#the entire comical shitshow at his house

[karumbusarr]

the entire 15 years later scenes was such a dream that was taken away too fast. when you finally calm down thinking all the issues are sorted and they're finally freaking together only for it to be snatched like that. ep 8, you're a wonder, you gave everything and took it all away

[frankendykes-monster]

Countdown to Halloween 2023, Ranked

43. Swamp Thing (1982)

42. Curse of Bigfoot (1975)

41. The Haunting (1999)

40. Orca (1977)

39. Teenagers Battle The Thing (1958)

38. The Beast (1975)

37. Don't Go in The House (1979)

36. Countess Dracula (1971)

35. Hillbillys in a Haunted House (1967)

34. Beware! The Blob (1972)

33. Alien Space Avenger (1989)

32. Baby Blood (1990)

31. Shriek of The Mutilated (1974)

30. The Mutations (1974)

29. Phase IV (1974)

28. Curse of The Faceless Man (1958)

27. The Sadist (1963)

26. Jennifer (1978)

25. The Wasp Woman (1959)

24. Noroi: The Curse (2005)

23. Girls Nite Out (1982)

22. The Monster of Piedras Blancas (1959)

21. The Cat and The Canary (1927)

20. Tell Your Children (Reefer Madness, 1936)

19. The Company of Wolves (1984)

18. It's Alive (1974)

17. The Wolf House (2018)

16. Michael Jackson's Halloween (2017)

15. The Girl Who Knew Too Much (1963)

14. The Omega Man (1971)

13. Gamera: Rebirth (2023)

12. Student Bodies (1981)

11. Night Caller From Outer Space (1965)

10. Inhumanoids (episodes 1 - 5, 1986)

9. Blind Woman's Curse (1970)

8. Maniac (1980)

7. The Child (1977)

6. Zombie 3 (1988)

5. Return of The Living Dead (1985)

4. Spider Baby (1967)

3. Basket Case (1982)

2. Messiah of Evil (1973)

Godzilla (1954)

Woof. Okay. This has been a mostly disappointing viewing experience.

Critical difference between this year's countdown and the past two is that now that I have stable employment, there is far less time to be watching horror films. I normally begin the countdown in September but we started in July of this year and still barely managed to crack 40, with my original goal being a full 100 this year. Timing. As such a lot of my plans and possible viewings were cut short and compared to last year specifically we fell back on a lot of "seen it already" at least for the top of the list.

This year's batch of viewings were largely blah, but a step up from the shitshow I put myself through last year (watching nearly every Texas Chainsaw sequel does things to a person). As such it'll be difficult to conjure up words for a decent chunk of these mostly because yes, these movies exist, I watched them, I would not recommend that you yourself watch them. That is all. If I write briefly on a given film that's not necessarily an indictment of its quality as there a decent number of these that I saw and enjoyed it's just their impact might be a bit fleeting. You will know which ones I actively disliked. I mostly just want to write about the top five or so but I will play fair.

Our grand loser this year is Swamp Thing, the DC Comics adaptation by Wes Craven. I watched this pretty much entirely because I finally got the Alan Moore Swamp Thing run in paperback this year after quite some time of having it on my to-buy list. Longtime Rachael/Ray/Ratchet fans may recall me reading it in early 2019 alongside [REDACTED]. Still one of the best Moore comics, and a second volume of Swamp Thing wouldn't have been possible without the success of this film. For context I did read the early Swampies by Len Wein and Bernie Wrightson and my general reaction to those was a'ight but there was definitely material for a serviceable film adaptation there. This is not that serviceable film adaptation. I'm not hung up on details like how Abigail has no connection to Arcane now despite being his niece in the comics, but this film is just kind of painful in how relatively unambitious it is which is saying something for Swamp Thing sword fighting another human mutation at the end of this. It's just silly and stupid and not scary or awe inspiring or anything, the Swamp Thing suit sucks, the action sucks, any sense of pathos is not there or gone, it stretches for 30 minutes too long like it's a padded TV pilot, the only highlight is being able to see Adrienne Barbeau's breasts. Fuck this it's a miserable experience to sit through. My mistake for watching a Wes Craven film that doesn't have "Scream" in the title.

Our next shitter is the two-for-one abomination that is Teenagers Battle The Thing (1958) and Curse of Bigfoot (1975); these are the same movie except Curse of Bigfoot has a 25 minute opening scene framing device that is bizarre given that "The Thing" of the original film is a Native American mummy of some sort unearthed by a group of white high school students. It's the rare personal pet project movie made for fun by some locals but the only highlights are the occasional kill scene, Curse of Bigfoot ranks lower just for making me sit through it longer. Blah.

Speedrunning through a bunch of these because theyre all varying degrees of bad and I don't want to spend any longer writing about these than you probably do reading about them: The Haunting is awful and I don't even super care for the original film so adding shitty CGI monsters and a moral lesson of "it's about family!" doesn't help. Orca is a shitty Jaws cash-in that's like a reverse Moby Dick where the sea animal hunts down the human, nice finale where the orca and shitty poacher guy are fighting it out in the Arctic but otherwise avoid. Don't Go in The House is a mysoginistic torture porn movie that really doesn't sell the "seemingly normal guy is a closet nutcase" thing even though movies made before and after have done it well (see Maniac several paragraphs below). The Beast is advertised as this really scandalous porno film but most of it is French aristocrats sitting around in stuffy rooms arguing about real estate. I think I only watched Countess Dracula for its inclusion in the "if this is her vibe I would fucking cum" meme and it's barely worth bringing up at all. Hillbillys in a Haunted House has an absolutely lovely Tennessee country soundtrack that I wish I could listen to without having to watch the actual movie which is devoid of both scares and laughs. Beware! The Blob gives off the feeling of sitting at a funeral for a family member that was just distant enough for you to be aware of them but not actually be upset but it's still a funeral so it's not like you're smiling, stick with the 1988 Blob film. Alien Space Avenger has some decent gore effects but that's all I can recall from it. Shriek of The Mutilated has one of the best titles for an otherwise uninspired yeti movie that has a needless third act twist about it being a cover for a cult and blah blah blah fuck you. Baby Blood has an alien mutant whatever crawl up a woman's vagina into her womb and she has to eat people to feed it and yeah I'm actually struggling to remember what happens here. The Mutations has a scene where a guy cuts into a tree and it bleeds, I think he's played by Donald Pleasance. Yeah, it's like Freaks except it plays to the freak show straight so you get to laugh at all the outcasts of society, no thank you.

Some odds and ends that I'd say are decent-to-pretty-good: Phase IV has some footage of ants and synth music. All you need is some footage of ants and synth music. Curse of The Faceless Man employs a rarely seen archetype of the living statue monster, it's cute. The Sadist is another starring vehicle for Arch Hall Jr., who was also the star of last Halloween's Eegah! (1962), though this film is a bold trendsetter for the 1960's with Hall being a unhinged killer holding people for ransom until they can fix his car and he can make a getaway. The film lives and dies by Hall's performance and it's mostly the latter until we get to an absolutely superb final act with him hunting down his remaining victims, it makes the whole film worth seeing. Jennifer is an oddball that plays out mostly like a character drama ("It wasn't my fault Daddy it was that stupid hillbilly bitch Jennifer") that suddenly remembers that it's supposed to be a cash-in of Carrie (1976) in the last 20 minutes and cue our titular character being able to summon and control snakes to send after her tormentors. Girls Nite Out is a plodding meandering slasher that's oddly hypnotizing considering so much of it takes place in pitch-black night and the killer is wearing a bear mascot costume with serrated knives hidden under the glove, not sure what fully to make of it. The Monster of Piedras Blancas is made up of leftover parts from the Gillman, Mole People, and Metaluna Mutant, but still manages to star in a decent enough film that gives a sense of what a series of monster attacks would do to a small seaside community. The Cat and The Canary is "cute" for lack of a better term being a horror comedy before the former genre had fully crystalized. Reefer Madness is horror adjacent more than anything but a hilariously good time about how the use of "marihuana" will drive today's youth into becoming crazed fiends and get involved in organized crime.

We can do this.

The Company of Wolves has an excellent story book like setting an atmosphere that you can't get in films nowadays and it's a shame that it's mostly remembered for its transformation sequences. it's Alive is the best Larry Cohen film by default of not sucking but it's still not "great", genius however for playing the concept of mutant newborn killer baby completely seriously without any sense of humor to the proceedings. The Girl Who Knew Too Much is almost a parody of giallo films which is interesting given those hadn't fully sprang up in 1963; absolute highlight is the main character being interviewed in bed by doctors and reporters and the like that yes she did see a murder and no she doesn't drink. I've always been fascinated and haunted by I Am Legend and while The Omega Man doesn't really capture the novel to a superb degree it's so beautifully shot that it lands high in the rankings for that alone. Night Caller From Outer Space is hilarious to me because of how it shifts halfway through from a Hammer-esque mystery about a meteorite with radioactive properties to a film about an alien that lures women in through a modeling advertisement. Blind Woman's Curse I've mentally confused with Irezumi for a while now (haha all 1960's Japanese genre films where woman have large animal tattoos on their backs are the saaame), and it's one I mostly watched for being directed by Teruo Ishii, but there's enough bloody yakuza fights and cats licking up blood for me to stick around; not the strongest Meiko Kaiji vehicle compared to Female Prisoner Scorpion or Lady Snowblood. Maniac I find mostly interesting as a precursor to American Psycho (2000) but also it's probably the only serious film to successfully pull off it's ending trope (which I will not spoil here). The Child is an absolutely lovely 1970's only-a-dozen-people-made-this-and-not-much-more-watched-it horror that oozes atmosphere, I could watch stuff like this all day. Aaand Zombie 3 is far and away the best film that Lucio Fulci has been involved with that I've ever seen. I love random scenes and set pieces of ghouls just massacring people that are shit out out of luck.

Okay, now for the ones I actually want to write about.

The Wasp Woman is one that sticks in my head way more than any other random monster movie that Roger Corman directed in the latw 1950's. I've said on here and Letterboxd that it could have served as a standard pop-feminist piece about how the cosmetology industry is built on misogyny and invariably a monster is accidentally created because of that, but this most recent viewing has made me sort of "get it" because that might be what the film is going for considering Susan Cabot's performance leads me to believe that she is aware that she is becoming a homicidal wasp monster but views it as a tragic means to an end where she still has the ability to have a new advertising campaign with her as the star. Tragic. This is why you don't wear make up.

Both Noroi: The Curse and The Wolf House are ones I didn't care for whatsoever but I put them in places on the ranking that I thought were fair given that people should probably watch them regardless of my personal thoughts. Noroi's format didn't really lend itself to the escalation of tension and reveal of information that the plot demanded and I found myself thinking it meanders quite a bit. The Wolf House was an odd one where everything that was happening onscreen bounced off of me mostly because I felt intimately aware that I was watching a movie, that someone had made something and that I was now being shown it. Blah. People like these so don't let me stop you.

Our animated offerings this year...

Michael Jackson's Halloween more than anything feels like an unlicensed creation that later had an English fan dub commissioned, not something that actually aired on CBS twice. Any laughs that I found in this thing were the unintentional type as we open up with Bubbles talking and being Jackson's chauffeur; you know exactly what you're getting into. Very little of the plot is explained but I'm assuming Jackson (who has no lines given this was made posthumously) orchestrates a dark fantasy adventure to hook two...teenagers? People in their late 20's? And convince them to follow their dreams of performing instead of working a deadend dayjob. I'm not sure who the actual audience for this was given it feels like so much of it was made for children but I will say anything that has this much of Michael Jackson's music in it can't be all bad, though I'm not sure why they didn't largely stick with tracks from the album Thriller (in the contention for best album ever, I don't care).

Gamera: Rebirth is one I feel like I'm on the outside on compared to most other tokusatsu fans because I didn't really *love* to a serious degree even though, yes, Gamera is finally back. The first three episodes are mostly just kind of a slog for me with the backhalf not doing enough to retroactively make me think highly of it, though giving off End of Evangelion vibes may make me consider that a second viewing must be in order down the line. Rebirth's strongest attribute is that it feels like it takes into consideration and influence from every prior era of Gamera, no stone is left unturned, and it's a marked contrast from how every recent Godzilla property only captures a single facet of their respective character. But that also creates unique issues like how a lot of criticism of ongoing US military presence in Japan is undercut so there can be a white kid in the main cast (because white children were always present in half of the Showa series) or having the ancient civilization that genetically engineered the kaiju now being malicious and actively sacrificing children as a means of reshaping the world gives me vaguely anti-semitic tones, I don't know, Gamera is still here, I guess.

"I was just a little twerp who liked Scooby-Doo and Smurfs, now I was viewing Cthulhu mutants ruin the Earth."

Everyday that we have Inhumanoids is a gift. Inhumanoids is another Hasbro/Sunbow production like G. I. Joe, Transformers, or Jem and The Holograms, and it is truly tragic that it never got anywhere near that level of attention compared to its siblings. The fact that a 1980's action figure tie-in cartoon is named for its antagonists is only the start; the series follows a small paramilitary outfit of scientists named Earth Core that are tasked with more or less saving the world alongside the Mutores, elemental beings, when the Inhumanoids, eldritch abominations, are unleashed. The degree of world-building beyond your typical "good guys vs. bad guys" affair is astounding with villainous humans and virtuous monsters abounding, but Inhumanoids is mostly magical and remembered for saying fuck all to any type of broadcast standards. Seeing giant monsters destroy cities, undead armies, and spelunking deep into the Earth (where nightmares begin...) are just standard fair here, as are witnessing the actual Inhumanoids such as Metlar (basically the devil) or D'Compose (giant undead entity that can zombify people by touching them and uses his ribcage like a jail cell) in action. The first five episodes here are the pilot movie of sorts for the series which only lasted thirteen overall, and they get more grissly from here on out, but maybe it's best that Inhumanoids is the short lived cartoon and no the cartoon that went soft as early as its second season. I will never not love this show, to this day it's one of my favorite animated series from any decade, much less the 1980's.

Back to our regularly scheduled live-action programming...

Student Bodies is a fascinating film for a myriad of reasons the first of which is that there were somehow enough slasher films by 1981 for there to be a comedy poking fun at all the already established genre-cliches. It's essentially Scary Movie (2000) a full 20 years ahead of the curve only actually funny in spite of the subject matter frequently being as juvenile and prejudiced; but it also reminds me quite a bit of Scream (1996) with stuff like two killers working together. All I know is I was in for a decent time when the film opens with three identical shots of a house just with different framing text: "HALLOWEEN," "FRIDAY THE 13TH," "JAMIE LEE CURTIS' BIRTHDAY" and then the killer, The Breather, calls the opening kill girl doing nothing but breathing heavily, she hangs up, he calls back with "I SAID [heavy breathing]."

Return of The Living Dead is one of those films that should have destroyed the any artifically-imposed boundaries between "high" and "low" art. Every aspect of this film is brilliantly made, it just so happens to be made for stuff like Scooby-Doo music overlaid on top of thunderstorms over graveyards where one female character is stripping to the concept of dying. Media involving ghouls is incredibly oversaturated, and this was still the case in the 1980's where a film like this had to redefine the rules to make it so killing ghouls was basically a non-option. It only recently struck me on this viewing that that's the whole purpose of removing virtually all weaknesses they have, to keep the characters as the nail instead of the hammer. Compared to the Romero films, there's never a point where anyone is in control of the situation, it just escalates further and further until there is literally no way out. Taking that into consideration, there's no way this film couldn't have been a comedy that frames people getting swarmed and eaten by ghouls as hilarious.

The soundtrack and the faux-punk sensibilities lend this a daft feeling of "you shouldn't be watching this" in spite of it not being one of the MOST gory horror films of the 1980's. I still don't get how this never broke into the mainstream. I mean somehow people know that ghouls (in this film) speak and only eat brains but I can't go down to Target and get a Tarman action figure like I can one of Michael Myers. As such Return of The Living Dead remains a criminally overlooked film regardless of its subject matter. It's made me laugh and cringe and feel disgusted and revolt at the concept at dying but mostly it's made me feel a delicious sense of joy at seeing corpses rise out of the ground to the tune of "Do you wanna party? IT'S PARTY TIIIME!" Some of you need to sit in the corner and think about your life choices for making stupid shit like Re-Animator (1985) or fucking Shaun of The Dead (2004) more popular than this, fuck you.

The act of watching Spider Baby is like discovering the missing link. For as much as 1960 gave us an explosion of horror (Eyes Without a Face, The Ship of Monsters, Psycho, Jigoku, Black Sunday, etc.) and Night of The Living Dead (1968) reins as the perennial transition point of the genre, Spider Baby is the road by which we go from The Cat and The Canary and The Old Dark House to the likes of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Eraserhead, it's magical finding an essential piece of a genre you love so much. Both the former and latter points of comparison are apt as a family of now only children [and their butler] suffering from Poe-esque hereditary illness have their condemned house set upon by distant relatives and everything slowly unravels.

Lon Chaney Jr. is an actor who for the longest time I felt never got a proper chance to shine wherein the last 25 years or so of his career was spent playing as side character actor in independent films. Spider Baby is his crowning achievement. Seeing him smile through almost tears on several occasions as he has to play bridge between worlds of sanity and madness and lie to everyone that he has some sense of control over the situation is brilliant in ways I always knew he was capable of but had never seen before this point. Bravo.

I will never not love Basket Case with everything I've got. This is the epitome of 1980's horror and my clear pick for best of the decade. It has everything from being a grungy putrid grindhouse spectacle to being an intimate character drama to everything presented through a wry ironic lense where you can't tell if any "bad" performances are all done on purpose. Between this, Brain Damage (1988), and Frankenhooker (1990), there is literally absolutely no reason why Frank Henenlotter shouldn't be more popular than Stuart Gordon, Brian Yuzna, and Lloyd Kaufman *combined*. It's tragic that the world of cinema being enclosed and captured by studios again in the late 1980's prevented us from getting more from him, but realistically could we ask anymore than what we already got from Basket Case? I could watch this every day and never grow tired of it. I will never stop making more and more people watch this.

If Basket Case is the apex of 1980's horror, then Messiah of Evil is the same for 1970's horror. This is one of the most efficient horror films ever made in how not a single frame is wasted, the opening scene is literally a guy running from unseen force, seeking refuge, getting his throat slit, cue title card with synth music that then leads us to a sunburnt hallway as our narrator descends into acceptance of complete lack of control of the situation. Every night shot in this film must be 50 - 75% completely black with whatever headlight or store front there is just making the scenery look like a dollhouse that our characters are trapped inside. There's so many shots of people running away or walking down streets that make them look tiny as the camera is so far.

Every scene is an exercise in building up dread. There's no point where the film relents, something awful is not only coming, it's already here and there's nothing anyone can do. What I love particularly is that the mystery being laid out doesn't offer any answers because there's another mystery on top of what our characters find out only too late. Layers upon layers of dread that even the titular Messiah of Evil isn't the center of. The world is a cruel fucking place where this film languishes in obscurity whilst shit like The Exorcist enjoys mainstream attention. A lot of my taste amounts to "why isn't this thing I like more popular" and cases like Messiah of Evil vindicate me.

"Godzilla is the son of the atomic bomb. He is a nightmare created out of the darkness of the human soul. He is the sacred beast of the apocalypse." - Tomoyuki Tanaka

Generally a yearly trend is that a #1 pick for Halloween is self-evident to me and this year it was Basket Case for all of 30 seconds until I picked Godzilla back up.

There's something to be said how Godzilla isn't quite a horror monster? Terrifying but not necessarily creepy, but what power do things that go bump in the night have against the destruction of everything you know? Everytime I watch Godzilla is like the very first time, when flashing lights out at sea destroy fishing ships I have no idea what happened, or at least any much of a clue as anyone in film does when we're told that the entire ocean exploded.

Godzilla is a reptile, but lacks scales and its entire body is coated in keloid scars. In 1954 Godzilla must have been the largest monster every committed to film, trains are derailed from running against its ankle and bell and radio towers are throttled for being a sensory inconvenience. Godzilla's first on-screen appearance on Odo Island is obscured by a hurricane but the impression is clear; you can't fight Godzilla in the same way you can't fight a natural disaster. When Tokyo is reduced to complete ruin amidst a sea of flames, it's an onslaught of destruction never before seen in a film of this genre. Survivors being afflicted with radiation poisoning shows that Godzilla will claim victims long after being driven back to sea.

There's a sheer apocalyptic dread to all of this sensed by all the characters. Love tries to exist on the edge of annihilation. There's nothing that can be done but persevere and maybe hope tomorrow will be better. A scene that always strikes me is when Serizawa is adamant about not using the Oxygen Destroyer until forcibly confronted with the results of one night of Godzilla making landfall in Japan. The absolute pain felt by everyone in the finale starts here, things couldn't play out any differently as the "scientist of the century" can't join in and celebrate his victory.

Godzilla is a rare perfect film. I will never tire of it.

[dilfdoctordoom]

Absolutely just preaching to the choir at this point but like, I don't care I'm also going to complain LOL I cannot get over how it seems Gunn had a legit grudge against Gamora (and Mantis!!!) because the treatment of both of them feels so specifically targeted that you would think both characters broke into his house and kicked his dog or something. He's definitely not as dumb as the Snyder fans would have you believe, I know he reads the source material even if he ignores the majority of it, but I do not see how even if you ONLY read GotG 2008 that you'd come away with wanting to intentionally write the women like that, it's so unhinged.

I'd ask why the HELL Vol. 3 struggles so much with its WOC when he's shown to have the ability to Try and improve on this in his other work post Vol. 2 (Mind you i think The Suicide Squad also had issues with racism AND ableism- if it's supposed to be this commentary on the USA strong arming and trying to cover up their involvement with other countries, why is the film presenting it as a big joke that Bloodsport and Peacemaker are violently murdering these POC freedom fighters by accident? I know Gunn is a big horror nut and violence and an R rating blah blah blah but Maybe read the room. And don't get me started on everything with Polka Dot Man oh my god) but by now I think the Vol. 3 issues are because he just could NOT put himself mentally into the characters headspaces, like he literally couldn't relate to them At All so they just had to get these half assed resolutions at best or written out to never to return at worst. (other than Rocket, obviously, who even then ALSO suffers from the writing!! NO ONE TRULY WINS!!!)

I genuinely think the only reason the leading lady in Peacemaker (Leota, a black queer woman) didn't get treated like ass is because of Gunn's own comment that the character shares a name with his mother. Like, bruh. If the only way you can treat these characters with different backgrounds than you with the bare minimum of respect is because of vaguely nepotistic reasons or because you absolutely HAVE to relate to/project onto them, then idk what to even say 😵‍💫

This is a safe space to be mad about the treatment of women (& women of color specifically) in the Guardians franchise because god, it always just gets worse the more that I think about it.

(Random tangent: Like, you have Michelle Yeoh! The Michelle Yeoh! And she's just... cameo doesn't do anything doesn't ever appear again. My god if we're gonna force Gamora to be a Ravager at least bring her back).

There was some improvement in his DC work (though definitely not in his treatment of disabled characters lmao that's a consistent shitshow). Ratcatcher felt like a person, didn't get needlessly fridge like I'd assumed she would. Harcourt and Leota actually feel fledged out. Leota especially as that's a queer woman of color... and now it's just cause she has the same as his mother lmao.

Guardians 3 I think is the most disappointing movie in the entire MCU because I just fundamentally do not buy these resolutions for these characters. Peter's going back to Earth? Awesome, but he already did that. Rocket's fine with everyone leaving? Strange since for them, they were dead for five years.

What happened to Gamora and Mantis goes beyond Gunn's favoritism like he was so casual about killing Gamora... leading woman of color, and he talks constantly about how he just wanted to kill her, that's, uh, that's not great.

Mantis drives me crazy because you could not convince me that that man has read a single comic starring her. How do you adapt someone so horrifically? Comic Mantis isn't great, nor am I ever gonna claim she is, but she's still somehow better than the MCU depiction.

[tlaquetzqui]

“We liked that Holga is the bruiser that does the dirty work for Edgin, and he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty. We also love emasculating leading men. … Just because it’s funny and fun and fresh.���

If they think this, or any of the other cliches they have sewn this shitshow together out of, is “fresh”, they need to see a doctor about their acute anosmia, because this is some “living in a hoarder house with dead animals and unchanged litterboxes and not noticing the smell” shit.

Gee I fucking wonder why a single volume of Demon Slayer outsells the entire American comics industry, when the male lead in this movie gets treated like this. Whereas fucking Zenitsu, who is mostly comic relief, still regularly gets to man up—even without passing out first, like when he saves Nezuko’s box from Inosuke, or protects one of the brothel servant-girls.

[meterokinesis]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,032

Fandom: Batfamily, DC Comics

Characters: Tim Drake, Ra’s al Ghul, Tam Fox, OFC, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Fasir Nasser

Pairings: Tim Drake & Ra’s al Ghul, Tim Drake & Tam Fox

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Chose not to use archive warnings

Tags: Canon divergence, Lazarus Pit, Lazarus Pit Madness, Evil!Tim Drake, Blood and Gore, Psychological Trauma, Survivor’s guilt, Unreliable narrator, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Post-Battle of the Cowl, Bruce is dead, Tim is not having a good time right now

Summary: When Tim Drake leaves to find Bruce, he doesn’t expect to get stabbed. He doesn’t expect to die. And he certainly doesn’t expect to be resurrected. However, the Tim who goes into the Lazarus Pit is not the same Tim who comes out. This Tim is ruthless and unguarded in a way he never was before. And when Ra's starts to take him under his wing... well, what's a disgraced Robin to do?

Author’s Note: This work is part of the Batfam Big Bang! (@batfam-big-bang) I couldn't have done this without my lovely betas, @bisexualoftheblade, @crystalinastar, and @houser-of-stories. There's also some amazing art for this fic that I’ll be posting soon!

Read it on AO3

The desert night was cool, with a breeze that shifted the sand beneath Tim’s feet like waves. The stars gleamed overhead, and for a second he was caught up in how clear the sky was. It had been years since he’d seen stars without a haze of light pollution around them.

Owens and Z were in front of him, his babysitters for the night. Pru was off to his left, fiddling with the safety on her gun. The ride here had been as light-hearted as was possible, given the circumstances, but that jovial tone had ended quickly. Their off-roader had died on them maybe half an hour before, and the small group was still huddled around the machine, waiting as Z checked the engine. Every few seconds, Pru glared at Tim, as if blaming him for the hold up. Though the others had made it very clear that this was a fool’s errand, Tim knew that Bruce was here, somewhere. He had to be, or Tim had thrown everything away for nothing.

That was the issue, wasn’t it? Tim might be the world’s greatest detective, now that Bruce was… out of commission. But his hunches could still be wrong. What if- no. He couldn’t afford to think like that. He would bring Bruce back, he had to.

“Hey, Drake, are you done brooding yet?” Pru’s voice echoed over the empty land. Tim huffed noncommittally and looked up to see the bald assassin twirling her gun on her finger.

“I’m a Bat. We’re never done brooding,” he quipped, before fiddling with the little radio receiver he had brought along. It didn’t do more than give off static when it was on, but having something to do with his hands helped.

Rolling her eyes, Pru gestured over to a precariously balanced pile of rocks. “Wanna see if I can hit the top one off without knocking over the others?”

Tim sighed heavily and dragged himself over to her, Owens trailing behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Z peek out from behind the hood to watch.

Squaring off, Pru brought up her gun and fired off a shot. To no one’s surprise, the top rock went flying and the others remained still, albeit with a slight wobble.

“Fuck yeah! Z, did you see…” She trailed off, her face blanching. Tim followed suit, only to be greeted with Z on the ground, chest bleeding in a way his medical training told him was too much. His brown eyes were already glassy, and his chest wasn’t moving anymore. It was then that the rest of the image came into focus, and Tim’s eyes finally latched onto the cloaked man holding two bloody swords.

“I am the Widower,” the man said, his voice low and bone-chilling. “And here I was, thinking you’d put up a fight.”

Tim drew his bo staff, eyes tracking Pru and Owens as they rushed toward the Widower, guns at the ready. He had barely taken a step, but they were already on the ground, Pru bleeding from a large gash in her neck and Owens trying in vain to keep pressure on the wound in between his ribs.

Quick--what were his weaknesses? No visible limps or injuries, no issues handling the weapons. He moved like a snake through grass, smooth and precise. The Widower’s blades gleamed in the moonlight, and Pru’s blood dripped onto the sand. Tim lashed out with his staff, catching one of the swords right as it flew toward his throat.

“I guess dead birdies tell no tales,” Widower whispered as he drove the second sword, the one Tim had forgotten about, into Tim’s stomach.

The vigilante staggered back, and fell to his knees, clutching his abdomen. The blade slid out and even through the gloves of his suit, Tim could feel his blood, warm and sticky. Was this how he was going to die? Mission incomplete, estranged from his family, bleeding out into the desert sand? He had never assumed he would survive in this job, but he’d at least thought he’d die as Robin. Oh god, he was never going to be Robin again.

The ground rushed up to greet him, sand in his mouth and eyes and hair. He supposed that it didn’t matter--it’s not like corpses care anyway. With his last ounces of strength, he rolled onto his back. Somewhere, some last shred of knowledge told him that this would keep him from bleeding out, but deep down he knew it was too late. Tim just wanted the stars to be the last thing he saw.

As darkness encroached on the corners of his vision, his mind drifted back to Bruce. This was it. The only father figure he’d ever had, or at least the only one who liked him as he was, would be doomed to never return. And it was all Tim’s fault.

The afterlife was dark. And cold. Tim had never been religious, aside from that year of Hebrew school his parents insisted he take in middle school, but even he knew that this wasn’t right. It took a second, but the cold and dark sharpened into something Tim knew well, his kitchen at home. Well, at Drake Manor.

The marble countertops gleamed, as did the floors, and Tim recalled tiptoeing around in his early childhood, so not to dirty them. The kitchen--really, the whole house--had always felt like a mausoleum. Cold, impersonable. Lonely. In some ways, a lot like Tim.

He drifted through the house, looking pointedly away from the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. It had been painted a few months before his mom was killed, right after he became Robin. They all looked so stiff, like actors playing a family in a movie. Actually, actors would probably do a better job than they did. That portrait had been the first thing Tim had put in storage when his dad died.

The curtains were drawn, letting in the gray sunlight Gotham was so well-known for. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his lawn, except… not. Gravestones dotted the otherwise pristine lawn, some new and some old and worn. He hesitated at the door, fingertips just brushing the doorknob. He was dead, it wasn’t like he could get hurt. Maybe this was some kind of purgatory that he had to deal with before he could move on. He pushed against the door, anticipating the old hitch in the hinges that had been around for years.

The air held the same chill as the house, pulling at Tim’s breath. Front and center, practically in the doorway, was Bruce’s grave, the one they’d buried him in just over a month ago. But now the death date was scratched out, in its place a sticker like the ones Tim used to put on his skateboard. It read: Eternally Damned To Disappointment. It’d sound like the name of a band Tim might’ve listened to, if he didn’t know that the disappointment was in him.

The next grave was older, cracked and crumbly. The ground in front of it was disturbed, and dried blood streaks marked the bottom of the headstone. Here lies Jason Todd. Well, that didn’t last long. And unlike Jason, Tim knew he wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t that lucky.

Next was Steph, or at least the grave she pretended to fill. It was covered in flowers, some of them bouquets Tim had left himself. Tim had spent hours in front of it, telling her how much he missed her and loved her, praying for the first and last times. When she came back… well, they were more distant than he would’ve liked. That wasn’t Steph’s fault, at least not entirely, but it did make him wonder. What if he never took back the mantle? Would this have been easier? He could’ve been a semi-normal teenager, living with his dad and stepmom, mourning his girlfriend and being blissfully unaware of the shitshow that was heroism. But he wouldn’t have been happy.

And speak of the devil, there’s his parents’ graves, right next to each other. It was almost funny how they were closer in death than in life. A boomerang was lodged in his father’s gravestone, with an old flip phone opened at the base. It listed Tim’s number as the last call. His mother’s had a sticky substance that a voice deep inside Tim told him not to touch. He lingered at these graves for a moment, breath caught in his throat. It’s not that he didn’t miss his parents--he did. But he had only known a piece of them, only just deeper than surface level. They weren’t parents as much as guardians with high expectations. And for the most part, he had met or exceeded every goal they gave him. But it never was enough. There was always another class to ace or language to learn or party to schmooze at. Worst of all, they were cold. If Tim was the chill night air, his parents were Antarctica.

The next grave stopped him in his tracks. Bart. One of his best friends, his ally in all things. Gone, but not in the way Bruce or Steph were. Bart wasn’t coming back. There would be no more Hawaiian pizza and donuts shared over a comic book, or sleepovers on the floor of Mount Justice. No more Wendy the Werewolf Stalker Marathons. There was no more Bart, and it stung in a way that Tim didn’t have a name for.

He turned around, expecting that to be the end of it, but there it was. Conner. All at once, the weight of the world fell on Tim’s shoulders, like his own personal Kryptonite. His best friend, someone he had been more than a little in love with once upon a time. He knew Conner was safe now, alive and saving people once again. Without Tim. Conner’s death had been the one that broke him, more than any of the others. Because if Conner Kent, Superboy and heartbreaker extraordinaire, hadn’t made it, what chance did Tim have? Well, obviously not much. How was Conner going to take this? He wasn’t like Tim, this was the first time he’d be alone.

Aren’t you tired of losing the ones you love? Aren’t you tired of being the one left behind? A quiet voice murmured in the back of his skull.

Yes. No. Yes. A sob tore from Tim’s chest, and his hand flew to his mouth. This was so stupid. He had dealt with loss before. Hell, the past year had been one unending funeral. Of course he was tired, who wouldn’t be?

This had to be Hell, but that felt like even more of a betrayal. Even Jason had made it to Heaven. Was this his punishment for toeing the line? Had he not suffered enough? Biting back another sob, Tim ran blindly toward the door, slamming it shut behind him in a way that would’ve made his mother shriek. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his living room anymore, but the Batcave. Even with his eyes full of tears, he would know it anywhere. And there was Dick in the Batsuit. And the demon in his Robin gear. Tim opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Dick looked up, expression weary.

“Tim, I already told you. Bruce isn’t coming back. I’m Batman now, and that means I get to choose the Robin. It’s about time you accept that.” It sure sounded like Dick. “Besides, it’s not like you were doing a great job anyway. You let Batman be killed on the job.” Damian sneered, leaning against Dick’s chair like a bully in a high school rom com.

“That-That’s not my fault!” Tim cried, heart pounding in his ears.

“Look, there’s an heir and a spare. There’s a new Robin now, you can be whatever you’re calling yourself now. Go do whatever you have to on this suicide mission, but leave Gotham out of it.”

Damian smiled like a demonic cherub. “Yes, Drake. Not even Grayson wants you anymore, if he ever did.”

Tim stood in shocked silence, unable to find words. Sure, Dick was focused on Damian, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t care anymore. After all, they were brothers, right?

He’s taken the only thing you had left. Don’t you want revenge? He took your mantle, you should take it back. The voice sounded like Tim, but contorted--like it would on a recording.

Tim--no, not Tim, something else--reached back for the bo staff. As his hand gripped the metal, something flew toward him, hitting him directly in the stomach where he had been stabbed. It clattered to the floor, and through his pain, Tim realized it was a Batarang.

Don’t you want more, Timothy Drake-Wayne? It coaxed.

Yes.

The new Timothy Drake-Wayne took his first breaths in a cave deep in the Iraqi desert, hundreds of miles away from the house and the graves that had haunted his dream. It was cold here, nearly as cold as that dream had been. If he was in Hell, it would be hotter, wouldn’t it?

Tim swallowed hard and pushed himself up. His stomach, where he was pretty sure he had just been stabbed, was free of wounds or scarring. If anything, he felt stronger than he had before. As his feet touched the stone cold floor, he took note of the ninjas scattered around the room. Okay, so he was back at the League. They must have… The prior strength he had felt disappeared as his legs gave out. Normally he would have rolled or caught himself or something, but his gaze was fixed on the other side of the room, where a glowing green pit resided.

Oh, no.

No weapons, outnumbered, barely able to stand. The disadvantages stacked up before his eyes, screaming that there was no hope of him getting out of this one. Not to mention that he was probably already on his way to insanity. Fuck, the last time he’d seen Jason, the former Robin had almost killed him. Would Tim end up like that, homicidal and cruel?

He struggled to his feet, clutching the stone table for support. He could take out two, maybe three, if he just stopped thinking. He was trained for this, he could--

“Hello there, Detective,” a cold voice purred, quiet but deafening in the silent room. A chill hovered under Tim’s skin. It had been a long time since he’d last heard that voice. Detective? Isn’t that what he calls your mentor? There was the voice again, the only remaining fragment of the dream.

Ra’s al Ghul was one of those people who intimidated you just by existing in the same space. He reminded Tim of every strict teacher and cruel board member and snotty dinner party guest all rolled up into one. Oh, and he was the leader of the world’s largest assassin guild. That was important too.

“Did you find what you were looking for, Timothy?” Ra’s said in the same tone.

The teenager opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching for words. “No,” he managed to force out. “No, I didn’t.”

Are you sure?

Ra’s smiled, like a predator that had just gone for the killing blow. “Well, I suppose that you will have more than enough time to complete your quest during your stay with us.” And just like that, he turned, a group of ninjas peeling off to escort him back to whatever pit of Hell he’d crawled from. “If you need anything, ask for the White Ghost. Welcome to the Cradle, Detective.” And just like that, he was gone.

Tim was only alone with his thoughts for a minute before a tall man with alabaster skin and medieval-style chainmail entered the cavern.

Okay, so this was the White Ghost impersonator. The League wouldn’t kill someone they’d just resurrected, so maybe once he was alone he could escape? Go back to Gotham and see Dick and Sebastian and Zoanne one last time before he truly went insane, then start going to that therapist Dick recommended. He could make it through this, he wouldn’t end up like Jason--

And then in walked Tam Fox, looking terrified but for the most part unharmed. And all of Tim’s plans came crashing down.

Tam was a civilian, and a Wayne Enterprises employee to boot. Her life, and his identity, were in danger now. He was both her only savior and her greatest danger. New plan: listen to this knockoff White Ghost, do whatever it takes to gain their trust, then make it out with Tam at the first possible chance. And do it all without going off the deep end.

Easy. Not.

“I am the White Ghost,” the shitty cosplayer said, his chainmail clinking as he moved.

“Isn’t he dead?” Tim murmured under his breath. He’d definitely seen Dusan die. But if Tim was still alive, then maybe…

“There has always been a White Ghost,” the older man responded, as if that answered anything. “Now, it is time you and your guest retired to your quarters.”

Tam looked over at Tim, big brown eyes wide with fear. He nodded once, tried to conjure a press conference smile, and allowed them to be led to lavish bedchambers. They looked like beautiful, windowless prisons.

The next few weeks blended into their own lethal monotony. Tam stayed in her room all day and Tim went to meetings with various members of the League’s regime. It was a little like working at Drake Industries or Wayne Enterprises, just with more murder. A lot more murder. But the meetings were easy enough, and Tim soon found himself getting to know the people he once despised. He didn’t like them by any means, but he wasn’t terrified anymore.

He kept looking for Bruce. The desert gave no answers.

Tam didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push too hard. She had to know everyone’s identities by now, didn’t she? Tim was just one Robin-shaped piece of the puzzle. Here he was, in the desert, yet another failed Robin. His whole tenure, he’d been trying to live up to Jason Todd, and now in a sick way he had. Wearing Jason’s uniform, having been resurrected the same way, he now dreaded catching up to the boy who had once been his hero.

On nights when he cried silently into the silk sheets, trying to forget the way Jason had looked when he first came back to Gotham, the voice soothed: You can be greater than he ever was. You can outshine all of the others. You will be remembered when they are dust.

The desert was cold. There was no comfort here.

His bedchamber was nice enough. There was a large bed with silk sheets and gold accents and an ensuite bathroom. A large mirror took up the space where a window might have once been, like some sort of philosophical conundrum that Tim was too tired to try to unpack. There was a small passageway between his room and Tam’s, and if Tim was just a little more naive he would have believed that the League forgot about it when they placed him in this room. But he knew better. The League never forgot a thing.

Sometimes Tim caught himself in the mirror and for a second he swore his blue eyes looked green. Tam came in the next morning to glass littering the floor and cuts covering Tim’s hands. She said nothing while she helped him wrap up his knuckles.

Tim had always been adaptable. It’s easier than the constant push and shove of rebellion. When his parents told him to take those classes and join these clubs, he did. When he was instructed to give impromptu speeches at galas, he did. He put in the effort, he always had. He was never the best fighter and never would be, but he was smart and quick and brave. That had to mean something, right?

Maybe that’s why Ra’s al Ghul liked him so much.

The first time Ra’s al Ghul asked for a private meeting with Tim, the ground seemed to tilt under him. The well-trained vigilante tried not to show the fear in his eyes as his vision blurred and his heart thundered in his chest. But he went, because one did not say no to the Demon’s Head.

“Detective,” Ra’s began as he sat down at a large, stately desk that seemed out of place in the rest of the Cradle. The voices--he had taken to calling them whispers--that had been clogging Tim’s thoughts preened at the nickname, ignoring its former bearer.

“Tell me what you know about my grandson,” the assassin drawled, his fingers tapping on the desk rhythmically.

“Don’t you have spies for that?” Tim responded, not quite a retort but not an innocent question either. He’d seen enough of the League’s intel that it was clear how much they truly knew about the world outside the Cradle.

“Yes, but I’d prefer to hear it from someone… familiar with him. My eyes can only do so much from afar.”

Tim had no doubt that Ra’s knew everything about Damian: from the route he took to school to the cereal he ate for breakfast to how many times he pet Titus when he got home from school.

“He’s a brat.” Tim’s chagrin even took him by surprise, like it wasn’t really him talking. “He’s rude and inconsistent and incredibly immature. He’s aggressive and undisciplined. A sorry excuse for a Robin.”

And there it was, the green monster of jealousy rearing its head again. Yes, Damian had taken Robin from him unfairly, and yes, he was all of those things. But why did Ra’s care?

“I see. Would you describe him as a leader?”

“No. If anything, he’s a bully and a mama’s boy. Leaders need to be able to listen to others.” Where was he getting this? Damian was a kid, he could learn. He still had time.

“Interesting.” Ra’s rose from his chair and paced the edge of the room. Tim refused to look back and follow his movements. That would be a show of weakness, a drop of blood in a shark tank. “Detective, what do you have in Gotham? What do you have there that keeps you from dedicating yourself to your cause?”

Nothing.

Tim stifled a gasp as he thought of the instant response. Dick and Damian didn’t need him. Stephanie hadn’t called in months, even before Bruce died. Jason had tried to kill him, last they’d spoken. The Teen Titans were getting along just fine without him. Truthfully, the whispers were right. There was nothing left for him in Gotham. If there was, he would have stayed.

“Nothing.” The anymore went unsaid.

“Then I may have a proposal for you.” Ra’s eyes glowed a dangerous green. A pit formed in Tim’s stomach, as the last few vestiges of him that hadn’t sided with the voices screamed at him to just escape.

“Oh?” Tim responded, mouth bone-dry.

“Stay.”

And Tim’s world crumpled.

“Learn under my agents. Train to become better than you are. Continue your quest with my resources behind you. All you have to do is stay and work for me,” Ra’s smiled like a hunter who had just shot big game.

This was a terrible idea. Tim didn’t kill people, he refused. He was supposed to help people, not hurt them. But he couldn’t deny that feeling like he belonged again was incredibly enticing.

Tim opened his mouth, but Ra’s cut him off. “Your friend will not be harmed. I won’t even think about putting you on an assignment until you’re up to par with my best ninjas. I will not make this offer again.”

The voice that responded was not Tim’s own.

“Yes.”

Tim thought that six months of training with Bruce was brutal. Ha hadn’t known brutal until now.

His first day of training, he showed up in his Red Robin suit, now patched and reinforced where he had been stabbed.

The tall ninja that seemed to be in charge scoffed, then sent him away. Not fifteen minutes later, a tailor descended on Tim’s quarters with a tape measure and a face made of solid stone.

“Can’t have you looking like a target, all in red. What was Batman thinking?”

Maybe he wants them to be targets, Tim and the whispers thought in tandem. He balked at the thought, but the tailor’s firm hands kept him in place. What was he doing? Bruce had loved him, did love him. He had taken care of Tim when no one else would. Bile crawled through the back of Tim’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

The tailor finished her measurements and scanned Tim up and down.

“It will have to be black, of course. Reinforced joints, kevlar, the whole nine yards,” she stated in a lilting accent. “Maybe some green accents, dark ones. Classy. Half-mask, no more cowls or dominos.”

Red, yellow, and black were his colors and had been for years. A tribute to a boy he loved and lost then loved some more. But Conner was back now. And Tim was tired of mourning, especially when no one was dead. Well, except him.

“Green,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. He wasn’t Red Robin anymore, not really. And he could always wear the suit again. This wasn’t a finale, just a hiatus.

She nodded once and then swept away, leaving a teenager clutching the last thing he had of his old life. Tim folded the suit, the way Alfred had always chastised him for, and gingerly placed it in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. He wouldn’t need it anytime soon.

The next day, a precisely wrapped package sat outside Tim’s door bearing no signature. He knew exactly what it was.

Upon peeling back the paper, he saw the full glory of the new suit. It was midnight black, with dark green stitches that were beautiful up close, but would be near-invisible from far away. It looked like a cross between the ninjas’ garb and body armor--sleek and sure of itself. A hood was attached to the back of the neck, with the green stitching spelling out something Tim couldn’t discern. A half-mask with built in air filters covered the rest of the face. As he patted the suit down, he felt where all the separate compartments were for weapons and utilities. It reminded him a little of the costumes from high-tech spy movies.

Sitting on the floor with his new suit in his lap, Tim added another item to the long lists of debts he owed Ra’s al Ghul.

His first real day of training, Tim was beaten so badly he could hardly drag himself to his room.

It wasn’t that they had intended to hurt him, but he had gone almost a month without training. Bruises laced up his cheekbone like their own little domino mask, a little memento of times gone by. His joints screamed out in pain as he collapsed onto his bed. At least he hadn’t broken any bones. Or been stabbed. Or died.

Tim only had a few minutes to contemplate the stuntman funniest fails video that was his life when a gentle knock came from the door.

“Come in,” he groaned, flopping over onto his side so he could see his company. His mother would have scolded him for not standing up to greet a guest, but she didn’t have much sway from six feet under.

A girl with olive-tan skin and a brunette bun stepped into the threshold, her smile the gentlest thing he’d seen in a long time.

“Hello, my name is Aminta. I figured you could use some help with your wounds.” Her voice was lower than he expected, but pretty nonetheless. A dark, untraceable accent threaded through her words.

He peered up at her, frowning.

“Is this a hazing thing? Am I being hazed?”

She chuckled, then sat on the ottoman at the edge of his bed.

“Not hazing. The new recruits tend to help each other through the first few months. Safety in numbers and all that. I thought you might want some assistance.”

“So, you’re all friends?” That didn’t sound right.

“No,” she hesitated for a moment, “not exactly. Friends is too... common. We are assassins, but we have honor. When we need to, we take care of our own.”

Ah, so he was one of them now. For some indescribable reason, that didn’t fill him with as much dread as he thought it would.

You have no friends. You never did. Just those who you will rule and those who you will crush, the whispers added.

Tim smiled, the shy grin he used when he wanted teachers and Wayne Enterprises board members to underestimate him.

“Thank you, Aminta. I’d appreciate that. My name is Tim.”

She winked at him, clearly a joke.

“Believe me, I know.”

The League had a mole.

Or at least, they were going to. Tim had known enough corrupt businessmen in his time in Gotham’s upper echelon that he was well versed in the signs of someone double-dipping. At first it was little things: missing pieces of inventory, strange new guard shifts, incorrect mission intel. By the time it escalated to money being skimmed off the top of jobs, Ra’s was furious.

When he called Tim in for a meeting, something that was becoming increasingly normal these days, Tim was expecting fiery rage. Instead, there was steel-sharp cunning. It was a little like looking in a funhouse mirror.

“Detective, it appears that we have a liability in our ranks,” Ra’s began, his fingertips caressing a blade. “I assume you’ve read the data I sent to your quarters, and I’d like your thoughts.”

Tim cleared his throat. He had spent the night before reading the reports, putting together the pieces. If this was a test, it was a wicked one.

“The incidents began shortly after the attacks by the Widower. It’s a piece of misdirection intended to frame either Pru or I as a mole. However, neither of us has any reason for betrayal. Pru is, and has always been, loyal to the League. And you are well aware that I have nothing left for me in Gotham, nor would I be stupid enough to allow myself to get caught.” His voice was smooth, the prince of Gotham giving yet another speech.

“There is someone who has means, motive, and opportunity. After reading your files, it is incredibly clear. He has a family of his own that he is loyal to, and during my resurrection, he was not in the Cradle. His computer prowess would allow him to mess with the system in a way few others could. It would have been a very clean job, if he had spread it out over months or years instead of a few weeks.”

Ra’s stroked his goatee.

“You mean the Expediter.”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Ra’s rose from the desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “Now that we’ve established the perpetrator, it is time to establish the punishment.”

Ah, so here was the test. Ra’s wanted to see how ruthless Tim could be. It was a very good thing that Tim never failed an exam.

“Kill him. It will send a message to our other agents and whoever he worked for that we are not to be trifled with.” Tim’s hands shook, but his voice was full of conviction. He had always been a good actor, but it wasn’t clear how much was truth now.

“And his daughters?”

“Bring them to the Cradle. They’re young enough that they likely won’t remember him, and we’ll be able to shape their childhood. Perhaps one will become just as intelligent as her father, and wiser as well.” The whispers hissed wordlessly in disappointment, but it was worth it. Tim refused to order the execution of a child, no matter how loud the shrieking in his skull became.

There was a beat of dead silence, then Ra’s nodded sagely.

“Wise choice, Detective. I’ll put those orders into effect at once.” He smiled, his teeth gleaming as his dagger had. “I’m looking forward to the rest of our partnership.”

Oh, how the whispers laughed.

Life in the Cradle was, well, nice. Tim was training harder than he ever had, under much more strenuous conditions, yet he felt better than he ever had. He was stronger, for one thing, but for the first time since he’d discovered Batman and Robin’s identities, he was able to rest. He didn’t need to be up until dawn chasing people across rooftops or finishing reports or writing an essay for English class because he’d been too busy on patrol. Even in a den of killers, Tim felt almost safe.

That said, he refused to let his guard down. He’d sat in on meetings with the inner circle of the Cradle for months now, trying to use his famous brain for something important. Which for his purposes, meant destroying the League as best as possible.

That was the only reason he’d stayed, or at least that’s what he told himself during nights where he twisted and turned trying to justify his choices. He’d exploit the League’s generosity to train himself and find Bruce, then take it down. Bruce would have to be proud of him after that, they all would. Maybe he’d even be Robin again.

He’d already taken out the Expediter, Ra’s’ guy in the chair. The guy confessed to the mistake of having a family and trying to work for the League at the same time. Good thing Tim didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

This is good, but it is not enough. You crave more. Do not be a coward, take it.

Now Tim was the techie for an international assassin guild, which would look moderately impressive on a college resume. Maybe it could count as an internship. Ra’s seemed like the guy who would make a relatively okay reference when Harvard came calling.

It always felt strange when he had lunch with Ra’s. It was eerily similar to the fancy lunches his mom used to drag him to, or the etiquette classes he was forced to take where he learned how to properly use a melon baller. Of course, it wasn’t like he was going to be killed for using a melon baller wrong then. Now, he knew that any wrong move could result in death.

Not his own death, of course. There was no point in Ra’s bringing back Tim, just to kill him again. Tam, however, was expendable. And that made the marrow in Tim’s bones shiver.

This particular lunch was more focused on memory lane than shop talk.

“So, Detective, tell me: what did you want to be when you grew up?”

Tim swallowed hard around his tea sandwich, his throat suddenly painfully dry.

“When I was little, I wanted to be a clown. Not a great career path in Gotham,” he began, attempting to keep his voice light. Ra’s looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

“Then, I wanted to be a photographer. Then, my father said I would be a CEO or I’d be disowned, so I wanted to be a CEO. I could always do photography on the side, you know?

“And then I became Robin.” He let the weight of that sentence sink over the pair.

“So? What happened after that?”

Tim resisted the urge to stare at his sandwich, instead choosing to meet Ra’s’ bright green eyes.

“Then, I stopped thinking I would grow up.” There it was, the thing everyone had been trying to pry out of him for years.

“I mean, Dick barely made it out. Jason died, came back, went crazy, and now murders people for shits and giggles. Stephanie died, but only kinda. Damian’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide. In the wild, robins live for a year, maybe two if they’re lucky. I don’t think anyone realized how similar we all are to those stupid birds.” Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he didn’t need to cry. All that pain was gone now, replaced by something else. He couldn’t name it, but it kept all the sadness away.

Tim had been sad for his whole life. It was a relief when the roiling ocean inside him froze over. Numbness was an improvement.

Ra’s leaned across the table, his face barely a foot from Tim’s.

“You know, Detective, you remind me of myself. Not when I was young, of course, but when I had just begun to build my empire. All your life you have been told to quiet down and listen instead of speaking. You’re a fine leader because of it. You adapt when others are stubborn. You make plans while they push through without a second thought. You are a snake lying in wait, anticipating the right time to strike. I admire that.”

The air hung in silence as Ra’s stared directly into Tim’s soul.

“You know,” Ra’s finally said, “I think you could be truly great one day.”

Tim barely breathed as he nodded his thanks. When Ra’s finally leaned away, his first breath felt like the first gasp of air from a drowning victim.

“Before our lunch concludes, and I do so enjoy our lunches, I have a query for you.” This wasn’t out of the ordinary, Ra’s liked to give him riddles to keep him on his toes. “Some of our ninjas, though I will not say who, have gone rogue. A year or so ago, they got themselves caught up in some nasty business. My current intel places them here, in this compound, where they’re using innocents as collateral, should they not get what they request.”

“What do they want?”

“My head on a platter.” Ra’s’ smile was bloodchilling. “Oh, Detective? I feel it’s important to note: international news stations are currently reporting you and Ms. Fox as having been kidnapped by these rogues. Any advice on how to fix that?”

So this was the second test. Another chance to prove his loyalty. Let Ra’s’ enemies go free, or kill them and forfeit his old life for good in return.

“I assume extraction is not possible?”

“I’m afraid that those deserters are incredibly well trained. The special units from any nation’s army wouldn’t even make it into the compound. My ninjas could make it in, but there’s no way they could take out the traitors and save the civilians.”

Tim nodded, pretending to contemplate. He already knew his answer.

“Bomb the compound, kill everyone inside. It’s better to cut off the rot now than give it the chance to spread.”

Ra’s did not smile, but his eyes glimmered with pride.

“My thoughts exactly, Detective.”

And just like that, the death warrant was signed.

Tam was waiting in his chambers when Tim got home from a long day of training, his body littered in bruises and cuts that would sting tomorrow. Her crossed arms functioned as a hug, like she was the only thing keeping herself together.

“Tim,” she whispered when he came into view, the word like a prayer.

He glided across the room wordlessly, and she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“I managed to get someone to sneak me a newspaper. Th-They think we’re dead, Tim,” she said into his shoulder, words slightly muffled by the fabric.

His hand came up to stroke her hair, the way he used to comfort Cass after a particularly long day. Tim didn’t respond, and instead let her tears soak into his shirt.

Good. Now you have the element of surprise.

The Council of Spiders had a worthy namesake, as they were just as quick and deadly as any arachnid. Somehow they had crept past the League’s defenses, disabling the ninjas that got in their way. True to form, the assassins’ deaths were just as silent as they were--shadows fading out as dusk began to form.

Tim was preparing for another day of strategy and mind games when Aminta burst into the room.

“The Spiders are here. They managed to sneak in--no one knows how. You’re needed,” she gasped, as if she’d ran a marathon to deliver this message. Judging from her state of disarray, maybe she had.

“Tam?”

“I’ll protect her. Go!”

Tim didn’t have time to question these motives or worry about much more than tugging on his cowl and pulling out his bo staff. He sprinted out the door and into the madness, moving in a dangerous dance with the assassins he had trained alongside for the past few months. The League was good, great even. But with the element of surprise, the Spiders were better.

He couldn’t afford to think about what could happen if they lost. Failure was not an option, not anymore.

A shadow glided toward one of the empty hallways and away from the rest of the frenzy, a sword glinting in its hand. Something that had dug its claws deep in Tim’s bones pulled him toward the figure, urging him to follow. To finish the job.

If others saw red when enraged, Tim saw green.

The figure purposefully stalked toward the large office Tim had started to spend increasing amounts of time in. The footsteps were near-silent, but in his mind they echoed almost deafeningly loud.

The shadow had to know he was there. It had to. Tim was good, but a few months of training could never rival lifetimes.

The shadow glanced over its shoulder, a feline-esque smile on its face. It said something, probably a witty yet scathing remark, but it was drowned out by the cacophony of whispers in Tim’s mind.

Do it.

Finish the job.

Show them who you are, who you can be.

Prove yourself.

You are not a bird, you are not a bat.

You are a demon, and you do not know weakness.

Not a Robin, not Red.

You are Green, Green, Green.

Become who you were always destined to be, Detective.

Tim struck out with his bo staff, right into the shadow’s skull. It faltered, just for a millisecond, and that creature that was both Tim and not lashed out, quicker than it had any right to be. A dagger in his hand, sharpened to a razor-thin edge. He did not remember doing that. That same dagger, buried into deep tan flesh.

Then he was across the room, bones aching from being thrown into the stone wall. If he was still human, still able to rein in whatever was drowning out his senses, he would know to expect pain tomorrow. But he didn’t, and all he felt was the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

And he was up again, throwing himself at the shadow with the conviction of a greek hero who knew that this fight would be his last. A fist full of rings connected with his cheek, and he could feel the skin tear beneath the metal. Maybe it would even scar.

The shadow leaned heavily to one side, though whether it was from the stab placed between its ribs or a prior injury, Tim didn’t know. It lurched toward him, and he stabbed it again, this time twisting the dagger until he felt the give of a lung. The shadow was down now, and deep down Tim knew that he never should have beaten it, never should have landed a single blow. In a logical world, Tim would have lost ten times over. But in a logical world, Tim would have been dead for the past six months.

As if time was in slow motion but he was at normal speed, Tim glided through the seconds, pushing pressure points with the tip of his blade. The shadow’s sword lay across the hall, too far out of reach for retaliation. This wasn’t torture, but it was revenge--for pain and sacrifice and nights spent clawing at his own skin, wishing it still felt like his. Payback for months of sins he never would have committed, for the green that clouded his vision. But most of all, it was a promise.

After minutes that held years of heartwrenching pain, Tim delivered the killing blow, straight under the shadow’s chin and into its brain. He was covered in blood, tacky and rust-toned, but where a past Tim--a lesser Tim--would have balked or vomited at the sight, this Tim stood, cleaned off his blade, and hefted the cooling corpse onto his shoulder.

They can try to revive it with the Lazarus Pit. You cannot allow that to happen. You cannot fail, the whispers urged, but he no longer needed them. They were him and he was them. Green in every breath and thought.

Tim escaped into the desert and finished the job, just as he had always been taught to do. Ra’s would have been proud. Bruce would have been proud.

That night, after the Spiders had been exterminated and the mess cleaned up, Tim sat at the foot of his bed, staring at his hands. The ninjas had looked at him with what could be called pride when he staggered back into the fray, his face bruised and bloody and sporting a wound on his thigh. His silky clothes brushed past the injuries every few seconds, but he couldn’t muster the energy to wince, even though he knew he should.

Tam had managed to hide during the clash, and Aminta had kept her promise. Tim liked people who followed through.

After being given the all clear, he stumbled back to his room to wash out his wounds and scrub the smell of smoke off his skin.

He had only just changed into his silky clothes when a knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, the White Ghost was in Tim’s room, staring down at the teenager with an unnameable expression on his face.

“Timothy Drake,” the man said by way of greeting.

Tim glanced at him and blinked owlishly, but did not respond.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

This gripped Tim’s attention, and he finally made eye contact with the assassin, his brow creasing in concern.

“You’re going to revive him, right? He told me that you have more Lazarus Pits near here, he can use one of those. How did he die?” A million scenarios raced through Tim’s head, films of the death of the Demon.

“They burned him on a pyre and left him in his study. No trace of cause of death, and we can’t revive him. Any DNA has been destroyed.”

Tim stared blankly, processing. The Demon’s Head, the invincible Ra’s al Ghul, was dead. Gone forever.

“Ra’s made plans, should he die,” the White Ghost continued. “Those plans include a new leader of the League of Shadows. And that leader is you.”

Tim sputtered, “What? You can’t be serious. I’m seventeen years old. Why not you? Or Talia or Nyssa? Or Damian?”

“I do not make light of these things. He said you, so it is you. I am the White ghost. He had not contacted his daughters in years, and his grandson is too unpredictable to be suited to the position. You are the Demon’s Head, Timothy Drake.”

Tim stared back numbly. He was the Demon’s Head. The Cradle was his, these assassins were his, the world was his. He wanted power, and now it had fallen into his lap. The White Ghost kneeled before him and bowed his head. “I will serve you, Timothy Drake, in whatever way you see fit. I will be your eyes and ears and hands. I will obey you and carry out your orders. I pledge my allegiance to you, and only to you.” Satisfied with his vow, he rose to his full height.

Tim swallowed hard, then looked back up. “I accept your vow and thank you for your loyalty.” Then, “When… When will the rest know?”

“Tomorrow, at noon. I thought it might be best for everyone to rest, and for you to know first. We can discuss further details tomorrow morning, but for now, know who you are.”

Tim nodded stiffly and pushed himself to his feet, straightening his spine the way his mother had taught him to. He had been raised to become a prince of Gotham, one of the pretty boys that graced magazine covers and made headlines at charity events. Now, he was a king of assassins, an emperor of the underworld. If only she could see him now. Maybe she’d even be proud of him, for once.

“Thank you, White Ghost. We will speak again tomorrow. Should there be any issues during the night, I would like for you to inform me immediately.” He may be clad in silk pyjamas, but there was leadership in every fiber of his being. The whispers hissed in agreement.

“Fadir Nasser. My name is Fadir Nasser. Long live the Demon’s Head,” the White Ghost--Fadir--said as he left the room, the last remark stinging with a hint of a joke.

The door locked shut behind him, and Tim flopped backward onto the bed, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His gaze fell to the closet, where his suit was stuffed in the corner, smelling of smoke and burning flesh and the irony tang of blood. The whispers quickly supplied a description of the events, but Tim could picture them clear as day--carrying Ra’s to the desert, building and lighting a pyre, then bringing the body back and placing it in Ra’s’ study for someone to find. It was incredibly simple, almost too simple for no one to have done before. But Tim was Green, Greener than anyone had ever been before. And no one would ever know.

He’d need to invest in a new suit befitting his new role, maybe bring back some green accents. He no longer needed to mourn Conner. He no longer needed to mourn at all. He was the Demon’s Head, and he would never die.

The whispers laughed cruelly, like the audience of a poorly-written tragedy.

The transition of power wasn’t smooth, but it was quick. Assassins weren’t particularly known for their loyalty, and Fadir made it clear that any dissenters wouldn’t even make it to the door. They only had to clean blood off the stone floors once before that lesson sunk in.

As far as coups go, it was pretty successful. The whispers had quieted, just a little. Tim could sometimes make it hours without the hissing in the back of his mind, reminding him that he couldn’t rest. With power comes paranoia, and Tim was intimately familiar with both.

Now to rid himself of liabilities.

It had been a particularly lucid day, and Tim’s near-silent footsteps were the only hint of noise in the hallway. Tam had been given the option to move her room closer to his, but had refused. He didn’t blame her, it was hard being the civilian favorite of the assassin king. Tim knew this well.

Tim knocked on the wooden door, two quick raps. Somewhere deep in his memory, he wondered if this would have been his life, had everything been different; maybe he’d be knocking on Tam’s door before picking her up for a date. Instead, he straightened his shoulders, put on the shy smile Tam thought was his true one, and waited for her. Shuffling on the other side of the door, then a creak as it swung open. Tim glided in, and Tam looked at him with those big brown eyes, her expression tainted with a touch of fear. He didn’t remember her ever being afraid of him before.

“Do you want to go home?” Tim asked. No preamble, just his soft question in the quiet room.

Tam didn’t even think about it first.

“Yes.”

Tim nodded, then drew out a one-way ticket to Archie Goodwin International Airport, leaving tomorrow night. He held it out to her, that soft smile on his face and a promise in his eyes.

Tam tentatively took it, but kept looking at him. “Are you serious?”

“You’re not a prisoner. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you leave earlier, I just wanted to make sure the League was stable first. My intention was always to get you home.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim slipped his hands in his pockets. “You’re my friend. I just want you to be happy.”

Tam pulled him into a hug, and for a second it felt so nice it almost hurt. Then it was over, and he could be comfortably numb again.

“Aminta will be coming with you, just to make sure you get home safe. Once you’re with your family, you won’t have to see any of my… agents ever again.”

Tam nodded, her face screwed up in an effort to keep from crying. He turned to leave and give her privacy, then paused.

“Tam? Thank you. For being my friend.”

Then the king of shadows disappeared into the night, yet again.

Tim frowned at the wall, a small comms unit tucked in his ear. He hadn’t moved from this room in a day, not since Tam and Aminta left.

“Okay, Aminta, I need you to keep close. You said that it’s just Batman and Robin? No Batgirl?”

“Just Batman and Robin. They haven’t spotted me yet. Robin’s really fallen behind since leaving us.”

Tim growled under his breath and carded a hand through his hair. It was getting long again. Who did Ra’s go to for haircuts? Did he just do it himself?

Focus.

The facts were these: Tam had been contacted by Batman and Robin immediately after Lucius Fox gave word that she was home safe. Tim had been expecting this, and Aminta was sent to follow Tam and ensure that the interaction went favorably. Which is to say that no one killed Tam because of what she knew. Aminta was currently hidden on the same rooftop as Gotham’s favorite heroes, listening in on their rendez-vous.

“What’s happening? Report.”

“She’s telling them--why don’t I just play their conversation? I have the capability.”

“Do it.”

A crackling came over Tim’s comm unit for a few brief seconds before it shifted to three familiar voices.

“It’s okay, Tam. Just tell us everything. From the beginning.” That was Dick. He sounded the exact same way he had when Tim left, tired and a little pained. Serves him right. “Yeah, okay,” there was Tam’s voice, slightly higher pitched than normal. “So my dad sent me to find out where Tim Drake was. And I managed to track him down to Iraq. So I’m in my hotel room one night, and I wake up to someone putting a cloth on my nose. Then everything went black, and the next thing I knew I was in this cold stone room. Then this albino guy tells me to stand up and we walk into this big hallway and there’s Tim. And he’s all sweaty and looks super freaked out. Then they brought us to these bedrooms and told us that we’d be staying a while.”

“Why would they take you?” A third voice asked, the snobby tone immediately registering as Damian. The brat.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my search for Tim sent up some flags? No one ever told me.” Her voice cracked a little, and maybe once upon a time, Tim would have felt sorry for her. Not anymore.

“It’s okay, Tam. After you moved into the Cradle, what happened?”

“Tim spent a lot of time training or with Ra’s. He couldn’t tell me much, but apparently Ra’s took a liking to him. One of the inner circle guys turned out to be a traitor, so Tim took his job. I didn’t see him a lot.”

“Who was the traitor?” Damian again, with a hint of anger in his voice. Or was that fear?

“Some computer guy. The Executioner or something.”

“The Expeditor?” It was definitely fear in Damian’s voice. He sounded like a child when he was scared.

“Yeah, him. I just hung around for the most part. They had books. They gave me makeup and nail polish when I asked for it. I was bored, but never threatened.” Tim snorted. Tam knew more than anyone that just because she didn’t have a knife to her neck didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger every moment of the day.

Dick cleared his throat, then spoke again, “Why did Ra’s let you leave?”

Tam went quiet, just for a second.

“Ra’s al Ghul is dead.”

A beat of silence. Tim would have paid millions to watch them right now.

“How?” Damian, his voice filled with fear, and maybe a little pain.

“I-I don’t know. There was an attack by the Council of Spiders. Tim had them lock me in my room with a guard. Some of the girls I talked to said that Ra’s was burned afterward so they couldn’t revive him. No one knew until the day after.” Tam’s voice was shaking now.

“Then where’s Tim?” Dick asked, finally caring about his younger brother after all this time. What a joke.

Tam stuttered a few times, but eventually got the words out. “Tim… Tim’s the new leader. Ra’s named him his heir before he died.”

A hiss sounded over the comms. That had to be Damian.

“Thank you, Tam. I appreciate you answering our questions. You know where to find us if you remember anything else.”

Some shuffling obscured any new words, then Aminta’s voice appeared. “They’re leaving, do you want me to follow them?”

“Yes,” Tim responded, massaging his temples. The whispers were getting louder now, to a point where it was impossible to understand any one message. It was hard when they got like this, harder than when they teamed up. At least then he didn’t feel like a helpless teacher in a rowdy classroom.

Maybe a minute ticked by before Aminta was back. “They just went a few rooftops away. Robin’s clutching Batman’s cape and crying, but it’s like angry crying. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t understand it. Batman’s rubbing his back, but he looks miserable too. Less angry, more sad.”

“That’ll be all, Aminta, thank you. You can return home tomorrow,” Tim sighed. “Our dear friend Tam has done us a favor, so we should be ready for the consequences.”

“What favor? Telling them everything?”

“Not everything. We still have an ace up our sleeve.”

“What advantage could we possibly have, other than knowing that they know?”

“Tam didn’t tell them about my little swim.”

Somewhere, there was a universe where Timothy Drake-Wayne woke up on the morning of his 18th birthday and put on a suit, ready for a day of meetings at whatever company he was interning for before he started college. Maybe he had a party with his family or a date that night. This is what Tim thought about as he busied himself getting ready. He had never been one for birthdays. Jack and Janet were rarely home, and even when they were in Gotham, they had better things to do than celebrate a child. He didn’t blame them. Before he came to the Cradle, he wasn’t worth celebrating.

The ornate mirror in his bathroom showcased his attire: a loose-fitting white shirt, tailored brown silk pants, and a dark green cape that almost resembled snakeskin. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, but he left them. They made the blue stand out. Here was the heir Ra’s had craved so badly. The old Tim would have made a joke about how he looked like a dark prince from a young adult novel, but not anymore. He was the Demon’s Head now. No, not just its head. He was its hands and heart as well. Tim Drake was a demon through and through.

His guests had landed in Iraq the day before, and he had it on good authority that he could expect them that evening.

Tim drifted around the room, preparing for the meeting as one would prepare for battle. His fingertips lingered on the rings he had inherited from his predecessor, and with a deliberate movement he chose the signet ring Ra’s used to wear. He slipped it on and smiled to himself, a snake poised to strike.

Carefully, he patted his wrists, hips, and ankles to ensure his knives were still there. He had always favored batarangs, but he was no longer a bat or a bird. He had left them behind, just as they had left him.

The White Ghost was waiting at his door, ready to escort him to his study. As they walked, Tim absentmindedly ran his thumb over his knuckles. The whispers hissed inaudibly in his ear, wailing for attention.

“Has the room been secured?” He asked, face neutral.

“Yes. I have placed ninjas along the walls and at every access point. Any familiar with the al Ghul child have been sent on missions abroad, though they remain loyal to you.”

“They leave here alive. If they attempt to attack, I want them subdued but not killed.”

“That’s not wise. It will be seen as a show of weakne-”

“Do you think I am weak?” Tim’s voice was as ice cold as he felt.

“No, of course not,” Fadir backpedaled. “But how can you justify it?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no need to kill them. This is just a courtesy call, a reminder that my prior allegiances are no longer viable.”

Tim swept into the study, his back straight and his jaw square just the way he had always been taught. From birth, he had been raised to be a prince of Gotham, one of the many pretty boys in suits who graced Forbes covers before they could legally drink. He had been bred for greatness, and he achieved it in his own way. Here, no one would ever best him. He was finally free.

Soon you will have everything. All you have to do is make one order.

Tim’s hands shook slightly, but he tightened his grip on his fountain pen as he sat down. The day was full of reports, requests for missions, and invoices. He had been doing most of this paperwork anyway when he was just a lackey, so it wasn’t an inconvenience. It was methodical in its ruthlessness. $750k for a political assassination in France, 40% taken for the League, the rest wired to a private bank account in the Cayman Islands. $25k to kill a cheating spouse in South Africa, the same 40%, and this time headed for a Swiss bank account. A request for a league member to “take care of” an abuser, which Tim set aside. An invoice for new training blades, as the older ones had been dulled. A new Lazarus Pit that was discovered in Iceland.

The sun began to sink outside of his window, and Tim collected himself, drawing the last shards of who he used to be away from the surface. That Tim was dead and gone, and in his place was someone who was finally worthy. If the old Tim was a bleeding heart, this Tim was the knife that stabbed it.

Fadir knocked on the large oak door to signal that their guests had arrived. Tim pushed himself out from behind the desk, pulled back his shoulders, and stalked out of the room, refusing to look back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t show any weakness--it was that he wasn’t weak at all. Not anymore.

Tim walked down the now-familiar hallways, the whispers humming in happiness as others averted their eyes respectfully as he passed by. Aminta stood at the left hand of the large stone throne in the formal hall, and dipped her head in greeting when he approached. Tim took his place on the throne, relaxing into the smooth stone. Fadir took the right-hand side, his hand on his sword’s pommel at all times.

Ninjas lined the walls, all ready for battle at a moment’s notice. Most had been training for decades, long before Tim was even a thought. And now they served him. One lone ninja entered the room, first bowing to Tim and then scurrying up to the throne.

“They have arrived, sir.”

Tim grinned darkly.

“Bring them in.”

Dick looked older than he had eight months ago. His cowl was pulled up to hide his face, but Tim could see it in the set of his jaw. For a man in his late twenties, Dick looked positively weary.

Serves him right.

Damian was stiff, both an heir and a stranger in a child’s body. He glanced at the ninjas placed around the edge of the room, as if searching for a familiar face. He wouldn’t find one.

Tim did not smile when the man he had once considered his brother approached.

“Hello Dick. Damian.” His voice was colder than he ever thought it could be. “You can remove your masks, everyone here knows who you are.” Or they did now.

Dick hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pulled off the cowl. Damian followed suit with a grumble, peeling off his domino.

Satisfied, Tim smoothed a neutral expression onto his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, the words pleasant but the tone as sharp as a blade.

“Is this where you’ve been all this time?” Dick burst out without preamble. It was a shame that he couldn’t exchange pleasantries, even after all of Alfred’s lessons.

“Not exactly. I was in Paris for a bit, caught up with some old friends.” An old friend, one who probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone. None of them had.

You are powerful because you are alone. Others would betray you. You can trust no one. The whispers chimed in, though they were merely repeating what he already knew to be true.

Damian hissed his displeasure, which earned him an evil look from Dick. Look, he’d already been replaced.

“Tim,” Dick began in a gentle voice, the one he used for scared kids. “Come home. We can figure this out. We’ll get you help, maybe even try that therapist I told you about. Or we can shop around, it doesn’t matter. I miss you. I miss my little brother.”

How pathetic.

“Oh, I believe you misunderstood. This is a business meeting, not an intervention,” Tim hummed, examining his fingernails. The cold steel of the knives tucked in his sleeves was a delicious reminder of who he was, who he had always been destined to become.

“In that case, I believe some clarification is in order. Following the death of Ra’s al Ghul, I became the head of the League of Shadows, a position I am very proud of. I will not be returning to Gotham, unless it is for League business, and I will certainly never fight at your side again.

“In truth, Dick, I have not thought about you or your brat once since coming to stay at the League. I understand that our previous relationship may have led you to believe that I would be a naive fool forever, but that is not the case. I have found meaning now more than you could ever dream of achieving.

“Here is my proposition: I will cease training of any assassins younger than age sixteen immediately. I am also currently updating how the League accepts jobs to minimize the amount of innocent casualties. I will waive all rights to Wayne Enterprises, though anything Bruce willed to me will remain mine. In exchange, you leave me and my assassins alone. You will not contact me unless seeking my services. You can keep your Robin, but he lost his birthright a year ago. These are my conditions, and they are non-negotiable.”

The chatty Dick Grayson was speechless. Instead, it was Damian who spoke.

“You stole my birthright.” For a child, he sounded downright murderous.

Tim smiled. “And you stole mine. I believe that makes us even.”

The child nodded, then drew his sword. Along the walls, ninjas drew theirs as well.

“Damian, no!” Dick hissed, glaring at his brother-ward. “Tim, you can’t be serious. We’re family. This is insane!”

Tim’s expression did not display the glee that bubbled in his chest.

“We were family. But you know what they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” He dismissed Dick’s other accusations with a wave of his hand. “I have given you my terms. You have forty-eight hours to make your decision. Until then, I believe you have overstayed your welcome. You should leave.”

Green pulled at the corners of his vision as the whispers shrieked, begging him to go ahead and kill them. He couldn’t, of course, that would just invite more prying eyes to the League. But he could think about it, and that was enough.

Dick and Damian were almost at the doors when Dick stopped and turned to face Tim, his posture teenagerishly defiant.

“I don’t know who you are anymore,” he spat, as if Dick Grayson had ever truly known Timothy Drake.

Instead, Tim smiled. “I’m the Demon. And you should leave before I make you see Hell.”

A second later, they were gone. Watching them go felt like getting an injection--the pinch lasted for a second, but afterward there was no pain at all.

Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon Demon, the whispers howled as Tim’s blood sang, welcome to your kingdom come.

His hands had always been cold. Ariana used to comment on it all the time--how his touch was borderline freezing. At the time, it had been a running joke: Tim Drake, the boy made of snow, with eyes made of ice and snow-pale skin. It seemed now that even in the heat of the desert, his heart had frozen too.

Nighttime was comfortable in the desert, at least for someone accustomed to Gotham’s climate. Still, the breeze that danced across Tim’s skin left goosebumps in its wake. He couldn’t remember when he’d come out here, let alone what for. He barely even noticed how he gripped the banister of the balcony until his knuckles went stark white.

A little prickle of emotion prodded at his subconscious, but he couldn’t identify it even if he wanted to. There was no room for feelings anymore, if there had ever been. If anything, feelings had gotten him into more messes than out of them.

He had become a vigilante because he felt that Batman needed a Robin. He worshiped the ground Bruce walked on because he felt like Bruce saw him as a son. He broke the rules for Stephanie because he felt as if she could love him. He wanted to be with Conner because he felt that someone finally saw him for who he was. He rejected power time and time again because he felt that it was the right thing to do.

But feelings meant nothing. All that truly mattered was knowledge and wanting. And Tim knew more than ever. And he wanted it all.

Once, he had considered them his family. They had loved him, maybe, but they had never known him. He used to believe in a future spent fighting by their side, but he knew that was a child’s dream now--the same child who believed that he wouldn’t live to see twenty-one. Tim had no such concerns now.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that the League was his new family, nor did he need one. But they would not underestimate him or take him for granted. Here, he had respect and power, and that was enough.

The lights of the nearest city glimmered far on the horizon, promising happiness and gaiety somewhere in the night. He smiled, a secret only for him.

One day, you will rule it all, the whispers promised. One day, you will be king. And you will destroy any who stand in your way.

Long live the Demon.

[birdycurtains]

What about Tony being an old school horror director who feels like he’s about to be upstaged by Peter, a new horror director - think Blumhouse - and Tony, never having met him, both hates and fears him, until he bumps into him at a movie theater and hit it off until Peter introduces himself -des

this inspired me beyond belief, i have no idea why. i don’t think this was the direction you intended, but once i started i couldn’t stop haha. - birdy

He Calls Him Anthony

wordcount: 2,357

Friday nights were sacred. They were nights centered around going to see old movies at the IFC, and there was never to be a schedule conflict. Because that was one of the three nights he was awarded for seeing his daughter a week. 

And he would die before he didn’t take Morgan to see a truly good movie every Friday night. 

This night was Sunset Boulevard, he did always enjoy a good Wilder film, as did Morgan. Her twelve year-old self had mastered the art of the Norma Desmond gaze.

But here was Peter Fucking Parker, waltzing out of a showing down the hall. 

Morgan blearily leant into her dad's side as he attempted to speedily walk out of Parker’s field of vision.

It wasn’t that he hated Peter Parker, well maybe he did just a little. 

He was once that fresh face on the scene, basking in the limelight, being the true face of modern horror. 

But now his takes weren’t exactly fresh, and what the younger audiences were looking for. They wanted a twisted gore, with just this side of odd comic relief, that Parker had perfected while Pepper was serving Tony divorce papers.

So maybe he was envious, maybe he was just tired of everytime he attended a premier, or so much as breathed in the direction of the media, he was hounded with questions of what exactly did he think about Peter Parker?

In the beginning, he didn’t care or think much. But as trailer after trailer was put out, the movies being produced at a rapid rate while maintaining or increasing their following, even Morgan was asking her father if they could rent this, or if they could go to the cinema to see that.

And maybe he caved once, and with a hoodie, and sunglasses, a hat. For good measure of course. He went and saw one. With Morgan, because she insisted, and who was he to deprive her. 

It was good. And he resented Peter Parker for the same craft he held a torch for.

So here was Peter Parker, coming out of Casablanca. And making a bee-line towards him. 

“Mr Stark! Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark?”

God damn it. 

Tony willed his body to face the younger man. Morgan follows in suit, her eyes widening in realization, and proceeding to prod her elbow directly into her father’s side.

“Mr. Parker, well, nice to see you.” 

Tony could play nice, put on his ‘customer service’ voice, and act chummy with Peter Parker.

Although, the in-person Parker didn’t exactly match what he imagined.

This one wore thread-bare jeans, and converse that had seen better days, three years ago. 

He didn’t match the one he had seen plastered over last month's vanity fair, the pictures that had circulated his time-line a little more than his liking. 

They ran in the same circles, it wasn’t like he was actively looking for him.

“Gosh, Mr. Stark, it’s an honor to meet you really. Please, call me Peter.”

He was like a chihuahua that took a five-hour-energy-shot. 

His handshake was firm, and he slipped his glasses back up his nose as he collected himself. 

“I’m sorry for bothering you, but I thought I had seen you here before, I come here all the time y’know, every time they have a Rocky Horror showing, I’ve got tickets.” 

It was easy to catch that he was a New York native, unlike Tony himself. His Queens drawl interweaving between vowels and catching on to his r’s. It was rather cute, and personable. 

Did he just- Tony called him cute. Christ.

“My daughter and I like the classics.” He put simply smoothing down Morgan’s unruly strands. 

“Yeah, me too. I’m usually knee deep in everything going on right now, that to just enjoy the good ol’ stuff-”

He gave a dramatic sigh of pleasure, Tony felt his ears turn red.

 “That’s everything man. You would know of course. God, of course you know-  I mean”

The younger man cut himself short as he realized he was gripping Tony’s shoulder, his face and neck flushing red.

“I’m sorry- I’m probably taking up your family time. But, we should totally get together. Like talk shop or whatever?”

Peter flashed him the brightest smile, he swore the dim hallway was a little brighter.

“Yeah.”

The man was gone with a friendly wave as he jogged back to a small group of people, probably his friends, towards the exit.

Tony looked down at the ground and focused on his hand that hung limply by his side. On it was a chicken scratch phone number. 

Peter had written down his phone number. On Tony’s hand. 

And he hadn’t even noticed.

~

A few days later, Tony decides to grow a pair. He types the number into his phone, makes an individual contact for a Mr. Peter Parker.

He never thought this day would come. And he’s not sure the exact connotation behind that thought.

Does he call? Does he text?

In all honesty it has been a minute since he attempted friendship, or even communication outside of his usual social circle. 

Things had never been like this when he and Rhodey had initially become friends. Even the rest of his band of misfits had just happened naturally, never really taking this much preamble communication.

He texts.

~

They decide to meet at a small cafe around the NYU campus. Peter had said the place was quiet and usually uncrowded, one of his favorites.

Going against his gut, he trusts Peter and agrees.

Now here he is, looking presentable for the public eye, it’s a Monday. He’s just dropped off Morgan at school, and here he is. At another school.

“Anthony!”

He winces just the slightest, and is met with the vision that is Peter Parker at eight a.m. on a Monday morning. For someone so heavily criticized and praised in the public-eye, appearances must be everything on some level for the man. He doesn’t exactly aim to disappoint.

He looks so effortlessly cozy, dolled up in his black turtleneck and rust orange suede jacket, and those same glasses from the week prior perched against his brow bone. His hair looks soft, and his eyes are warm.

“Mr. Parker.”

That’s good. Set some boundaries, before you directly tell him he looks soft.

“I told you.” Peter sighs wistfully, wrapping his hands around a deep mug of hot chocolate? 

He looks up again with the same kindness and warmth.

 “Call me Peter.”

~

He invited him to dinner.

He doesn’t exactly know how it happened. It was somewhere between talking about how Peter had wound up picking up where his uncle left off, and how working as a barista in the cafe they were sitting in was Peter’s favorite job during college.

He could imagine a littler Peter, running around behind the counter making drinks and warming up scones. His open textbook to the left of the register, just like he described.

It made a fluttering in his chest somewhere, to know a personal and small detail of the Peter Parker. 

Not in a, I’m a huge fan of the Peter Parker.

But, in a, this kind young man, I am having the privilege of getting to know, kind of way.

The point is he invited him to dinner, at this high-end steak house he’s familiar with. A reservation for eight. 

It’s eight forty-five, and he’s on his second glass of red wine, Peter’s on his third.

Things are comfortably warm, they’re talking about Tony’s first movie, and how much of a shitshow it was, but the critics loved it.

The steak is amazing, they order dessert.

And he doesn’t budge or comment when Peter hooks his foot around his own. He only smiles softly, and watches Peter’s curious eyes watch as he brings a piece of poached pear to his mouth.

He hails Peter a cab at the end of the night, and Peter thanks him for dinner.

He calls him Anthony, once again.

~

Peter calls him this time.

It’s in the late hours of the night, and Tony, never really one for sleeping through the night anyway, has a lapful of script he’s reviewing, making sure it fits his artistic vision and what-not.

His voice is rough around the edges, a haze of sleep almost.

Tony wonders what it sounds like in person. If he were in bed next to him, or with him. Maybe with a lapful of Peter Parker, and not dialogue bleeding into his iris’.

He invites Tony over for Thursday night.

Peter knows the custodial schedule. That should mean something right?

He texts him an address later in the day. It’s in the Upper East Side, not too far from him, it’s in a cozy neighborhood of brownstones. 

Very Peter Parker.

~

Tony, will never understand Rocky Horror.

Peter had invited him when he arrived a little late, just five minutes, but he could see the worry drip off his shoulders as he greeted him at the door.

His home was a beautiful thing, filled to the brim with the most eclectic vintage interior, but it somehow matched.

He had learned from their meeting at the cafe, that Peter’s aunt owned a store that specialized in all things vintage and antique. It hadn’t surprised him to see it rubbed off on him.

In the downstairs parlor, it was decorated with dozens of Peter’s movie posters. Some were beta’s that Peter and an artist had worked on together. Peter flushed when he caught him staring. 

Tony would never get used to the fact that this Peter Parker was shy and not open about his work in his personal life, he liked to keep things very separate. 

He watched him put together a heaping bowl of kettle corn and followed him up a winding staircase, Peter remarked it was his favorite thing about the house.

He told him they were watching Rocky Horror Picture Show. 

Tony had never seen it in his entire life, he knew the cult following it had, but he couldn’t piece together that this is something Peter loved so much, but was so different from the direction he took with his work. 

He only smiled and agreed and saddled up with Peter on the pink floral couch. 

They’d never done this before, but it felt so familiar, like they had been through this scenario a dozen times, and it was just natural to lean into each other and fumble for the sugary popcorn between them.

It was around the scene when Frank N Furter was doing the backstroke with the rest of the cast in the swimming pool, that Tony realized their closeness.

How he had his arm wrapped around Peter, and Peter had just melted into his side.

The younger man must’ve felt the pressure of Tony’s gaze burning into the side of his face, since he turned his head to face him. 

It was all very cliche in this sense. 

A romantic scene directed and scripted and cast.

Except the love interests were him and Peter.

Peter kissed him first. That’s all he can clearly recall, the seconds prior being a blur of ‘is this actually happening’ to ‘it’s actually happening, do something’.

Finally the cognitive gears in his brain rekindle their function, and his lips are moving against Peter’s. He’s so warm and soft, he tastes like cinnamon sugar. 

Peter’s hands are grounding against his chest, holding him to reality, in any other case he would’ve drifted off somewhere because he has to be dreaming.

But this is real. And Peter’s real.

And, oh no. 

Tony gently pulls away from Peter’s grasp, and takes a breath. And Peter’s got this smile on his face like he won the grand prize at a carnival game.

“Peter- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. This is not going to happen.”

The smile falls faster on Peter’s face than the pit in his stomach.

There’s something hurt and cold in his eyes. The warmth is gone, and the guilt gnaws at Tony as he flees the Parker residence. 

~

It’s been two weeks since the Rocky Horror incident. 

Peter’s texted, and called. He believes he’s got Anthony all figured out. 

To be truthful he does. 

He had called Anthony out on his behavior six days ago, and hasn’t sent another message since.

Peter left a voicemail stating that Anthony wasn’t going to let himself enjoy something without finding an excuse for why he can’t. Peter wants this, and Anthony wants this, then that is all that matters. He is going to be filming at this location for the next two weeks, he can make his peace by showing up or not.

Tony stared at the message for ten minutes before Morgan told him to go get Peter.

She knew.

She always knows.

~

When Tony saw Peter again he was rushing past people ushering him to stop.

But Tony was on a mission, he felt like one of his main characters in the final leg of the movie, finally making it out alive, and this was the final call, where he would live to the credits, or the antagonist would leave no survivors. 

Peter was beautiful.

Even if he did look like Prom Queen Carrie at the moment. 

His hands and clothes were covered in fake blood, helping arrange the set to a T.

When Peter looked up at him, he knew he would make it to the credits.

His boy ran at him and swallowed him in his warmth. 

It was a pining, longing, and apologetic kiss, with bloody hands cradling Tony’s face.

“You’re dumb, and you hurt my feelings Anthony.” Peter whispered as he pulled away. 

“I’m sorry.” He replies, his eyes watery, insecurity wrung out like a rag, he wanted Peter and Peter wanted him. He chanted it a million times into the crook of Peter’s neck, just holding him. 

Peter pulled away and held him by his shoulders “It’s okay Anthony.”

He smiled that big beautiful warm smile of his, and pushed him away.

“Now. Get off my set. I’ll see you at nine, bring Morgan, they’re playing Psycho tonight.”

[felinalain]

Cates garbage list of problems

- Eddie being retconned as a “ egregiously depressed suicidal bastard “ (thanks Symbean) which is against Eddie very core.

- Symbiote being retconned as a cruel manipulative abuser.

- Both main characters being retconned several steps back into their character development, for the sole purpose of Cates getting to develop them again, except he’s doing it by destroying everything that made them “them”. And it’s even worse compared to the run that came just before (like Carnage 2016 and Costa run). Like, this wouldn’t be so bad if this run was happening right after the 2000s. But it’s not.

- Eddie cancer arc being retconned: makes no sense because of anti-venom and mister negative. Also if the symbiote gave Eddie cancer, why would he abandon him because of the cancer in the 2003 hunger?

- Eddie memories being changed by the symbiote: makes no sense because other character remember the same events like Eddie did, and other symbiotes could/would have told him about it

- Mary being retconned, only to be replaced by Cates OC Dylan (note, I like Dylan, but the way he’s being shoehorned in is what I have a problem with)

- Dylan entire origin (codexes?)

- Anne have been raped by the symbiote. (forced pregnancy is rape) edit: Recent issues have mentioned that symbiote codexes can only “affix” to existing foetus, so Anne was pregnant, from Eddie? And somehow the codexe made the baby an hybrid? Unsure and unclear, better than rape option, still stupid overall

- Codexes as a whole being nothing more than plot gimmicks. They can do anything and everything depending on what the plot need. They can resurrect the dead, imprint people, transmit info, make hybrid babies, and probably do the washing and coffee while at it

- Red is dead and Cletus barely reacted

- Cletus HATES fate and destiny with a passion, why is he going along with Knull bullshit?

- There is no Carnage in this event, only Grendel and Cletus. Garnage? (thanks mushroom for the name, it works)

- Why do the Venom symbiote codexes matter so much to bring Knull back? Who knows! Not Cates apparently!

- Shriek and Scorn being killed off as sacrifices goes against all of their respective characters: !Shriek was never a meek submissive, even if she WAS obsessed with Carnage. She was always shown as strong and fighting. She even fucking SLAPPED Carnage once when she had enough of his bullshit! !Scorn fought against Carnage in Carnage USA and she was shown to hate him and want him caught at all cost... we never get told why she’d become a zealous follower of his, and she dies with her character butchered

- Shriek being killed to bring back demogoblin, who never even got that well along with Carnage, only to then give him tits and have him make out with Carnage, because it’s fine to do that now that he has tits, but Carnage couldn’t just make out with Shriek, that wouldn’t have worked, got to have those monster-tits

- In fact, every single named women that Cates wrote into this shitshow is dead, or was retro-actively raped. Every single one. The only survivors so far are in side-stories that he didn’t write himself. (and that’s not saying all side stories women survived) Here is a full list, to not loose track, adding the most recent entries as they appear, because apparently he’s not done yet:

Scorn: character butchered, killed Mary: erased from existence Anne: retconed into a rape victim (of sort, see above point about her) Shriek: killed to give Demogoblins tits, so he and Carnage could make out Louise Kasady: rectoned to have died in child birth Alejandra (A ghost rider): Killed Sadie and Tess (from the family taken over by the life Symbiotes): alive, in tubes in the makers lab? Traumatised. Patricia : Killed by Garnage Aunt Sarah (Andi’s aunt) : killed by carnage worms Andi: Still Alive (now sharing her body with Donna and Scream) Misty: Still Alive (for now)

- In Alejandra case, she died for her codex, despite that she never, ever had a symbiote herself. The excuse for her death being that the spirit of vengeance had the codex because it bonded to Venom once, so it passed her the codex (because spirit are known for having spines, as we all know) That is literally making up bullshit to get to kill a woman character.

- Now let’s compare this to the number of male characters that got the short end of the stick this run: Lee price: dead (cf more on that below) Mac gargan: paralysed Osborn senior: still crazy The Judge (from the side story): dead Jameson Junior (wolfman): escaped carnag-ification, probably traumatized? Miles:  escaped carnag-ification, probably traumatized? Sadie brother and father (from the family taken over by the life-Symbiotes): alive, in tubes in the makers lab? Traumatised. 

Now assume any character not on this list is still alive, and the worst they got was normal super-hero type injuries while fighting Garnage legions... When you know that there is an overwhelming majority of male characters in comics, do you see the problem with the fact that nearly all the victims are women?

- The entire scene with Miles getting caught by Carnage, being told by two writers, and cates version makes no sense and makes Eddie an idiot “Mac get to Carnage!” “Mac Get away from Carnage!” (thanks lobac for nailing this)

- On the subject of Miles, let’s go back in time to earlier Venom issues when Miles got mad at Venom, as if he’d forgotten about his reality jump, except Miles had SEVERAL issues in which it was proven that not only he remember he jumped universe, he already MET Venom before this, when Flash still had the symbiote. So WHY would he react like this now? (we all know why, Cates doesn’t give a damn about anyone run but his)

- The symbiote was braindead, suddenly it’s not. We never got told why or how

- Venom symbol was never copied from spider-man, it’s actually a dragon because knull symbol is a dragon! Look at my edgy oc design! I didn’t copy Venom, he copied me!

- Making Carl Brock a physical abuser, and a poor man, when we were told in ASM that he’d never raised a hand on Eddie and it was emotional neglect that turned Eddie into what he was. Less important but making Carl poor when in ASM when we first met him he had a maid and a fucking mansion on a hill.

- Everything of Eddie’s past actually seems more pulled from the cursed Dark Origin than from the ASM issues where Venom first appeared. (Carl, the house, the grimdark, etc)

- Eddie personality being reduced to “gruff bland dudebro with manpain” instead of over-the-top, literate, dangerous, lethal protector. Heck, Dylan feels more like Eddie than Eddie himself!

- On that line, Norman feels more like Carnage than Carnage has the entire run!

- Absolutely no acknowledgement of the symbiote abuse of Eddie, it’s being brushed over without so much as a single line mention, like “we’ll talk about it once Carnage is dead” Edit: we are now several issues past the whole abuse thing, Garnage event is over, and their relationship switched back to being happy partners with still no explanation or acknowledgement, leading me to ask: “Why the fuck retcon all that shit in, if it’s to then ignore it? What was the point, aside from pissing off the fans by making shit up in a desperate (and failed) attempt at edginess?”

- The life fondation symbiotes being once again treated as monsters with no personality when their stint with deadpool AND scott both proved the opposite. Yes they’re being possessed by knull, but it’s barely made clear and barely shown whether or not they’re fine with it. (And they should not be)

- Lee price character was murdered before he was. He always was a cold, calculating bastard working from the shadows, and was created and used to demonstrate that host can abuse symbiotes. In Cates run he was just a stupid braggard. His death wasn’t satisfying because he wasn’t himself.

- Ravencroft and the people in it (mentally ill people) are represented as monsters, and the establishment itself is made to look like a b-movie asylum. I know comics have a hard time with respecting mentally ill people, but I still wasn’t expecting it to be that bad

- Why does Eddie still have so many wounds? He got a big-ass black eye, why isn’t the symbiote healing him like it always did in the past? Eddie never stayed hurt, the symbiote never LET him stay hurt... so why is it doing that now? (never solved, past Garnage event Eddie is now healed)

- Eddie and Sleeper reunion (AC3) is as cold as an iceberg. All past interaction they had, Sleeper called Eddie “father” and Eddie called Sleeper “his child/baby” And now it’s “... oh yeah you’re here. Cool I guess?” Also Sleeper is a cat. Why? Who the fuck know!

- Eddie refusing to kill Norman Osborn. Norman Fucking Osborn. And why? To not set a bad exemple for Dylan. Who is not even present at the time. Who is in deadly danger because of garnage. Let me re-iterate. Eddie LETHAL protector Brock, refuse to kill Norman Green Goblin Osborn.

- (AC3) The symbiote suddenly doesn’t mind dumping Eddie, to jump on someone more powerful. We spent months with shit being shovelled at us about how possessive it is, and how it fucked up Eddie to keep him forever, and then suddenly, poof. It’s jumping ship.

- (AC3)  The symbiote is evil because it's staying with Eddie, then it's Evil because it's leaving Eddie. Not even mentioning that it did this because it's trying to kill Garnage. Ya know the thing that's trying to kill literally EVERYONE?

- (AC4) Garnage can see the green door, when only gama-radied people can. Garnage is not gama-radied. This is apparently a dig from Cates at the writer from Hulk who think Knull is not that good. The whole dialogue certainly seem that way.

- (AC4) Eddie “I can’t fight I need to protec my child!” Brock “Wait, spider-man protect my child I must fight” Again with the constant change of motivation that give you whiplash. Of the bad kind.

- (AC4) Eddie spent the whole run being made to hate symbiote, bath into codices to create a new Venom.

- (AC4) Miles who had previously gained control of the Garnage piece attached to him, now somehow has lost control again, and Eddie has to fight him. Anyone who read the Miles tie-in know this is bullshit. Cates did not consult the other writers on this, once again.

- (AC4) The bonus note at the end, presenting Eddie having lost the symbiote as an addict, when at the time, Eddie reaction was to exercise like a madman to get stronger, to get revenge for the symbiote. The only one to ever make Eddie a sad mopping mess is cates and yet he mocked that very concept. Am I the only one seeing the arrogant irony here?

- Garnage die in one-shot. After all the hype and build-up and “he’s invincible! we’re doomed!”. He dies. In one shot. In the most anti-climatic way possible.

- Dylan kept a piece of Garnage. Why the fuck would he do that?! Why the fuck did he become suddenly so stupid?!

- Ravencroft side story can be summed up in a single (if long) sentence: “Hey what if we changed everything that ever made Cletus interesting, like the chaos and killing, and made him an agent of destiny, born from a lineage of serial killers, while throwing in some racist bullshit in our comic! Doesn’t that sound neat?”

- I’m astonished at the length at which Cates will go, to avoid writing the main characters of the serie he’s supposed to be writing. He retconned Eddie into an entirely different man to not have to write him, and he use every single excuse he can come up with to avoid writing the symbiote. So far, the symbiote:  (numbers aren’t fully accurate I went from memory) - Was there but silenced with medications - Was brain-dead  - Was a dog  - Was gone and got used in a space viking elf war  - Was back to fight Garnage and kept being treated like everything it said or did was evil  - Was held hostage and silenced by Garnage - Got blown up with a nuke, on the “Honeymoon Island” as we call it

Please someone tell me: if C*ates hates Venom’s character so much, why is he still writing them?

I probably forgot some, but if I did, feel free to add

Also, a personal thought but the pacing of the whole run is awful. We go for half a dozen issues of nothing but exposition dumps, then cluttered rushed action scenes, and then back to expo-dump... that’s not a good story-telling pace.

edited 17 TIMES.

[drexodthegunslinger]

Why is it only Cayde you focus on? What about other destiny characters?

Okay, that’s a fair point. Let’s go shall we?

1: The Speaker.

Said literally three things in the entire franchise. He told you to fight but that we can’t win, he gave a speech nobody listened to because we were all thinking “is this it? Really?”, and then he told Ghaul to kill himself. Yeah the Speaker dies but who really gives a shit? We’re not given any reason to care are we?

2: Zavalla.

Apparently this boy does not understand promotions. “We killed all the Cabal leaders, why are they not gone?” Idk mate, maybe because that’s not how that works. “We stepped into a war with the cabal” yeah and you’re doing pretty shit mate. Sure he’s supposedly busy managing and planning shit, but really it doesn’t translate well in game. He might as well have two lines in the entire game where he alternates between “mah walls” and “we stepped into a war with the cabal” and he’d be the same.

3: Ikora.

Good in the crucible apparently? All she does these days is stand around looking stern and running an intelligence group that can be brought to a grinding halt by a fucking storm. Ikora, listen, if your satellites can’t withstand a storm they’re not much use are they?

4: Cayde.

TLDR, Bungie killed your fave.

5: Eris.

Creepy Hive lady. Very convenient for her to turn up in time for the Hive DLC’s and then disappear when they weren’t at the forefront. Will admit, I was mildly surprised she wasn’t brought back for the Warmind DLC because it has Hive. What did she really do though? She gave us some advice on Hive, had her shit stolen, and was looked down on by pretty much everyone. Only redeemable feature I can thing of is the rule 34 fan art of her which is great if you like generic rule 34 art where the woman’s chest and ass are exaggerated to shit.

Speaking of which, Bungie, I know the Destiny Franchise takes place in a period where food shortages are probably frequent, but mix it up with your fucking character designs. Not everyone is the same height and build you cowards.

6: At this point my mind went blank and I had to google “destiny characters”

7: Ghost.

Look at what the Speaker did. It took a multitool and gave it sentience.

The Ghost is really inconsistent, let’s be real. You want me to hack a lazer grid on earth, sure but that’s going to take precisely three waves of enemies and you’d better not miss one. You want me to access Cabal consoles on our very first time accessing the computer shit of an alien that likely has a numerical system that works off of base 3? Easy shit, no waiting involved.

Yeah, the “talk to your ghost” thing was great and honestly, I liked that. It was a moment for you to sit down ant talk to your Ghost, the one constant companion you have. It was a good moment.

And then they go right back to alternating between being a torch and a lockpick.

Bungie really fucked up with the Ghost-Guardian interaction in vanilla D2. The two of them nearly died, Light was lost, and the two don’t sit down and have a “talk to ghost” moment at any point? That’s theft of a possibly great emotional moment.

8: Crota

He is bad because he kills people

9: Oryx

He is also bad because he kills people and he’s mad you killed his son who he can bring back because We didn’t destroy Crota’s soul or something?

10: The EXO Stranger

In going to find the tweet I wanted I found something worse. Luke Smith had said he felt they had wrapped up her arc and quite frankly I haven’t heard a more objectively wrong thing come out of a human beings mouth with regards to games in a long time.

But it gets worse. Because 4 fucking years later, bungie dropped clues to who she might be if you paid enough attention to the shitshow of the Warmind DLC. According to lore from the dlc and the rasputin arg, there are hints that the EXO Stranger is Ana Bray’s sister who went back in time from the future as an exo to?

No, you know what. That’s bullshit. Bungie thought they finished the exo stranger arc, which was a shambling corpse of writing itself, then learnt actually they were wrong and tried to wrap it up.

Except none of it’s confirmed and explains nothing. Fuck the stranger, and fuck everyone involved in the creation of her character and her arc, learn how to write a story.

11: While we’re here, Ana bray.

Bungie’s first confirmed non-straight woman. I don’t know if it was confirmed if she’s a lesbian, bi, pan, or what so I’m using non-straight until I get confirmation otherwise. Had her girlfriend introduced on the fourth day of pride in a comic where she died. Great start.

But what about Ana herself?

Honestly, I couldn’t tell you. I tried to play Warminds but the Hive ruined it because Bungie is quite frankly not great at writing their own game are they?

12: Ghaul

Quite frankly, my favourite character. I dropped enough money on D2 to get the collectors edition cabal book which gave quite a lot of backstory to the campaign, however I’ll keep this to what Bungie actually make accessible in their game.

He’s an arsehole. He’s just the antagonist of the day, let’s be real. To understand that his behaviours and attitudes might somewhat stem from how he was shunned in mainstream cabal society and how this loneliness and bitterness from being an orphan as well as a runt was used to manipulate him into being how he is today, is completely lost on anyone who didn’t read his lore.

The game doesn’t put any significant thought into him on the actual disc that you play because, like Crota, like Oryx, like Skolas, he’s just an episodic villain.

13: Osiris.

Local Man Who Says He Doesn’t Need Help, Actually Needs Help.

How bad was this dlc? I mean, sure, we ran through the same area repeatedly, killed a Vex reskin of Oryx, and watched a Cabal jump on a vex. Twice. Once in a mission and again in a strike.

I can’t think of what Osiris did in this DLC except think he was able to do this himself, and then be the only reason we could damage Oryx- I mean, uh Panoptes.

Wait. Did they give a Vex guy that tries to simulate all the universes a name after an ancient Greek figure who was the source of the “eyes of Argus” stuff? I think they did.

14: Panoptes.

Bungie aren’t even trying at this point. He’s just Vex Oryx.

15: Amanda Holiday.

She has a robotic leg, an american(?) accent, and didn’t stop Cayde from doing his stupid bullshit plan that she knew was illegal. She also had a quest for an exotic shotgun that makes her different from other vendors. I get that as a vendor she doesn’t need an in depth backstory but Bungie, come on. If you’re going to make her important to parts of the story, give us reason to care about her.

16: Tess Eververse

Is there an actual ingame reason for her to be there? Is Silver explained? Is Bright Dust? As far as I can tell, no. Literally bolted on because Activision couldn’t let EA one-up them in microtransaction bullshittery.

17: Mara Sov

Cold, aloof, had fallen as pets. Was it confirmed how dead she is?

18: Uldren Sov

The only episodic villain I like aside from Ghaul. Uldren is great once you realise that he is how he is because of a bitterness towards Guardians. I mean, we turned up in his house demanding stuff, and the City on at least one occasion, let the Reef take a big loss for us with no acknowledgement. I can understand why he’d be pissed off in the first place and if he was somewhat possessed then sure that’s not going to help.

Most people are just pissed with him because he killed Cayde, but now he’s back as a Guardian that anger seems to have calmed. I’ve stopped playing the game since Warminds and I can’t say for anything that happened since, and while I hope Uldren as a Guardian grows as a character I won’t hold my breath.

19: Variks.

He stayed loyal to the reef and was helpful for a brief stint before we all shamed him for his mine dismantling kink.

20: Is that it?

I can’t think of anyone else. Sure, there are vendors and other side characters, but honestly, those are cardboard cutouts of a character with no depth of anything to them.

Sure, you could say “but drexmun, what about The Drifter, or the Spider, or Obb the Soulcarver?”

And I would say “yes, but two of those are from after I stopped playing the game and I can’t make an analysis on characters I know nothing about, and also you leave Obb out of this.”

[dates-with-cas]

A Question of Lust

|| Read it on AO3

Chapter one is up!

Ten years ago, Dean Winchester had a plan: he was going to buy a house, marry his long-time girlfriend and become a rockstar. He'd been planning for years, saving up all the money from his paper route, odd jobs that he worked with his dad, and any money that came in from the gigs his band played. They were a little too rock-n-roll for Lawrence, KS, so it wasn't a lot, but any time they played out of town they did very well for themselves. So well, that Dean was certain if they got in with the right people, they'd make it big; in fact, he was depending on it.

Everything was going well until just after Dean's 21st birthday, when his dad died suddenly of a stroke. That hit the whole family hard, but Dean had always looked up to his Dad, and wanted to be close with him, even if that wasn't always the case, and it broke something in him that he didn't know how to fix. His whole life felt like it was spiraling out control and he wasn't able to get a grip on anything. He suffered through debilitating depression that led to alcoholism, which subsequently led to the breakup of the band only a few months later. Even Lisa, who stuck by him through everything, had a hard time dealing with him with his lack of interest in anything and anyone.

It wasn't until Charlie Bradbury entered his life, nearly five years later, that Dean found something worth getting up for in the morning again. He had burned through his savings being unemployed for so long, and was therefore still living at home, feeling guilty and miserable about taking advantage of his newly widowed mother. Charlie was enthusiastic and bubbly and, as it turned out, just what Dean needed. She brought him out of his protective cocoon, and pushed him to do the things that made him uncomfortable. He may never have left the house if it wasn't for her, but she shared the story of losing her Mom, and Dean found that he could confide in her in a way he couldn't with anyone else. She was a stranger, so he didn't have to worry about her judging him, and she could understand how he felt. The two became fast friends, and slowly but surely, she got Dean up and about again, and even found him a job working for her and her fiancee at the comic book shop they owned.

As he started learning about the various comic universes, either by reading them or talking to the customers, Dean found something else to pour his time and energy into, other than just drinking and sleeping. It was a long process, one that involved Charlie convincing him to seek professional help to cope with his dad's death, but he did, eventually, pull himself out of his hole. Looking back, he's not sure exactly when how the switch in his life happened, but it started with Charlie, as most things in his life seem to do.

Lisa left him one day in May, and Dean had been wallowing in self-pity until Charlie called him up the following evening, sobbing because her fiancee Gilda had to take a last-minute trip to Australia for some family emergency. The venue for their wedding had already been booked, and they had family coming from all over, so it was too late to reschedule, but Charlie couldn't plan the whole wedding on her own; they were barely getting it done together, what with running a business and the rest of their everyday life.

Dean stepped in at that point; unable to leave Charlie stranded after everything she'd done for him, and needing a distraction himself, offered to help her with anything she needed. He knew fuck all about weddings, but neither did Charlie, so they did a lot of research, and asked their friends for a lot of favours. The one thing that came in handy was all the people Dean knew, either on his own, or by association - turns out when you know a lot of florists and bakers, they're willing to give you a good deal.

Between the two of them, they managed to pull the whole wedding together under budget, and before Gilda even got home, and for someone who had just had his life torn to shreds, Dean felt pretty fucking good about the whole thing. Charlie was ecstatic, and Dean was glad to finally be able to do something to pay her back for everything.

It was only supposed to be a one-time thing, a favour for Charlie, but then people started dropping hints. His mom was the worst culprit, subtly trying to get his help to plan Thanksgiving, then a Christmas party, then New Years, and it didn't stop with her. So many of Charlie's friends were shocked to find the two of them had planned the entire wedding alone, and would not-so-subtly ask if Dean could help with theirs, so he would, and everything would turn out great, and then more people would ask.

It was Charlie who initially suggested he start a business, and although Dean was doubtful, she eventually talked him into it. It wasn't strictly weddings at first, but with so many parties and events taking place all year, Dean found himself stretched thin, and decided to narrow down his focus.

Three years down the line, he's nearly thirty, he owns a small hole-in-the-wall office that he has yet to set up, and he's got a good reputation as a wedding planner in his area, so business is fairly frequent. Dean's happy, for the most part. He loves his job - a lot more than he thought he ever would - but it keeps him from getting out there and meeting someone himself, so he's alone a lot of the time. There's Benny, but he's not more than just a friend most of the time - once upon a time there may have been a chance for them, but Benny made it clear at every turn that dating was not his thing. Dean, however, was dumb enough to hang on to their awkward friends with benefits relationship anyway.

It works for them, or at least it gets Dean by - being a single wedding planner is a trying task, and sometimes it's better to come home to someone who only wants to fuck you than it is to no one at all. It helps that most of the people he works with are good people - his current bride notwithstanding - but his nights can get pretty lonely.

The couple he's currently working with are, probably, good people. At least Dean's willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, despite the fact that his bride - Alyssa Jones - is likely the most spoiled, entitled human being in all of Kansas. It's not just that she tries to make him go over budget on everything - and then berate him for it later the few times he lets her have her way- but she also treats him like some sort of servant. Now, Dean is willing to do a hell of a lot for his brides, but there's a point where it's just too much, and Ally is always trying to get him to cross that line. She really is the worst, though; most of Dean's brides - and grooms, for that matter - are all decent, friendly people who just want to make sure that the happiest day of their lives is the best that it can be. There's a certain amount of stress involved, but that's to be expected, and putting up with a couple days of disagreement is understandable in this line of work.

Truth be told though, Dean loves his job, difficult couples and all. He'd rather be doing this than pretty much anything he can think of, and while that's all well and good, he doesn't appreciate having to wake up at six am to go and be complained to for however long Ally can stand to be in his presence.

Three more months, he reminds himself, kicking the blankets off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He only has three more months with this couple, and if he's lucky, most of that will be spent with Ally's mother, who is infinitely more responsible than her daughter.

Dean skips his usual morning shower in favor of coffee and toast, and sits himself down at the over-cluttered desk in the living room. His roommate - Benny - is always on him about getting his office set up or, at the very least moving it into his bedroom, but never does anything more than grumble about it, so Dean continues on as usual.

He relocates a stack of bridal magazines and a folder for his last couple, and pulls up his emails, hoping Ally hasn't got some new idea she wants for this week. Surprisingly, there's only three emails: one suggesting he take some online survey to win $1,000,000; one from Charlie that is likely either pictures of cute animals or some long, rambling invite to their next games night; and a third from one Castiel Novak that Dean initially glosses over because it looks like junk mail, because what kind of name is Castiel?

Turns out Castiel is the name of a prospective client, one who really seems to have his shit together, which is a the polar opposite of what he's dealing with right now. Dean considers taking him on based on that alone, but he does still have three months left with the Joneses. It might be long enough that he can make it work, considering he wouldn't have to meet with Castiel and/or his fiancee nearly as often as Ally right now, so he could probably work it. Besides, he could use a level-headed couple after the chaos and disarray of the Joneses. He mulls it over for a few minutes, before deciding to email Castiel back and ask to meet with him. He can let the guy know his situation, and talk to him in person before making a decision, and then if he doesn't want to be second to the Joneses, Castiel can find someone else to plan his wedding. Plus, if he seems like he's going to be another shitshow, Dean can turn him down with the Joneses as a viable excuse; it's perfect. He quickly emails Castiel back, letting him know that he is still working with another couple, but he would like to meet to find out if they'd be a good match.

Finishing that, he changes his mind and decides to have a shower after all.

Before he can make it to the bathroom, Benny stumbles blearily out of his bedroom and pushes in front of him, grumbling about having to work in half an hour. Most of the time, Dean stays out of Benny's business, and Benny pays him the same respect - the whole sex thing notwithstanding - but he's getting really sick of Benny's three hour nights and basically killing himself slowly because no one will hire another chef. He yells as much through the bathroom door. He says as much, and Benny grunts at him.

"What am I supposed to do, let 'em flounder?"

"Uh, yeah? Then maybe they'll realize they need to hire a new chef? You can't do this yourself, man, you need some sleep. When did you get home last night?"

"I dunno, three?"

"Benny-" he's about to launch into a rant when, luckily for Benny, his phone buzzes in his pocket. "You're lucky," he grumbles, "but you really do need to say no once in a while." Benny mutters something in response, but Dean has already left the hall, heading to the living room where the shower won't interrupt his call.

"Dean Winchester," he answers, perching on the arm of the couch.

"Dean, I'm glad I could reach you. It's Castiel Novak, I just got your email." Dean's caught off guard, because this guy's voice is something else; low and husky, and sexy as fuck.

"I'm glad to hear from you, I was hoping we could arrange a meeting, sometime this week if you're available?"

"That would be perfect, my fiancee is coming into town this week, but she'll be gone again for a little while after, so any time after tomorrow is good. The earlier the better."

"How about Friday, then?"

"Friday is perfect."

[reactingtosomething]

Reacting to X-Men: The Dark Phoenix Saga (1994)

The Living Embodiment of “Bitch, You Thought”

The Setup: Caroline Siede is a TV and film critic whose work has appeared in The AV Club, Quartz, The Mary Sue, and Vox, among others; an occasional theatre and film director, including of a web series Kris wrote; a superhero enthusiast in general and an X-Men superfan in particular; and to our great honor and everlasting vague surprise, a friend of Reacting to Something.

Kris remembered from this (excellent) X-Men: Apocalypse tweet storm that Caroline’s favorite fictional character ever is Jean Grey. Somewhere between then and the news that Jessica Chastain might join Sophie Turner, Jennifer Lawrence, et al. in X-Men: Dark Phoenix, he learned that Miri is also a big X-Men fan. And Miri is the only RtS regular who didn’t work on that web series, so this two-part Guest Reaction on X-Men cartoons basically had to happen.

Spoilers ahead, I guess?, for a decades-old story that practically redefined its medium and is on track for its third screen adaptation in our lifetimes. Post-chat notes and comics trivia from Kris in italics.

MIRI: Hi! This is Miri

CAROLINE: Hello!

MIRI: Ready?

CAROLINE: I am!

MIRI: Excellent!

My first instinct is to talk about [X-Men: The Animated Series], then [X-Men: Evolution], then some general yelling about how the two compare. What do you think?

CAROLINE: That sounds perfect to me!

MIRI: Awesome. Shall we be chronological about it?

(Secret motive: I have many feelings about the fashions in the Animated Series that I cannot contain for much longer)

CAROLINE: Ahaha. Well let's go for it then!

Had you seen any of the series before?

MIRI: None. At least not that I recall--there may have been reruns that I don’t remember at some point.

And did you watch it all the way through?

I was super interested by the story structure. It has seasons, but each season is a collection of 4ish episode stories. Was there a narrative for the whole season, or not really?

CAROLINE: Not at all. It was a big part of my young childhood but only in the sense that I watched it on TV a lot and loved the characters. I doubt I even cared about or followed the plots.

MIRI: Gotcha

CAROLINE: Again, I'm not exactly an expert. But I believe the storytelling arcs were pretty self-contained with character stuff bleeding over across the seasons

But this Dark Phoenix arc was of course a direct follow-up to the earlier Phoenix arc

MIRI: Cool. Seems like a similar structure to early seasons of Doctor Who

Yes, let’s talk about Phoenix/Dark Phoenix

First of all, I think it’s safe to say that Dark Phoenix is the living embodiment of “Bitch, you thought” memes

CAROLINE: Ha! I also just want to throw it out there that Jean Grey is my all-time favorite superhero

And yes, Dark Phoenix is an (insane) badass

MIRI: I had never seen a version where the Phoenix is a separate entity rather than a part of Jean that had been walled off inside of her

CAROLINE: Although I do believe that's the comic book origin story

I think TAS is fairly close to comic book canon

But the "internal" Dark Phoenix thing seems to have become the movie and TV norm now

KRIS: Though in general I don’t think of myself as a stickler for comics canon -- having come to comics, I think like many millennials, through various 90s cartoons -- this Phoenix thing does bum me out, partly for how big a deal the Phoenix Force is to the Marvel universe at large, along with characters like the Shi’ar who were introduced in that story. The Avengers vs. X-Men event that spun into 2012′s very successful Marvel NOW! relaunch (one of the things that made recent Marvel comics accessible to relatively casual readers like me) was built around the Avengers trying to permanently end the existential threat of the Phoenix.

MIRI: Interesting. My deep love of the X-men comes solely from the Evolution cartoon. I have no true history knowledge

(Don’t @ me, twitter)

CAROLINE: I'm kind of in the same boat with TAS although I do own a massive encyclopedia of X-Men comic book trivia

MIRI: I hope that sits proudly on your coffee table

CAROLINE: Of course! But I think with everything from character design to storylines, TAS pulled pretty directly from the comics

K: The character designs are specifically the Chris Claremont/Jim Lee era of “Blue Team” and “Gold Team,” recently re-invoked in two of the many X-Men titles spinning out of the recent Inhumans vs. X-Men crossover

(The Phoenix stories are from an earlier, Lee-less Claremont run.)

MIRI: I DEFINITELY want to discuss costumes at some point

CAROLINE: Agreed! But one other thing that really struck me about the Dark Phoenix is just how epic in scope it is.

MIRI: The structure does also feel more comic book-y to me--stories told over a few issues, then a new story,e tc

Oh yes, let’s definitely stay on her for now

Yeah, I was shocked to end up IN SPACE

K: The Shi’ar are pretty wild

CAROLINE: I think that's an element of comic book storytelling that doesn't really get adapted onto the big screen 

I mean obviously the MCU is massive

But their crossovers are a huge event

Whereas comic books (and cartoons) can just get epic whenever they feel like it

This one went from a sexy pirate story to a massive interstellar gladiator battle.

K: I don’t know Caroline super well, but I feel confident saying that Space is one of her Top 5 Favorite Things

MIRI: Sidebar: Katherine Janeway and Jean Grey are into the same types of romance novels/holodramas, pass it on

But to your actual point--I was really surprised when they defeated Dark Phoenix at the end of the third episode. I thought the whole thing was going to be an earthbound mutant battle, and then suddenly there’s a space empress!

I like that freedom, which is definitely not a part of most of the film/tv versions.

CAROLINE: Yeah! The stories can literally go anyway. It's really fun to watch. 

We even get a little Thor cameo

Albeit briefly

MIRI: Right!

That kind of reminder that it’s all out there and connected is nice, and in this format doesn’t overburden the story

CAROLINE: But I also think the Dark Phoenix arc does a good job grounding all that craziness in character drama

MIRI: Overall yes, but I don’t entirely buy the motivations of the (Dark) Phoenix

They lose me a little with the fact that Jean and Phoenix are both super great/good beings, but combined they’re evil

Like, there are also exhilarating happy emotions. Why isn’t she eating ice cream and having orgasms and looking at puppy gifs online?

CAROLINE: I agree that the plotting is messy as hell, but I always love stories about strong women being afraid of their own power. So I'm kind of willing to overlook how little sense it makes

MIRI: Fair! And the emotional ties within the Xmen work very nicely

CAROLINE: I think that was far and away what I cared about most

The Hellfire Club got a little boring after a while

But I love watching the X-Men be friends

Which I think TAS does really well

MIRI: I actually thought the whole “Kill me Logan, while I’m in control enough to let you” think worked a bit better in X3, but obviously it had this to build off of

Yes, I liked the friend dynamics! I’m a huge sucker for characters actually liking each other

CAROLINE: Umm, I reject the notion that anything about X3 worked on any level.

MIRI: hahahahahahahha

That is your right!

And I wouldn’t ever want to have to defend my point, because that movie is a shitshow

K: I certainly won’t defend it on a storytelling level, BUT I actually still think the set piece at the Grey house holds up pretty well as a standalone-ish thing (my objection to this version of the Phoenix still holds), not least because The Last Stand has one of the best Marvel movie soundtracks, composed by John Powell. The geography of the house is also used in more interesting ways than most action set piece locations.

CAROLINE: I loved little things like Rogue leaving Scott and Jean alone as soon as they got romantic

MIRI: Wolverine and Scott even seem to care about each other while they’re both in love with Jean, which is very mature

CAROLINE: The relationships (at least among the X-Men) feel lived in and real

MIRI: I didn’t want to love this Rogue because I am deeply committed to loving the Evolutions Rogue, but I found her super charming

She’s just always ready to be enthusiastically upset

She  cannonballed into Apocalypse’s calf and it was surprisingly effective!

CAROLINE: She's a huge standout of TAS for me

MIRI: Also she can just fly all the time, apparently? I love it

CAROLINE: I love Lenore Zann's voice acting

Yeah she's basically Superman

But she also can't touch anyone

It's a little weird but it's SUPER fun to watch

K: Rogue’s mutant ability is life-force/memory/power absorption (as also seen in the movies and in X-Men: Evolution), which is usually temporary. In the comics, the one time it stuck was when she got in a fight with Carol Danvers, at the time Ms. Marvel, and absorbed Carol’s powers of super strength and flight. (Carol later picked up additional, “cosmic”-level powers and went through several codename changes.)

MIRI: Is it possible for me to love her voice but hate her accent? Because that’s where I am

CAROLINE: Sure! Although I love both. And her and Gambit together are aces

MIRI: I liked her dropping him into the lake

And ‘What is this, catch the x-men day?’ (I'm misquoting, but that moment)

CAROLINE: It's an incredibly different characterization than the one we got on the films

K: I think this is from the first Phoenix Saga, but I couldn’t pass it up

MIRI: VERY

CAROLINE: *in the films

But I enjoy both

MIRI: Yeah, I think the adultness is a factor here, though certainly not all of it

CAROLINE: For sure! I guess this is really the only major X-Men series not to have a "teen" element

MIRI: It actually made me kind of uncomfortable that none of them were kids. Which is weird, but I’m SO used to the Xavier Institute version of it all

CAROLINE: They do have Jubilee running around sometimes

She's a POV teen in the premiere

But for the most parts they're just kind of The Avengers or something

MIRI: I’m not opposed to that. I was just legitimately shocked for a minute

CAROLINE: Overall I was surprised by how *adult* the whole series felt

Obviously it's aimed at kids

But it's complex and mature and about adulthood

I feel like a lot of kids shows kind of try to talk down to their audience?

But this one doesn't for the most part?

MIRI: Wow, that’s a really interesting point. I can’t think of any kid shows now that have primarily adult casts

Except the Wildkratts, which I am probably spelling wrong but is quality educational programing

CAROLINE: A LOT of stuff happens in this arc. And while there's a lot of hand-holding in terms, it also goes pretty deep

Including exploring the nature of a relationship between two older leaders dedicated to their people

Which, just, isn't what you would think of as kids fair

MIRI: I also like their look at relative morality in the face of a terrible decision

CAROLINE: (Also I meant to say there's a lot of hand-holding in terms of plot BTWs)

MIRI: Scott wants to save Jean, of course! And that’s The Right Thing to do, but everyone involved wants to do the right thing

CAROLINE: Yeah! A very adult conflict

MIRI: And they’re not really demonized for being willing to sacrifice Jean to save billions

Honestly, I think the Empress is in the right. I also think I would make the same decisions as Scott

K: Empress Lilandra is the character Jessica Chastain is reportedly in talks to play in Fox’s forthcoming Dark Phoenix movie

CAROLINE: It's a weird mix of mature thoughtfulness that's also super stilted and dated.

MIRI: That’s a perfectdescription

CAROLINE: Because I do think it feels like a pretty stitled series, especially to modern eyes

MIRI: Very

We expect a lot more realism in our storytelling now

CAROLINE: Not just the 90s aesthetic, but the actual storytelling

For sure.

MIRI: And economy of storytelling

CAROLINE: Although there is that here too sometimes. It's hard to pin down 

Also I was legitimately so touched when the X-Men all gave of themselves to save Jean

MIRI: Team as family gets me every time

CAROLINE: That's some great team storytelling right there

MIRI: And they worked together nicely

CAROLINE: And the kind of stuff X-Men does best

MIRI: They all get their moment, but the team work is always present

Also I like that Rogue can and does pick up every single one of the X-Men in this episode

CAROLINE: Ha! I love her so much

I really love all of them. I think the characters are all super vibrant

At least in the X-Men

I was super bored by the Hellfire Club

MIRI: I honestly could not tell you who any of those people were if it weren’t for the more recent men movies

they were boring and not distinctly drawn

(In a character sense, not an animation sense)

CAROLINE: Agreed

I remembered the Hellfire Club being super cool but now I'm not sure if they're better in other episodes or if I was just easily won over as a child

MIRI: I could definietly see them being better in episodes where they’re the focus

CAROLINE: Changing topics: Wolverine saying, "Where's that blasted salami" is maybe the best X-Men moment of all time

MIRI: I liked Emma’s little fuck you about Phoenix being the new queen

Hahahahahaha that was good

I would argue that his claws are way too spaced out for neat, even slices

CAROLINE: There's something weird going on there for sure

MIRI: Maybe really near the knuckles?

CAROLINE: Maybe he has secret salami powers too

MIRI: I’m going down a dark path of thinking about how much grossness is brought into his body when he retracts the claws after fighting or slicing salami

I mean I know he heals so it’s fine

But ew

CAROLINE: Oh god

MIRI: Right?

CAROLINE: Dark times

MIRI: I’m sorry

CAROLINE: Dark Phoenix times

MIRI: hahahahahhahaa

Nice

CAROLINE: I think the only voice actor I really didn't like is Scott's

MIRI: I could not deal with Xavier’s

CAROLINE: Which is a bummer because he carries a lot of this arc

MIRI: It weirded me out

CAROLINE: Yeah Xavier isn't great either

But it's hard to compare to Patrick Stewart

MIRI: It’s very unfair of me to expect it

I know this

CAROLINE: Who is so throughly Professor X in my head

MIRI: Yeah, between TNG and X-men, he looms damn large in my formative genre culture landscape

M: TNG = Star Trek: The Next Generation, which I was basically raised on

K: Caroline is also a huge Star Trek fan, and last year wrote a Vox explainer/viewing guide for the uninitiated.

CAROLINE: Totally

Should we talk costumes?

MIRI: Yes!

CAROLINE: They're the best

MIRI: First of all, it’s a fun metric on cultural shifts because at least 75% of these guys would be read as gay in the present day

Jean’s mask at the end is really stupid looking and I loved it SO MUCH

That and Wolverine’s mask were just so classic/iconic looking

CAROLINE: Well to be fair that's not her normal outfit in the series 

MIRI: Right, it was her super early costume, right?

CAROLINE: She was giving us a little Marvel Girl throwback

Yeah

MIRI: Ohhhhh I totally forgot she was Marvel Girl!

K: Not to be confused with Ms. Marvel, the codename Carol Danvers took in the 70s, and has since been adopted by Kamala Khan. (Carol, an Air Force pilot to be played by Brie Larson in the MCU, is currently Captain Marvel to the superhero community, but Colonel Danvers to the US government. Although maybe Larson’s Carol will just be a Captain Danvers, to avoid general audience confusion?)

CAROLINE: But her regular costume is also kind of ridiculous 

K: That’s not a bunch of skin showing, it’s just a confusingly flesh-toned bodysuit. I always liked the crystal (?) in her headband thing though.

M: This isn’t even her “regular” costume but it is something that could not be ignored.

K: It’s not her Phoenix costume but it’s what she wears for most of the series

They LOVED their headgear on TAS

MIRI: Which is presumably why she doesn’t have a hero name, right?

CAROLINE: I believe so

K: I tried to find an official answer, but didn’t dig up anything from a publishing perspective. Story-wise, it didn’t have anything to do with either (the first) Captain or Ms. Marvel. As far as I can tell, Jean first stopped using the codename Marvel Girl when she started calling herself Phoenix, and then some time post-Dark Phoenix, she decided to go by her civilian name. Maybe just because it had been a while since they were really writing her as a “girl”?

MIRI: I liked all of their dark head covering headband things that didn’t cover their faces or hair, but did cover the rest of the head

I don’t know what to call them

CAROLINE: It's a true X-Men staple

And it's so weird to see Gambit without his

MIRI: Like, when I think about it too much I have logic questions. But I love them and don’t want them changed at all

CAROLINE: The costumes are also all straight out of the comics.

K: Mostly designed by Jim Lee in the late 80s, possibly explaining all the shoulder pads. For better or worse (as an admitted non-expert, I think a bit of both), Lee is one of the most influential artists and publishers in the medium, and currently one of the top folks at DC.

MIRI: Storm’s earrings are killer

CAROLINE: Really everything about Storm is amazing

Another voice performance I love

MIRI: Yes! I loved her narration of her powers

CAROLINE: Haha! Same

So dramatic

Arguably too much so but it totally works

MIRI: Yes! I sat there thinking that I should be annoyed by it, but I just wanted more

I did not love that Rogue’s costume was apparently so shrink-wrapped on that I think I could see her internal organs

CAROLINE: I mean it is but I'm just so into her whole design

I really forgot how much I loved her on this series

MIRI: Yes, the design of the costume is great!

The mullet-ness of the white in her hair is not a styling choice I would make, but she’s free to do her

CAROLINE: Oh also Jean's Phoenix hair is AMAZING

MIRI: I also really liked the space aesthetics

CAROLINE: Keep the powers just for that!

MIRI: Ooh, yes! Both the updo and the big loose look

The guys’ lips were all the same color as the rest of their faces and once I noticed it I couldn’t stop noticing it

CAROLINE: Ha!

I will say, as much as I love many other iterations of the X-Men, these will always be the iconic X-Men looks for me

As I think they are for many people

MIRI: That makes total sense! They’re not entirely for me, but they definitely did resonate

Before the MCU became such a thing, these looks were a lot of the merchandise you saw

And they are just so distinctive

CAROLINE: I LOVE seeing people cosplay in these looks

It brings me such joy

MIRI: I like that they have commonalities without all being in the same exact uniform

Omg, yes!

Even without this era being A Thing for me, I can think of multiple killer Rogue cosplays I’ve taken notice of with this look

CAROLINE: Okay so should we start talking about an era of the X-Men that is a little more iconic for you?

MIRI: Sounds good! But first, I want to say that I feel like you shouldn’t power wash the ancient hieroglyphics tablet nd that was uncool even for villains to do

Also I need a gif of Dark Phoenix saying “I admit nothing”

(Dark Phoenix, Mother of Dragons, the unburnt, breaker of chains, Khaleesi of the great grass sea)

CAROLINE: I need so many GIFs

Mostly the salami one 

In Part 2, Miri and Caroline turn to X-Men: Evolution.

X-Men: The Animated Series is streaming on Hulu.

You can follow Caroline on Twitter, and support her on Patreon.

You can also follow us on Twitter, where we mostly retweet critics (including Caroline), screenwriters, and general pop culture reporting. 

For now we leave you with perhaps the greatest superhero opening titles [Kanye] OF ALL TIME [/Kanye].

[sacrasm]

okay so i usually dont dream/remember my dreams and of course last night i remember what i assume is the later half of my dream 

and of course this one is all kinds of crazy.  im still confused.  how can you put a child lock on a car so it can only go 65 mph.  what is glitterball.   this is going to haunt me for the rest of my life

dont read if you want to keep your sanity intact.   (tl;dr: i hosted the weirdest house party, cars come capped at one speed, tyler hoechlin was our responsible adult of the night, everything seemed so unrealistic but totally shit we’d do.  i think im going crazy.)

it goes like this: 

for some reason im driving this dark blue fiat but it had a child lock on the gas.  it was literally impossible for the car to go anything but 65.  not any faster, not any slower, and if you held your foot down long enough you might get to 66.  

so im driving to my grandmother’s house, and pull up in the driveway, and when i get out my dad tells me that he hired a babysitter to make sure things don’t spiral out of control.  apparently i’m throwing a house party, except the house looks like my grandmother’s, but is actually my parent’s and the inside is a weird fusion of my grandmother’s home, a friend’s home, and the valley fair mall if any of you know what that looks like.

the babysitter gave me the evil eye when i went inside, and told me that just because there were 15+ teens in the house doesnt mean we can go wild and skip bedtime.  she looked like this little crotchety old blonde lady, like the kind you’d get for a sub in highschool that just hates any and all teenagers and stress knits.

i didn’t see anyone when i actually went into the house, aside from a comically large escalator and doorways and thirty or so pizza boxes in the kitchen.  some still have pizza in them, but no one knows which boxes. my fiat was in the middle of the living room.  the babysitter had a shotgun and told me that she’d use it if we got too raunchy.  tyler hoechlin was sitting in an armchair.  he complimented my car. 

for some odd reason the halls and doorways were all the size of one car, so you could drive in the hallways.  the fiat still had the child lock, so i just drove around the hallways at 66mph until i accidentally hit someone, that turned out to be one of my friends, who was riding a horse.  somehow he was fine and uninjured, as was his horse. he refused to answer to anything except napoleon, which doesn’t make sense because that friend isn’t short.

idk how but somehow i’m in a different room, the horse is on top of my car, and all of us are trying to do as much irresponsible shit that we could get away with before getting caught by the babysitter, like drinking copious amounts of alcohol and having indoor paintball tournaments.  time is a social construct inside the house and doesn’t exist, which we’re all fine with.  

and then i drove down a hallway and then a door opened, which the car hit at 66 mph and the door stayed intact.  two of my crushes were sitting in someone’s bedroom, which i guess was mine bc a ton of my shit was in there. they were playing a weird cards against humanity and truth or dare fusion game, that also included pokemon cards.  hoechlin is doing vertical pushups on my bed while simultaneously playing the strange card game.  he’s not doing so good. i went back out into the hallway and my best friend had a rainbow donkey pinata that was as tall as her shoulder.  we both couldve fit in it.  she told me that it was filled with the world’s greatest chocolate, but she refused to open it because she didn’t want to ruin the donkey.  irl that friend loves chocolate.  her boyfriend was following her around the house/mansion trying to convince her to just smash the paper mache donkey already.

i got back in the car, a different best friend was in the fiat with me.  she liked throwing smokebombs out the window at anyone she saw.  somehow she got her hands on a t-shirt cannon and shot confetti in people’s faces despite never leaving the car.  someone bet that i couldn’t kick a hole through a refrigerator. they lost the bet.  everyone was suddenly betting that i couldn’t kick through anything.  i could kick through anything as long as i was wearing my necklace.  my necklace gave me power.

all the tvs in the house only played the sports channel, which had this game going on 24/7 called glitterball.  it looked like football meets ice hockey, except there were pits on the field and whack-a-moles would pop up and players would slam into them or fall in.  there was no glitter involved.  someone stole the babysitter’s shotgun and was trying to shoot her since she kept interrupting us during shit but she was faster than sonic and kept matrix dodging the shotgun shells. tyler was rooting for us.  actually i think he started a betting pool with other celebrity friends to see who could shoot the babysitter.  it turned into a little hunger games, except we were all hunting the babysitter.

one of my other friend’s bedrooms since they all had rooms at my parent’s house was literally filled with weed.  there was a path big enough for a car to squeeze through and a sofa in the middle of the room but other than that, floor to wall weed.  nothing else.  he called it the posey room. he also had a lamborghini which also had a child lock, but his was stuck at 45 mph.  i always passed him in the halls in my tiny ass car even though the hallways are one car so idfk how i managed to pass him.  whenever he honked it was just a yeaaaaaaaaaa boiiiiiiiii.  there was a record player in the exact center of the house, suspended in midair.  it played whatever you wanted to hear the most.  we called i the record player of erised.  no one could hear what it played for themselves, and no one could give accurate descriptions of what they heard for someone.  someone would argue they heard smooth criminal, another would say moaning, and someone else would say fireworks.  we knew they weren’t right.  without fail hoechlin would always say it sounded like wonderwall.  we all looked at him funny because that was the only thing we found weird in the dream.

since the house was part mall there was a weird amc extension.  we watched a movie that was a combo of ferris bueller, me before you, avatar, and your name.  the friend with the pinata had a whole kiddie pool filled with popcorn and was sitting on the pinata, which was still intact even though someone had ran it over in the 45mph lambo.  i watched it get rekt.  but there it was, whole and fully intact.  the friend on the horse was still on the horse and refused to dismount, and managed to convince most of us that he was actually attached to it so he couldn’t get off.  i had seen him get off the horse to kick someone in the balls.  after the movie none of us could find the babysitter.  she disappeared.  we were all fine with that.  we found tyler eating leftover pizza in the kitchen and watching glitterball.  he said the babysitter left him in charge because she was sick of us.  we were fine with that as well.

the fridge that i put a hole in was the door to his room.  there was a camaro in there, and it was locked at 120mph.  my car was faster than his.  no one thought it was strange.  someone drank sriracha like it was water. someone else buttered the hardwood flooring and put lube on the doorknobs and faucets.  we all stayed in our cars for a while to avoid the buttery floors, all capped at different speeds.  the camaro was still the slowest, even slower than the horse. hoechlin’s car horn was just assorted swear words.  every time he honked it would stop our cars.  someone traded cars with him and just honked at random intervals .  we could hear the muted swearing every time our cars jerked to a stop.  eventually tyler traded back.

i got in a fight with my other friend about what would be in a sandwich called the lgbtq+.  i said edible glitter and anything the person making it wanted.  she said that was literally just glittery subway.  she argued that it had to be  lamb, grain, bacon, tabbouleh, quince, and an ingredient starting with the letter of the maker’s sexuality.   hoechlin said that we had to fight and whoever won would be right.  someone backhanded me before the fight started and i woke up.  what the fuck.

mildly concerning facts about this shitshow:

how does someones brain create this nightmare??  

why was i driving a fiat?? 

none of the neighbors filed an noise complaint. 

 im so confused.  

how did tyler hoechlin get into the house.  

do they even make pinatas bigger than small children

how does a fucking pinata survive a rollover from a lamborghini

why did no one stop us

we drank enough alcohol to die of poisoning three times over but werent drunk

a  room full of weed.  an entire room.

this is the second half so what was i doing before this

what was i doing

why did i dream this

what the fuck is wrong with me

if this was the second half, then what the hell happened in the first half

[fourteenacross]

Tagged by @isjustprogress. Why not?

1. 5 things you will find in my bag/backpack

my bullet journal

my meds + ibuprofen, sudafed, benedryl

my wallet

which is a pouch that contains several lipsticks

and several types of pens (among other things)

2. 5 things you will find in my bedroom

an embarrassing amount of dirty laundry (literal, I air my metaphorical dirty laundry out via group chat like a good millenial.)

a wall of X-Men comic art

posters of two of my three fave musical artists/groups (Dar Williams and The Weepies)

two different jewelry trees, both of which are full up

a bedside light/night light that looks like a dinosaur

3. 5 things I’ve always wanted to do in life

publish a book

get married

leave North America

be financially stable enough that I don’t have panic attacks about money

this isn’t really a very fun list. Um, complete my Dar Williams bucket list?

4. 5 things to on my to-do list

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

um

finish this ghosthunters story

roll stats for my new D&D character

clean my room

change the oil in my car

be less of a shitshow

5. 5 things people may not know about me

my first actualfax online fandom was for The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest, a Jonny Quest reboot that lasted two seasons in like...1995. I was very, very active on the mailing list that housed most of the fandom activity and lied about my age in the most (in hindsight) hilariously insignificant way possible. (I said I was 11 when I was really 10 because 11 = middle school and more grown-up) It’s entirely possible some of that fic still exists in the outer reaches of the internet.

I had a pet rabbit when I was in middle school. His name was Buster (from Tiny Toons) but I think we only actually called him that like, twice. He was a good pet and I was an okay owner. He died really suddenly when he was only a handful of years old and I was pretty sad but had already begun my “projects all emotions inward” dealio, so mostly I just seemed quiet about the whole thing.

I had chronic rhinosinusitis for, literally, about fifteen years. I would get 5-8 sinus infections a year, and finally learned in either high school or college that it turned out I hadn’t been getting new sinus infections, I basically ALWAYS had a low-key sinus infection and those were just the flare-ups. It was PRETTY MISERABLE, but once they figured that out, they put me on crazy strong antibiotics for a while and finally killed it, no drainage surgery necessary, and now I only get one once in a while.

I played the clarinet in the school band in elementary school and middle school. I was not good at it, but we basically had to choose band or chorus and I couldn’t sing and most of my friends were in band.

I could, at one point, solidly recite the first 10-15 minutes of riffs in the MST3k movie. I can still do the start. (”It’s the nicest weather earth has ever had!” / “Notice how big Japan is?” / “Space, the...final frontier. These are the voyages of Babylon 5.” / “Doesn’t the fact that it’s universal make it international?” / “This Island Earth can be yours if the Price is Right!” / “Hey, who sneezed on the credits?” etc etc etc)

Tagging the first four people on my dash: @pearlo, @cafecliche, @philly-osopher, @capitainelaurens

[winstonhcomedy]

HDWDLN? 11/8 “Bloody Noses and Kenn Edward’s Glorious Return”

I AM BEHIND. I’ve been a busy bee movie over here. Thursday was a sweet night. Two open mics, and the grand return of one of my oldest comedy friends. 

The first show of the night was The Camel run by Jameson Babbowski. The headliners for the night are Richmond alt-comedy favorites Mike Engle and Patrick Buhse. 

I get to the show and I get a sweet hang going on with two of my best buds Paige Campbell and Kenn Edwards. Paige and Kenn both started around the same time in Waynesboro. I started about a year later, and we became fast friends. 

Kenn has done sets sporadically over the past couple of years, but he had been focusing more on his band Alex Jonestown Massacre for a while. He got out of comedy for a bit when he was going through his separation. I’ve missed this dude a great deal, and was super happy to see him doing a set again. 

There used to be a lot of comedy in Waynesboro/Charlottesville area. About 4 1/2 years ago Kenn Edwards started a room at The Hot Spot. This area was so starved for comedy that apparently every show there was amazing. Super hot/supportive crowds given a bunch of local dudes/weirdos/laydees an opportunity to perform. 

This is where Paige Campbell had his first set. This is where the early scene used to perform. People like Mary Waalkes Jarvis (quit comedy), Loris Jarvis Jr (quit comedy), Winston Smith (passed away in drunk driving accident), Trevor Stewart (quit comedy), David Lingenfelter (performs once a year), Tom Wagoner (quit comedy), Rosy Wagoner (quit comedy), got their earliest sets and confidence. I know I'm leaving a ton of people out. Tj Ferguson and Chris Alan also performed here. It was where Kenn filmed his short film “The Joke”. 

So Kenn gave a lot of people stage time. He gave them really good stage time too. He gave them an opportunity to do something fun and weird in a part of VA where that wasn’t really happening.

I never got to perform here. Maybe that’s why I have such reverence for it. I just always hear about how hot and great the room was. It makes me wish I had started just a little earlier. The Hot Spot closed like a month before I started doing standup. 

Kenn is also someone that I spent a ridiculous amount of time with during my most formative years of comedy. The first 18 months I did standup I didn’t have a full-time job. I substitute taught, but only when I wanted to. What my first 18 months of comedy was driving all over the state of VA doing open mics, staying up til 5 am with Kenn and Paige almost every night, doing Kenn’s amazing podcast (so let’s get to the point), staying over at Paige’s house and vice versa. 

This is legitimately the most fun 18 months of my life. we made lifelong friends (TJ, Chris, Kenn, and Paige), did some of the most fun rooms that no longer exist (Fellini’s, Firefly, Boneyard, Artful Dodger), we did the worst rooms imaginable (Eddy’s. Legitimately the worst comedy room I’ve ever done and I did it every Monday for like 4 months). I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world. So it was a bummer when Kenn took time off, and I’m so happy he is back.Rosy Wagoner also shows up. I talk her and Kenn into doing a So Let’s Get To The Point. She is fully intending to go up, but ends up leaving halfway through the show.

The crowd is lighter than usual, but they’re into the show. Paige goes up first and has an ok set. He’s working out some new stuff and get some good pops. I go in the back to hang after his set. While back there Jameson comes and tells me I may have to fill in to be one of the headliners. Apparently Patrick Buhse was bleeding out of his face at an alarming degree. 

I have no idea what happened. Buhse told me that he was just talking and then his face exploded (I'm paraphrasing). Jameson is freaking out. He is running around and looks so nervous. He is definitely trying to run a dope show and I love the dude but Jameson was giving me crazy anxiety. 

I go to the other room and Buhse hasn’t left. He is just nursing his nose wound. He seems fine. I tell him to just shove a paper towel in there, and James Muñoz tells him to perform. He gets his shit together, and I don't have to headline. The good news is I get to go first on the open mic after. 

Buhse has a pretty good set, and the visual of bloody tissue paper falling out of his nose really tickles me. He gets off stage, and I go up. I have a pretty strong set. I am very happy with it. The crowd is kind of light but most of what I do on stage works. I think a few of these jokes are close to being finished. This means I have to start doing some other new stuff, or stretching this material out. I’d give my set a B which isn’t bad for this show. 

A few other people go up. My buddy Rick has a fine set, and so does Bryan. My friend Nick Deez (the boxx) is in town and he goes on stage and struggles a bit trying some stuff. This is definitely a workout room tonight. 

Then Kenn goes up. Kenn has one of the better sets of the night. When Kenn used to do comedy he would basically just do puns, and whatever else he could think of to make the audience not like him. His stage presence never matched his writing. He had jokes that I always thought could do better if he would just try to sell them.

Kenn is one of my best friends in the entire world. I legitimately love this guy to death. Our friendship has such a weird dynamic. There are very few people I can disagree with so vehemently on things and be ok with. I have had the best conversations of my life with the dude, and for that I am ridiculously thankful. I can be stubborn about a lot of shit. In comedy and in life. Kenn is the person who helped persuade me that having a unique perspective can be as important to being a good comic as it is being a great joke writer. He’s socially conscious and never gets offended. I’m thankful I know him. 

I say all that to point out that his comfort level on stage is changed. Since he is in a band now it feels like he doesn’t need comedy as much. Which honestly is good for him. He doesn’t seem as nervous and he seemed like himself on stage. He did some crowd work, and worked some loose premises, It all went pretty well, and it looked like he was a dude who had figured a lot out about himself over the last 6 months. After his set we finish watching the show, and then I give him a ride over to Garden Grove.

On the ride Kenn admits that it didn’t even feel like a high anymore. Rock and roll has polluted him. He had one of the better sets and he said it didn’t even kick in his adrenaline. I hope that eventually changes because I want him to keep doing comedy, and I want him to have a good time while doing it.

I get over to Garden Grove and find out I”m going first. Which is fine. I don’t feel super great and I have a long day at work the next day. I chill and catch up with some friends. Garden Grove is a weird room. Sometimes it is super dope, and other times it is like pulling teeth. James went up first did a few minutes, and tried to get them into the show. 

Noel Goodman a 757 comic comes and grabs me for a selfie. At first I had no idea who this crazy person was. Once I realized he and I caught up and he asked me to take pics for him, and he would do the same for me. I am more than happy to oblige. 

The show was lightly attended, and I was just trying to get them to pay attention. I go up and I get chuckles on most of my new stuff. I definitely am not selling the jokes the way I should. I do fine, and then I do an older joke that I want to bring back about roombas. That gets a really good response, and I get greedy. I try one last joke and get jack shit. Se la vie. All in all it was super productive, but I didn’t feel great about the set. I’d give it a D. If it wasn’t for the Roomba joke It would have been an F for me. 

The worst part is after bombing I have to now sit and take pictures. This is a literal hell. I wanted to leave so bad and just sulk. Unfortunately now I look like a damn tourist at his first open mic ever. 

After the set I talk to Noel again and walk around and say my goodbyes. This was a super fun night. I had two productive sets. I stuck to my material, and I really think I am making progress on it. It feels good to not be stagnant doing the same stuff forever. I get so in my head about it. It gives me anxiety, but it helps me write a lot. I think I have one of the better turnover rates in the scene, and I want to keep it that way. Although bombing feels like shit, the reward of getting a brand new joke to work is so worth it. 

THANKS SWEET BAYBEES AND LAYDEES!!! I am a little behind. I promise I will be caught up by this week. Tomorrow I will talk about my weekend of shows and I might actually get to the wild shitshow that was Monday!!! WHOOO ZADDY!!! XOXOXO