jean?’ he lunged.

 Jean almost didn't move in time. The knife grazed the side of his hip while he tumbled over the kitchen island, crouching down and picking up a light wooden stool. He swung it at Riko's hand. Riko cursed and backed away, clutching his hand. The knife slid under the fridge. But there was way too many knives in the kitchen, there was one or more in each drawer, cupboard and shelf. They were Riko's favourite weapon, after all. But Riko didn't go for a knife. He looked at Jean with wonder in his eyes.

 ‘You… you hit me!’

 The wonder disappears, black rage taking its place.

 ‘I have loved you all these years and you dare…!’

 ‘I don't love you anymore!’ Jean tells him. ‘I stopped loving you when you first killed Austin.’

 ‘Austin? You mean, that idiot back in- You remember their name?’ Riko cackles. ‘You sentimental idiot!’

 ‘Someone has to remember.’

 ‘No, no one has to remember. They just need to remember me, the raven killer!’

 ‘Thanks for the confession, Mr. Moriyama. Now put your hand up, slowly.’

 What the fuck.

 Riko recovered faster than Jean did. ‘Hello, Knox. What are you doing in my house?’

 Jeremy kept his gun pointed at Riko. ‘Oh, just arresting you for first degree murder, Moriyama. By the way Jean, get out of here. Kevin's waiting to have a word with you.’

 Riko's face contorted with fury. ‘You have no proof!’

 ‘I have four years of proof, actually.’

 Riko's eyes widened. ‘Four years? Four years! Jean!’

 He lunged at Jean with murder in his eyes, his hands closing around Jean's throat like a steel trap and Jean couldn't breathe, couldn’t shake him off. He could feel sight and sound slipping away.

 The last thing he could hear was a gunshot.    

                                                                                                                     ----------

 ‘You both are such idiots!’

 Jean and Kevin winced. They were waiting on the porch of Riko's house, recovering from the hellish  ordeal. Kevin looked a little green still, and Jean had a bandage wrapped around his head. purple bruises blooming on his neck. Just looking at them made Jeremy shudder. They could've died!

 ‘You could've died!’ he yelled at them.

 ‘But-’

 ‘No buts Kevin! We knew it was almost time for another Raven killing, yet you went drinking with a mafia brat! You'd be dead if Jean- and you! Don't look relieved! Why the fuck did you go back to Riko? You have a death wish?’

 Jeremy sat down on the porch floor, feeling ten years older than he was last night.   

 ‘We've been investigating the Raven Killer for a long time, only recently we tracked him back to this area. I've been undercover for, oh, about a year and a half, I think.

‘The thing is, everyone thought it was you, Jean. All the evidence pointed towards you. You're still not out of doubt.’

 Jeremy felt tears welling in his eyes. He scrubbed a hand over his face, incredibly tired. ‘He's dead now, though. He's dead,’ he sobbed. ‘He won't hurt anyone, ever again. He won't hurt you, Jean.’

 ‘Yeah,’ Kevin sighed and smiled, knocking his shoulder against Jeremy. ‘We're all safe now. You saved us. So calm down you crybaby.’

  Jeremy sniffed and reached out, hugging both of them. They clutched each other in relief, in newfound hope.  

 Yes, inside the house there was a corpse with a bullet in his head. And, yes, the Moriyama family would not be happy about this. There are more trials coming their way, Jeremy knows. But he's ready for whatever comes. They'll get through it together.    

[ashwritesstuffies]

Soul Meets Body Joshua Graham x Arcade Gannon

Got this idea at the ripe hour of 5:50am while talking to my artistically brilliant friend Angel @gangnome. This is loosely based on the ending of New Vegas where Arcade went exploring. I like to think he found himself fascinated with finding new reading materials. Naturally he finds himself following this bandaged hunk who at  Happy reading you precious bastards!)

I want to live where soul meets body and let the sun wrap its arms around me,

And bathe my skin in waters cool and cleansing and feel, and feel what it’s like to be new.

The reddening ex-follower had been walking for hours on end. He’d left town when his Enclave identity was revealed, only seldom did he look back. Usually he cursed the sun and the sky and the highly irradiated desertscape he found himself trapped in. His idea was simple, when put on paper. Explore and study, find a place where he can thrive on his naturally high intellect. He’d told only Six where exactly his first trip would be, definitely not because he wanted backup.

He was headed to what was left of New Canaan. As he said to Six, his trip was to sift through the wreckage for what might even resemble a book he hadn’t yet read. Through the mountain spotted areas leading into Utah he went, until an ambush of White Legs remnants proved nearly life-threatening. At the near sound of someone attacking, he was caught off guard. Losing his footing found him sliding down the hillside into a body of cold, clean water.

The sounds of a .45 pistol firing kept his attention away from the horrendous fall. Against all better judgement he sat up in the water to watch what must’ve been fourteen men get blown to pieces by one man.

“Weird flex, but okay,” sarcasm flowed naturally from the blonde man’s mouth.

“They would’ve killed you, but okay,” the burned man’s wit was just as sharp it seemed.

He helped the man up and got him to the camp. He even stayed by his side while the smock-clad man self-administered first aid. After his wounds had been cared for, the leader asked him to stay a while. They spent many hours in deep conversation. From that he learned why his ex-companion had been wary to come back. It was, honestly, unsurprising to find out his old pal Six had helped overthrow nearly the entirety of their rival gang. That was always up their alley. He adjusted his glasses before making his own proposal to the ex-legionnaire. He couldn’t talk, he’d been in the enclave since he was a child. He helped the sick in his own way, mostly by teaching others how to fix their most common issues for themselves. All-the-while affections grew between he and his newfound friend.

At first it was a common admiration. then like a miracle Arcade had found a certain, less irradiated plant that had some numbing properties. Man might think it insane but the scientist found himself the first test subject. In an era without sunblock, sunburns were seldom helped out and certain cancers enjoyed taking lives to those without some form of protection. Applying the bark along with some ash seemed to cool off those pesky burns though. Proud he found himself looking to his heavily burned friend.

“So, um,” he had no idea how to say what he needed to say. “You’re in…. Constant pain, Joshua?”

“I can handle it, why,” he didn’t even look up from his holy book.

“I discovered something that might possibly help,” how in the hell did he get nervous offering this hunk help? The world may never know.

“Absolutely not,” he shut his book, stood from his perch and walked away.

This baffled the would-be medic. “Wait, what the actual hell?”

The New Canaanite stopped, “I said no, this is my cross to bear.”

Naturally the blonde haired gent had to go follow his friend. There was no way in hell, or on Earth he would let another person suffer if he could help it. There was an old saying, you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink.

Cause in my head there’s a greyhound station where I send my thoughts to far off destinations where they may find a chance of finding a place where they’re far more suited than here.

The crusade went on for two weeks until the older man caved. He couldn’t help cracking a smile  at the idea that anyone would gladly want to help the likes of him. On a particularly painful day he sought out the medic he’d somewhat employed. The binding bandages on his wrists towards his fingertips were the first to go as Arcade prepared his solution. If it could stop the places where rope burned into skin from stinging like death maybe he’d ask for more help.

“You ready to be subject number two in my notes,” a strange, unretractable statement the man lightly tanning man regretted instantly. “ That was… Um, Here.”

He gently took the hand of his acquainted and applied a small, rectangular-ish splotch of the sticky mixture. After it’d been painted on the reaction was nearly instantaneous. A hushed oh followed by a genuine smile inevitably met the top list. Breaking the silence himself, the bandaged man admitted.

“I expected nothing,” it was a small, pseudo-complement. “It actually stopped some of the pain.”

“You’re kidding, right,” he half expected everything he worked for to end in vain.

“For once, no, you actually helped,” yet again with the wit. It was accompanied by a grin that was nearly visible between bandages.

“Wow, finally, I can die happy tomorrow,” they shared a laugh as he realized he’d not yet let go of the charred hand he held.

That night the two sat a bit closer to eat dinner. Joshua told stories and things were oddly calming. No attacks neither animal nor tribal. The stars spotted the sky like bright freckles the moon was but a silver thumbnail up above. In the flickering firelight beneath the blanket of the endless sky the two’s conversations lasted well past the morning’s sunrise. On bedrolls, adjacent practically, they theorized everything. Each of the two men drifted off to slumber courtesy of the other’s voice.

The next day woke the acting leader after a few good hours of rest. He glanced over to the person who’d kept him company. It was unfamiliar, to feel this way about someone else after all he’d done. He had to, in his thoughts, find a way to figure out what exactly the feeling was. Like some sort of trial. He’d not the foggiest of ideas about the possibilities. When the blonde awoke there was cooked food and silent bible reading. Obviously he thanked the blue eyed food-bringer who’d been wearing onto his heart. In response the man’d been quick to pass the love onto someone else, claiming one of the Dead Horses had cooked. Protest threatened to fall from his lips at the blatant deflection of affection.

I cannot guess what we’ll discover when we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels,

But I know our filthy hands can wash one another and not one speck will remain.

An unexpected guest came and went. Turned out several of the friends he’d left back in the Mojave were a bit worried about him. An expedition lead by Six to see if the Arcade Gannon they knew was still alive and well. Luckily for him, things were more than swimmingly. Six months had come and left bringing to his feet the very man of his dreams. He, of course, hadn’t said anything about it to the person of his affection. Six pulled their friend aside, seemingly knowing everything.

“It’s Joshua isn’t it,” their years of wingmanning had given them natural insight. “You’ve got the hots for him.”

“Who the hell do you--” he began to argue then stopped himself. “Yeah, honestly I’m taken.”

“By Josh,” they’d played only to get chastised lovingly by their friend.

When they’d left taking with them the rest of their gang, he had ample time to confess his affections. Six had pretty well insisted that if he thought this was it to jump. The last part was, in the semi-professional opinion of the ex-follower, was inconceivably hard to actually do. Little did he know, the one he had fallen for, too, was in deep in the emotional department. The blue eyed, swat-vested male sat beside his childhood friend. Intensely conversing over heaven, hell, and choices the men made.

“Daniel, have you ever thought of taking a lover,” it sounded hundreds of times better in his head.

“I have, why do you ask,” it was unlike the friend he knew to talk openly of feelings. However, that’s exactly what they did.

An hour or so brought forth the kind of confidence in the ex-legate he had long since forgotten. His loving friend hand fed him a pep-talk and together they assembled a bouquet of flowers. They were to be brought by the burned man to his crush. His gifts were met with gifts of sweets from the rosy cheeked blonde. Chocolate Frosted Fancy Lads, the kind of confirmation he so clearly sought. Words couldn’t capture the beauty of the entire moment. A well needed hug, however, was an offer neither could refuse.

“You got me flowers,” first to break the silence was the handsome scientist with lacking social skills. “I don’t know what’s worse, my chocolate offerings or-” Their lips met once, then twice, breaking the sentence before it could be complete.

I do believe it’s true that there are roads left in both of our shoes,

But if the silence gets you then I hope it takes me, too.

A month found the two happy in love. Given the upcoming holiday Arcade longed to see his friends. Every year he’d spent with the courier and their friends Raul would play his guitar and sing once popular christmas songs. Lily loved to decorate the home, it was all lovely. He couldn’t wait to share these traditions with his man. The one he once dreamed would swoop him up. They’d be proud and it made him so soggy with sentiment.

He talked about them a lot to his man, as did the fiery leader about his friends and the tribals. First they’d spent three days searching nearby cities for gifts. Useful or not the forest eyed man only ever became sappy during the holidays. It was like, a hidden feature of himself only few could see. Once he’d spent well over a few thousand caps on a crapload of repairs needed in the Old Mormon Fort. The look on Julie’s face when she saw actual huts being built to replace some of the tents. From then it kind of snowballed.

“So, you’re sarcastically devoted to your friends,” asked the one he’d been info-dumping history to well into their walk home.

“Pretty much, I hate them, but they’re the greatest,” he didn’t mind clarifying as his lightly calloused hand brushed the bandaged fingers of his boyfriend’s hand.

They’d commandeered a shopping cart from the side of the cracked road to carry back supplies and gifts. Among a bit of the salvage were a few sweaters untouched for the most part save some fallout and dirt. When they arrived back to camp, the green eyed man jokingly suggested Joshua try on the sweater proclaiming ‘Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal!’ To humor his love, he actually slid it over his shoulders and head. When he turned to ask how he looked, he was met with laughter and cheers. After such a display it was only natural that the blonde man bore his sweater with a one headed radstag.

“I look ridiculous,” he couldn’t help but laugh at himself and his decisions.

“We both look ridiculous,” who was the natural leader to not laugh with his love. “It’s an everyday thing, the sweater just emboldens it.”

“You ready to head to the Mojave,” there was excitement and adventure-lust deeply lacing his tone. “Your friends are going to love this, dear.”

The road back to the strip was actually rather lax, the only things daring to step up were Viper gang members who just wanted everyone to ‘stay as far as possible the fuck away from our post’. The burned man himself saw to it that no one occupied the post anymore, all it took was one shot whizzing past Arcade’s head. The shock on that blonde man’s face when the bullet grazed by was enough rage-fuel to set the building aflame but that he did not do. For miles afterwards the usual chatter was replaced with a calm, collected silence between would be married men.

Across the state line a ways into Nevada the green eyed blonde actually spoke up, “so you know you didn’t have to kill them, right?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted in response. “Until they shot at you, then all bets, my love, were so far off.”

“Okay, but next time we could always tactically evade getting attacked,” he knew in his heart that some people just could not be reasoned with.

That being a cold hard fact never stopped the small twinge of regret he would seldom get for the fallen. There wasn’t another word until they reached New Vegas proper. It was a bit of a surprise to find that the ex-legate had never seen the strip. The best friend of Mr. couldn’t make medicines from desert plants met them near the entrance to Crimson Caravan. Upon first sight of their old doctor companion returning was like seeing the first snow of a nuclear winter, except less death and more excitement.

Hugs were passed around like a peace pipe, then they were off again to the strip. It never occured to Six that they were the sole reason some of their friends actually made it onto the strip. Next stop was the Lucky 38’s presidential suite. Inside the old casino, many decorations were being strewn about with purpose. Ed-E had the wasteland equivalent of mistletoe and was flying around with great purpose. Stopping once in a while to get his friends to smooch. For a piece of AI tech, he sure had a way of putting people together.

The day for gift exchanging was upon them, Christmas some called it. Six just called it ‘give me what you wanna and I have some stuff for you’ day. After Joshua gave his first holiday sermon to his newfound friends, the building seemed live. In the cafeteria the salvaged securitrons had a line up of actual decent food. There was enough booze to tranquilize a young deathclaw. Then, after eating well over everyone’s weight in festive goodies they finally traded presents.

From Arcade to Six was an ample amount of stimpaks and some festive combat armor. In return he received an old textbook that talked about native plantlife in the areas. Joshua had given them all bibles, jokingly. His boyfriend’s hand in his he delivered the “you’re all sinners let’s party” speech.

“Hemhem,” spoke up an old brotherhood scribe. “Where’s mine?”

The smile that spread the width of green eye’s face was gorgeous. A true treasure for those who saw it, “hold on junk junkie I’ve got what you need.” He tossed a blue and white dress her way. “Did you think I’d let my gays go without?”

“You’re a  dork, Gannon,” Veronica hugged her wouldbe wingman. “How did you know I liked the color blue?”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to walk around in gourd colors,” they shared more than their fair share of laughter. “Unless you’re like, into that sort of thing.”

Their sentimental shitchat was cut off halfway when the Courier brought in a runt gecko. They introduced the seemingly harmless pet, Squishy. That night was spent with great happiness. When it was time to hit the sack, it wasn’t surprising to find Joshua and Arcade comfortably snuggled up in one of the few rooms. They’d be sure to make this tradition a yearly thing. Finding the crappiest gifts possible and getting the same in return was more than anyone could ask for in the company of both boyfriend and best friends.  

So brown eyes I’ll hold you near ‘cause you’re the only song I want to hear,

A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere.

A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere..

[rabidwrestlingfan]

Operation Destroy

Author's note: This is a thing my brain created. Hope you enjoy. Too tired to be witty right now.... Oh yeah, and it's the sequel to Operation Switchblade 😉

Wren was exhausted both psychically and mentally. It felt like everything was falling down around her. Bullet Club was fractured at best, and she knew it would only get worse. Everyone would pick a side. In a perfect world everyone would side with Kenny and they could just get rid of the one who betrayed them. But this wasn't a perfect world. In the end Cody wasn't the only one who attacked Kenny, and they still didn't know who had stopped her rescue attempt. All she was sure of was that it wasn't the Jacksons or Marty. She trusted them enough to know they wouldn't do such a thing. The other members had an alibi, some could prove them and others couldn't. It didn't help ease her mind. She was still sidelined for the time being. 

Before Wren could linger on the thoughts Kenny came up behind her. "You're gonna go grey." He joked quietly, pulling her hair out of her face. "You say this like somebody has seen more than a few inches of my natural color in... Years." She retorted with a small smile. Instead of admitting his defeat he snaked his hand up her shirt and lightly ran his hand across her skin. Her back and left side were a map of ugly blues and purples. "How are you feeling?" He questioned softly, like he was afraid she'd break. "I'm doing alright. I've gone through worse." She answered truthfully. The Canadian nodded slowly as he continued to rub her back. She knew he blamed himself. Whether it was for her being at the curtain or him not being there she didn't know. She'd futilely tried to tell him he had nothing to do with it the night before, but he wouldn't hear it. 

"When do you leave?" Kenny asked after almost two minutes of silence. He knew she planned on going back to the States soon. After a few months of personal time she was looking forward to getting back into the swing of things. "Supposed to leave tomorrow night." Her plan had been to go with him back to the apartment and spend a few hours there before she left. She had to get her gear anyways. But she'd already been warned that her plans were going to change. She found herself thanking her aunt for insuring money wasn't a problem. Her inheritance had been the only reason she could put wrestling in the back burner. "Stay." He whispered just loud enough for her to hear. "It doesn't have to be for a long time. Just another week and I'll let you go without an argument. Just until we figure things out." The words were punctuated by a kiss to the base of her neck. He wanted to know who attacked her. He wanted to at least start planning his revenge. That's what he'd tell her anyways.

Kota had a feeling Wren would be a key part of the months to come. It crossed his mind as soon as he seen her laying on the floor just inside the curtain with blood smeared all over her face. It was proven when he seen the look on Kenny's face as soon as he seen her afterwards. So when they were walking to breakfast he made sure to distance her from Kenny. "He's going to cling to you." The Japanese man's words were hushed to further ensure only she would hear them. "He feels lost. He'll beg you to stay because he doesn't want to be alone. Stay with him. He needs to know that you're okay. It might even deter him from killing whoever did that to you."Just like that the man was gently nudging her forward and closer to Kenny. She didn't even get a second to reply. Yet she knew she had to listen to him. Even after just over three years of living with him she knew Kota still knew him better. Wren was sure he always would. So she'd went ahead and cancelled her flight and officially backed out of her bookings due to injury. Kenny had taken care of her, she couldn't just walk away when he needed the same. 

She was brought back to the present by curly hair tickling the side of her face. "Earth to Wren." Kenny joked before he placed another kiss on her temple. "Sorry. I was thinking about whether or not I called the hotel in Dayton and cancelled my reservation." She watched the understanding slowly wash over his face. "And you're stuck with me for at least two weeks, by the way." She added with a smile before slipping away from him and heading towards the bathroom. "I'm sure we can find something to do. Need help showering?" Kenny questioned with one of the first real smiles she'd seen since before his match the night before. "You know I hate to turn down a good thing, but shower sex is not on my to do list right now. In fact I'd rather get attacked by a rabid raccoon." She joked before closing the door. It was a few minutes later that Kenny heard her calling him. "What'd you forget?" He asked knowingly after he cracked open the door. "I grabbed the lotion instead of the conditioner." He couldn't help but chuckle. It wasn't until after he had helped her that he realised something had fallen out of her bag. He hadn't meant to read the note. "You have options." He mumbled, eyes going between the necklace at the bottom and the bathroom door.

The next couple of days had been largely uneventful. The two had spent the majority of it just lazing about the apartment. Except there was definitely a rift between them. Kenny's innocent jokes about sleeping with her had stopped. Even his actual attempts to sleep with her had stopped. There were no game tournaments or movie nights. He'd always make excuses about having other plans. It certainly didn't seem like he was clinging to her like Kota suggested. The colder her got towards her the more uncomfortable she got. He knew how she felt about Cody, so she knew he didn't think she was part of the mutiny. That didn't help her with the thoughts that kept running through her head. She started packing a bag when she woke up to an empty apartment on the seventh day. There was no note or anything. Just empty silence. The last thing Kenny expected when he unlocked the front door was to see her sitting on the couch crying. He knew that she'd hit the breaking point. 

"Wren?" His voice was a soft whisper. At one time that very whisper would have made chills race down her back. Now it was just another stab into her heart. "We don't have to do this. I can go. I'll find something to do with my shit and then... Just let me go." She begged him, futilely wiping her tears away. "Are you gonna tell me why you're running away?" He had the sense of mind to shut the door but didn't dare step closer to her. A dark chuckle left her before she was standing up. "Because this week has opened my eyes. It made me see things like they were. You treat me like I'm not even here, and I can't handle that. You've become such a big chunk of my life. I put you before everyone." He knew then exactly what was happening. "So you're gonna go run to White?" He asked sinisterly. His tone made her eyes go to his. "Excuse me?" Was all she could find to say. Where had he even gotten the thought from? "I seen the note in your bag in Sapporo. I thought it was because of the story about you not having a choice. I let it go. Then I grabbed your phone on accident the other day and seen the messages he was sending you. Figured you'd run sooner or later."

In a split second she was in front of him, a loud slap echoing in the silence. "How fucking DARE you, Kenny Omega! You had absolutely no right to invade my privacy like that. I'd never dream about doing something like that to you." She clenched her fists before turning away from him. Going to jail over a broken heart wasn't exactly something she wanted. "Besides, in case you didn't notice, I never replied to any of his messages. He's trying to toy with me. You fell right into his trap. But that's not even... You can't do that. You can't just act like you care about him wanting to get in my pants, when it didn't bother you a month ago. You can't play me like that anymore." In the end her voice was low. Kenny knew then what her problem was. In fact he'd known this would happen sooner or later. "I realised earlier that you'd never love me like I love you. That all my time secretly praying that you would was for nothing. I've always been yours and you'll never be mine."

The only thing she could hear was their breathing. His lack of an argument made her grab her backpack from beside the couch and walk over to the door. He hadn't moved even as she approached. "Wren... I need you..." His voice was rough as he spoke. Wren couldn't look up at him. She had to do this, and one look at him and she'd be done. "You don't and you know it, Kenny. I was just a naive girl that at least partially filled that hole in your heart. I was a placeholder. But he's back now, and you don't need me anymore." After a few seconds he finally moved so she could leave. He watched her go with tears in his eyes. A part of him did love her, but it was nothing like she felt. He'd known how she felt since they got stuck in the elevator nearly three years prior. In his head he could hear AJ berating him when he'd found out. The man had gotten so angry, and he wasn't afraid of voicing it. He'd always believed that Kenny was giving her a false hope. He had been.

The cab ride to the hotel had been full of tears and sympathetic glances in the rearview mirror. She felt broken and stupid. He'd told her from the beginning that they weren't exclusive, but then asked to room with her. It was an endless circle of will he won't he. Her thoughts drifted to the night she'd slept with Marty. It had started out as an innocent dinner whilst they awaited for their friend's arrival. By the end of the dinner she'd already told him how small she felt on terms of the Bullet Club. He made her feel cherished, but even then she immediately felt guilty. He'd assured her multiple times that she hadn't done anything wrong and he wouldn't mention it to a soul. The one time she'd brought it up he shut it down. He wouldn't let her beat herself up over it. In the back of her head she could hear Styles telling her that she wasn't where she was because of who she was sleeping with. She'd made it because of her skills.

Maybe it was her anger. Maybe it was heartbreak. She wasn't quite sure what possessed her to knock on the hotel room door later that night. He'd been toying with her and she knew it. All week he'd told her where he was staying and what room he was in. Even when he knew she wasn't there. On top of that were various messages about how she deserved better than the shattered remnants of Bullet Club. Maybe she'd regret it later, but at the moment she didn't care. Jay couldn't help but widen his eyes when he opened the door. He'd figured it would be a member of Chaos trying to be his friend. He never expected her to actually show up. "Make me forget." Was all she said when he opened the door. "You sure you wanna do this, doll?" He asked, eyes scanning the empty hallway. He'd barely heard her whisper a yes before their lips were together. He was quick to pull her into his room, kicking the door shut before pushing her against it. His lips trailed down to her neck when air became a necessity. A sharp nip just above her collar bone made her tug his hair with a gasp. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make you forget." Jay muttered against her skin.

It wasn't until Wren rolled over to escape the sun that she remembered the night before. That was also when she realised she'd woken up alone. Her sadness was eased with the knowing that it was his room so he hadn't just run away. Once she got up she seen a bowl of fruit sitting on the desk with a slip of paper that had a smiley fave drawn on it. She spent the next half hour getting dressed and munching on the treat he'd left. She was getting ready to leave when the door opened and Jay came in carrying two cups of coffee. "Morning, sleepyhead." He joked before handing her one of the cups. "Didn't know what you liked so I just grabbed a regular coffee and a few sugars and whatnot." She was in awe as the creamer cups kept coming. He'd gotten three of nearly all of the options. She didn't even comment as she fixed her coffee. She didn't know what to say to the kiwi.

 Suddenly his fingers were brushing against her neck. "Guess I got a little worked up. Sorry." He muttered before a smile graced his lips. "Guess it's a good thing you have an excuse to wear that puffy scarf." Those words made her freeze. "Huh?" She muttered in panic. She thought all the way back to the first time she'd ever seen him trying to think of any other time he had seen her in the scarf. "That giant zebra looking scarf you were in Sapporo." He answered like it was obvious. She set her coffee down before she turned to look at him. "It's my good luck charm, and I wear it anytime one of the guys have a title on the line. My aunt made it for me." Wren stated simply, watching his demeanor change. He went from relaxed to on edge as soon as she finished talking. "And the only way you would have seen me in it is if you seen me at the curtain when I was going to help Kenny..." She trailed off with wide eyes.

Suddenly the kiwi in front of her laughed. "I'd hoped to keep you going for a little longer... But looks like I got too caught up." He admitted with a sinister smirk. "I must say that it was remarkably easy to get Jessicka to help me. Seems like there's a lot of bad blood there. I just asked her to incapacitate you before he made it backstage, but she did so much better." Her mind was racing and she barely heard his words. Of course Jessicka would help bring her down. They hated each other. "Operation Switchblade may have ultimately failed but Operation Destroy is going great." He continued to taunt her. "How the hell did you know about that?" She snapped at him finally. Had a Bullet Club member ratted them out to the other factions? "I was trying to find you before New Years Dash and when I did I overheard you and Omega talking about it. It actually made me chuckle. You sure do have original names." Any sensible person would have left then. They wouldn't give him the pleasure of watching them work it out. But she had to unravel the sweater. 

"So you get the belt from Kenny and that deepens the divide. Page comes out and Kenny immediately denies that and so on. Where do I fit in all of this?" She honestly couldn't put that part together. "Are you saying that you haven't pushed them away since that night? That you haven't been at least a little bit suspicious of everyone that wasn't in that ring that night?"  Wren wished she could prove him wrong, but he was right. She'd blown off everyone but the Bucks and Marty once they got back to the hotel. She was so scared that one of them was a traitor that she just stopped communicating. The once live and ridiculous group chat hadn't been touched since that night. "Without you they all fall down. And all the important pieces have fallen. That IS why you're at a hotel, right?" Jay queried before he chugged the rest of his coffee. That made her blood run cold. Kenny. "You son of a bitch!" She yelled before she ran out of the room, door slamming behind her.

By the time she got back to her own room she had talked herself out of just showing up at the apartment. She'd been cruel to Kenny when he didn't deserve it. She'd turned her phone off before she'd even left. It would have undoubtedly rang all through the night. Yet when she pulled it out of her bag she just stared at it. What would she say? Confirming Jay's part in things wouldn't fix what she'd done. Knowing the truth didn't extinguish her fears of another brother turning their back on her. Would Kenny even answer if she did call? Wren sat down with her back against the bed, still stating at the phone. What was the right course of action? Suddenly there was a loud persistent knock on the door. "Wren? Wren, open the door." Her eyes widened when she heard the voice.  What the hell was he doing there? Slowly, she stood up.

[anautisticdragon-blog]

Marvel vs. DC

I've wanted to write this one for a while, but I'm going to sum it up before I begin: DC does diversity and social issues better than Marvel could manage in its wettest, wildest dreams.

That's going to annoy fans. So let's even include my personal bias, just as a disclaimer: I'm really not fond of Marvel's lack of continuity, nor am I a fan of Bendis.

With Morrison's New X-Men, Grant looked at the problems which plagued the X-Men and how every time the books would just go back to telling the same stories. He wanted to unshackle these books from that curse, and he set up the means to do precisely that.

He weaved everything together so masterfully, Corporation X, the second mutant boom, the much needed nod to how mutants aren't all just these beautiful poster models, et cetera. Honestly, how can you stand for the downtrodden if you come across as the one per cent?

Being an X-Man must've had an amazing dental, physical, and mental health plan. No one dared to even be anything less than a perfect icon of the status quo, it was basically what Magneto always wanted. It was really quite difficult to distinguish between what separated him from Xavier.

Grant fixed that. Mutants could be less than beautiful and that was okay, mutants didn't always need to have MacGuffin powers and that was okay too. Then, at the very end, he edited the Marvel Universe to remove mutant prejudice.

That's wild.

It's the end goal of everything they'd just been striving for since the '80s, and the reason they had been locked in this neverending cycle. Now the X-Men could tell new stories. Stories about how it was okay to be interesting, diverse, and not just a living god. It was incredible, I had more hope for the X-Men at that point than I ever had.

Marvel retconned it with the very next issue. Prejudice returns, everyone is beautiful again, and every gift Grant gave them was generally pissed over. Marvel hates continuity. They're so wantonly, gaggingly desperate to tell exactly the same stories over and over and over again.

One of the worst casualties of it all was Beast. Before Morrison, Beast was nothing more than a one-dimensional, Silver Age character. Grant gave him a third-dimension, a dichotomy. Certainly, it was a bit of an old trope (Grant loves those), and yet he used it to give Hank McCoy depth he'd never had in all his years as an X-Man.

Bendis took that away. No more feline Beast for us, no more dichotomy, no more third-dimension. Hank is just a Silver Age airhead again.

Marvel is basically Groundhog Day. This is their problem and I promise you this will all tie together and go somewhere. This Groundhog Day syndrome is at the root of all of Marvel's problems, and why DC are trouncing them right now on every story-telling front.

So, they did it with Iron Man, too.

Tony Stark was always weirdly technophobic for what could only be described as a self-made transhumanist. In the Marvel Cinematic Universe, you can see him operating on himself to give himself upgrades. Not in the comics.

Warren Ellis was the first to set out to fix this -- Extremis. Extremis was pretty okay. I'd say it was definitely a step in the right direction, but Tony still had this technophobic edge to his personality that caused dissonance in anyone who had any minor level of familiarity with technology.

Tony seemed oddly unfamiliar with the tech he'd supposedly been building. Had it turned out that -- in fact -- Tony was just a pretty face, and the real tinkerer and putterer was hiding in his shadow? That would've been interesting!

They didn't go that way, though. So they had to cure Tony of his technophobia. From Extremis we moved onto Matt Fraction's run where Tony really learned to trust technology; In fact, it proved to be more reliable and faithful to him than people did. His distrust moved away from technology to authority, government, and powerful figures like the Mandarin. This provided a strong focus, it provided the reader with reasons.

It reminds me of Mark Waid and Eobard Thawne. Eobard, the Reverse Flash, was just a two-bit Silver Age airhead of a villain. Just evil because evil, no more to it than that. Waid fleshed him out by having him become an obsessive stalker, a crazed fan whose vision of Barry Allen was so idealised that the real Barry couldn't live up to it.

This gave Eobard Thawne a reason to be Barry's villain. Similarly, Tony's newfound distrust of very powerful people and authority gave him a reason to distrust a self-styled, preening, entitled figure like The Mandarin. A character who fancifully imagined himself as an emperor.

It also allowed Tony to explore technology and realise that he wanted to spend more time simply working on it and helping to create heroes to combat men like The Mandarin than showboating hismelf. It set up the scene for both Rhodey and Pepper to replace him as Iron Corps.

Continuity! Evolution! A bold new di--RETCON! Now Tony's a technophobe again who was starkly (heh) terrified of his old technology and went back to sticks, rocks, and showboating because that's what Tony does at Marvel.

And this brings me to why I dislike Marvel. You might've heard that their editors actually blamed their push for diversity for their waning sales. It couldn't have anything to do with this Groundhog Day syndrome of theirs. No, no no no. Of course not. It has to be diversity, right?

Well, no. And, weirdly, yes? You see, their attitude toward diversity is inauthentic. It isn't genuine. I think everyone's catching on. That black kid who's going to be Iron Man? That's Cat Beast, you see? Soon to be replaced by technophobic Tony, completing the cycle.

The new Lady Thor? Cat Beast. Falcon as Captain America? Cat Beast. It'll all revert. It's because they don't actually have any passion behind it. Why did Falcon become Captain America? Oh, he and Steve Rogers had an argument and now he's wearing Captain America's uniform because reasons.

Then he got Cat Beast'd, now he's Falcon again. Steve Rogers is Captain America again. Groundhog Day, everyone! It's Groundhog Day!

Lady Thor? Lady Thor is there because... Um, er, other realities? Reasons? No one really knows, but everyone knows that it's a gimmick. It's not really intended to stick. She'll get Cat Beast'd, and ultimately replaced by Man Thor again.

I mentioned the Iron Corps, right?

This is because of how DC handled things with the Green Lantern Corps. The best example I've seen yet of HOW YOU DO THIS RIGHT.

Hal Jordan? He's being a space cowboy. John Stewart? He's leading the Green Lantern Corps. Your old favourite lantern? Heavily featured in the Green Lantern Corps. New, young, diversified lanterns? Meet Cruz and Baz!

DC does do it wrong, occasionally. I feel like what they did with Barry and Wally was just a massive clusterfuck. That Barry is still present as the League's only speedster is depressing, it's very much contrary to the Lantern Corps and it feels a little Marvel-y, to be honest. It's all about the editorial staff pushing their tastes.

So DC isn't perfect. No. Are they doing almost everything better, regardless? Heck yes! Do you care about social issues? Check out Green Arrow, Batgirl & the Bird of Prey. Do you want diverse characters? Cyborg, Blue Beetle, New Super-Man and many others have you covered. Do you long for nuanced stories that cover a character's life outside of being a hero? Superman has you covered. Do you want old-fashioned superhero comics? Action Comics, Justice League, and Detective Comics have your back.

DC is inclusive. And... AND AND AND... DC never, ever Groundhog Days. If DC does something? Then it sticks. This is why I respect them so god damned much. Even if it's begrudgingly, sometimes. You know? They deserve it, they really do.

The New 52 was a failure, they knew that. So, what's to be done about that? Reboot it and just forget it ever happened? No! Do something really clever and make all continuity matter, forever! That's what DC had done up until the New 52, so it's not that unexpected, but it is refreshing.

They could've been cowardly and just set the clock back to a pre-52 state. They did actually have some pieces in place for that (Waverider, Pandora, et al). Instead, they did something much, much more compelling. They made it all matter. So any new characters they'd introduced and fleshed out? They got to stay, along with the old stable!

And that's why DC will always be better than Marvel. I mean, you know, along with the fact that I don't think that DC has featured nearly as much snuff porn and women getting kicked in the vagina as Marvel has given us (thanks, Bendis). So that's also a feather in DC's cap.

Plus, when a woman is empowered in DC comics, it doesn't just feel like a silly, colourful, 'this is my l'il Universe which is separate from everything else' gimmick (looking at you, Squirrel Girl, sorry). They really are there, in the prime reality, and working to make a difference.

Batgirl & the Birds of Prey is better than just about anything that Marvel has done in its long history. So we're back to being inclusive, can I talk about that some more? Young readers? You've got young, experimental comics with the Young Animal and Wildstorm imprints. Gay audience? You're covered, too! Especially notable, here? Apollo & Midnighter.

When DC does it, it feels authentic, real, and genuine. They put a lot of heart into the story, to set things up. It's a long, drawn out process of handing over the mantle or switching focus. Sure, they screw up occasionally but for the most part they get that right.

It's not BOOP DIVERSITY GIMMICK, which is very much Marvel's schtick. It's why no one is satisfied with Marvel, not even an old, haggard "SJW" like me. I see Marvel's insensitive, tacky gimmicks for what they really are.

If Marvel cared to understand how to do this even remotely right? Apollo & Midnighter, Batgirl & the Birds of Prey, Shade the Changing Girl, New Super-Man, and... Doctor Endless.

Oh. My. God. Doctor Endless. Here's why I'm inspired to write this. It's not just a tacky BOOP DIVERSITY GIMMICK thing, it's not a magical one issue replacement of an existing character. They put in the effort to create new characters that people would care about, it shows DC cares.

Marvel, by comparison, feels like a soulless corporate machine. They're doing diversity not because it's ethical, or inclusive, or it makes people feel good, but rather because they think they're widening the net to sell more of their hugely overpriced comics.

If you replace five existing characters with LGBTQ versions BECAUSE REASONS (without any actual reasons) in a one issue span? It's meaningless. It’s insulting. It doesn't carry any weight or gravitas. It's hard for people to get behind that as their new hero because it all just happened so suddenly that it feels like a trick, they're feeling like Marvel will tug the rug out from under them the moment those characters lose popularity. They'll be gone as suddenly as they appeared.

Inauthenticity, a lack of genuineness, and just an air of being con men. Along with an inability to ever change, evolve, or grow. This is what I think of Marvel as being, now. Like I said, they had some really obvious chances with X-Men and Iron Man to grow. They could've launched off of Matt Fraction's stories to set up an Iron Man Corps, it would've been glorious. They could've had a number of Iron heroes, each with their own fleshed out story which is separate from Stark's own. No tackiness or gimmicks needed.

And you know Marvel is going to just Cat Beast every diverse character. Give it a couple of years and no one will ever remember any of these people they invented over a one issue span, no one will remember that Falcon was Captain America because it happened and it was gone again so quickly that it was forgettable.

It's Groundhog Day, everyone! A really gimmicky, shady Groundhog Day!

There are actually a lot of characters like that throughout Marvel's history, who've either been forgotten or have lost most of their development due to Marvel's love of the reset button. DC only flirted with the reset button once and it almost doomed them. They learned from that.

So now that Doctor Endless is here, they're now here to stay. They're always going to be in the DC Universe. Everything is. Grant fucking Morrison is in the DC Universe as The Writer or somesuch. Yankee goddamn Poodle and Captain Carrot are still present. I LOVE IT.

With Rebirth, DC has made a stand. They're not going to use the reset button to fix the time they -- thanks to some poor judgement -- flirted with the reset button. They're leaving that thing well, well alone.

So while Squirrel Girl enjoys a short stint of popularity as one of Marvel's gimmicks (and this kills me because I adore Ryan North and love his writing), off in her own Universe? Black Canary exists in the Green Arrow, Birds of Prey, and Justice League of America books being generally just the most kick-ass woman ever.

I used to be such a Marvel fan, it's funny. It's just that I began to notice their over-reliance on that bloody reset button back in the '80s. It got boring by the '90s and I was fed up of it. Morrison's X-Men and Fraction's Iron Man gave me some, infinitesimal glimmer of hope, but...

I watched DC continue to grow, grow, and grow. I mean, I'd always had some love for DC thanks to the DCAU and the Justice League, but I was iffy about the comics because they took away one of my favourite characters as a gimmicky stunt (and that felt like a very Marvel thing to do). With Rebirth? I couldn't stand it any more.

I can forgive DC for its one, flawed, gimmicky stunt. The horrible, egregious error that was the New 52. I forgive you, DC. It's okay. It really is okay. You've done everything to make up for it.

However, Marvel is doing reboot after gimmicky reboot all the time. GROUNDHOG DAY, EVERYONE! All of those new first issues, and nothing ever, ever changes. It's just a new issue one to tell exactly the same stories, just with a shiny, new gimmick! And when diversity and social issues are their shiny, new gimmick? I feel especially dirty.

DC is as authentic as Marvel is just a soulless, corporate beast who's only in it for the money. Yeah, sure, DC is a company, too. Owned by Warner Bros and definitely also in it for that money, but it feels different. You can tell by reading the comics, it really feels genuine.

If DC has a book featuring women? It'll often be written (and sometimes drawn) by women. If DC has a comic book featuring minorities? It'll often be written (and sometimes drawn) by those same minorities. This is really obvious with New Super-Man, Batgirl & the Birds of Prey, and so, so, so many others. It really shows.

And there are just too many honest-to-god genuine things going on at DC -- for those who pay attention -- for me to think it's all just a bunch of clever ploys to draw in the money. There's too much effort. If you're just doing it for the money, you do it like Marvel, and you'll succeed all the more. Marvel is simply better at making money than DC comics has ever been.

Sorry, DC.

But DC comics puts out some damn good comics. And they're trying. It's not gimmicks, they are trying and I can tell. I love them for trying.

You need only look at Doctor Endless to fully understand why DC are trying, whereas Marvel is just taking the piss (and your money).

It genuinely reminds me of the Nostalgiasaurus Parx thing I was talking about, recently. Where it turns out that the tyrannosaur had feathers and scales, it wasn't merely scaly as has been incorrectly reported so frequently of late. When people heard it really might've been a Nostalgiasaurus Parx, though, instead of a Tyrannosaurus Rex? Well, it was like their football team had won, or something. Fireworks, celebrations, people crying in the streets, riots. Crazy shit.

I guess that some of us want to preserve the status quo no matter what, right? Some just want to uphold that, keep it steady, no matter how much jury-rigging they have to do, no matter how much Don Quixote-esque self-delusionary nonsense they have to engage in just to keep the world as this overly simple construct that they already knew everything about.

Others? Well... I imagine that this is a scale, where it kind of slides and it has extremes. But on the other end of this sliding scale? I imagine that people will become more open-minded, they'll actually want a constant evolution of change borne out of an ever growing understanding. They can accept that the world is changing around them. There are likely traits and quirks that get swapped between and around to dictate where on this scale a person sits, but that's how ultimately it seems to be.

It also, quite interestingly, ties back into the toxic ideals of perfection that some people have and how problematic they are. And the importance of valuing being humble and understanding diversity instead of just upholding the status quo as some kind of holy default state that must never, ever be questioned.

Marvel kind of does the status quo thing. Yeah, they have gimmicks, and tomorrow it'll be a new gimmick, but they're doing the same kinds of stories they always have. Miles Morales comes along and could serve as the Spidey on the Streets role that people enjoy, allowing Peter to slip into the background as an older person and enjoy a family life, perhaps even take on a team leadership role. Growth, yo! But, no... Peter's still a small-time bank robbery solvin' sort of guy. Which makes Miles Morales utterly redundant, since that's what they brought him in to do.

So Morales was a gimmick. Peter being a teacher, then Peter being a CEO? Gimmicks. Nothing will stick. Ultimately, Peter's always going to be dealing with gang bangers and hoods. He's always going to be stuck at that frozen point in history, never to evolve, grow, or change. And that's Marvel.

Which is... why I prefer DC, and that's that, I guess?

[redemptions]

are u ready to rumble?

i accidentally deleted my blog so I’m reposting this hugo/damien fic!

hope its as good the second time around haha

request fic here

(if you’ve already requested something from me for dream daddy, i’m already working on it so don’t worry!)

-

“So, when are you going to tell him?”

Fionn’s question made Damien pause just beyond the doorway. He said it so slyly, full of weight and mirth and heavy with meaning that Damien immediately feels a pang of panic in the centre of his chest.

He’d only stepped outside of the sitting room for a moment, to grab some fresh cups of tea. It had become a thing now, weekly afternoon tea in his sitting room. Sometimes it was just him and Hugo; other times Fionn would join or Robert or Mary. It was usually a quiet affair in any case, but the company in his home always made the place feel less empty. He loved the grandeur of his home, the high ceilings and aged architecture but he had to admit that when Lucien was at school, things were far too quiet.

With this feeling in his stomach, maybe he was starting to wish it had stayed quiet.

Hugo was quick to hush him. “I…I haven’t decided yet.”

Was it about him? Damien wondered.

Fionn huffed. “Dude, you need to tell him.”

“No, I don’t,” Hugo retorted.

Fionn wasn’t to be persuaded into silence. “It’s a part of who you are.”

“Stop-”

“Damien would understand.”

Damien’s fingers tightened around the tea tray. Definitely about him then. Hugo adamant reluctance on this, whatever it was, hit far too close to him. They were still new; their relationship was still something to be defined – months of uncertainty and a fear of emotional vulnerability had them dancing around each other until finally, one cheese board and a tad too much wine and words had split from loosened lips.

That was 124 days ago. (Not that Damien was counting).

And those had been good. He thought they were good.

Apparently not.

“It’s not about understanding, it’s-” Hugo stopped short, inhaled sharply before continuing, “I’ve kept it to myself for so long. You’re the first person I’ve shared it with.”

Another low blow, right in his gut. Hugo felt he could share with Fionn more than he could share with his boyfriend.

“And the second person should be Damien.” A long pause and, “Hey, dude, seriously. Just tell him. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

There was a silence, and Damien gathered himself close. He plastered a mask of pleasantries and clattered the tea tray. So, what if some of the tea splashed over the rim of the cup? Who cares about spilled tea when your boyfriend didn’t trust you with his secrets?

The afternoon continued but the thoughts of what exactly he had done wrong couldn’t stop plaguing Damien’s mind. He watched Hugo whenever he could, took in his soft visage and sweet smile, remembered the kisses they had shared that morning and the way that Hugo had held him and tried not to let what he was feeling show.

Maybe it worked. Fionn clapped him on the back when he left and Hugo entangled his fingers in the back of Damien’s hair when he kissed him.

“I have papers to grade,” Hugo murmured into his skin. His fingers burnt a trail on the back of Damien’s neck and brought goosebumps to the surface. “Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?”

Damien didn’t trust himself to speak. He simply nodded and drew Hugo back, the slide of lips wet and slow, the kind that made Damien’s toes curl.

When Hugo left, his lips were swollen and his eyes blown and his shirt untucked. “Tomorrow,” his voice was thick with promise.

Damien held himself. “Tomorrow.”

And then the door shut, and the thoughts the kisses had chased away were back in full force. Hugo didn’t trust him.

Damien scrubbed a hand down his face. He was being stupid, he knew he was, but the feeling was there and it could not be ignored. It stayed with him, like lead in his stomach, and made it hard to sleep when night finally fell.

-

Dinner was great. Hugo was a gentleman, pulled out chairs and held his hand over the table and recited poetry. He enjoyed it anyways, flexing his literary knowledge but with Damien, the way he became flustered with every suggestive line was a source of endless amusement.

“You look so cute when you blush,” Hugo teased and stroked his thumb along the back of Damien’s hand affectionately.

He did that a lot and honestly, Damien liked the contact. He would slide his foot between Hugo’s just to feel the press of his shoes against. He would sit too close in the back of the cab so that their thighs pressed together. He played with the end of his collar when he pulled Hugo in for a kiss.

He did that very thing on Hugo’s doorstep, started on his collar, slipping to his lapels and then drifting under to the expanse of his back stretched under his shirt. Hugo sighed into their press of lips, fingers flexing against Damien’s hips.

“I enjoyed tonight,” Damien whispered. “I enjoyed spending time with you.”

Neither of them would ever ask if the other wants to spend the night. They never would, not whilst their children were home. Sometimes were more important. So, when Damien pulled away, he was fully prepared for this to be the end of the evening.

The insecurities of the day before didn’t feel so strong and if nothing else, he felt determined that he would be worthy. He’d prove himself to be worthy of knowing Hugo’s secret, whatever it may be.

One strategy he had debated was seducing him with kisses but he genuinely didn’t think it would work until Hugo’s voice called back out to him as he made to cross the street back home.

Hugo stood in his doorway, his uncertain expression clear in the porch lights. His shoulders were hunched forward and he twiddled his thumbs through nerves.

“Do you…” he stammered, before straightening his back to stand up taller. His eyebrows furrowed with determination. “I have something to show you.”

“Okay…” Damien replied and took small steps back.

Hugo opened his home and gestured him inside. As Damien stepped over the threshold, he couldn’t help thinking there was no going back. He shuffled further into the hall and Hugo shut the door behind them. Damien hadn’t gotten very far so Hugo was right behind him.

“We have to be quiet,” Hugo murmured, his hot breath brushing Damien’s cheek, “Ernest is asleep upstairs.”

Maybe or maybe not. They both knew that the boy had a tendency to sneak out in the middle of the night, although things had been different since Princess Cordelia had come into his life. The dog herself wasn’t supposed to sleep in Ernest’s room but since she was not in her usual haunt – right at the top of the stairs so that it was hard to walk – chances are that’s where she had been smuggled to.

Hugo led him up the stairs and down the hall. Damien was careful to avoid the creaky step just outside the bathroom door. When Hugo came to a stop, it was outside a closed door. Damien had seen it before, but he’d never considered it any more than a spare room. He glanced at Hugo from the corner of his eye and waited.

Hugo seemed to hesitate, reaching for the handle and pulling away before he reached out to actually wrap his hands around the knob.

“Just…” he started and then stopped as if he had no idea what he wanted the sentence to be. He looked lost, a little panicked, a lot worried. Damien offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Hugo let out a long exhale and then pressed down until the door swung open.

The room was dark, only the hallway light behind them even trying to cast any kind of illumination into the room. Hugo took a step in and then glanced backward, jerked his hand to usher Damien forward and he obeyed.

The door clicked shut behind them, dosing them into darkness.

Damien’s breath caught in his throat. “Hugo…” he tried to keep his voice steady.

Some fumbling and a hand gripped his wrist, slipped downwards and intertwined their fingers. He squeezed and gave Damien strength.

And then the lights switched on.

No more shadows of monsters or beasties of the night. They were replaced with glass cabinets and stands with glinting metal and posters carefully stuck to every free space on the wall.

It took a moment before Damien could take them in properly and figure out what was happening.

The glass cabinets held costumes, perfectly preserved. The glinting metal was medals and comically huge belts. The posters were covered with bold writing and people in spandex.

Wrestlers.

Damien blinked once. Twice. He turned to look at Hugo, who was pointedly not looking at him.

“This is…yours?” Damien started.

Hugo cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes.”

“So, you like wrestling?”

“Quite a bit.”

Damien felt his lips twitch upwards, already curling into a smile. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

Hugo’s shoulders visibly hunched into himself, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. “It’s embarrassing,” he mumbled, “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

Damien couldn’t help himself – he laughed. It came from his belly, forced its way up his throat and out his mouth in a sound that could almost be described as hysterical. The more he laughed, the more he couldn’t stop himself.

Hugo was frowning at him, hurt reflected in his eyes and even through his snorts, Damien had to reach out and kiss it away.

“Think less of you? How ridiculous,” Damien stated, “How could I ever think less of you?”

Hugo’s eyes widened slightly and his mouth dropped open. Damien took it upon himself to tug Hugo’s bottom lip between his teeth and suck on it. It made Hugo’s eyes fluttered, a breathy moan escape into the space between them and, most importantly, the tension relax from his shoulders. Damien touched them with his free hand – because he wasn’t willing to release Hugo’s other hand – and stroked along the shoulder seam of his shirt.

“Do you think less of me because of my love of the Victorian era?” Damien questioned.

Hugo was quick to deny this, shaking his head quickly and firmly insisting, “I would never.”

The honesty made Damien’s heart flutter and his smile widen to the point where his cheeks were hurting. Not that he cared. “Then believe me when I say, your passion – whatever that passion is for – makes you beautiful to me.”

Hugo went pink, the tips of his ears brightening and his cheeks burning.

“You look cute when you blush,” Damien teased and then laughed when Hugo pulled him close to kiss him again.

“I suppose Fionn was right,” he murmured.

Damien shook his head and his hair bounced. “Let’s not tell him. He’ll be impossible to live with.”

“Deal,” Hugo sealed the promise with a kiss.