#(and some issues of the marvel series about him)

[scarletspider2the2ndpower]

Chasm: Curse of Kaine (Vol. 1/2024), #1.

Writer: Steve Foxe; Penciler and Inker: Andrea Broccardo; Colorist: Brian Reber; Letterer: Joe Caramagna

[lilliryth]

i don’t discriminate <33

[oneforthemunny]

christmas with the devil |dom!eddie munson x sub!reader|

prompt: even the dirty magazines are in the holiday spirit. after you and eddie stumble upon a particularly interesting magazine, you both are inspired by the spirit of the season.

apart of my munny's merriest series!

contains: minors dni smut. dom/sub themes. dom!eddie x sub!reader. spanking. spanking with implement. switching. pinv sex. a little roleplay lol? all consensual and sweet. they're kinda nerdy and i love them. eddie hates christmas, reader loves it. they're in love.

“Can you hurry up?” Your eyes cut around the abnormally crowded comic book store, chin ducking towards your chest as if all their eyes were on you.  

Bundles of teenagers, kids, parents all gathered around and looking through the stacks of Marvel issues, while you and your boyfriend trudged towards the scandalous back area. Marked off with a rope that held a sign, ‘Adults Only’ in bold print and was the vault for the more risqué magazines. 

“Relax, baby, we’re both adults.” Eddie cooed, a smirk in his tone that had your teeth gritting with annoyance. “We’ll be in and out, I promise.”  

“I don’t know why they have to make it so obvious.” You muttered, sliding past the rope and scurrying into the tiny room, filled with X-Rated magazine covers. “The rope seems like a little much.” 

Eddie snickered, his hand finding your waist, pulling you into him. “I kinda like it. Feels like they’re giving me the VIP treatment.” 

You rolled your eyes, but stayed flush against him, his chest warm on your frostbitten skin. “VIP treatment while you buy your porno magazines.” Your nail brushed over the edge of a Playboy, lifting a brow up at Eddie pointedly. 

“It’s not a porno magazine,” Eddie rolled his eyes lightly. “It’s just made by Penthouse, but it’s more sci-fi than-” 

“-I know, Ed.” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temple. “You know I don’t care. I just hate coming in here.” You looked around, the dim lights and tight corners all plastered with vulgar photos. “Just feel skeezy.” 

“Skeezy?” Eddie grinned down at you. “Some of our best ideas came from this room, baby.” 

Your cheeks burned with a rush of heat, eyes cutting to the door carefully. It was true. You had many Fotoplays Magazines to thank for some of your favorite tricks in the bedroom. The countless times you and Eddie would flip through the dirty magazines, oohing and awing at the photos and stories, bookmarking pages that sparked your excitement to try later. 

“There it is.” Eddie’s chains jingled with his steps, pulling you out of your thoughts. You frowned, following his ringed hand towards the Omni Magazine cover. 

“Look at this. This looks so fuckin’ sick, doesn’t it? UFO Edition. This one’s gonna be all about aliens and shit.” Eddie grinned, bubbling with nerdy excitement you found overwhelmingly endearing. 

“Mhm,” You hummed, though you only partially heard him, your attention caught by the magazine in front of you. 

Eddie’s smile dropped, looking up at you with a furrowed brow, following your line of vision to what had captivated your attention over him. “What’d ya see, babe?” Eddie muttered, a low gravel in his tone that had you shivering. 

“What’s this?” You pointed at the cover. There on the glossy page, a goat-like demon with bat wings lifting a bundle of sticks high in the air, ready to bring them down on a woman’s bottom. Her ass stuck high up in the air, clad in lingerie, face animated with excited fear. 

“Krampus,” Eddie read, pointing at the golden cursive font below the image. “Hm, I don’t really know. Looks cool though, doesn’t he?” He grinned, nudging you playfully. 

“Looks like your little Hellfire mascot thingy.” You nodded back, picking up the magazine. 

Eddie’s brows lifted, suddenly, no longer interested in his Omni, tossing it back on the shelf, too consumed with the magazine capturing your attention. “You want to get this too?” 

“No, you don’t have to. I was just looking to see what it’s about.” You hummed, flipping through the pages until you found the cover story, an erotic retelling of the European Christmas demon. 

“Punishes those who misbehave with birch rods.” Eddie grinned, adjusting himself shamelessly behind you. His mind was racing, flooded with excited, devious ideas with every image. “Seems like you need Krampus to visit you.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Your tongue clicked, glaring at Eddie. “Why would you say that? I’ve been such a good girl this year.” 

“Psh, please,” Eddie rolled his eyes. “You’ve been such a bad girl.” His voice dropped,  breath tickled the shell of your ear, leaving you quaking with excitement. 

“No, I haven’t.” Your whine sounded more like a mewl, gripping the magazine so tightly the pages were creasing under your grasp. 

“I guess we’ll find out.” Eddie shrugged, pulling away from you, plucking the magazine out of your hand, tucking it under his arm with the other. “See if Krampus visits you tonight.” The wink he gave you left your tummy flipping with heat, following him to the counter on shaky legs, mind racing with excitement of what was to come. 

“Well, well, well,” You jumped at the sound of Eddie’s voice, booming from the doorway behind you. He’d been stowed away in his room since you got home, only telling you not to come in- that he had a surprise for you. 

“Look what we have here.” Eddie waved the rolled up paper around in his hands, grinning at you as he took slow, calculated steps closer and closer to you. 

“What’s that?” You frowned, shoving the stack of folded dish towels into the drawer. 

Eddie’s tongue rolled over the inside of his cheek, looking at you with a positively primal glare. “Looks like this year’s naughty list just came in.” Eddie sucked in a breath, shaking his head exaggeratedly. “And I’ve got some real bad news for you, babe.” 

You feigned surprise, matching his playful, dramatic tone. “No,” You gasped lightly. “Don’t tell me I’m on that list. There’s no way. I’ve been sooo good this year.”  

He could kiss you, right then and there. How easily you played along, gave right into his dramatics without question. How perfect you were for him. He’d tell you after this, later when you were curled into him, sharing soft kisses and softer touches. But for now, he had a part to play. 

“This list begs to differ,” Eddie shrugged dramatically, shaking his head, unrolling the list he’d been working on. There in gothic, cursive font was your name, listed under the intimidatingly gloomy ‘Naughty’ side.  “And unfortunately there’s nothing I can do about it.” 

“This has to be a mistake. I’ve been nothing but a good girl this year. Perfect.” You quipped, stepping towards him. 

“No, this list doesn’t lie, sweetheart.” Eddie shook his head, toe to toe with you now, looking at you down the slope of his nose. “You’ve been naughty this year, and you know what that means?” 

You shook your head, playing coy while your lashes batted at him. Eddie swore his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. 

“It means you’ll have to take your lashing from Krampus.” Eddie shook his head at you. 

“My lashing?” You gawked lightly, a giggle of surprise bubbling out of your chest. “I thought naughty girls got coal in their stockings.” You frowned, lip jutting in a gentle pout towards him. 

“Not around here they don’t.” Eddie grinned, a darkness to his eyes that had your heart rushing with floods of excitement. “Naughty girls around here get a visit from Krampus if they’ve been bad. They get corrected for their bad behavior.” 

“Well, I don’t want to be naughty.” You sighed heavily, really playing it up for him. You could see how much he was loving this. “I’ll do whatever I have to, to get off that list.” 

Eddie swallowed back a grin, nodding slowly instead. His footsteps fell heavy on the kitchen floor, striding over towards the stove, pulling the designated junk drawer open for the cutting pliers. You squirmed under his intense gaze when he brought them back, handing them to you, neither one of you breaking eye contact from the other. 

“Go get me eight good ones from the tree in the front, alright? Make ‘em good ones.” Eddie nodded at you. 

Your legs felt like they might give out slipping on your boots, wrapping Eddie’s jacket around you, climbing down the creaking steps of the trailer. It was cold out, everything dried and dead for the winter- it made the perfect time to pick a switch. 

Eddie watched from the doorway, fingers drumming with excitement taking in every branch you’d pick. How you’d examine it carefully before tossing it to the side or adding it to the collection in your hand. It consumed him with excitement, cock throbbing with exhilaration. 

“Will these do?” You held the branches towards him, after what felt like an eternity, standing on the steps, waiting for his approval. 

Eddie carefully looked at each one, swishing them through the air, before nodding. “Very good.” He gave you a curt nod. “So you can be good then, hm?” 

You blistered under his gaze, burning with excitement as you kicked off your boots, chin ducking so he couldn’t see your flustered grin. “I always try to be good.” 

Eddie snorted in laughter. “Yeah, right.” He muttered sarcastically. “Now, you’re back on the naughty track. You know better than to lie.” 

You glared at him, huffing with a pout, shrugging his jacket off and hanging it on the hook. “I’m not lying.” 

Eddie’s brows lifted, in shock or in warning, you weren’t sure. “You better watch your tone with me.” Eddie pointed at you, waving a branch near you to make his point. “You’re not in much of a position to be mouthy.” 

You bit back a snarky reply, lip jutting further instead, trailing behind Eddie towards the living room. Eddie laid the branches out, lining them up evenly on the coffee table in front of you. 

“Hold on,” You stilled at the sound of his voice, stopping before you knelt into position in front of the couch. “Go ahead and strip f’me.” Eddie’s eyes rolled over your frame. 

Your hands shook with excitement, trembling when you took off your jeans shoving them to the ground, pulling your sweater off with a rough tug, giving them a half hearted fold and placing them on the recliner. Your nipples pebbled in the cold of the room, maybe from your own excitement. 

Eddie gave you a nod of approval before he left the room, silently going to the kitchen. You sunk to your knees on the shagged carpet, spine straightening long and eyes forward; you were on your best behavior, after all.

The soft screech of duct tape tore through the living room before Eddie could enter, the silver tape in his hand, teeth tearing off the end of the long strip. He made a show of wrapping the bundle of wood together, looking at you with dark eyes while he wound the tape over the switches to keep them together. 

“Why don’t you go ahead and bend over the back of the couch for me, hm?” Eddie nodded, twisting the tight bundle in his hands. “You know how I want you.” 

You swallowed back a shiver when you stood, every inch of your exposed skin tingling with a prickling heat of excitement. Arms stretched out in front, you lowered yourself over the arm of the couch, elongating yourself and propped nicely so your ass was high in the air.

“I think twelve will suffice, don’t you?” Eddie hummed, eyes scanning your features for even a quip of uncertainty- he was good like that. “One for each month.” 

You nodded, shifting from foot to foot, desperate to alleviate the aching that was ever growing between your legs. “Yes, Sir,” Your voice lilted to an airy, positively sweet coo. It made Eddie’s cock lurch, throb with blinding pleasure that left him reeling. 

“Look at me,” Eddie’s hand squeezed your hip lightly, pulling your eyes back to his. “That’s good?” 

You nodded, pushing up on your forearms. “That’s good, Ed.” You gave him a soft smile. “If it’s too much, I’ll let you know.” 

Eddie couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his features. He had an overwhelming urge to kiss you, but he’d wait, for now anyway. 

“Why don’t you count them for me too then?” You jumped at the feeling of the branches on the back of your thighs, scratchy and rough. Oh, this was going to burn, you could already feel it. You throbbed between your legs at the thought. 

A thundering crack of his palm left you gasping, hips tensing over the arm of the couch in surprise. “Did you hear me?” 

“Y-Yes, Sir,” You babbled, tongue thick in your mouth, head spinning with pleasure. “I’m sorry, Sir.” 

Eddie tutted mockingly, shaking his head. “I don’t know if you’re cut out for the nice list, baby. Sure isn’t seeming like you’re gonna make the cut after all.” 

“Noo,” Your lip jutted out in a whine. “I am good, please, I’ll be good.” 

Eddie tapped the bundle of switches against your ass lightly. “We’ll see about that.” He muttered. “Make sure you count loud for me. Loud and clear.” You nodded, lowering your chin back onto the cushion before you. 

A whispering swish of wind was your only warning before you felt the familiar searing of heat across your ass, this time in multiples instead of the singular switching you’d had before. It wasn’t as hard as usual, Eddie’s uncertainty with the newness of this shining through, but enough to have you hissing, dancing from foot to foot at the sting. 

“One,” You hissed through gritted teeth, fist balling to keep from reaching back, running out the itchy sting. 

The second hit came a little harder than before, enough to leave you whining at the impact. “Two,” 

Your voice tightened with every blow, lifting into near squeaks until number eight. “Ei-Eight,” Followed by a wet sniffle, and a pathetic little mewl. 

Eddie grinned, running his hand over your hot skin, lines of his handiwork already beginning to show. He took mercy on you, giving you a soft rub that he knew you were craving, fighting from doing yourself. 

“You’re doing very good, baby.” Eddie cooed, grinning as you rubbed your teary face into your arms, soothing the burn in your nose, trying to hide your tears. “Looks like you might make it on the nice list afterall.” 

“Thank you,” You gave a squeaky whisper, face still buried under your arms. 

Eddie gave your right cheek a firm squeeze, grinning at how you screeched. “I’ll do these last ones quick, how’s that sound? Since you’ve been so good.” Truthfully, Eddie wasn’t sure he could last much longer. Not with the little sounds you’d make that drove him wild, blind with pleasure. Not with the way he could see how wet you were, get an agonizing glimpse between your legs every time you’d shift that left his mouth watering. 

You nodded silently, and he didn’t correct you, too blinded with his own intense pleasure. The final four came down in quick, crescendoing successions that had you lifting up off the couch, voice squeaking through sobs as you counted them, squirming desperately to get away. 

The sound of his zipper followed the crunching thud of the switch bundle being tossed on the carpet. Your eyes glossy already, cheek pressed to the couch, tears and a string of drool pooling carelessly beneath you. 

“Am I on the nice list now?” You whimpered, so soft and airy, lashed batting up at Eddie sweetly. He thought he might burst, through his heart or maybe through his dick. 

“Fuck yeah, yes, baby.” Eddie kicked his jeans off, hand wrapping around his throbbing length, stroking himself enough to alleviate some of the aching throb of pleasure. 

“Definitely on the nice list. The top of it too. You’re such a good girl, you know that? You do know that don’t you?” He gave you a wide grin, body folding over yours and placing a kiss on your left shoulder blade, erection rubbing against the hot, sensitive skin of your ass. 

“C’mere,” Eddie muttered, pulling you by your hips closer to him, shamelessly rubbing himself into you. “Let me take care of you now, baby. You want that? Hm, that sound good?” 

“Yes,” You whimpered, hips rolling back towards him, desperate for friction. “Don’t tease me, Ed.” 

He let out a small laugh, fingers sliding through your slick, sopping folds, circling your clit, grinning at how you shuddered. “I won’t tease. You’ve been so good, I won’t tease you, baby.” Eddie muttered, pressing a final soft kiss the the middle of your spine, before he pushed himself in, bottoming out and stilling just for a moment, eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

He fucked you over the couch, hard and messy, furiously rutting into you while his fingertips made bruises on your hips from his grip. The way you were taking him, walls squeezing him just right, both you spend collecting at the base of his cock; he decided that you were definitely on the nice list, top of it. On his, at least, his perfect, nice, good girl. 

[http-tokki]

one more please- choso kamo

~ tattoo artist!choso kamo x fem!reader ~tags/cw: mature content, smut, explicit language, established relationships,choso being a lil freak and having a thing for your legs ~ wc: 1.1k ~ not proofread. posted at 2am

Choso has a weird thing for your legs. not your feet, your legs; from the top of your thigh to your ankle, your boyfriend was obsessed with your soft skin. always touching you in some form or another (whether it be soft strokes up the expanse of your plush thigh or absent-minded tracings of the lines that make up your tattoos) his fingers are always ghosting over your skin in tender touches, but tonight, there is something different about him. a man possessed, desperate, feral.

As per usual, Choso has your legs slung over his shoulders as he bullies your poor pussy with his fat cock. he often jokes that this position is a two-for-one; he gets to touch your legs and watch as his cock disappears in you, creamy white rings accumulating at the base and dripping down your cunt and onto the towel below, spurring him to keep going and pump you full. on a good day, he couldn't get enough of you but today, there has to be something in the air or the planets and stars because Choso is relentless in his need to be within you.

"Cho, baby, we can, hnng, take a break if you, hmph, need one." you are barely able to get the words out as your body jolts upwards at a particular sharp series of thrusts. "you've cum, fuck, three times already." you grip onto his muscular arms, nails digging red crescents into what untattooed skin remained.

Choso shakes his head. "need one more." a hand wraps around your calf. "please, princess."

You nod, staring up at your gorgeous boyfriend and marvelling at how utterly feral he looks. His hair is mused and hanging to his shoulders in soft, freshly washed waves. His cheeks glow red in the dim light, and sweat covers his skin in a celestial glow. His mulberry eyes are trained on the spot where you two are connected. His jaw is slack as drool begins to collect on his tongue.

"You're drooling." you point out, giggle turning into a huff as he fucked into you again.

choso opens his mouth further, sticking his tongue out as a signal for you to do the same. a fat glob of saliva is dropped from his mouth to yours, the taste of menthol, coffee, you and him mix on your tongue as you swallow. That action seems to wake your boyfriend up as he turns his head to the side, begins to kiss across your ankle, and bites on whatever skin he can find to purchase.

"toy." he blurts out, words mumbled as he continues to kiss down your leg. when you don't react to this strange outburst he clarifies with a rushed "Get your toy, I wanna feel you cum with me"

you blindly reach out to the bedside table, fingers scrambling to find the small but mighty vibrator that had been both yours and Choso's best friend since the first time you had sex. it was hard for you to finish sometimes, medication inhibiting that part of your brain but somehow, you finished quicker and easier with a little help. (at first, you were worried choso would feel icky about it, like he would feel emasculated that you could only finish thanks to a vibrator but that could not be further from the truth. choso had managed to get you off with his fingers and tongue just fine so what was the issue with adding a little help when he was a tad preoccupied?)

the silicone brushes against your fingers and you're clicking it on, holding it against your clit as you feel yourself being split open once again. two hands wrap around your hips, tilting them up ever so slightly in the way that choso knew had you seeing stars.

"I need you to cum, please princess." choso starts to pant, jaw clenching as he tries to hold off his orgasm. "please, baby, please." his pleas are stretched out, words failing him as his head starts to swim.

You feel the familiar tightness in your stomach, fingertips buzzing with heat as you turn up the speed, knowing you and him are teetering on the edge and you both need that final push. you can't form words, only whimpers and moans and the occasional head nod as you slap your hand over your mouth to stop the cry that wants to rip through you.

"you gonna-?" he can't finish the sentence but you nod feverishly, brows knitting together as you feel white-hot pleasure shoot through you.

Choso curses, hips stilling against you as he spills into your spasming pussy. his cheeks blaze red, mouth dropping open in a cute 'O' before he clenches his jaw again, shaking as he empties his balls. you feel warm, tingly and floaty, like you had just swallowed starlight and it was now flowing through your veins when suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your calf. Your legs, still on Choso's shoulders, tense and your calf cramps.

You swearing, trying to grab at your leg to stretch out his muscle but your boyfriend is so lost in his world he doesn't notice until you start to cry his name, pushing at his arm to allow the room for your leg to lay flat.

choso is instantly terrified. concern replacing ecstasy in a second as he clocks the pain cry as opposed to the pleasure cry and he pulls back.

"What's happening?" his hands fly to your thigh, unaware as to what is going on. "Did I hurt you? Are you okay? Baby, what's wrong?"

you shake your head, no answer in your answer and cry out. "I have a cramp."

you flex your foot, feeling the muscle spasm as you cry and wait for the pain to subside. Choso relaxes beside you, now aware he has not unintentionally hurt you, and replaces your hands on your calf. strong fingers rub tenderly at the muscle and when only you stop whining and hissing, does he put your leg down.

"Better?" he asks and collapses onto your chest, resting his full weight atop you.

"Much," you nod and begin to card your fingers through his hair. "You good?"

Choso nods, a smile creeping on his face until he is beaming. "So good." burying his head into your chest, you feel his teeth nip at your breast and arms tighten on your waist. words immediately after sex are minimal between the two of you. For a few minutes after, there is nothing but the sound of rushing blood in both your minds and you need a few seconds to gather your thoughts before speaking in full complete sentences.

minutes pass and there is nothing but the sound of your breathing and occasional sighs of contentment until Choso pipes up. "I lied."

you humm your question.

he grins sheepishly at you as you feel his cock stiffen against your thigh. "I think I need one more."

[angie-likes-to-art]

Fic Recs (Stranger Things Edition VI)

All fics are fem!reader

Marvel One Two Three Harry Potter One Two Three Stranger Things One Two Three Four Five Specific Characters Tangerine Masterlist

Bad For Business (Series, Completed) by @upsidedownwithsteve (18+ Only)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “An enemies to lovers AU. Join the team at the Upside Down Arcade, where the machines eat your quarters and the staff have some personal issues.”

hey. (Series, Completed) by @stevesharrlngtons

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “he was such a staple piece in your life, that as a child and young teen, you never saw your life without him. late night promises and pinky swears were made in blanket forts that you two would be friends until the day the sun burned out in the sky. it was just a given that’d he be there, that you never worried about the two of you drifting apart or being separated. he promised he’d always be there, and you had believed him. you now corrected yourself, foolishly believed him.”

Disappointed Revalations by @ahsokaismyqueen

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader Summary: “ After working on a school project together, you had actually started to believe that there was more to Steve Harrington than meets the eye. All of that changes after an interaction with Jonathan Byers.”

Indifferent by @stevesherdaddynowlover (18+ Only)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “you and steve are coworkers and while you try (and fail) to act like he doesn’t exist, he’s a little obsessed with you and would do anything to have your attention ”

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACCIÓN by @eddiesghxst (18+ Only)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Pornstar!Reader Summary: “eddie is short on rent this month and needs quick cash, luckily he stumbles upon an ad for casting in an adult film and finds himself shooting a porno with you”

Noisy Neighbors by @eddiesxangel (18+ Only)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader’s Girlfriend x Reader Summary: “Eddie has no idea what he’s getting into with the two new girls next door.”

Absolutly Smitten by @starryeyedstories

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “ There’s a new crew member at Scoops Ahoy and Steve might have a crush.”

the swindling of steve harrington’s heart by @stevebabey

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “you write for the advice column in the hawkins post, under the pen name gabby. you get a letter asking for advice about a first date and there’s no way it’s the same guy you’ve just landed a first date with, right? steve harrington doesn’t need help with his dates… right?”

That Guy by @appocalipse

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader Summary: “After he's been to yet another failed date with yet another random pretty girl, Steve Harrington, your best friend, stops by at the diner your family owns for a late-night chat, same as he'd done a thousand times before. Steve is totally unaware of how much he's hurting you with his endless parade of dates, because after all — the two of you are only friends and nothing more, right? It's not like you have any secret feelings for him…”

Eyes Half Shut by @crappymixtape

Pairing: Steve Harrington  x Reader Summary: “hawkins high alumni always run the end of year carnival to help raise funds for the school and steve is always in charge of the alumni basketball game, but this year they’re trying out a kissing booth and who better to headline than steve harrington?”

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me #Issue 5

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally catch Spiderman in your bed and try to get answers to the many many questions you have.

Word count: 3,200 words.

Content: Awkward one bed shenanigans, teensy bits of angst

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

You wake to the glare of the morning sun spilling through the curtains.

Your first waking thought is that it. is. so. bright. God, why is it so fucking bright.

Your second thought is that you need to pee. 

There is no third. Because your bladder is killing you. 

There's just one not-so-small problem, and he's lying on top of you, in the same position he fell asleep in last night. Wrapped all around you, clinging on like you're a soft comfort blankie he refused to be weaned off of.

It's not... unpleasant, exactly (your need to pee aside).

For such a large man, being trapped underneath him is more comfortable than you might have expected. He's heavy, sure, but the pressure feels more like a weighted blanket with the way he's draped across your body, arms curled around your waist and back. 

It helps that the sheer size disparity means that you're too small of a surface area for his whole body to cover and most of his weight rests on the mattress. 

Rather than suffocating, it’s almost… cozy.

It must be really early in the morning, because your room is nearly silent. You can’t hear the familiar New York traffic. The noise of honking cars, angry shouting people and screaming cop sirens outside of your window. Instead, in the quiet of the morning the only noise you hear is the sound of his soft snoring against your collarbone.

Before today, you never knew superheroes snore. It’s not the sort of mundane thing you ever think about superheroes doing.

You stare up at him for a minute, soft skin and long lashes fluttering across his cheeks, marveling that he looks so... human. 

Which of course he does. The observation shouldn’t really surprise you. For all the fantastical mythos that surrounds them, at the end of the day, most superheroes are human beings. 

…Unless you're talking about Thor, of course, who’s an actual Viking God. And maybe not Hulk either, because... well... look at him. He’s all green and roided out, you don’t know what he is but he’s certainly not human. And then there’s– Okay, you know what, now that you actually think about it, a lot of superheroes are not human at all.

Maybe that’s why last night took you so much by surprise. You always thought they were invincible. You’d never guess that a slice of coffee cake could bring one down, collapsing as easily like a poorly built house of cards.  

Even more surprised when he’d held onto you, pleading for you to stay. 

When you see the Avengers plastered on the front cover of every newspaper, they look larger than life. When you see Captain America and his star-spangled shield sparkling in the centerfold of the Times, you never really stop to consider, what’s he like when the mask comes off.

In some abstract way, you were aware that superheroes have lives beyond just superheroing. You just never thought about the fact that a lot of them probably have families at home that they worry about. Friends that they care for. People they miss. 

Nena

He'd said.

The person he mistook you for last night.

Something squeezes uncomfortably tight in your chest just remembering the tone in his voice when he said it.

Something is going on here. It's clear to you now even more so than before, that this man doesn’t just keep saving you out of sheer coincidence. There’s a mystery here that’s all tied together in an interconnected web somehow and you're pretty sure it has to do with this Nena person. She is most likely the answer to why your whole life has been upended in the last few months. 

You need to find out what is going on and now that he's physically here, right in front of you, as soon as he wakes you can finally ask him and get some answers that are long overdue. 

You just really need to fucking pee first.

Gingerly, you wedge an arm between your chest and his. You attempt to slowly and carefully pry open the stranglehold he has on you, hoping to scoot up and out of his arms.

He grunts in reply, still soundly asleep, and his arms tighten their hold on you, pulling you back into him as he burrows his face into your chest.

"Five more minutes," he grumbles, voice raspy with sleep. "Nena, it's too early."

There it is again, that nickname. You freeze, holding as still as possible, feeling your heart skip a beat at the tone of his voice as he said it. It’s said with so much fondness and hints at so much familiarity each time he has said it. 

You don't know what you're meant to do in this situation. Except you clearly can’t let him go on thinking you’re… whoever it is that he thinks you are for much longer.

There are the muddy moral implications of allowing this to go on any further after all, considering that the man probably has no idea where he is after you practically roofied him with baked goods.

You also still really need to go pee already.

He shifts against you, one thick, heavy thigh wrapping over your leg and pulling you in further before coming to a rest directly on top of your bladder. Okay, fuck, you take back what you said about this not being unpleasant. This is really, really unpleasant. 

You need him to get up now. 

Forcing your hand free, you reach up to give him a polite tap on the shoulder. When polite doesn’t get you any results, you do it harder, three successive taps, and he still doesn’t even stir. You keep tapping, progressively harder until you’re punching him hard enough that any normal person would be yelping in pain and begging you to stop. 

He groans once, arms shifting to secure his hold on you. For a moment you think he’s going to ask for another ‘five minutes,’ but then the whole of his body goes stiff, every muscle suddenly rigid with tension. A suspended silence permeates the space, and you find yourself holding your breath unsure of what to do next. The silence is broken by the sound of your bedsheets shifting, and you feel the firm hold around your waist ease off, his arms and legs retreating from your body. 

He's up and out of bed in one smooth move, almost faster than you can follow. By the time you struggle upright in bed (much less gracefully) he's already standing a few feet away, hands fisted at his sides. 

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you and then off to the side like he can’t quite bring himself to meet your eyes, a bright flush burning high on his cheeks, “I… uh… I thought you were someone else."

His hulking frame towers over your bed, but he’s acting like a sulky, embarrassed little boy. The contrast should be absurd, but instead you find it… strangely endearing. Apparently even a high and mighty superhero can be brought low by an awkward situation, just like everyone else.

"It's okay. You didn't... um... do anything weird or anything," you say, trying to reassure him, but you can't concentrate on your words when your bladder is screaming bloody murder, "Look, can you give me a second? Just– shit. Just stay right there, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!" you admonish him, throwing the words over your shoulder as you rush past him and into the bathroom

You nearly break your tailbone with how fast you sit down on the toilet seat, hoping to get your business done as quickly as possible and praying the whole 15 seconds that you’re gone that he won’t make a break for it and still be there when you get back. 

Thankfully, when you nearly tear the bathroom door from its hinges, he is.

The first sight that greets you is his broad and defined back framed by the amber light pouring in from your window frame. It makes for a dramatic image. Golden and majestic, he seems to occupy half the space in your tiny apartment as he stands turned away from you, apparently taking in the view from your one and only window. 

The first thing he says to you as he opens your mouth is not, ‘good morning.’ There's no ‘sorry for almost drunkenly smothering you to death last night,’ ‘how did you sleep with my hulk sized body on top of you’ or even a 'thanks for letting me sleep on your bed.' 

No. Rude, knock off, maybe-vampire Spiderman, who still hasn't told you his name, slowly turns back towards you and takes one look at your face. Then he says, "I have to go."

Which, of course that’s what he’d say and do. Of course. You’re nearly growling with frustration as you run up to him.   

"Wait!" you shout, darting around to block his path as you try to lead him back further into your apartment. "Do you want some breakfast?" 

You still don't know him very well yet, but your few interactions so far have shown you that the way to break through his grumpy defenses is through his stomach.

"I can fix you up something. I’ve got some eggs in the fridge, and I can do scrambled or fried. Maybe over-easy, though I sometimes mess up the timing.” 

You’re rambling on purpose. Speaking as fast as you can, as you continue to pull him towards your kitchen. You’re making sure he can’t get a word in edgewise, so that he doesn’t have a chance to protest before the food is in his stomach, and by then he’ll surely eat the whole thing before he starts getting sassy with you again. By then you’ll hopefully be able to sneak in one or two questions between mouthfuls. 

He shakes his head, "No, I–I have to go... I wasn't supposed to..."

Not a fan of eggs, you note. It makes sense, so far the only thing you've ever seen him eat is baked goods, probably has a sweet tooth.

"I could make you pancakes? I won't even put coffee in them, I promise," you tease gently, hoping the humor might pull a smile from him.

It doesn't. If anything, his eyes look even sadder.

He stops mid-step, and no matter how much of your weight you put in trying to herd and push him towards your kitchen, he won’t budge an inch. You’d have more success moving a bull by its horns, and considering he’s bigger built than one, that tracks. 

There’s no strain in his features, as he stays still, resistant to your efforts. "This is a mistake,” he says. “I should never have gotten involved."

He's moving again, this time away from you, stepping towards the window. Shit, he's going to make a run for it.

In the course of the last 24 hours you've managed to leap off the Chrysler building; poison the superhero standing in front of you; slept with him in the same bed; and yet somehow, through all of this, you still haven't managed to do the one thing you actually wanted: have a simple conversation with him.

"Wait, wait!" you shout out, panicky. "Can we just talk for a second? I really need to talk to you. I just want some answers.”

"I don't have any answers for you," he says. 

He's turned his back again, one hand on the window sill as he's preparing to climb onto it. If you let him leap off it now, you don’t know when your next chance will be to catch him again. 

"I'm not going to stop trying," you shout out in a last desperate attempt and that finally stops him in his tracks. 

“I’m gonna be leaving,” he says with a finality in his words. 

It doesn’t stop you though, doesn’t even discourage you. He might be stubborn, but you can give him a run for his money, because this is your life on the line.  

“Then I’ll run after you. I’ll keep chasing after you. I'll keep asking, and asking, and asking. I'm not going to stop until you give me some answers."

There’s a silence between you again. Then he straightens his posture, and turns his head just far enough that you can catch his eyes. Whatever uncertainty was there before fades away as you see the resolve in his eyes harden.

"You're never going to see me again."

There's an ugly noise. A scratch over the vinyl of a record screeching in your brain that makes you unable to comprehend his words. You have to replay them in your mind, parsing them out, before you realize what he's actually telling you.

“Wait, what do you mean never see you again!?” you step forward towards the window sill, and he visibly retreats at your advance. “As in, you're going to back to avoiding me? It’s kind of late for that, isn't it? I've seen your face... twice. We’ve slept together!"

"No," he answers brusquely, brows pulled in at a sharp angle. “I'm leaving the… area. I'm not going to be around anymore."

“But you’ll be back… right?” you ask. Some corner of your brain refuses to accept what you think he’s telling you. 

With a graceful movement, he leaps back down from the window sill, taking a step forward and leaning in until he’s looming over you, his face inches from your own. 

“No,” he repeats, emphasizing the word.

Oh… 

His words finally click. It took a few attempts for the stubborn gear in your brain to unjam, but you finally hear what he’s been trying repeatedly to tell you.

He’s leaving for good. He’s not coming back. 

You… You don’t know how you feel. Your cheeks are strangely numb. Somehow the idea that he might not be around indefinitely had never occurred to you. You’ve grown accustomed to the safe haven he’s provided. Come to rely on him and the familiar safety of his shadow lurking around every corner, the blurred blue and red rescuing you from this crazy world trying to kill you. 

A flash of cold sweat breaks out along your back. His presence is your only anchor to safety. If he’s not here… 

"But– but– if you leave…” You trail off, barely able to imagine it.

All the near-misses flash through your mind. The taco truck stampeding through the city, the subway train barrelling towards you, construction sites crashing down right above your head. So many deaths held at bay by the one man in front of you, and if he leaves… If he’s gone…

You can barely choke out the next words, your voice a strangled whisper, “...what’s going to happen to me?”

A flash of anguish breaks through his stony features before he turns away, dropping his gaze to his feet. Pained sadness bleeds into those crimson eyes, something that speaks of guilt, loss and defeat. 

"I’m sorry," he says quietly, "I can't save you. I never could. Nothing can."

And what can you say to that? You can’t force him to do more for you than he already has. He’s done a lot—much more than anyone has to, superhero or not, and you know that—and it’s selfish of you to ask more.

You swallow down the anxiety crawling up your throat and it tastes like burnt bile. 

Anyone would be lucky to have a superhero save them from certain death even once in their lifetime, and somehow you've been blessed with more times than you can count. 

In fact, you’ve been spoiled rotten, managing to escape death so many times that you've grown almost… complacent about it. Expecting him to rescue you, when really you've been living on borrowed time for months now, winning one lottery ticket after another. You've had more extra time than anyone could ever wish for.

In front of you, you see him moving again. If you let him go like this, then this is it. This is where it all ends. Without him, it’s only a matter of time before death catches up with you again—for good this time.

You shake your head, refusing the defeat. It may be selfish, greedy even, but this is your life and you can’t let it end here.

You don’t want to die. You made a promise to yourself when you fell out of the Chrysler building for the first time. 

You want to live. You want to live. You want to live. 

"Wait! Please..." You grab onto his hand, and even though you have no doubt he could break free from your desperate grip with very little effort, he stops for you.

"I don't know what's going on! Every day I walk out that door, and almost die again and again and again. I'm scared and confused, and it seems like the universe is hellbent on killing me, and you're the only clue I've got as to why. The only reason I'm still alive is because you keep saving me. I know that it’s selfish to ask you this, because you don’t owe me anything. But…” 

You pause, drawing in a deep breath, and say the words with your whole chest, “I want to live!”

He doesn’t quite flinch, but the hand at his side twitches and then he’s reaching up to you. So close, you can almost feel his knuckles grace the side of your cheek. Then he stops, a fraction of an inch from your face. 

He tilts his head to the side, like he’s listening to something you can’t hear.

Must be some other emergency your unfriendly neighborhood Spider-man needs to be on his way to. You try to push down the unexpected envy boiling in your stomach at the thought. 

Although… now that you’re listening, you can hear something too. Something like the low hum of a helicopter, growing louder all the time. 

Must be a police chopper. Traffic ‘copters aren’t allowed to fly so low.

Abruptly, the light flees your apartment. Shadow sweeps across your window and covers everything in pitched darkness. 

A blackout? But it's morning, even if the power went out, the sun should still be–

You feel it before you see it in the dark, a tight grip on your wrist pulling you. His arm slams across your waist, yanking you backwards.

The world lurches around you, receding with a deafening roar of collapsing concrete and shrieking metal. The last thing you see is the wall of your apartment disappearing in a cloud of dust and twisted metal.

Your stomach drops sickeningly. Bright light flashes across your vision in intense rainbow-colored bursts. Pink. Red. Green. Blue. You have to close your eyes as wind whips mercilessly against your cheeks, loud impossible roaring in your ears.

Is this death? Somehow you thought it would be quieter. Calm.

Still.

And then it is. Everything stops, and when you finally dare open your eyes again, there’s…

Nothing.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my lovely collaborator @thirstworldproblemss who is always staying up brainstorming with me, listen to my insane ramblings, plotting each scene in the outlines and helping me beta and edit and even rewrite large chunks of paragraphs I'm unhappy with til the very last minute. Truly my favorite person in all of the lands. I love you!!

[pretzel-box]

-2- THE WALLS WHICH WILL EAT US

word count: 5,2k

tags: GN!reader, graphic mentions of panic attacks, getting attacked

summary: You get shipped to the Hadal Blackside and start your new mission to get the crystal and Z-13, Sebastian Solace. But it seems like the visitors of the Blackside are getting you first.

The sharp scent of various chemicals invaded your senses the moment you arrived at the dock, where Urbanshade housed their high-tech submarines for underwater expeditions—expeditions much like the one you were about to embark on. The dock itself was a massive, bustling hub, with staff members moving swiftly through the vast hall, each absorbed in their own tasks. Cargo was being transported, machines were being meticulously maintained, and the air was filled with the constant hum of activity, all contributing to the strange, industrial rhythm of the place.

The dock was located within a closed hall, nestled just below water level in one of Urbanshade’s many sprawling facilities. From where you stood, you could see the vast array of technology they had developed, each piece funded by the considerable wealth of people like your father. It was impossible not to feel a sense of awe at the sheer scale of their operations. Urbanshade’s business was far more than you had imagined; mining oil from the ocean depths seemed like it was just a side hustle for them, a mere footnote in their grander, more mysterious endeavors.

As you took in your surroundings, the reality of Urbanshade’s reach began to sink in. The size of the submarines alone was staggering, each one a marvel of engineering, designed to withstand the crushing pressures of the deep sea. Workers in identical uniforms moved like clockwork, each performing their duties with practiced efficiency. The atmosphere was one of cold, calculated precision, a far cry from the chaotic hustle you had expected.

“Hey, over here.” A voice cut through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. A tall man, dressed in the same standard-issue uniform as the others, stood before you. His demeanor was strict, his expression unreadable. He was clearly used to the environment, his posture rigid and commanding. This man was your guide, assigned to escort you through the facility, ensuring you didn’t stray from the carefully laid path Urbanshade had set for you.

“Follow me,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned on his heel and began to walk, expecting you to follow without hesitation.

You fell into step behind him, your mind racing as you tried to absorb everything at once. The guide led you through a series of corridors, each more sterile and unwelcoming than the last. The walls were lined with thick metal plating, a stark reminder of the underwater pressures that lurked just beyond. Occasionally, you caught glimpses of other workers, their faces blank as they passed by, absorbed in their own duties.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Urbanshade was preparing you for. The deep levels of the ocean were a place of mystery, danger, and unimaginable pressure, both physically and mentally. And yet, here you were, about to be plunged into its depths with little more than a vague idea of what awaited you.

The guide finally stopped in front of a heavy, reinforced door. He glanced at you, his expression softening ever so slightly, before pressing a button on the wall. The door slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing the medical station beyond.

"Standard procedure," the guide said, his voice less harsh now, as if trying to offer some semblance of comfort. "They just need to make sure you’re fit for the journey ahead. Nothing to worry about."

You nodded, stepping through the doorway into the sterile, clinical environment of the medical station. The room was starkly lit, with white walls and gleaming medical equipment arranged neatly along the perimeter. A team of doctors and nurses, all dressed in pristine white uniforms, waited for you inside. Their faces were a mix of professionalism and mild curiosity, as though you were just another specimen to be examined before being sent on your way.

As the door closed behind you, sealing you in the room, the reality of your situation began to weigh heavily on you. You had to pass this final checkpoint, a thorough examination to ensure you were physically prepared for the journey ahead before getting the one-way ticket to hell.

The doctors gestured for you to sit on a cold metal chair in the center of the room. You did so, feeling the coolness seep through your clothes as they began their work, checking your vital signs, drawing blood, and performing a series of tests designed to assess your fitness for the perilous journey.

All the while, your mind kept drifting back to the massive submarines and the dark, unknown depths they were built to explore. You couldn’t shake the feeling that once you boarded one of those vessels, there would be no turning back. The only way out was through, and whatever lay ahead in the deep ocean was as vast and unknowable as the abyss itself.

As the medical team finished their assessment, the door slid open again, and your guide reappeared. His expression was as stern as before, but there was a slight nod of approval as he looked at you.

“You’re cleared,” he said simply, stepping aside to let you exit the room. “Now, let’s get you suited up. It’s time.”

With a deep breath, you followed him out of the medical station.

After the medical examination, the guide led you back through the labyrinth of hallways, deeper into the heart of the facility. Your mind raced as you walked, the sterile environment doing little to calm your nerves. You were heading toward something monumental, something that would change the course of your life, but the details were still murky, shrouded in the secrecy of Urbanshade’s operations.

Finally, you arrived at another reinforced door, larger and more imposing than the last. The guide swiped a keycard through a panel, and the door slid open with a deep, resonant hiss. Inside, a small team of technicians was bustling around a large metal chamber—your submarine. The sight of it sent a shiver down your spine. It looks like a giant dark prison that would suffocate you slowly once you step inside.

“Suit up,” the guide instructed, gesturing toward a nearby rack where a diving suit hung waiting for you.

You approached the suit, eyeing it with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. It was sleek, made from a dark, heavy material that felt both flexible and incredibly durable. The suit was designed to withstand the crushing pressures of the deep sea and most of the things that were swimming in the water such as tiny bacteria, and as you ran your fingers over it, you could feel the quality of the suit.

With some help from the technicians, you began the process of donning the suit. They worked with swift efficiency, guiding your arms and legs into the suit’s sleeves, adjusting the fit, and sealing it tight around your body. The suit clung to you like a second skin, the material warming slightly as it activated, responding to your body heat.

Next came the helmet, a heavy, reinforced piece with a full visor that provided a wide field of vision. The technicians lowered it carefully onto your head, locking it into place with a series of metallic clicks. The moment the helmet sealed, your world became slightly muffled, the sounds of the facility fading into a low hum as the suit’s internal systems took over. A heads-up display flickered to life on the visor, showing a stream of data—your vitals, oxygen levels and a myriad of other readings you couldn’t yet decipher.

The last piece of your equipment was a utility belt, which the technicians fastened securely around your waist. The belt was lined with pouches and compartments, each designed to hold the tools you’d need for the mission. You noticed a small pouch containing a syringe—likely the medication to knock out Sebastian. It had the same color as the syringe in Mr.Wiltshires office. Another compartment held the USB stick, its purpose still lingering in your mind and clearly important given its inclusion in your gear. There were other items as well—what looked like a flashlight and a single medkit.

As the final adjustments were made, the guide stepped forward, his expression as unreadable as ever. “This suit will keep you alive down there,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “But it’s not invincible. Be smart, and don’t push your luck.”

You nodded, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. The weight of the suit was beginning to settle in, both physically and mentally. You were about to be sealed inside a metal capsule and sent into the darkest reaches of the ocean, a place where few had ventured and even fewer had returned from. But there was no turning back now.

The guide led you toward the submarine’s entry hatch, which stood open like a gaping maw, waiting to swallow you whole. The technicians handed you a pair of thick gloves and a small pack containing a few rations and basic batteries for the flashlight—just in case.

With everything in place, you took a deep breath and stepped into the submarine. The interior was cramped, with barely enough room to stand upright. Every surface was lined with panels of blinking lights, screens displaying data, and rows of buttons and switches whose functions you could only guess at. It was a far cry from the spacious, sterile halls of the facility above.

The guide climbed in after you, maneuvering with practiced ease in the tight space. He gestured for you to sit in one of the reinforced seats bolted to the floor. You complied, feeling the seat’s harness click into place around your suit. The guide moved to the controls at the front of the vessel, flipping switches and pressing buttons with the confidence of someone who had done this many times before.

“This is it,” he said without looking back at you. “Once we close the hatch, we’ll begin the descent. The sub is fully automated, so you won’t need to do much. Just keep an eye on your vitals, and stay calm.”

The hatch began to close with a heavy clang, the last sliver of light from the outside world disappearing as the metal door sealed shut. A dull thud echoed through the chamber, followed by a series of mechanical whirs and clicks as the submarine’s systems came online.

You felt a slight shift as the vessel detached from its moorings, the faint sensation of movement signaling the start of your journey. The submarine began its slow, steady descent into the depths, the hum of the engines the only sound breaking the silence.

You glanced at the small viewport beside you, watching as the murky waters of the facility’s dock gave way to the inky blackness of the deep sea. The light from the sub’s exterior lamps cut through the darkness, revealing the occasional flicker of marine life darting past. But as you continued to descend, even those fleeting glimpses faded away, leaving you surrounded by a void so absolute it felt like you were sinking into nothingness.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours as you descended deeper and deeper. The pressure increased with every meter, the submarine creaking and groaning in response. You kept your eyes on the HUD inside your helmet, watching the readings carefully, trying to stay calm.

Suddenly, a voice crackled through the comms, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re reaching the operational depth,” the guide said, his voice sounding distant. “Everything’s looking good. We’ll be in position shortly.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, and took a deep breath to steady yourself. You were about to reach the point of no return, the depth where Urbanshade’s mysteries lay hidden.

As the submarine settled into position, the guide turned toward you, his face illuminated by the dim glow of the controls. “From here on out, you’re on your own,” he said, his tone serious. “Follow your mission, and you’ll be fine. And remember—whatever happens, stay focused. This isn’t just some walk in the park. What you find down here could change everything.”

With that, he pressed a final button, and the submarine’s systems hummed to life in full force. The hatch beside you opened with a loud hiss, revealing a narrow passage leading out into the deep.

It was time. You unbuckled your harness, your gloved hands moving with a new sense of purpose. The small pouch on your belt containing the syringe and USB stick felt heavier than before, a constant reminder of the stakes. You adjusted your gear one last time, ensuring everything was secure.

Then, with one final look back at the guide, you stepped out of the submarine and into the unknown.

The submarine’s departure was swift and final, leaving you standing alone in the small, dimly lit underwater dock. The hatch closed with a deep metallic thud, and the vessel immediately began its descent back into the depths, the sound of the engines fading into the surrounding water until there was nothing but silence. You were left to take in your new surroundings.

The dock itself was smaller and far more utilitarian than the one you had departed from. Heavy cargo boxes were stacked neatly along the walls, each labeled with codes and symbols you couldn’t decipher. Metal shelves held various tools and equipment, their contents slightly askew, as if someone had left in a hurry. A few tables were scattered around, covered with open crates, maps, and other items left behind by whoever had last used this space. Everything had a layer of dust on it, giving the place an eerie, abandoned feel.

As you took a cautious step forward, your boots echoed on the metal floor, breaking the stillness. The air was thick with the scent of saltwater and oil, mingled with a faint metallic tang that made your skin prickle. The lighting was low, casting long shadows that danced across the walls with each flicker of the overhead lamps.

You moved toward one of the tables, scanning its contents. A few scattered documents caught your eye, their pages yellowed and brittle. Most of the text was smudged or faded, but you could make out references to “Navi-Paths” and “Asset Collection,” terms you recognized from your briefing. Whatever had happened here, it was clear that this facility had been operational once—before it was abandoned to the deep.

Suddenly, a crackle of static filled the air, making you jump. After a moment, a voice from Urbanshade HQ cut through the noise, calm and authoritative.

“Welcome to the Hadal Blackside,” the voice began, echoing in the empty dock with an unsettling clarity. “You are now within one of the most classified zones in all of Urbanshade’s operations. Your objective is simple: collect all assets and follow the designated Navi-Path. The resources you gather here are invaluable to our continued efforts, and your success is imperative.”

The voice paused, letting the weight of the words sink in before continuing.

“The Navi-Path has been mapped out for you. Follow it closely. It's the door signs. Straying from the path may result in disorientation, loss of communication, and even death. You are on your own out there, but we expect nothing less than full compliance. Remember: your mission is the priority. All other considerations are secondary.”

The transmission ended abruptly, leaving you alone once again in the oppressive silence of the dock. The weight of their words hung heavy in the air, the enormity of your task settling in. You adjusted the belt strapped around your waist, securing the small pouches that held the few tools you’d been given—some basic equipment, the small syringe for “emergency” use, and the USB stick that would prove vital to your mission.

Steeling yourself, you moved toward the exit, your path uncertain but driven by necessity. The first room beyond the dock was a wide, cavernous space, lit only by a few dimly lights that barely cut through the darkness. The walls were lined with more shelves, some of which had toppled over, spilling their contents onto the floor. Papers, tools, and unidentifiable scraps of metal were strewn everywhere, evidence of some past chaos.

You stepped carefully around the debris, your eyes scanning the room for anything useful. You found a few more documents, some partially legible, others completely ruined by time and moisture. Most were mundane—logs of inventory, maintenance records—but you stuffed a few into your pouch, just in case.

As you moved deeper into the room, your flashlight beam landed on a closed file cabinet in the corner. You approached it cautiously, the handle cold and slightly rusted under your gloved hand. With a bit of effort, you managed to pry it open. Inside, you found a stack of neatly organized files, most of them still in decent condition. You quickly flipped through them, noting the keywords: “Expedition Logs,” “Resource Acquisition,” “Subject Analysis.” These were the assets you were here for. You stuffed as many as you could into your pouch, the weight pressing against your side as you continued your search.

The next room was larger, with a vaulted ceiling that made the space feel even more ominous. Large machines sat dormant along the walls, their purposes unknown but their sheer size intimidating. The sound of dripping water echoed through the chamber, each drop amplified in the silence.

As you moved cautiously through the room, you spotted another item of interest—a small metal case half-hidden under one of the machines. You pulled it out and carefully opened it, revealing a series of USB sticks neatly lined up inside. Each was labeled with codes similar to the ones on the files you’d found. You didn’t know what they contained, but they were clearly important. You took the entire case, securing it in one of your larger pouches.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, sending a jolt of fear through you. You blinked, trying to shake off the unease. The facility was old, after all, and flickering lights were just another sign of its decay—nothing to worry about. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself, brushing off the creeping dread that began to settle in.

But then, the sound hit you—an ear-piercing, bone-chilling scream that reverberated through the walls, freezing you in place. It wasn’t human, not by any stretch of the imagination. The sound clawed at your nerves, each second amplifying the terror gnawing at your gut.

Before you could even process what was happening, a massive black cloud of smoke burst into the room, swirling with unnatural speed and intensity. The sight of it sent your mind into a frenzy. This was no ordinary malfunction. Panic gripped you like a vice, your instincts screaming at you to run, to hide, to do anything to escape whatever horror was hurtling toward you.

Without thinking, you bolted toward the nearest hiding spot—an open locker tucked away in the corner of the room. You flung yourself inside, pulling the door shut just as the cloud surged closer, filling the room with darkness and a suffocating sense of dread. You held your breath, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to stay as still and quiet as possible.

Inside the cramped locker, you could hear the creature—or whatever it was—moving through the room, the sounds it made more akin to a swarm than a single entity. It hissed and crackled, its presence oppressive, as if the very air was being sucked out of the space. You could feel the vibrations of its movements through the metal walls of the locker, each shift causing you to tense up even more.

Time seemed to stretch out, every second an agonizing eternity as you waited, hoping that the creature would pass you by. Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts, none of them comforting. What was that thing? Why was it here? And, most terrifying of all—would it find you?

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to quiet your breathing, hoping against hope that the locker would be enough to shield you from whatever nightmare had been unleashed in this forsaken place.

The giant monster rushed past as quickly as it had appeared, leaving you trembling in the confines of the locker. Your chest heaved, desperate for air, but it felt like no oxygen was reaching your lungs. Panic gripped you tightly, each breath coming out as a shallow gasp. Your thoughts spiraled, the terror of what you’d just witnessed crashing over you in waves.

Your hands shook uncontrollably as you fumbled with the helmet of your diving suit, the need to get it off suddenly overwhelming. The locker felt suffocatingly small, the walls pressing in on you from all sides. You could feel the cold metal against your back, your fingers finally finding the latch on the helmet. With a frantic jerk, you ripped it off your head, letting it fall with a clatter inside the cramped space.

Gasping, you sucked in the stale, metallic-tasting air of the locker, but it wasn’t enough. Your heart pounded furiously in your chest, the sound of your own pulse deafening in your ears. It felt like the walls were closing in, squeezing the breath out of your lungs. No matter how much air you took in, it wasn’t enough to calm the storm raging inside you.

Your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes, your mind replaying the sight of that monstrous cloud over and over again. The sheer horror of it, the way it had filled the room with darkness and dread, it was too much to handle. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force the images out of your head, but they wouldn’t go away. The locker felt like a cage, trapping you with your fear, and your thoughts spiraled further out of control.

Your breaths came faster and faster, each one shallower than the last. You tried to steady yourself, to get a grip, but your body wouldn’t listen. You felt like you were drowning in your own panic, every nerve in your body screaming for escape, but there was nowhere to go. The fear had taken over completely, locking you in a vice grip of terror.

For what felt like an eternity, you sat there, struggling to breathe, your body shaking with the intensity of the panic attack. Eventually, the sheer exhaustion began to slow your frantic breaths, but the fear still lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind. You knew you couldn’t stay in the locker forever, but the thought of stepping back out into the darkness, where that thing might still be lurking, was almost too much to bear.

But you also knew you couldn’t stay in this state, trapped in a locker, paralyzed by fear. You forced yourself to take deeper breaths, to focus on the sound of your breathing, the feel of the cold air filling your lungs.

In the end, you couldn’t stay in the locker any longer. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, suffocating you with your own fear. With shaky breaths, you finally gathered the courage to push open the door and step out into the dark, disorienting space. The room was eerily silent, the absence of light making it impossible to see where you were going. You hesitated, trying to get your bearings without crashing into any furniture or walls.

Then it hit you—you had a flashlight. Relief mingled with your lingering panic as you remembered. Quickly, you fumbled for it, plucking it from your belt and flipping it on. The beam cut through the darkness, revealing the room around you. The light danced over scattered documents, overturned furniture, and… a strange, human-shaped hole in the wall.

You blinked, trying to make sense of it. The edges of the hole were jagged, as if something had forced its way out of the wall. Unease prickled at the back of your neck as you stepped closer, the flashlight’s beam trembling in your hand. You leaned in to get a better look, your mind racing with possibilities, none of them good.

Suddenly, a soft, almost imperceptible sound echoed through the hall—a faint shuffling, like something dragging across the floor. You froze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The sound was close, too close, and it sent a chill down your spine.

You swung the flashlight around, its beam sweeping over the room, desperately searching for the source of the noise. The light caught movement—just a flicker at the edge of the beam, but enough to send your heart racing.

Your breath hitched as you slowly turned toward the direction of the movement. Your flashlight illuminated a figure emerging from the wall itself, its form eerily human but distorted in unsettling ways. The Wall Dweller moved silently, its dark, gaunt shape blending seamlessly with the shadows. It was halfway out of the wall, its empty eyes locked on you with a chilling intensity.

For a moment, you were paralyzed by fear, your body refusing to respond as the Wall Dweller slithered free from the wall. But as the flashlight beam lingered on it, something unexpected happened—the creature froze. Its body stood still against the light, and for a brief second, it seemed almost uncertain.

Then, with a sudden, jerky motion, the Wall Dweller recoiled. It shifted back, retreating toward the open door you came from as if the light had unnerved it. You watched in shock as the creature sprinted back through the hallway, its gaunt figure slipping away into the darkness from which you came. The shuffling sound faded as quickly as it had begun, leaving you alone in the quiet room once more.

You stood there, heart pounding in your chest, flashlight still pointed at the now-empty wall. The encounter had left you rattled, but relief washed over you as you realized the Wall Dweller had fled, seemingly more afraid of you—or perhaps of the light—than you were of it.

Slowly, you lowered the flashlight, trying to steady your breath. The room was silent again, but the tension in the air had lessened. Whatever that thing was, it was gone now.

You took a moment to steady yourself, the flashlight still clutched tightly in your hand. The room was quiet, the Wall Dweller gone, but your nerves were frayed. You couldn’t afford to stay here any longer, not with the darkness pressing in and the uncertainty of what might be lurking nearby. You needed to keep moving.

Cautiously, you stepped out of the room and into the hallway, the beam of your flashlight leading the way. The hall stretched out before you, lined with doors that seemed to go on forever. You chose one at random, the door creaking open as you pushed it with trembling hands. The room beyond was an office, eerily quiet and dimly lit by the emergency lights flickering weakly overhead.

You scanned the room, your eyes falling on several desks cluttered with papers and office supplies. You knew what you were here for—files, documents, anything that might be of value or contain information. Your heart was still racing, but you forced yourself to move forward, sweeping the flashlight over the desks and shelves.

As you approached the nearest desk, you noticed a stack of files haphazardly piled on top. Quickly, you started rifling through them, your eyes scanning the labels and dates. Some of them seemed important, so you grabbed what you could, shoving the files into the small pouch at your waist. The rest of the room yielded more documents, USB sticks, and other bits of data that you added to your growing collection.

The more you found, the more you realized how vital this information might be. But as you continued to search, the lights above you flickered, sending a jolt of fear straight through your chest. You froze, staring at the ceiling as the light stuttered again, threatening to plunge you into darkness.

Panic gripped you. The memory of the Wall Dweller was still fresh in your mind, and the thought of being caught in the dark again was unbearable. Your breath quickened, the room suddenly feeling far too exposed, too open. You needed to get out, and fast.

There was no locker here, nowhere to hide. You glanced around frantically, searching for another exit, another room—anywhere that might offer safety. The lights flickered once more, this time staying off for a fraction too long. It was enough to make your decision.

Without thinking, you bolted from the office, your footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted hallway. You didn't care about the noise, didn't care about anything except getting to a place where you could hide. The hallway seemed endless, but you pushed yourself forward, heart hammering in your chest.

Finally, you spotted another door ahead, slightly ajar. You sprinted towards it, not slowing down until you reached it. Your hand shot out, wrenching the door open as you stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind you.

Panting heavily, you leaned against the door, trying to catch your breath. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of your flashlight, but it felt safer—more enclosed. You aimed the beam around, revealing another small office. This one was more cramped, with just enough space to move around.

Relief washed over you as you noticed a locker in the corner, its metal surface gleaming dully in the light. You wasted no time, crossing the room and throwing open the locker door. It was empty, just big enough for you to fit inside. You clambered in, pulling the door shut behind you as you crouched down, trying to quiet your breathing.

The darkness of the locker felt strangely comforting now, a shield against the unknown. You hugged your knees to your chest, listening intently for any sound outside. But there was nothing—just the pounding of your own heart and the faint hum of the building’s dying lights.

And then a heavy force rushed into the room before smashing itself against the metallic locker, the force pressing a dent into the double doors, making you scream as your space went smaller and smaller. You pushed your shaking legs against the doors with full force, keeping the dent and the monster from squishing you to death but whatever the creature was, wouldn't stop and rammed more against the poor locker that would soon give up.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the relentless force continued to crash against the locker, each impact louder and more violent than the last. The cold metal bent inward with every strike, the sound of creaking steel and the screech of the creature echoing in your ears. The small space grew unbearably tight, the walls closing in as you pushed back with all your might, your legs trembling under the strain. Fear clawed at your throat as you realized the locker wouldn't hold much longer. Desperation surged through you as you searched frantically for any possible escape, knowing that the next impact could be your last.

The relentless assault finally ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. You gasped for breath, your body trembling from the strain and adrenaline. The creature had retreated, its monstrous presence fading into the distance. The metal locker, now warped and twisted, barely provided any protection, but it was over.

Your legs were numb, a dull ache spreading through your entire body. Bruises throbbed on your skin where the locker had pressed into you, and the terror of the encounter left you drained, every ounce of energy spent. As the adrenaline ebbed away, the pain intensified, overwhelming your senses.

With a final, weak breath, your vision blurred, and you slipped into unconsciousness, your body slumped behind the battered double doors.

[asnowdriftsomewhere]

Daylight

Part 1 Cassian x f!reader

AN: Cassian has been on my mind a lot lately, so here is part 1 of a series of short stories about him being him ❤️

Summary: You are Helion's best courtier and researcher, but you have been... off lately. He hopes sending you to the Night Court will help you get back to your usual sunny self.

Warnings: depression, perfectionism, underlying unresolved issues

Word count: 1405

To be a member of Helion's Court was to exude excellence in every way. Perfection was the standard by which every member was held and the bar with which you measured yourself against your rivals. There were no mistakes, no second chances. If you could not stand in the light of Day gloriously unmarred and unbroken, then you had no place with his halls.

However, it wasn't Helion who held his people to such a standard but, rather, the drive of competition that you instilled in each other. The Court of Day had always been composed of fiercely ambitious individuals. He grew up marveling at the impressive work his fathers advisors had done when driven to prove themselves better than their colleagues. The previous High Lord fostered the cutthroat environment. He knew just the right thing to say to stoke the fires among his people and ensure that perfection was always achieved. Always in the spirit of healthy competition, of course. He didn't allow for things to devolve into petty squabbles or grudges that would only distract from the work. You never hated your companions. Were never frustrated by their achievements and successes. Only disappointed in your own abilities.

Perhaps that was why Helion sent you to work in the Night Court, in Rhysand’s library, under the house of wind. He saw how every accomplishment and accolade given to the other of the Court left you feeling hollow and despondent. You were his best researcher, his most knowledgeable Courtier, and yet he saw that light in you fading. Dulling to a mere ember when you once burned like the sun. He hoped that some time away from the high-pressure environment of his Court would reconstitute your usually sunny disposition and lift your spirits.

At first, it had the opposite effect. You never felt lower than when you walked the lowest levels of the library, tears falling quietly down your cheeks as you wandered through the stacks. He sent you away. He made you leave his court - leave the Grand Library - your home, and come here. Where you were left in suffocating silence as the Priestesses went about their own business. Researching whatever flight of fancy captured their attention in the moment and having no real structure about it that you could discern.

Not that you had the capacity to notice much of anything those first few days. You were a shell of a person, mindlessly snaking your way through the shelves as you idly assessed the collection of tombs you were to spend the next six months of your existence working with. It was perhaps one of the reasons you did not notice the dark wings and Illyrian presence following you into the shadows.

It wasn't even that Cassian was trying to hide that he was there. You simply did not pay attention enough to see him as he approached the sitting area at which you had gathered your materials. He didn't even know why he was there, really. Clotho had called him down to check on you after one of the Priestesses had informed her that you had not left the lowest levels in more than a fortnight. But why she didn't just wait for one of the others to get back from their trips baffled him. Mor and Az were on the continent doing what they did best. While Feyre and Rhys were currently on a tour through Prythian to strengthen ties with the other Courts. Even Amren was unavailable since Varian had come into town unexpectedly to see the tiny ancient one.

So here he was feeling five kinds of wrong as he approached you, a clearly unaware female alone in the dark. Though, as he made his way through the stacks to where you were reading, he supposed you weren't exactly sulking in the shadows as he half expected you to be when he had been summoned. Instead, as he descended into the lowest level he knew most avoided, he saw a light glowing dully through the rows of books. Something in his gut tugged him along, pulled him forward as if the mother herself were guiding him to the little sitting area and the female waiting there.

When he finally turned the corner, and there was nothing more hiding you from view, he felt his breath catch in his throat. You were simply beautiful, the most beautiful female he’d ever laid eyes on, and that wasn't even taking into account how your skin glowed like the sun itself prowled within your veins. An earth bound star, trapped in the dark.

You paid him no mind. If you were even aware of his presence, he didn't know. To focused on the tome before you to notice the male now gawking at you from the stacks. He shifted his weight, unsure of what to do as you continued ignoring him and the minutes dragged on. Finally, he cleared his throat, and you jumped back from the table. Your wooden chair chattering to the ground as you put distance between yourself and the Illyrian who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Hey, don't freak out,” he held up his hands. Showing you his empty palms as he gave you an awkward smile. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“And yet your very presence does just that,” you sneered, your heart beating fast in your chest and your eyes darting to the darkened shelves that surrounded you. Too many places - there were too many places for others to hide-

“I'm just here to check on you,” he spoke evenly, his voice softer than any male you'd ever heard before. It made you still, “Clotho was concerned that you hadn't yet left the library.”

Your eyes narrowed on him, “And she couldn't be bothered to look for herself?”

He gave a half shrug, the movement slow and deliberate. You saw every muscle move. “She tried, and so did the other Priestesses. You didn't acknowledge them, and they don't like to be this deep for that long.”

You blinked once, your body shifting out of the half crouched stance you'd been in. “...They did?”

Cassian let out a soft breath, “Yes.”

“Oh,” a frown, more thoughtful than angry, pulled at your lips. “But why send you?”

He shrugged again, the movement more relaxed and natural though still slow. “I've been asking myself that question the whole way down.”

You didn't laugh, “Well, you can report to Clotho that I am just fine and in no need of coddling.”

He frowned at that, “Do you know how long it's been?”

You waved an idle hand, “A few days is nothing. Back home, I sometimes spent a week or more in the library. So they need not wo-”

“Seventeen days,” he cut you off, and you went still again. “Seventeen days without fresh air or sunlight-” you raised an eyebrow at him, a hand gesturing down to your glowing skin, and he relented, “You know what I mean.”

A heavy sigh came out of you, “I do. I hadn't… realized…” your voice trailed off as you dragged a hand down the text on the table in front of you.

He strained his neck forward, attempting to peer at the scrawled script without risking a step closer, “What are you researching anyway? Rhys didn't say. Just that you were coming for a few months and to clean out a spare room for you up at the house. One that you haven't deigned to use yet, by the way. Azriel has been absolutely devastated to know his hard work was for nothing.”

You slammed the book closed, “It's nothing. Don't worry about it.” The glare you threw his way was enough to deter any curiosity he'd been slowly building, and he held his hand up in surrender once again. “Tell Clotho not to worry. I'll manage my time better going forward. You can leave.” It was a dismissal, but he felt the truth in your words and turned around to return back to the High Priestess far above you. As he did, a flash caught his eye, and he stilled just inside the stacks. There, snaking through the books in a way he often saw Azriel's shadows do was a glowing fragment of sunshine. He watched it slide across the floor and circle your ankle before blending seamlessly into the light you emitted naturally.

A piece of daylight, returning to the sun.

Part 2

[kalinara]

So one thing I really love about the Original Five in the future issues is how so many artists have such wildly different takes on Scott Summers's design, but each one works incredibly well for their respective contexts.

Take this one, from All-New X-Men #1:

This is the first look at Baby Scott that we get. Immonen's Scott here looks a lot like the Scott we see in the original issue that this is referencing:

I included the third panel because the resemblance is the most striking there. All cheekbones and suit that's just a little too big. A very young man trying to fill a big role and doing it about as well as anyone can.

I'm going to put the rest of these behind the cut, because this is a very image heavy post.

Anyway, as soon as we get to the past, the depiction of Scott changes sharply.

Six issues and one day later (All-New X-Men #007), Scott looks profoundly different:

He looks younger, softer, and that furrow in his brow is not going to be going away any time soon. Understandable. This poor kid has been through the wringer and life is not done with him yet.

Dauterman's Cyclops in...Cyclops #2 is pretty consistent with this portrayal:

He looks young, adolescent. A bit softer in the face. Perpetual furrow is still there. Well, not actually in this particular shot, but trust me, there's lots of furrowing in this series.

See? (Cyclops #03) Corsair can really bring out the furrow in a kid.

Actually, I hate to say it, but Corsair actually seems to have done this kid some good. The Cyclops that we see in the SECOND run of All-New X-Men actually seems almost confident again.

Bagley's Scott still got his issues, but aside from the scrawniness, he looks damn near adult. But also mostly content. This road trip that the team is on, away from the adults and the pressure, seems to be good for him.

Even injured, he seems to be doing pretty well (from All-New X-Men #12):

This is notable to me, because this issue came out in August 2016. Fast forward to late 2016 (specifically Champions #3), and we get:

Ramos's Scott is completely recognizable of course, but he is, very clearly, a CHILD, in a way that none of the previous versions really get to be.

And it works. It makes perfect sense. Because this is the first time since the plane crash where Scott has been able to actually be a CHILD. He's not leading the group, he doesn't have to set an example. He can just play too. He can, as he tells Ms. Marvel much later, actually relax.

But all sweet things must come to an end, and the Scott in X-Men Blue #01 is back to form:

Jean's actually leading the team, which is nice. And there's some very nice banter. But Molina's Scott is very much back to proto-adult here. (And while Jean is leading and starts the scene in front, Scott's positioning makes complete sense when the next page reveals who they're actually reporting to - Magneto).

I'm not really an art person. Generally I pay a lot more attention to things like plot, dialogue, and character development than I do the art styles. It's how I got through the 90s. But this has been a neat thing to go back and notice. Each depiction is excellent. Each one is immediately recognizable. But each one says something a little different and fits the story in its own specific way. And that's really cool!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Web of Lies.

Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep any from you.

Pairing - Spiderman!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count - 3750

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. mentions of violence and blood. potentially smut in the next chapters.

Author's Note - i am so excited to share this with all of you!! i saw a tiktok comparing marvel characters to criminal minds characters, and couldn't get the idea of spencer as spiderman out of my head. this will absolutely have more than one part, but i'm not sure how many just yet. please let me know what you think!! as always, reblogs, comments and feedback are always immensely appreciated <3

Masterlist. Requests.

Series Masterlist.

You probably should have noticed something was wrong way before you did.

That's the thing about elusive people - and Spencer Reid is one mysterious man.

In many ways, he wears his heart on his sleeve. He doesn't filter his words like most people do - he'll tell you exactly what he thinks, exactly what he feels. He doesn't sugar coat, he doesn't exaggerate. You can always count on Spencer to tell it to you straight.

But he's not exactly an open book. You know he had a difficult childhood - you've pieced some of it together based on anecdotes and passing comments. You know he's the youngest person to ever work for the FBI, never mind the esteemed Behavioural Analysis Unit. You know he's gentle, kind, loving, supportive, and the best friend and colleague you could ever ask for.

It's just that some days, it feels like there's still so much you don't know. Which is why you never really saw this coming.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Monday.

Spencer Reid has a black eye.

It's not unusual for you to show up to work on Monday with Fridays injuries. Bruises, scrapes, broken bones. They all come along as a part of the job. But the last case you worked didn't involve any physical altercations. No, in fact, it was a surprisingly easy arrest. So why is Spencer black and blue?

He sits down at his desk and turns on his computer, unaware of the way you're watching him like a hawk. Reading him like a book. You're replaying the events of the last case, trying to piece together exactly when Spencer had gotten hurt without you knowing.

"Hey, Spence?" you call, making your way over to where he's sat cross legged in his chair.

His eyes flick up and meet yours, and something in you churns. An alarm bell goes off somewhere in your distant mind, but you silence it, perching on the edge of his desk.

"Are you okay?"

He smiles at you gently, enamoured with the care you reserve just for him.

"I'm good. How are you? How was your weekend? Did you go to the new farmers market in the end? Did you start that book I got you?"

It's not unusual for him to ask you twenty questions at once, so you try to answer them as best as you can, eyes still glued to his shiny bruise.

"Yeah, I'm good. It was good, despite all that rain we had. Luke took me to the farmers market, and we tried these new grapes. Did you know they made grapes that taste like cotton candy? I saved you some, they're in my bag. I'm on chapter three of the book, so nothing has really happened yet. Where'd you get the bruise, Genius?"

You're hoping that your rambling will catch him off guard, and he'll answer without thinking. He looks at you carefully, considering his reply. No such luck.

"Fell in my kitchen. Tripped over my own damn shoes, smacked my face straight into the counter," he chuckles.

It does sound like Spencer. He's clumsy on the best of days, always dropping something or stumbling next to you. It's not far fetched that his own feet have caused him an injury.

You drop the issue, and laugh along with the team when they tease him about his physical ineptitude.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Tuesday.

Spencer Reid is a bad liar.

You're both settled into the cushions of your couch, eyes glued to the television screen. You're watching reruns of a 90s sitcom, the laugh track echoing around the apartment.

"That paramedic was totally checking you out today," you tease gently, poking him with your foot.

A blush instantly rises to his cheeks, the rosy tint a familar picture.

"No she wasn't," he counters, tripping over his words. "She was just doing her job."

"If by doing her job you mean undressing you with her eyes, then yes, she was doing her job."

You're both laughing - you at Spencer's bashful expression, him at your obliviousness.

"Are you jealous?"

He means to tease you, but it comes out more serious than intended. Your smile drops into a surprised smirk, eyebrows raising in shock.

You sit in silence for a minute, before you confess quietly.

"Maybe a little."

Spencer tries to process your words, but his brain doesn't want to work, apparently.

"Wait... you are?"

"I guess," you mutter lowly. "I just... forget I said anything. She was really pretty. Maybe I was just a little intimated."

You jokingly nudge him with your shoulder, and go back to watching the TV. Spencer's brain finally reboots and starts running a mile a minute, thoughts flying around like comets shooting through the night sky.

You sit together for hours, slipping into sleep gently. It isn't unusual for the two of you to doze off on the couch. Sleepovers happen regularly, both of you completely comfortable with the other person.

It's 3am when Spencer shoots up, pulling on his converse frantically.

"What's wrong?" you panic, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

"Nothing. I just, uh, I have to go."

He grabs his bag and beelines for the front door without so much as stopping to explain himself.

"Spencer!" you call after him, willing him to slow down for minute. "Has something happened?"

"No, it's fine. I'll, uh, explain some other time. Just... just get some sleep. I've really gotta run."

And with that, he's out the door, leaving you bleary eyed and confused in the middle of your living room.

You fall asleep on the couch, head resting on the sweater that Spencer left behind in his rush to leave.

You're half convinced you've dreamt the events of the evening.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Wednesday.

Spencer Reid isn't at work.

Spencer Reid is always at work.

Emily regularly has to remind him to take time off. Luke teases that he'll steal his vacation hours if Spence doesn't use them. He's always sat at his desk, waiting for everyone else to arrive every morning.

Which is why his absence is making you worried.

The occurrences of last night are still replaying in your head like a stuck video tape, repeating over and over again. You're over analysing every word he said, every move he made. Leaving in a hurry without reason is so unlike Spencer. You consider supernatural forces, or possession, or Freaky Friday style body swapping. There's no logical explanation for his behaviour, you're convinced. Monday's black eye floats back into your mind, and your heart rate rises ever so slightly.

You march up the stairs and knock on Emily's office window with a bit more force than originally intended.

"Come in."

You swing the door open and slam it shut behind you, anxiety coursing through your veins.

"Hey, hey. Are you alright?" she asks, watching the way your eyes are flicking around the room, looking for clues.

"Where's Spencer?"

"What?"

"Emily. Where's Spencer?"

She gets up from her chair to stand in front of you, placing her hands on your shoulders.

"He's sick, some sort of flu, he thinks. I've told him to go back to bed, and to call if he needs anything."

Her words don't reassure you like she thought they would.

"Did he sound sick?"

"Huh?"

"Did he sound sick, when he called?"

"I don't know, really. I guess so."

"You're a profiler, Emily. You should be able to tell if he's sick or not," you snap.

"Woah," she counters. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

You sit down in the nearest chair, and run your hands over your face.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she reassures, kneeling in front of you. "Tell me what's going on, and I can try to help."

"It's nothing, I'm sure," you rationalise. "I'm just worried about him. Something's off, but I have no idea what it is."

You take a deep breath, Emily rubbing soothing circles into your knee.

"You know, if he were to talk to anyone about what was wrong, it'd be you."

"You think?"

"I don't think, I know."

It's no secret that you and Spencer are close. You've been best friends from the minute you joined the team, forming a connection instantly. As the years have gone by, the feelings have gotten stronger, but the both of you are too scared to admit it to yourselves or each other. You'd do anything for him, and he would do anything for you.

"Maybe you're right. I'll go over there after work and talk to him, see if I can get him to open up."

Emily leans down and gives you a hug, squeezing you a little tighter than usual.

"I'm always here for you. Both of you."

"I know," you smile gratefully. "I appreciate it, boss."

Just as you're leaving her office, Penelope calls you all into the briefing room, giving you no time to think about what could potentially be going on.

You look at the victims faces on the screen, and every single one seems to look like Spencer Reid.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Thursday.

Spencer Reid is having a panic attack.

He's back at work, making a seemingly miraculous recovery from his short lived illness. You went to his apartment last night after work as promised, but your knocking went unanswered. You don't know where he was, but you're worried.

You've been watching him across the bullpen all morning. You're surveying him carefully when his breathing becomes rapid, eyes flickering around the room. He stands up abruptly, practically running from his desk. You follow him instinctively, all the way into the men's bathroom. He's leaning over the sink, hands gripping the porcelain, knuckles turning white. His eyes are locked on himself in the mirror. He looks as if he doesn't recognise who he sees.

"Spence?" you urge gently, careful to keep your voice low. "Are you alright?"

His gaze meets yours over his shoulder, and he tenses even more. A wave of anxiety rolls through you. Usually, Spencer sees you and relaxes - you're like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, you're not sure where you stand with him.

"Spence, please. Talk to me. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," he snaps.

He's never taken that tone with you before. It doesn't make you as sad as it probably should. No, it makes you angry.

"Don't you dare speak to me that way," you hiss, pointing your finger at him. "I am trying to help you. Don't push me away."

"What's it gonna take for you to leave me alone?" he asks viciously.

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, shock painting your features.

"You know what? Fine. Message received."

You turn on your heel and stride towards the door, stopping when you've swung it open. You look at him over your shoulder, and shake your head, a humourless laugh escaping you.

"Fuck you, Spencer Reid."

You slam the door behind you, leaving him alone, chest heaving and hands shaking.

✵

You're marching back to your desk when JJ calls the team together. You take a deep breath and try to release the anger from your body, but it proves difficult. It's tangled itself around your bones, running through your blood like a flash flood. You paint a smile on your face, and take your seat in the briefing room.

Spencer joins a couple of minutes later, choosing to sit across the table, rather than in his usual chair next to you. Luke takes the place instead, and reaches over to rest a hand on your thigh.

"You okay?" he murmurs lowly, careful to not make a scene.

"Yeah," you whisper back, fingers tangling with his where they rest on your leg. "I'm okay."

JJ pulls up the case details on the screen, and Luke doesn't let go of your hand.

"Where are we jetting off to today?" Matt asks, all eyes on the blonde at the front of the room.

"Nowhere, actually. Local, this time."

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, glad to stay close to home.

"Okay, the nearest PD have just sent this case through, and it's... weird."

"Weird how?" Tara enquires. It's not often that JJ comments on a case before she's shared all of the details.

"It's a man hunt, of sorts. They're calling him a vigilante."

"Ooo, like a supervillain?" Luke chuckles.

When JJ doesn't laugh, he doubles down.

"Wait, we're not actually catching a supervillain, are we?"

Everyone turns to JJ, who looks just as confused as the rest of you feel.

"Well... kinda?"

You allow your eyes to flick to Spencer, who's still breathing heavily, hand gripping the edge of the table. JJ clicks the remote in her hand, and a picture of a man in a red suit appears on the screen.

"This is the guy they're calling Spiderman. He's been spotted at multiple crime scenes over the last few weeks. He's making a hell of a lot of people very suspicious."

"Spiderman? Why is his costume red?" Tara asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Aren't there red spiders?" Rossi counters.

"Reid, are there red spiders?"

All heads turn to look at Spencer, who's gone completely pale. He tunes into the conversation, clearly not listening.

"Hmm?"

"I said, are there red spiders?"

"Yeah," he replies shortly. Everyone waits for him to spit his facts, to explain the different species, but he doesn't. His head drops slightly, a signal that he's done talking.

Everyone watches him in puzzlement, confused by his sudden silence.

"Anyway," JJ starts, "he's been linked to a number of local crimes. It started off as battery, assault, GBH - but last night there was a murder downtown, and he was spotted at the scene. He's prime suspect."

"Apart from, we don't know who he is," Matt adds.

"Exactly. That's why the police department have called us in. They can't handle it on their own."

Penelope starts to pass around case files, everyone flicking through at their own pace. Spencer doesn't even open his, just stares at it where it sits on the table.

"Reid, are you alright?" Emily asks, concerned.

"I'm fine. I just need some air," he replies quickly, taking his papers and striding out of the room.

You watch him go, squeezing Lukes hand a little harder.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It's Friday.

Spencer Reid is in trouble.

He's in too deep.

He can't remember the last time he took a deep breath.

His shoulders are so tense, it's a struggle to pull his sweater on.

His hands shake as he reads the case file from yesterday again.

Spiderman. Male. Mid twenties to early thirties. Slim build. Tall. Local - knows the area. Must have a connection to the police - perhaps his own radio.

Spencer accidentally knocks his knee into the desk, and winces. The wound he haphazardly stitched throbs beneath his corduroy trousers, and he prays he's not about to bleed through the material. People are asking enough questions as it is.

"Reid, Alvez, grab your jackets. You're going to the crime scene," Emily calls from up the stairs.

You watch as Spencer rises from his chair, making note of the way he's carefully putting more weight on his right leg. He rolls his shoulders once, twice, three times, before picking up his bag and heading out the door. Luke shoots you a wink as he follows him out, making you smile gently.

You decide to take a trip to see Garcia. She always knows how to take your mind off things.

You cruise into her office, instantly sitting in her spare chair, twirling in circles.

"God, you and Genius are like the same person," she giggles. "He does the exact same thing when he comes in here."

You smile instinctively, and then remember the way he spoke to you yesterday. The way he's treated you this week. The way he's acted as if you didn't exist all day. Your smile fades, and she notices.

"Is everything okay with you two?"

You sigh, and take a deep breath to try and prevent yourself from crying.

"I don't know."

"Oh, honey."

Penelope rolls over to you in her chair, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

"He won't tell me what's wrong, and pushes me away when I try to ask. We had a fight yesterday, and now he won't even look at me. I don't know what I've done to make him hate me all of a sudden," you sob, tears running down your cheeks.

"He doesn't hate you," she murmurs soothingly into your hair. "He loves you more than anyone in the entire world."

"I'm not so sure that's true," you whisper.

"It is. I promise you. He's never been good at talking about his feelings. I'm sure whatever it is, he'll tell you soon enough. You'll work this out - you always do."

You let her hold you for a little longer, sinking into her embrace. Maybe she's right. Maybe it'll all be alright.

✵

After work, you try to relax.

You cook dinner, run yourself a bubble bath. You watch a cheesy movie, eat the good chocolate you've been saving. You snuggle into the couch, pulling a blanket over your legs. But you can't settle.

Usually, a Friday night would mean a sleepover. You and Spencer order takeout, tangle your legs together and fall asleep, chattering about nothing and everything. But tonight, you're alone. You can't stand it anymore.

Throwing on the sweater that Spencer left on Tuesday, you slip on your shoes and get in your car. You drive on autopilot, mind zoned out completely. Before you know it, you're parking on the street below Spencer's apartment building.

You're met with silence when you knock on the door. You try again, and still, nothing.

A choked sob escapes you, and you rest your forehead against the wood. The tears flow freely, forming a puddle on the welcome mat.

The welcome mat.

You pull it back roughly, and find the spare key that he irresponsibly leaves there. Letting yourself into his apartment, you inhale deeply. It smells so distinctly like Spencer. The familar scent used to bring you comfort. Now, it just makes you cry harder.

You collapse on his kitchen floor, letting your head fall back against the cabinet. After an hour or so, you allow your eyes to drift closed, knees hugged tightly to your chest.

✵

You're abruptly awoken by a door slamming shut.

You jump to your feet, and let out a startled sound. Running into the living room, you expect to see Spencer, but he's nowhere to be found. You tune in to the sound of running water, and assume he's in the shower. You perch on the edge of the couch and wait.

"What are you doing here?" Spencer asks as he makes his way into the room.

He doesn't sound scared, or confused, or shocked. It almost feels like he knew you were here.

"I couldn't sleep," you reply cautiously. "Where have you been? It's 4am."

"I couldn't sleep either."

"Yeah? Then why are you bleeding?"

He turns towards the mirror on the wall, and lays eyes on a gash across his cheekbone. He definitely didn't see that before.

"Slipped in the shower."

You jump to your feet, rage fuelling your movements.

"Stop fucking lying!"

Now he looks shocked. He's taken aback, stepping away from you slowly.

"I... I'm not," he says meekly. He doesn't even believe his own lie.

"You're doing it again! What did I do, Spencer? What did I do to lose all of your trust?!"

He tries to calm you down, but it just makes you angrier.

"Tell me!" you scream at him. "I'm going insane, Spencer! I'm going fucking insane!"

"It's not your fault," he tries to explain. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise."

"Then why don't you love me anymore?" you sob. Your knees give way, and you fall to the ground, cries wracking your exhausted frame.

Spencer's heart breaks so hard, he's convinced he can hear it shatter.

He strides over, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he can. The contact makes you cry more, tears soaking into his t shirt.

"I could never stop loving you," he whispers. "Nothing in the world could ever make me stop loving you."

You pull back to look at him, astounded by his confession.

"I'm trying to protect you," he continues quietly. "I'm doing this because I love you."

You thread your hands through his hair and pull him towards you, pressing your lips to his urgently. He cradles your face and kisses you back, ignoring the way your tears drip down his face. You tug him closer, desperate for this moment to never end.

He's finally here. Back in your arms, where he belongs.

Eventually, you pull away, gasping for air. He looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his eyes well up with emotion.

"Hey," you soothe, stroking his cheek with your thumb gently. "It's okay. You're okay. We're okay."

"I feel like I'm drowning," he whispers.

"Whatever it is, Spence, we'll figure it out. We always do."

"What if we can't this time?"

"Then we come up with a plan B. And a plan C. And a plan D. We've got at least 26 plans before we run out of letters."

He chuckles, but there's no laughter in it. You tilt his chin towards you, so your eyes are locked.

"I'm not going anywhere," you murmur. "No matter what it is, I'm not going anywhere."

He takes a deep breath, and releases it shakily.

"Promise?"

You smile gently, and take a deep breath to mirror his.

"I promise."

He nods slowly, and moves to sit in front of you cross legged. You match his movements and do the same, facing him assuredly.

"I have to tell you something. And you can't tell anyone, ever," he begins. "It's going to change the way you look at me. It's going to change the way you love me. It's going to change everything."

"You can tell me, Spence," you reassure. "You can trust me."

Spencer takes a deep breath - and then a second, and a third. His eyes bore into yours, and he inhales again, before uttering the words that will undoubtedly change both of your lives completely.

"I'm Spiderman."

@twsssmlmaa @evansflowers @sourskywalker @butterflylilacsverse @acornacreacure @yourrrrrprefffffect @shadowhuntyi @valenftcrush @n3x5t3rra29 @wittlewowa @slay-hamster2006 @ceruleanrainblues @sad-ass-hoe19 @dezibou @starksfavouritedaughter @lexie0037 @beautyb1ade @spencerzakwrites @thataltdisabledgirl @wannabecoolakid @cassiestars777 @min-jianhyung @lazylexiiii @convolv0 @laurenofatlantis @golden-guide @olive-gb @thebiggestscamislife @wyrdxwitch @rizosrizos26 @whore-of-the-pumpkin-patch @frogers @sun-fiower-seed @dancinwyourghost

[sciderman]

pokes you with a stick…what do you think of valpool

oh bless you - uh, not a lot. i don't think the comics gave me a lot to work with, on that front. i think when i was reading it i kept thinking "how long is this one gonna last before inevitable double cross / untimely death / off screen break-up" and turns out the latter happened. sorry val.

so my own cynicism meant i never got too attached to val. because i knew we weren't going to be seeing them for very long. nothing in a deadpool series endures. and i'm so frustrated that wong's deadpool run was a 10 issue thing. because it was over and done before i even started enjoying it.

for me it takes a long time to get attached to a deadpool - because every wade wilson is different. they have their own thing going on. wong's wade is softer. more childlike. very childlike. actually, almost irritatingly childlike. like thats his whole thing. he's s child.

that was off-putting for me. he didn't feel like the kind of deadpool i'm interested in reading. he felt like the softer, cuter fanon-interpretation of deadpool. which i guess goes over well with fans who love their baby girl. but i... eeh. i can't bear it. he's not a baby. and i'm not a baby either. stop feeding me baby food.

i think - in my head - when wade acts like a baby, there's an angle to it. i don't think he's sincere. he does it so enemies will undermine him, or to win favour with the audience - there's an angle. he's not sincerely that naive. he's smart. so - when i see him acting like that - sincerely - i can't feel like he's being sincere at all. he's smarter than that. he's doing it on purpose. so - so... i don't know, i never felt like we were getting a sincere wade, in this series. he never turns the baby act off. we don't get a peek behind the curtain. i think that's the thing with wade lately - i keep expecting an eventual peek behind the curtain so i can say "oh. there he is. there's the deadpool i know. he was doing it on purpose. he was acting shallow and cutesy just to sell books and the real deadpool was lurking behind there all the time," but it hasn't happened with any deadpool media at all, lately, save for the recent kelly dp/w wiiii book - (once again, thank you kelly, owe you my life, only man pulling his WEIGHT around here) - maybe my expectations are just too high for wade, in that i'm doomed to be disappointed by like, 90% of deadpool media.

i feel like maybe wong could've done something if they'd had more time with it. but for me, man, i didn't get anything out of it, or any kind of attachment to it. and i felt so disappointed. especially with it being a nonbinary author, and a nonbinary love interest for a character i've so long headcanoned as nonbinary. i just - i wanted more from it. i always write from a nonbinary angle - because i don't know how to write from any other perspective. it comes out in everything i write. so i was expecting something more like that. i was expecting it to come through - not in some overt way - but in small ways that i could read and appreciate. like the matrix. that's a trans story. there are no overtly trans characters in it but it's a trans story with lots of trans allegory to digest and the authors are trans. but - you know, not being trans, it's not immediately obvious. but it's there. food to eat. and chew. and digest.

i know marvel definitely wouldn't let wong get away with much - but, god almighty. i was hoping even for something subtle. some little crumbs of food that brought some new dimension to wade that i could sink my teeth into. or something interesting about val that i could get attached to, in spite of the relationship being rushed and quick and abrupt.

i'm not saying it had to be a nonbinary story but - like, man. it feels like, conceptually, i should get excited, and i should sing more praises to this series, but what it feels like more, to me, is a wasted opportunity, and val is another love interest that readers failed to get attached to, and another in a consistent line of deadpool's love interests that marvel rushes to forget and move on from. and... sighs. sighs.

i do want more from valentine. because i feel like they're such a wasted opportunity, and i don't want to throw away one of marvel's only non-binary characters. that's too much food to waste. i think - for me, at least, i think wade deserves healthy relationships. ones that aren't always necessarily romantic - and - well, him having someone to go on cute zoo dates and hang out and be unapologetically gender with - well, i'm all about that.

[yakichoufd]

The show scott is also my favourite so what comics would you recommend that fit that archetype?

I will recommend the comics I really enjoyed and I think they still fit his archetype (warning: I barely read comics were Scott is an adult haha! So it is mostly about teen Scott or young adult Scott): Classic x-men #41-#42 in these two issues he doesn't have his power yet but you can already he has a strong sense of justice. He is also a sweet bean there who deserves a lot of hugs (which he kind of get...i guess...but at what cost Y-Y) Marvel snapshot X-men a really interesting take on how he get his powers and how he tries to fit in the world (which is already hard when you are a normal teenager) X-Men: Children of the Atom a 6 issues story where you see how the original 5 joined the team. He is not a leader yet but he takes few directive that are interesting and he can make some good speech if needed (but these comics are more interesting about how he lived with Jack Winter and how he got saved from him) Cyclops (2014) a serie of young Cyclops living his best life with his space pirate dad. He is very much a sweetheart and has quite some clever moments when he needs to save his dear papa. Cyclops (2010) it is an oneshot crack story but Scott is well portrayed even if it is to make jokes. It is a fun solo comic! The adventures of Cyclops and Phoenix a 4 issues story with little Nathan. It is quite intense to read, and if you do not know who Nathan and Rachel is, or who Apocalypse is, it can be super confusing (and even with some understanding, there are some parts I could not completely follow) but Scott can be a papa and it is very sweet. X-men first class Road trips it is more focus on the original 5 and I did not enjoy everything about that serie, I didn't really enjoy the art style (but I think many will find it pretty) or the writing , but there is one scene I enjoyed dearly! It is when they are all powerless and Scott still shows his quick way of thinking and how he can save the day without powers. But I find most of the writing very clumsy. Champions (2016 + #5 from 2019) teen Scott joins the Champions and finally experience some fun times. His friendship with Miss Marvel is cute. And that's about it for now! I might add more to that list after I finished reading more comics (I've quite a big pile waiting to be read haha)! Hopefully you'll enjoy some of my recommendation! And if anyone wants to share theirs, I'd love to read about it!

[blueikeproductions]

Sentinel Prime also has an interesting conceptual history.

Also interesting is how he managed to be the main villain of two movies in the film series.

His origins lie in the Marvel comics, simply being the name of the guy who was in charge before Optimus, when the comics took the lead set by Rodimus in the original movie, and started setting up a proto-Prime lineage.

For the most part, Sentinel remained a comics only character, as the 80’s cartoon never had a Sentinel, instead using its own lineage consisting of various nameless generics.

Though modern material has retroactively declared this fella is the cartoon Sentinel.

Sadly this design and his rad space rhino truck mode has yet to be immortalized in toy form.

Sentinel’s personality didn’t start getting fleshed out until the Dreamwave era, where most material painted him as powerful, kind and a revered figure among the Autobots. Like Rodimus in the cartoon, Optimus felt inadequate stepping into the role Sentinel left behind.

Sentinel’s more pompous arrogance didn’t become common place until Animated’s version.

Originally more of a goofy friendly jock in his boot camp days, but after a falling out with Optimus during an off the books trip for treasure hunting that saw Elita lost and Optimus take responsibility for Sentinel’s stupidity, the big chinned bot became more entitled and bullheaded, unwilling to accept his own mistakes to look bad in front of Ultra Magnus. Developing a phobia of organics from the giant spider aliens, Sentinel isn’t exactly a people person, not winning over the citizens of Detroit like Optimus did during his time in Earth. This Sentinel would get increasingly desperate trying to make himself look better over Optimus who had won over Ultra Magnus, but usually this wound up backfiring for him like when the Headmaster cut his head off and took over his body. Sentinel got a bit lucky when Shockwave attacked Ultra Magnus, allowing Sentinel to become acting Magnus to lead Cybertron. This saw strict curfews and fear mongering propaganda, mostly about organics and Decepticons to Ratchet and Alpha Trion’s annoyance. In Sentinel’s brashness, he almost unwittingly destroyed Cybertron when attempting to shoot down an unstable Omega Supreme controlled by Megatron, leaking Transwarp energy that’d fry the planet if attacked. When Optimus’ crew came back to Cybertron with Megatron, the missing Protoforms, the Allspark and Omega Supreme they were regarded as heroes, but Sentinel wasn’t impressed, doubling down on how HE was Magnus over Optimus. In the semi but not totally official Trial of Megatron script reading years after the finale though, a dying Ultra Magnus officially appointed Optimus as the true Magnus, which only made Sentinel more desperate, getting fooled by Megatron into being put on a trial that ultimately ended in the Decepticon’s favor.

While a blowhard from top to bottom, TFA Sentinel was still trying to do what he felt was right to protect Cybertron, something that would influence his movie counterparts.

Pry the most well known version besides Animated Sentinel, the DotM version was initially a mix of his Dreamwave version and Star Trek Spock (cuz he’s voiced by Leonard Nimoy).

The IDW movie comics fill in some extra gaps, as Sentinel was a direct descendant of the Primes, and supposedly the last. Leading Cybertron into a prosperous age alongside his “sons” Optimus and Megatron.

Sentinel also fixed an issue that was never fully resolved from ROTF, where special technology was developed with Wheeljack in order to tether a sun to Cybertron, re-energizing the Allspark without needing to destroy it, and powering the planet. Turns out solar power was the answer still, the original Primes just… misunderstood it. The seeds of the eventual Great War were planted however when Megatron overheard Sentinel and Optimus talking, and grew jealous, as Sentinel revealed to Optimus he too was a descendant of the Primes, and is set to take over when Sentinel steps down.

Although it seemed Sentinel had died when the Ark seemingly exploded, he survived and his ship crashed on the Moon of Earth, kick starting the movie. While the Autobots were thrilled to see their old leader back, hoping the tech the Ark held could stop the war, their joy turned to horror when Sentinel Prime revealed he intended to bleed Earth dry, having made a pact with Megatron to save Cybertron in this way. The comics fill in the gaps by better tying it with RotF, where Sentinel and Megatron’s interests aligned, and they decided to go to Earth, the site of the final Star Harvester to complete The Fallen’s goals to save Cybertron.

DotM Sentinel was a noble being and a strong patriot of Cybertron. Like TFA Sentinel, he did what he felt was right, but unlike TFA Sentinel, he employed a form of tough love towards the end, realizing Optimus didn’t have the ball bearings to do what was necessary to win the war. Only too late did Sentinel realize Optimus actually DID when the Prime was pushed too far and shot his former teacher and beheaded his opportunistic brother.

Sentinel falls further in IDW, where due to a lot of retcons and current political events at the time, the orange and red IDW Sentinel Prime was the first instance of a false Prime. Originally an opportunistic Titan Master called Infinitus, he served the ancient Primes and vowed to keep their teachings alive: by keeping the weak in their place with the “good” insuring it. He took on the alias Sentinel and slowly rose to Prime rank, ensuring Cybertron kept its suffocating limitations like the Clampdown and Functionism in place. After being beaten by Megatron, and left for dead, Infinitus merely abandoned his old Transtector in secret (leading the Autobots to be confused how Sentinel was beheaded), and sought to build a new one to continue his plans. Disgusted at post war Cybertron, where the Transformers were slowly unifying with each other and the “disgusting” Colonists and aliens, Sentinel decided to make Cybertron great again by tearing it all down using the power of the Metrotitans. This didn’t go as intended and saw Sentinel die for good, but it did indirectly see the release of Liege Maximo Prime, who had been sealed away in his own MetroTitan that was needed to stop the lobotomized Citybots that Sentinel managed to send to Cybertron.

There was a brief reprieve in IDW’s poorly received reboot, where its Sentinel returned to the just but firm DOTM Sentinel prewar, with the impatience and boldness of TFA Sentinel. This Sentinel wasn’t a racist nitwit, as he led a cultural potluck on Cybertron consisting of other colonists both Transformer and organic aliens. Optimus worked as a political aide alongside Sentinel, and ultimately inherited the Matrix when the big guy was killed by the Rainmaker Decepticons.

Aligned Sentinel is a bit of a mess, because he was originally called Zeta Prime, but they wound up trying to have it both ways calling him Sentinel Zeta, with his younger self looking like TFA Sentinel, but his WFC design being completely unrelated. I’m saving him for Zeta Prime’s entry, but the main thing inherited from this version was being installed as a Prime by the Quintessons.

But now via, TFONE, Sentinel has fully embraced his villainous heritage. A blend of all the major Sentinels, DOTM and TFA visually and IDW personality wise, he inherits his Prime role from the Quints like Aligned. The main difference is Aligned Sentinel Zeta wised up and chased off the Quintessons, TFONE Sentinel sought to bargain with them for personal gain.

A former aide to the Primes similar to IDW, he instead grew jealous of their glory and power, wanting it for himself. He got his wish when the Quintessons invaded, secretly working for them to destroy the Primes and steal the Matrix. Once the deed was done, Sentinel instead took Megatronus’ T-Cog as a trophy as the Matrix spirited itself away from the unworthy blowhard. Creating an elaborate lie to the clueless populace, Sentinel painted himself as a hero who chased off the Quints and ushered in a new era for Cybertron, creating a new generation of diligent (Cogless) wokers to mine Energon, while he “led” expeditions to find the Matrix that was “lost” in the fight. In truth, he was paying off the Quintessons in Energon, though even Sentinel was forced to admit the arrangement was barely leaving the Transformers with anything.

His downfall came when the main heroes witnessed his dirty dealings, and heard the truth from a still alive Alpha Trion, with D-16 out for mech fluid. While Orion succeeded in showing the populace the lies Sentinel told Cybertron, that wasn’t enough for D-16, who first hand witnessed Sentinel’s mask coming off, his true cruel nature exposed at last. Sentinel was perfectly content in wanting to murder the rebellious High Guard and naughty Miners that fell out of line, wanting to use them as an example by massaging the truth. After all, the truth on Cybertron has always been what Sentinel wanted it to be.

While Orion didn’t want a murder (I assume Orion figured Sentinel would just be thrown in jail while Cybertron restructured itself), and took a shot for Sentinel, it was all for naught, as D-16 killed Sentinel anyway, and took back Meg Prime’s Cog, installing it in himself to fully evolve into Megatron.

TFONE Sentinel took the worst traits of his predecessors, becoming the embodiment of what a truly bad Prime looks like. Notably, Sentinel’s actions absolve Megatronus and Liege Maximo of their own counterparts’ misdeeds, putting all of Cybertron’s problems on Sentinel Prime only (barring any retcons in future sequels). Depending on what future stuff may do, perhaps Sentinel Prime is now the defacto bad Prime over Megs and Liege. What Sentinel Prime Transforms into varies, though with the inclusion of the cartoon “U-Haul Robot”, he tends to be a truck to mirror Optimus, but the truck differs depending on the character.

Hilariously, a new 40th anniversary Missing Link toy repaints the old Optimus toy into G1 Marvel Sentinel.

The modern G1 & TFONE Sentinel are the only deviations, opting for planes, and a space train that’s never really used.

Given the series’ habit of making most flyers villains, and ONE Sentinel’s quite literally being above the miners, maybe future versions of Sentinel will be arrogant jets instead.

[madlori]

I'm asking this to you because you're the only person I know who's been around fandoms for so long — do you find this shipping-situation weird? I've been in many fandoms but I've never really seen this insistence on there being only one acceptable ship for a character and encouraging the idea that anything other than the norm is almost sacrilegious. Almost every big fandom over the years have had multiple conflicting pairings, take for example, Marvel. Even works of media that have a canon romantic pairing have had fans who ship others with the leads (that was what shipping was tbh) and no one has ever shown up to their doorsteps with pitchforks in hand, at least not that I'm aware of. So I guess I'd really like your opinion on why you think this is happening now? Have things always been this way, just not in plain sight? Is this just the new fandom culture that is developing now with the influx of younger people? Or is this fandom an aberration where a group of people are so used to being the majority that they simply aren't taking well to things not going their way?

I've been thinking about this today, and I'm still not sure what I think.

I've been in fandoms with a hugely dominant ship before. I've been in fandoms that had ship wars. I've been in fandoms with a lot of peacefully co-existing ships. I'm not sure this fandom is really all that different. To answer your first question, no, I don't find it all that weird. In fact I sort of expected it.

Let me tell you a story about the Brokeback Mountain fandom, which managed to have a ship war despite having really only one ship, the canon ship. So BBM fic fell into several broad categories, the biggest of which were fix-the-ending/canon divergence fics and the straight-up AU fics (I wrote one of each, lol). Post-canon fics weren't as common, because you had to deal with one half of the canon pairing being...well, dead.

There was a post-canon fic that gained a lot of fans...and when I say "fic" that's really an understatement. It was a SAGA, and I don't use that term lightly. It was a series of like...6 or 7 epic 100K+ word fics and it was over a million words total. The author would put out more than one 5K chapters per DAY. I'm still in awe of this woman's output. But it was the content that created the issue.

(Brief recap for those who have not seen BBM - two ranch hands in the 1960s, Ennis (Heath Ledger) and Jack (Jake Gyllenhaal) spend a season herding sheep together, have sex, form a bond, then separate to go about their expected hetero lives but get together for fishing trips every year or so to have sex and spend time together. Jack wants more, Ennis is terrified. Both marry and have families. Eventually Jack dies in what is implied to be a gay-bashing but who knows, and Ennis makes his peace with the love he'd felt for him)

The saga picked up a couple of years after the film's events. Ennis decides to tentatively explore what being queer means, goes to Laramie, finds a gay bar, and very cautiously enters. Through a Series of Events he gets mixed up in an assault there and befriends a local sheriff's deputy, who is also gay. They begin a relationship.

Now, this series was COMPLEX. A huge cast of characters, a long and thorough evolution of this relationship, a lot of angst over Jack's memory, and it really worked for a LOT of readers. The new love interest she created was a really great character.

For others...it did not work and they hated it.

The animosity between fans who loved this saga and those that did not grew pretty heated. This was like '05 so there was no twitter or tumblr, this was all on LJ and dedicated fandom forums (some of which banned discussion of this fic for this reason), but there was doxxing and namecalling and real vitriol.

I guess my point in all this is that when there's strong feelings, some fans will find a way to be horrible to each other.

I was in the Sherlock fandom, another fandom 98% dominated by one ship. There were other ships, but somehow they seemed to co-exist mostly peacefully barring some snide remarks and rude comments (I could be wrong about this, if you asked someone who shipped a non-Johnlock ship they might have a different answer). No, the insanity in the Sherlock fandom was not ship-war-related.

I was also in the Criminal Minds fandom, which has a whole bunch of disparate ships and no ship wars that I can recall.

Then there are other fandoms, like Avatar, with TERRIBLE ship wars that are still going on.

I don't think the situation in 9-1-1 is as unique or different from other fandom wanks as has sometimes been asserted. I think terrible fandom wars are sort of inevitable, whether they're ship related or not. But for what it's worth, here are some of my thoughts on what's going on here.

A loooooong time (5.5 seasons) with one very dominant non-canonical queer ship. No other ship really ever approached the level of saturation or devotion of Buddie.

A pervasive belief that this ship might possibly become canon. That's a feature a lot of other ships do not have.

A lack of intense devotion to any of the other love interests. BuckTaylor was never a challenger to Buddie. Neither was Eddie and Shannon, or anybody else. It's hard to fight when there's no worthy challenger.

But now? BuckTommy is not only canon, but it has a lot of fans. It's a threat. And it's not only a threat in a feelings kind of way (as in, people like a thing that is not the thing I like and it makes me upset) but there's a perception that it's an ACTUAL threat, as in if people like this ship and promote it, it could cause it to become a permanent relationship (the degree to which fan response actually affects how the show unfolds is...debatable).

I do not personally think this is the case, but some fans strongly believe that Buddie could still happen if it weren't for BuckTommy. So if you're still wanting Buddie and believe it will or could happen, the existence of an alternate love interest represents a direct obstacle to that happening. That's a heck of an incentive to hate that competing ship. I get it.

That...might be a somewhat unique situation. There's a fight now because there's a challenger who might actually stand a chance.

This goes along with what we saw in the immediate aftermath of 7x04. I read someone else say (apologies, I don't know who it was, feel free to @ me if it was you and I'll credit you) that the early post-7x04 enthusiasm and acceptance of Tommy reflected the belief that he was temporary. A lot of folks thought it was just a way for Buck to get with Eddie, like, very soon after that. But the more time went by, the clearer it became that this was not the plan or the intention. So the mood soured for those who were still pulling for Buddie.

Other fandoms I've been in with a hugely dominant ship...Sherlock and X-Files are the two that spring immediately to mind...there was never a challenger with any legs. X-Files fandom wank was between the ship and the...lack of ship, shall we say. But a concrete, tangible "opponent" makes a fight so much more visceral, doesn't it?

I do think there's been a fandom shift towards needing ships to be canon that I don't really get, but it's there. There's been a lot written about fandom culture in the last ten years, the breakdown of boundaries between fans and creators, the access to those creators, a sense of ownership/entitlement, purity culture, obsession with shipping "correctly" (which leads into wanting things to be canon for the validation)...these are all newish features. So pile that on top of 9-1-1 having a longtime single ship that's legitimately threatened for the first time in its existence by a competing canon ship and it's kind of a powderkeg.

No wonder it's caught on fire.

[stra-tek]

Lots and lots of random spoilerific things about Star Trek comics

Gold Key's old run was written by people who had never actually seen the show. Later they involved fans like Doug Drexler to make things a bit more authentic

This however made them, IMHO, amazing

Blond scotty. Wearing green.

Voodoo planet, with papier mache versions of Earth landmarks which, when blasted with a death ray, cause the real ones to collapse

Spock learns voodoo to combat this threat

The Enterprise completely razes a planet of hostile plant spore things. Like full on extermination of all life

There's a locked room on deck 7 full of evil Vulcan spirits. A yeoman blunders in and all hell breaks loose

Kirk doesn't know what a god damn black hole is

Spock is kidnapped by aliens, has their entire knowledge downloaded into his brain which makes him into a bobblehead for awhile

The Enterprise is briefly taken from Kirk and given to Captain Zarlo, who is a total bellend

Spock forgets to have pointed ears sometimes

The old UK newspaper comic strips were even worse. The first few issues feature "Captain Kurt" and he wears a red shirt. Bailey is also a lead character, giving away which one episode they had knowledge of

Depictions of the Enterprise in their very first strip will shock and horrify you, but after that the art becomes amazing and maintains a very high standard

Marvel did a series following The Motion Picture, and it was a vast improvement, although they technically had rights to the movie and not the series, which led to a little weirdness. Tons of references still were snuck in, though

There's a series of Book and Records, which you can listen to on YouTube and are goofy fun. The Enterprise desperately needs a meal in the art, though.

They draw Romulans as green wizards

They didn't have the rights to Nichelle Nichols or George Takei's likenesses, so get ready for White Uhura and Black Sulu!

They didn't have the rights to The Animated Series either, so M'Ress is a human with weird face paint and Arex is substituted for just some guy

There's an unlicensed Chinese adaptation of The Motion Picture's novelisation (made with zero prior knowledge of Star Trek), which features an all-star cast like O.J. Simpson as Decker and James Brolin as Kirk. It's called The Star Trek, which is a better name than The Motion Picture, IMHO.

DC comics' first run is considered some of the best Trek ever. They're made with love and a deep knowledge of the source material

You know how Star Trek III takes place right after II? WRONG. It was several months later and the crew (with Saavik taking over from Spock) had tons of adventures in the interim. It just seemed like it was right after😂

Before Worf and long long before Ash Tyler, Kirk had a Klingon on his crew

He was a cowardly Klingon named Konom who fled the Empire

He fell in love with a human woman named Bryce

They adopted an albino Klingon/human child with dwarfism which they named Bernie

Kirk has an unhinged, insubordinate crewman on board named Bearclaw and they hate each other

Tension escalates and eventually there's a stabbing

Sulu/M'Ress happens and I don't think people knew what furrys were in the 80's

You know how Spock comes back at the end of III but isn't his old self until the end of Star Trek IV? WRONG AGAIN. He came back just fine, and lost his marbles following an incident months later that just happened to line everything up to make it all seem like it was right after.

After STIII, Kirk becomes captain of the U.S.S. Excelsior NX-2000 and Spock becomes captain of the U.S.S. Surak. We get a few issues exclusively focusing on Spock's ship and his band of merry weirdos.

The U.S.S. Surak keeps changing design, starting off as a sort of Oberth-class ship, then randomly becoming an Excelsior-class ship and finally ending as the warp sled shuttlecraft from The Motion Picture

The Surak's crew include a giant chicken man, a Vulcan hating racist lady and a balding man with a bicycle

They all die horribly and a massive reset button is pressed so everyone is exactly where they were at the end of Star Trek III

In order to make that work they had to bs that the Klingon Bird of Prey was hidden in Excelsior's shuttlebay all this time despite it being way, way too big for that

There's a full on mirror universe invasion

Kirk becomes a celebrity from saving the galaxy all the time

Mr. Arex comes back and becomes chief of security but doesn't really do much

HORTA CREWMEMBER. It's as amazing as it sounds

The first Next Generation comic miniseries was made with knowledge of the first 2 or 3 TNG episodes and nothing else

Everyone is hench as fuck. Picard has washboard abs and bulging muscles

Data is emotional and Troi feels the emotions she senses a la "Encounter at Farpoint"

Wesley is drawn as if he's 10

The B-shift con and ops team are a husband and wife who wear caped superhero versions of Starfleet uniforms with bare legs.

They argue. A lot.

The crew meet an alien Santa Claus and Q loses his powers years before "Deja Q"

The whole Q Continuum visits the Enterprise and they're all John De Lancie but in Starfleet uniforms of every colour under the sun.

After that initial miniseries, the Next Gen crew lose a lot of their muscle mass and start resembling their on screen counterparts a lot better

Picard had a brother who fell down a hole and died as a child. Q offers to rewrite history so he doesn't die. Claude Picard grew up to be Space Superhitler and turns Starfleet and the Federation fascist.

Before all this Q turned Jean-Luc into a goat for the lolz

Marvel's The Early Voyages was very literally Strange New Worlds before Strange New Worlds.

They have a pyrokinetic security officer named Nano and he's awesome

Marvel lost the Trek license quite suddenly, and so the series ends on a cliffhanger where Admiral April is up to something iffy.

Marvel did a Starfleet Academy series featuring Nog and its utterly fantastic

A female Andorian cadet tries to make Nog feel at ease by greeting him in the nude, but Nog fails to take it as an innocent gesture and she immediately sends him flying across the room

Romulan agents with split personalities in Starfleet Academy!

They visit Talos IV and get help from Captain Pike, who's still alive

IDW comics did a prequel to the 2009 reboot where Picard is an ambassador, Data is captain of the Enterprise-E and Nero has hair. It was co-written by the movie writers and was considered sort of vaguely semi canon ish for a time

They originally wanted the Romulan supernova to destroy a lot more, including Earth and have Nero kill the TNG crew. It was the Star Trek Online devs that got them to scale things back because they'd have no universe left to set their game in.

Nero's ship looks like it does because after Romulus was destroyed he took it to a secret Romulan base and had it equipped with reverse-engineered Borg technology

You thought DC struggled to keep ship designs correct? IDW's comics keep using traced fan art from Google Images, and fan art (sometimes with unique ship designs) has shown up on multiple occasions as the Kelvinverse U.S.S. Enterprise

In one IDW TOS comic, the bridge is totally covered with TNG LCARS graphics.

In another, an Orion ship is a gigantic Stargate sticking out of the middle part of Battlestar Galactica.

Wanna see Kelvinverse versions of TOS episodes? That was their first comics run, picking up after the 2009 reboot movie. They start off very faithful and as the series goes on things diverge more and more

To the extent some stories have very different backstories and outcomes

We visit 2 Kelvin mirror universes and a genderswapped universe too. No, Kirk doesn't do what you're thinking.

Q visits the Kelvin Universe and brings the crew forward in time to their version of Deep Space Nine

Nero's time in Klingon prison (from the Star Trek 2009 deleted scenes) and escape is fleshed out

Nero meets V'ger.

Nero mind melds with V'ger.

V'ger turns away due to the sheer force of Nero's hatred.

I wish I was making that up.

Klingons get their hands on Narada's technology and go to war

We get a Khan backstory where the Eugenics Wars are a full on nuclear conflict and "Khan" is the title that little Noon Sing adopts when he takes power

After being revived in the 23rd century, Admiral Marcus has Khan surgically altered to look like Benedict Cumberbatch as part of his John Harrison cover identity

They did a series of shorts called Waypoint, and in the first one Geordi is captain of a future Enterprise and his crew is made up of holographic versions of Data and it's a really sweet concept (this was several years before before ST: Picard brought Data back twice)

There's a prequel series centred around Number One where nobody manages to say her name before being interrupted. If you put the bits together it seems her name was Eureka Robbins. Of course, this is long before novels and SNW made her Una Chin-Riley.

[kaithonks]

So I’ve had some Thoughts about From the DC Vault: Death in the Family: Robin Lives!

Warning: Spoilers 

My mistake with From the DC Vault: Death in the Family: Robin Lives! was thinking that the story would actually be about Robin. That was on me. I should have known better, but I let my excitement of finally getting more Jason Todd, Robin content get away from me. I set up poor expectations, and it’s not the comic’s fault for not meeting those expectations. 

Everything else is, though. 

I know I’m biased, and I am probably writing this too soon after having finished Robin Lives to really give myself time to think critically about the story. But, I also feel rather offended by the end and feel the need to strike while the iron is hot. Recently, I talked about fans and writers needing to have respect for each other, as they can’t exist without each other. I also mentioned having a respect for the history of the comic. On that, I don’t get the feeling that J. M. DeMatteis has much respect for the history that was Jason’s Robin run. Granted, this isn’t mainline canon. It is more of a ‘What if?’ So DeMatteis wasn’t “entrusted” the same way but, there was still a line of basic respect that feels very lacking. Now, DeMatteis has been writing since the 80s and has written a lot for both DC and Marvel so he is a part of comic history, but this doesn’t really translate into respect for characters. Or for fans.

Both Jason and Dick’s character have a rough time in this 4 issue series. While the series called “Robin Lives” mostly focuses on Bruce and his regret, by doing that it makes Jason and Dick more like props for Bruce’s guilt than actually characters with their own agency. Bruce outright denies Dick’s choice in becoming a Robin and even later Nightwing. In this guilt, Bruce totally takes away the fact that even as a child, Dick did choose this, and he chose it again when he became Nightwing. So Bruce’s guilt serves no one here. And this problem gets worst with the Robin Lives ending. Dick becoming Batman, is an incredibly weak ending to start. Because most of Dick’s history is him growing out of Robin and then trying to break out of Bruce’s shadow. Yes, Battle for the Cowl happens, but it’s more complex than Dick just becoming Batman. And it’s easy to see how pointless all of Bruce’s guilt was when he decided to leave his role as Batman, only for Dick to take it up again. It really feels like Dick is only a prop for Bruce’s journey. Dick is here for Bruce to feel guilty about, but then to also relieve him of the duty that also makes him feel guilty. 

And it is so much worse with Jason. This does sort of come back to me setting up poor expectations and the fact I thought this would be about Jason’s recover, but it was glossed over. We simply jump to Jason now being okay, which is a choice, if on the unbelievable side. What is worse, though, is how Bruce and the comic, makes Jason’s trauma about Bruce. Because yes, to an extent Bruce holds fault for the events leading up to Death in the Family. But he mainly holds fault in the form of negligence. He didn’t properly check out Sheila Haywood's background before for deciding she was a safe person to leave his son with. I am boiling down the issue of character interaction between Bruce and Jason (and outside influence that puts Jason’s last issues into context), but my point still stands that Bruce and Jason still made choices. For Jason’s part, he chose to trust Shelia to try, and save her. And in reality, Joker and Shelia hold the blame for Jason’s trauma. The fact Shelia was only briefly seen in a hallucination and “saving” Jason, again feels like DeMatteis has a lacking appreciation for the history of Jason’s Robin, and it’s context. Yes, Shelia saving Jason would be something Jason would want, but the event after this takes away everything that would make Jason still want Shelia’s affection in some way. With the ending and Jason becoming the Joker to Dick’s Batman, shows this. It ultimately feels like both Dick and Jason were used as stage props to re-establish some kind of status quo for a series that was only planned for only four issue. The run very well could have ended with the Joker’s death and everyone going to live happy lives but for some reason no. 

Now, one could see that as DeMatteis having a respect for Batman’s history as a whole and a path for a continuation. I would argue, though, that it shouldn’t come at the cost of other character’s agency. The leap in Jason’s “madness” is awkward, and when I say leap I mean a massive leap. This goes back to my problem with the story not focusing on Jason. We spend so much time in Bruce’s grief that when it is about Jason, everything goes sideways and ends up with being a “What the hell did that happen?” Especially since in the context of the story, Jason should have gotten a lot more support from Bruce, now retired, from Dick, now living back in Gotham, and from Dr. Sarawarti Dev, a psychologist. Having Jason still become the Joker after all this, not only feels like all of those people continued to fail him (especially as Bruce and Dr. Sara get married, which was a strange addition), but that he never really had any choice.  The story didn’t take the time to show us this, to show us how or where Jason became the Joker. He even denied becoming like the Joke in early issue 4. A point might be made that killing the Joker made Jason the new Joker, but a counterpoint Why? Jason already had the choice and decided? Why did he go back on that? Jason was Robin, Robin has the role of bringing hope, and being more compassionate, countering the fear Batman brings. We see Jason’s compassion before he died (or was injured in this case), when he still tried to save Shelia after she betrayed him. We see it in this comic with him still wanting her affection in his hallucination. So where did that compassion and care go?  

The answer? It didn’t go anywhere.  It was forgotten for the sake of a convoluted twist to make a reader gasp. Robin Lives spends its whole four issue run taking away the choice and agency of Robin. Robin does not live here. He becomes a puppet of the plot not to move outside of its designated story, he only can become Batman or the Joker. But never his own being. For anyone who’s ever enjoyed Robin, be it Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne or any other Robin, past or future, Robin Lives is an insult.