#he might have to go on the list

[invisiblearsonist]

I could’ve told everyone on the planet that coriolanus snow was gonna break down and go nuts just from the fact that he gets a buzzcut. never ever trust a buzzcut.

[fantasykiri5]

for day 24 of @hermitadaymay it’s ZombieCleo!!

[kettlefire]

A Panic in Time (DP x DC)

This is all thanks to the awesome @tkiesai for basically being the foundation of this idea! This is probably going to be long, and probably won't delve that deep into my ideas about this idea. Largely so it's not insanely long. But here I go!

°•°•°•°

Bruce's head felt like it had been shoved through a straw and spit out on the other side. The throbbing was annoying, but it wasn't anything the man couldn't handle.

His mind was muddled, memories of what happened prior to him awaking was blurry and unsure. Bruce knew it wasn't something good.

He vaguely remembered a league meeting, a threat, something looming. It wasn't world ending, or at least that's what Bruce remembered. It should have been something they could handle.

But now, here was Bruce. Waking up in the grass of some random park. He was dressed in casual attire, something he'd wear in public as Bruce. Although last he remembered he was in the Batsuit.

The sun felt too bright in the sky. The sound of families filled the air and children's laughter. No one seemed to blink twice at Bruce as he pulled himself together.

It took a moment to steel himself, to gain composer again. It took a few sweet lines, and a charming smile for a nice mother to slide him a few painkillers. The lies rolling off his tongue like second nature.

To his luck there was a newspaper at the top of the trashcan. He was in some town called Amity Park, and the year... the year was the problem.

It was 1996. Whatever had happened had sent Bruce back in time. There was a few suspects Bruce can think were the cause of this. But something in his gut kept drawing his train of thought to the Flash.

It seemed like each time the League had any time related problems, Barry was in the center of it. Which also leaves Bruce with the question if he was the only one sent back in time.

God, he could only imagine the nightmare if the others were sent back in time. Yes, they can be professional. They understand the risk of changing things in the past.

But Bruce also understands that his team can be less than... intelligent at times.

Despite that, Bruce needed to find a way to get back to Gotham. He might not know for sure where everyone was right now, but he knew Alfred was the safest bet.

A plan laid out in Bruce's mind, a list of people he knew wouldn't be a risk to approach. He just needed to find a way to get to them. He had barely made it to the gates of the park before a shrill cry pierced the air.

There was just one loud outcry, before it quieted down. Bruce glance around the space, spotting a young boy curled on the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's chubby cheeks.

And no one even moved to the boy's aid. Not a single mother spared more than one glance in the kid's directions. No parents came rushing over to the boy's side.

Bruce almost walked away, he really did. This wasn't his time, anything he does can cause immense damage to the timeline. But when Bruce caught sight of blood bubbling from a scrape on the boy's knee, Bruce couldn't ignore him.

Maybe it's just the father in him, but Bruce barely even notices when he's crossing the small distance. His mind zeroing in on a hurt child that needed help. Kneeling before the small boy with a gentle smile, and pulling his handkerchief free from his pocket.

"You're alright there, buddy. It looks like you took a bit of a tumble there." Bruce slipped into the same tone he used to use when his kids were young. Gentle and understanding, as he pressed the handkerchief to the small scrape.

The boy sniffled, tears slipping from his eyes. Bruce was more focused on the way the kid was looking at him. Like he couldn't fathom someone coming to his aid.

That look had Bruce's heart breaking slightly. He's seen a similar look before. The few times he's come to the aid of a hurt child that wasn't used to getting help.

Something no child should ever feel or experience.

"Where's your parents, kiddo?" Bruce asked after a moment of silence from the boy. He had waited until the kid's breathing settled down when the boy's chest stopped pumping so quickly.

Except his question only seemed to bring a new wave of tears to the boy's eyes. The small child just seemed to curl into himself further, ducking his gaze away from Bruce.

And as much as Bruce didn't want it to be true, it was clear the kid didn't have the support he needed. It might not as be as far as some of Bruce's kids have had in the past.

But it was clearly not good.

"That's okay, it's alright. What's your name?" Bruce tried again. The boy's silence was leaving an uncomfortable pit in Bruce's stomach.

"D-Danny..." The boy spoke out his name between sniffles, and Bruce felt a wave of relief hearing the boy speak.

In hindsight, Bruce can see how strange the scene might look. A slightly disheveled man comforting a lone young boy in a park. It wasn't exactly perfect.

But with the lack of reactions from the parents around, Bruce had a feeling the town had an idea who this boy was. The whole situation just didn't feel that right for him.

It took a few more comments before Bruce managed to get the boy to crack a smile. A laugh had felt like breaking a massive wall.

Before long, Bruce had Danny actually like any other boy he's known. Carefree and happy, just like a child should be.

"You didn't tell me your name, mister." Danny had suddenly cut down the relaxed moment they were in. A pout laced the boy's lips as he looked up at Bruce, almost accusatory.

"I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne." Bruce responded without missing a beat. He knew this might cause problems in the future. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But when his gut is telling him something, he can't just ignore it. He checked his pockets, finding no business cards anywhere. So, Bruce fell back in plan B.

"No matter how long it's been from now, you can come to me for help. Just look for Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and when you find me... just say Fairbanks sent you."

Bruce wasn't sure if he'll ever see Danny again when he goes back to his own time. Wasn't even sure if this was the same universe as his own. But he couldn't walk away without at least offering the boy help in some way.

When Danny's eyes filled up with tears again, Bruce thought he said something wrong at first. That was until the boy was suddenly clinging to his shoulders in a tight embrace, muttering 'thank you' over and over again.

Bruce felt himself almost close to tears just from that alone. His heart was aching for the small boy. Even if Bruce couldn't help Danny anymore than this, he was hoping the boy would have a better life.

One where he wasn't clinging to a stranger for comfort that family should be providing him.

THWAMP

It didn't hurt, but it did cut their hug short as Bruce suddenly pulled away. Turning his head to see a young girl wielding a wiffle bat, and another young boy standing behind her.

Her purple eyes glared at Bruce like he had done the worst thing in the world. Her grip on the bat was threatening and ready to swing again. Her knuckles white from the tight grip alone.

Maybe leaving this time era might not be as easy as Bruce thought as the young girl probbed him with angry and scolding questions. Not that Bruce could blame her.

He just hoped this hiccup didn't get back to the league. They'd have a field day hearing about how Batman got scolded by a child with a wiffle bat.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Danny wasn't sure if this was the best idea. It's been years since he met Bruce Wayne. So many years. Danny had just been a kid, not even ten, when Bruce had introduced himself.

When he had an adult, actually check in on him. Yet, it was a memory Danny couldn't forget. Maybe it was just the kindness that Bruce radiated.

Or maybe it was when Sam came to his "rescue" near the end. Regardless, it was cemented in his mind. A core memory that Danny cared with him through the years.

Now, here he was, roughly seven years later. Standing in front of a manor that put even Sam's place to shame.

It took a lot of courage for Danny to knock. Barely a second later, an old man answered the door, an accent Danny was certain Bruce hadn't had.

A stuttered explaination of being here to see Bruce Wayne, that the man knew him, barely left Danny's mouth before the old man ushered him inside.

The man, Alfred, told Danny to wait by the door before vanishing further into the manor. It took a lot for Danny to not just vanish.

Being half ghost nowadays had its quirks, Danny could just vanish, and no one but Alfred would know. But he couldn't.

It had taken a lot for Danny to make the journey to Gotham City. He hadn't even thought to look up a current picture of Bruce either. Which was probably a big mistake on his end.

Danny didn't even know if Bruce was offering this kind of help. But Danny didn't have many allies to turn to. He needed help.

Not just for himself but for his family. For Amity Park. He couldn't be afforded the ability to run away. Not now.

Danny felt all the air leave his lungs when Bruce entered the area. The man didn't look a day older than what Danny remembered. Bruce looked a bit more put together, not like he had just jumped out of a moving car, but it was Bruce.

"Uhm... I don't know if you remember me. But my name's Danny... we met when I was a kid." Danny started trying to explain himself before Bruce could speak. He recognized that confused look anywhere, and Danny didn't have the guts to go through with this if Bruce asked any questions.

"You told me if I ever needed help, to come find you. Bruce Wayne in Gotham City... you, uh, told me to tell you Fairbanks sent me?"

That came out more like a question than Danny would have liked. But it did ease his nerves a bit as he watched Bruce's slightly confused expression turn to alarm and surprise.

Danny wasn't sure what this would do. If Bruce could truly help him. But he was out of options. Just seeing Bruce recognize something he said was enough to calm the teen's anxiety slightly.

"I'm sorry, Danny... I don't remember you. But I believe you and I want to help you. Come inside, have a seat, and tell me what's going on."

That response was enough to have Danny's eyes fill with tears. His chest filling with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in weeks now.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

[guest-1-2-3]

so. never consumed any mcu content whatsoever. however i have recently stumbled upon peter parker/harley keener fanfics, went down a rabbit hole, and am now obsessed with their dynamic and i realized i have just fallen into the trap of another blond + southerner + sarcastic + calls-his-boyfriend-darlin’ + infinitely supportive + big fucking nerd x incredibly traumatized + sarcastic + italian + orphan + definitely-started-saving-the-world-too-young + big fucking nerd ship. i am nothing if not predictable

[norgeant]

When I finally get round to drawing frat boys norgeant, this is gonna be what they're wearing

[buds-and-baubles]

a brief glimpse into how i think agent grayson would've gone if dc had let me write midnighter like how he originally was as a character:

midnighter: *sighs such a long sigh that it becomes a groan of frustration*

dick: *turns to face him with confusion* something on your mind?

midnighter: i miss my husband, kid. i miss him a lot. and my daughter. i'll be back *walks out the door with his flip phone in hand*

dick:

dick:

dick: *mouths to himself silently* husband and daughter?

[funsize-cenobites]

Mihawk-Brain-Eating-Syndrome has seized me.

The post that started this whole train of thought came from @manofbeskar who's Mihawk thoughts, Mishanks heartwrenchers, and absolutely gorgeous art are so inspiring I feel chewing-on-the-doorframe feral every time I check their blog.

Mihawk has a complicated relationship with vivre cards. Yet despite all efforts at keeping the world and everyone in it at Yoru length he still manages to keep collecting bits of them.

Not many nowadays, its a rather intimate affair after all; to have someone give you a literal piece of their life so that you may always find them no matter where in the wide seas you may be. Assuring that you'll be the first to know should they leave that world entirely.

Far too intimate. It feels too obvious, too heavy handed, too much like handing him your heart and asking him to carry it. Such a thing is heavier than any blade and all the bloody deeds he can never truly wipe from the steel.

Its gentle and vulnerable and human. All the things Mihawk is convinced he could play at but never truly be again. But... I imagine at the start of his journey, maybe he was a touch more open. Perhaps accepting his first from a mentor as a parting of ways though he didn't yet have one of his own to offer in return.

Strange how a simple piece of card in his palm could feel like an open door. Always there, inviting him home. Always there, until it wasn't.

Mihawk will never forget the first time he felt one burning away into nothing in his hands. It went up so quick.. He had no idea it could take less than a minute to burn a home.

Then perhaps he found a crew, a more tangible place to nest and he suddenly had more vivre cards than he could tuck away on his person in a timely manner. Perhaps it became a ritual of sorts each morning, a part of his routine to tuck each one away. The captain, vice captain, and the rest of the specialists lining the inner band of his hat while the rest of the crew were individually squirreled away. A meditation, grounding and quiet. He would use it to remind himself of his role as the crew's swordsman, as their protector.

How could he forget the sharp sear of each individual card burning away, stuck close to his skin by waterlogged clothing as he dragged himself ashore gasping and choking on sea and blood and smoke. Having been left by marines that assumed he would drown because- perhaps pointed out by one that had deceived him, made Mihawk believe they were his friend to be led back to his family:

"No freak like that could exist without having eaten the devil's fruit."

How could he forget the embers escaping, dancing in the evening gloam like fireflies swarming around him? There were so many.. now there are none and gods he's been so empty since. How could such a small piece of paper take so much of him? To kill a man with a blade, even butchering him inelegantly, would be a greater mercy so long as he was dead.

Nowadays Mihawk knows better. Knows better than to trust or be trusted. That blades might chip and tarnish but they dont burn, never completely.

Yoru hums and sings in his hands as he wields her and she does not feel like home.. but she feels solid and eternal and cold. She will never burn. Her weight is bearable.

Impersonal.

Professional.

Yoru makes death an art in his hands. She is the brush not the paper, spattering fireflies over a night sky.

. . .

For years after, he kept far from others. Deciding to never get so close to anyone ever again. Safe in the knowledge he would never feel the burning sting of loss nor the cold cut of betrayal so acutely. Trust was a double edged blade, perhaps the only one he truly couldn't handle.

He was no protector.. so he wouldn't try to be.

Instead Mihawk would hunt. Chasing the marines mercilessly. Cutting a bloody path through their ranks and burning their fucking fortresses to the ground. At first they spoke of him as an insane lone swordsman, then a one man army, then a monster, a demon. The relentless yellow eyed freak that stalked the seas and nightmares of future vice admirals.

He systematically killed all those that harmed him. A shadow over the shore, a rogue wave swallowing their ships, a curse of vengeance come to reap. He destroyed all the records of his crew that he could get his hands on. If he must be cursed to slowly forget them over time, then the world government didnt deserve their memory either.

And so on it went for a time. Long enough for the hunt to lose its luster. Slaughtering sheep by the herd in search of a rare wolf.

Mihawk had almost forcibly forgotten about Vivre cards as a concept. His own remained untouched, never moving from where he hid it. He had no friends, no family, no nakama. Only a dwindling list of worthy foes to test himself against.

Until the day the king of pirates died. Until their golden age truly began.

Until he met Shanks, who held out a hand and asked him to step out of the monochrome past and into a thousand possible vibrant futures. Ones of lush reds and glittering golds, of polished onyx black and the purest, deepest blue.

.

"Here," Shanks said suddenly one night, holding out a small scrap of paper. The both of them were perched atop the ruins of a high sea wall on some remote island, enjoying the cold breeze from the north after a hard fought duel.

Mihawk, for all his composure, blanched. "What is that?" He knew and he did not take it.

"What do you think it is? Its a piece of my card." He said it so simply. Like it barely occured to him how precious such a thing was. Shanks didn't drop his arm, even as the silence stretched out between them.

"No."

"Come on, Takanome- Dont be like that! We're nak--"

"Rivals." He cut the younger man off abruptly. His chest felt too hot and too tight, burning and burning and, "We are rivals, Akagami."

Shanks must've been pouting, he could hear it in his voice, "Even more reason for you to take it. We could duel every day if you could always find me~ Come on.. Please? I want you to have it."

"...."

Hawkeyes glanced at his best friend rival and immediately regretted it. Shank's face was always full of so much hope, so much faith in... something.. It made Mihawk's heart catch in his throat every time to see those big earnest eyes staring at him almost as if, for a moment, it was faith in him.

"I don't know if I can give you mine.." He murmured. Shanks smiled soft, a little sad, and infuriatingly understanding without needing to know anything.

"I dont need it. I know you'll always find me." He pressed his heart, his home the scrap into Mihawk's palm and closed the swordsman's fingers over it. "And if I need to find you.. I'll just ask the wind."

[redhoodinternaldialectical]

Ur like the only person I follow who likes both Jason and Tim so I’m hoping u will know this fanfic I’ve been looking for. Basically Tim and Jason get body swapped but they decide not to swap back cause Tim always wanted to be tall and Jason missed being small and it’s from Bruce’s pov. No worries if u don’t know it but I’ve been searching different tags for hours and I figured it might be time to ask someone.

I have never heard of this one but I adore the premise??

Like holy shit that is some profound intimacy right there. "I'm okay with you knowing every single facet of my body, every ache, every mark, every eccentricity on a level that no other person ought to be capable of, and I'm okay with you having supported and grown and found existence through the body I will inhabit for the rest of my life. We can share this and it will be good."

Excuse me while I spend my whole plane ride staring straight ahead into nothing thinking about this

[tetzoro]

good morning friendz + happy friday from me and the kitties ! they wanted me to tell you they’re very proud of you for making it through another week! i hope that today treats you kindly, remember to stay hydrated + unclench your jaws ! (๑´>᎑<)~* ෆ

[batbabydamian]

DC May 2024 Solicitations - Comics Featuring Damian! 🦇

BATMAN #147

5/7/2024

Written by Chip Zdarsky

Art and Cover by Jorge Jimenez

Variant Covers: Kendra “Kukka” Lim (1:25), Stevan Subic (1:50), Jorge Jimenez, Yasmine Putri

With no allies, no weapons, and almost no hope...can Batman fight back before Zur makes a true devil's bargain? The world is about to know Zur's true power! Him and.. his new sidekick? "Dark Prisons" continues!

BATMAN AND ROBIN #9

5/14/2024

Written by Joshua Williamson

Art and Cover by Simone Di Meo

Variant Covers: Gleb Melnikov, Howard Porter, Simone Di Meo (1:25), Ivan Tao(?)

Who will be Gotham's true protector? The people of Gotham will decide! While his father fights for his life, Damian now knows Shush's secrets, and it's only created more problems for him as a high school student and as Robin! Can the Dynamic Duo find each other before it's too late?

THE BOY WONDER #1 of 5

5/7/2024

Written by Juni Ba

Art and Cover by Juni Ba

Variant Cover: Cliff Chiang, Juni Ba (1:25)

The young prince Damian Wayne was raised to be the heir to the fearsome League of Assassins -to follow in the footsteps of his deadly mother, Talia, and the Demon's Head himself, his grandfather Ra's al Ghul. But everything changed when his father, the Batman, reclaimed him and brought him back to Gotham City. As Robin, young Damian suddenly discovered he was merely one of a number of princes, preceded in the role by his "brothers" Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin...and Damian doesn't care to be merely anything. But when his father is forced to leave the city on urgent business, and a rash of abductions is accompanied by whispers of a demon stalking Gotham's dark alleys, Damian will find himself battling alongside his adoptive brothers- and in the process, learning what the mantle of Robin really means! Visionary writer/artist Juni Ba makes his mark on the timeless story of Batman and Robin, synthesizing the characters' complex history into an accessible and heartrending fairy tale!

WONDER WOMAN #9

5/21/2024

Written by Tom King

Art and Cover by Daniel Sampere

Variant Covers: Julian Totino Tedesco, Stjepan Seijic, Irvin Rodriguez (1:25)

The ultimate test! As Sovereign's grip on Wonder Woman's psyche tightens, she retreats into the arms of Steve Trevor. Will their love for the ages prove victorious over the web of Amazon lies weaved in Man's World? Plus, Trinity lets the dogs out!

[tongues--and--teeth]

Wanted to try my hand at Pre and Mid corruption designs of Shadow Milk!

I KNOW IT’S NOT CANON I KNOW IT’S NOT CANON I JUST WANTED TO HAVE FUN AND BE SILLY

THIS IS WHAT I THINK HE’D ACTUALLY LOOK LIKE AND WHY OKAY??

[the-red-thread-that-strangles]

Alright. Let's talk about Akai's and Furuya's fighting styles, control, and the ferris wheel fight, featuring some tangents on professionalism.

The second reason is the implied: Akai is (in general, probably not in this situation, because he is going along with the fight Rei wants) a professional, and professionals do not fight. A professional will either ambush or assassinate (you know, like the sniping Akai is so well-known for), and generally do everything in his power to avoid a fight. It's about gaining the advantage, pressing and keeping it, to maintain control over the situation. For comparison, fights are between people of roughly equal footing, and fighting follows rules. As a person who lives in the world of actual violence, Akai does not need the fancy dances of a fighting sport, he needs his rifles, guns, and a self-defense technique for when things go really bad and personal. (Incidentally, a professional will also plan, won't let his emotions get in the way, stay calm, and keep working in bad conditions - we also see these traits in Akai.) I can remember two instances of Akai fighting (there might be more)- the ferris wheel fight, and the one time he knocked out the people after Yumi (and arguably, they didn't really have a chance and it wasn't really a fight). Other than that, he's just coordinating and providing tactical support.

Akai using Jeet Kune Do for fighting is an interesting choice. It's not as well-known as many other fighting styles (hell, it's not even a fighting style, it's a self defense technique and really more of a philosophy or a principle), but it has a couple of key values that characterize him well. First off, it's hugely individualistic. Practitioner's are encouraged to find their own way, to find what works for them, which really is Akai in a nutshell, doing what he wants. Secondly, it is described as a highly efficient way to fight. There are few, if any, rules to Jeet Kune Do, you're expected to use whatever technique will help you the most in the moment. For this reason, it is also highly adaptable, and requires an appropriate mindset to use. This latter point, I think, really mirrors the approach the FBI has in the series - do what you need to in order to get the results we want, at whatever the cost.

The fact that it's a self defense technique is important for two reasons: one is the immediate one for our context - Akai's defending himself from an angry Rei on the ferris wheel.

With all that out of the way, let's get into the ferris wheel fight, and what we learn about them there.

For contrast, let's look at Rei. It's almost funny how little professionalism Rei has compared to Akai, when it comes to the world they're living in. Rei's choice of fighting style is boxing, and he's practicing a rather straightforward, aggresive version, with barely any defense, at great personal risk. That point about professionals not letting their emotions get in their way? Well, either Rei has never heard it, or he's deliberately ignoring it. Either way, it really holds him back from gaining and maintaing control.

(I would be remiss not to point out that boxing is also done for show, fitting for this show-off.)

Boxing might honestly be good for Rei in order get out his anger and to up his pain tolerance, but for the purpose of keeping him alive, it sucks. It's up close, it's personal, and it's dirty (that tagline might as well describe Furuya himself). A threat who's gotten into that range is already a problem. Sure, usually - though not in this instance - he's also got his handgun, with its limited reach, limited firepower. For his purposes, it might suffice - he's not supposed to be a fighter, and the advantage of his gun is in its concealability. I suppose he gets a couple points in professionalism for that choice, and for often bringing back-up, whether he's working for the PSB or the BO. For what it's worth, he's also likely trained in Kendo or something similar, as we see in Wild Police Story, but he doesn't really use it. We see Rei fighting rarely, but it happens; with Matsuda at the beginning of WPS, casually inflicting violence on a kidnapper, and now here on the ferris wheel.

It's so interesting to me how they interact here.

Despite both of them bleeding, it starts to feel like Akai is in control, or at least not dated by the fighting - he gets Rei good with Jeet Kune Do's signature One Inch Punch, but has enough presence of mind to casually grabs him so he doesn't fall to his death (which gets him shoved off with a foot. Give Furuya an inch, and he'll try to take your head). Furuya's meanwhile clearly enjoying himself, might have even entered the zone, a sort of battlejoy/trance, asking for a second round (here we go again, this is a fight, with certain rules, like rounds), and Akai, well, he's beaten up, but it doesn't look like he'd surrender to get Furuya off his back - despite it being an option that would end the fight early. We see both of them smiling at points in this exchange, and I think it speaks to both of them, inherently, being thrillseekers. Putting all they are into the outcome of this fight against a dangerous enemy is a thrilling brush with mortality.

Them fighting at all, on top of the ferris wheel, is stupid, plain and simple. They expect the BO to show up any minute, and they'd better be in peak condition - instead they indulge in this fight. Really, it's Rei launching himself at Akai, who's mostly dodging and defending where necessary (I say indulge, because he is armed, and could probably escalate/end the fight early). Fights happen for a variety of reasons, usually social (because otherwise we'd be talking about violence, not a fight), and this implies Rei sees Akai as roughly equal/wants him to have a fair fighting chance, following the social contract of announcing his presence. He launches the attack, takes the initiative but the distance is so large, and he telegraphs his intentions clearly enough that his advantage is minimal.

Akai has the distinct disadvantage of carrying his rifle case, protecting its contents, because he'll need them later. He is, as the series lets us know, a capable fighter (described stronger as Masumi, who can deal with Ran, an established capable martial artist), and we can see it in this fight. He's reading Rei's movements and blocking most of the hits - for what it's worth, Rei's style seems more focused on quantity of attacks over quality. He does get Akai with some unconventional angles of attack (like swinging up into a kick from falling), and mostly this initial struggle is about them fighting for control.

When we cut back to the fight, they're still at it. I find it interesting that Akai tries to talk Rei down throughout the fight. Because the presence of mind necessary to form coherent sentences in a fight is not nothing, and the fact that he at least tries to go for a different solution is noteworthy, even if it is ultimately useless.

Then Conan calls Akai. This is in a small pause to the fight, because, surprise surprise, fighting takes effort (another reason professionals avoid it). It is really funny to me how Rei respects the rules of a fight, but he also sees an opportunity in his opponent's distraction, and seizes it (at the cost of also throwing himself down into a chasm, the self-sacrificial bastard).

Only at this point does it feel like Akai is taking the fight more seriously. I'd wager this is a) because Rei has displayed the willingness to destroy himself to take Akai with him, b) due to the enclosed space - less space to dodge and c) because at least he is aware time is ticking. They're both injured, and the enemy is coming soon. This fight better be over quick.

They only don't fight each other to the death because of Conan's timely intervention. He calls to Akai for help, and just like that, the conflict is resolved, for now. Akai wordlessly rejects Rei's request for a second round, which Rei just...accepts. Allows Akai that level of control, and the control of the flow of information (namely, they don't tell Conan they've been at it). It baffles me, but then again, I suppose it is a fight, the fight has rules, and, clearly, something more important takes precedence. Then again, this whole damn exchange makes no logical sense. Rei has sworn bloody revenge on Akai, who just saved his life today, and instead of doing something about the BO they're fighting a little. Logic is nowhere to be seen, all of this is emotional. On both sides.

I guess bonus points in professionalism for working together for the rest of the rest of the movie, even if they're sharing intel with/depending on a literal child for the solutions to their problem. It's a very unusual set of circumstances indubitably not covered by their training, granted, so what can you do (I'd still love for the adults in this universe to do their job, sue me).

Last point of note for the movie, in my opinion, is Akai waiting after all the chaos is over for Rei to spot him. Is this a case of checking in and simultaneously showing that he, too, made it out alive? He is clearly noticed by Rei, and only then walks away. And Rei just lets him. Akai is in control, in the end.

[romance-rambles]

[modern] cael | should've said it to my face

After reading Cael's response to your comment, you eventually give into your impulsive thoughts and call him. It turns out to be a misunderstanding

2k, takes place during qixi event [minor spoilers for the card], misunderstandings + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

DINNER TIME SEES YOU SCROLLING aimlessly through Lofter, in search of something to do.

You're sprawled across the couch on your back, knees bent, with a plate—stacked with airfryer dino nuggets and french fries—balanced precariously in front of you. The hand not occupied with your phone holds onto a half-empty soda can. When you remember to eat, you stick it in the gap between you and the sofa's backrest and pray it doesn't spill over again.

In the background, a movie you'd seen multiple trailers for in your spare time runs on the TV. For the first thirty minutes, it was rather entertaining, actually—for reasons beyond the absolutely stellar writing. It was, and is, filled with so many cliches, all dragged out and played entirely straight, that it makes you wonder if the writers had a checklist.

Then, your editor texted you around the time the couple had their first date and—well.

Though it turned out that the phone call she was asking for had nothing to do anything that would make a perpetually tardy artist quiver in fear, Beanie can attest to what a disaster the fifteen minutes before said phone call were.

Your shirt is still sticky from the spilt soda, and worse, the water you splashed on the stain has left you soaked. And on top of that, your shirt wasn't the only victim in this mess. Now, some of your nuggets carry with them a hint of sweetness—one that can't be attributed to the ketchup.

They're still good, you think stubbornly, glaring at someone imaginary sitting opposite to you.

You pull your legs closer, clearly disgruntled, and sit up straight. The artifacts of your makeshift party for one change positions with you, making you look less like a slob after work hours—even if that is what you were going for.

Because that someone imaginary looks suspiciously like Cael, with that close-mouthed smile that reeks of barely-disguised amusment. A menace with good publicity, though you'd take this Cael over the "old" one any day.

After all, this one is yours—to have, and to hold, for as long as you live.

You think of the characters in your latest manga, and of those last few pages; of the red dress the painter had picked out, and of where the spirit's—and yours—thoughts had gone. The ones you'd added as a bonus after dicussing a much happier ending with Cael. Frankly, it's the most self-indulgent thing you'd written since In Passing, except this time, you didn't bother holding back on your fantasies.

"Wait," you mutter, squinting down at an artwork from one of your mutuals on your phone. The poor dinosaur that gets offered up to your hungry belly this time is thankfully not one of the soggy ones. "Has he seen it yet?"

The answer to your question, once you regretfully pull your gaze away from the beautiful man you drew, and pull up your latest post on Lofter is yes.

hubby: This drawing is great.

A simple compliment, yet your spirits soar to never-before-seen heights. With your free hand, you cup your cheek; your pinkie finger can only partially hide the curved end of your lips. Then, like a thick veil, your hair falls over half of your face, prompting a small laugh from you.

As you tuck your hair behind your ear, you can't help but think it adds to the scene. The lovesick smile. His comment. The affection swelling in your fluttering heart.

You imagine the soft smile on his face when he saw your post and wonder why he isn't here to tuck your hair back for you.

Truth is, you'd never learned how to stop missing Cael, even after he'd returned to being a permanent fixture in your life. The only time you don't miss him is when he's in front of you—when you can wrap your arms around him, in a carefully struck balance of spoiled and loving, and hear his exasperated chuckle as he pulls you in closer.

Maybe that is why the words you write in response lack any double meanings.

you: @hubby But I feel that the person in the drawing is better than the drawing itself.

Tracing the silhouette of his hair, you think this is the Cael that comes closest to showcasing his ethereal beauty. All that practice through drawing the Silver Knight has left you as the most qualified person to make that judgement. It is with this thought in mind, and a puffed chest, that you wait for his response.

And Cael could be busy, for all you know. It could take a while for him to respond, for all you know.

Still, if you play your cards right, when you tell him how long you waited, he'll pat your head. And on your forehead, the heat from his loving kiss will linger for long after he pulls away.

You grin at the thought and scroll down.

hubby: Me too.

At first, you can only blink.

Me too, you repeat dumbly, tilting your head to the side. You must look like quite the catch, with three nuggets and countless fries stuffed into you face. ME TOO?

The vision of his faint smirk transforms your previously lovesick demeanor in an instant. Swallowing your food down, you glare at the snarky comment, thumbs hovering over the digital keyboard without a reply in mind.

It would've been better if he'd said it to your face. You could tackle him—maybe kiss the smirk off his face. Countless letters are typed out and erased within seconds of each other, simply because you can't settle on anything to say. The scowl on your face deepens as you swipe out of the app.

And you're not sure what happens after that, but when you come to, you find yourself staring at half of an objectively terrible selfie you'd taken with Cael—

And Ringing... written underneath.

When he picks up, the first thing Cael says is your name.

"What a coincidence." Your boyfriend chuckles softly. "I was thinking I wanted to hear your voice."

You fear the psychological damage is irreversible. Why did you call him again?

Oh, rig—wait a minute.

"Did you miss me?" you ask, not so much curious as you are delighted. "Wait."

Never let it be said that you don't have your priorities straight. You're sure anyone in your position would do the same thing. So, with a giggle—both at your snarky comment and at the prospect of being missed by Cael—you pull your phone away from your ear and make your earlier wish of seeing his face come true.

"Let me—" You adjust your bangs, knowing well the futility of doing so. "—Let me turn my camera on."

When you finally catch sight of his beautiful face, as the camera turns on, Cael is smiling gently.

Upon catching a glimpse of your current, haphazard appearance—the pile of hair tied up in some kind of half-bun, half-ponytail, the ratty old t-shirt that's simply too comfortable to part with, and, you realize embarassedly, the ketchup stains and nugget crumbs plastered all over your mouth—he shakes his head. Out of habit, his free hand hovers in the air for a moment before he puts it down. Even before he shoots you a helpless look, you can tell he's wishing for the same thing.

"You should—" Gesturing at his own mouth, free of crumbs, he tries to help you out. "Mhm, you got most of them."

For a party of one, you didn't find napkins to be a necessity—so, instead, you have to make do with your oily hands. It's hardly the most elegant side you've shown him, but you also know he's seen worse. And if he can still watch you fondly, frankly, you don't think you have a need to be concerned.

With a grimace, you brush the fallen crumbs off of your lap and onto the couch. You're going to have to vacuum it, unless you want it to be teeming with ants. The thought makes you shudder.

Cael's lovely voice cuts through the horrific visions of an ant takeover and replaces them with much more pleasant imagery. "What are you thinking about?"

"Ants," you say, without skipping a beat, then laugh. "Well, that and I have a bone to pick with you."

He blinks, looking as though he's desperately trying to surpass a laugh. "Alright. What is it?"

Upon studying his expression, you find that it's rather reminiscent of the one that'd pushed you over the edge. This time—perhaps because of the way the amusement glittering in his violet eyes makes them pop—you smile softly. Laying back down on the sofa, with your head comfortably resting against the armrest, you grin and start describing your dilemma.

"The truth is, I was fishing for another compliment," you tell him, as if offering him a carefully-guarded confession.

Your voice is suitably dramatic, with a sliver of faux mournfulness coming through. Unfortunately, you're not particularly good at faking tears—so it is all you have in your arsenal.

Cael looks down at you from the phone's screen, clearly exasperated. You bring your arms down to a more comfortable position and adjust some of your bangs. With the plate of nuggets still on your lap, you can't bend your knees as you'd like. As a compromise, you cross your legs over one another.

Finally, he breaks the silence.

"I'll make up for it, but—" Your boyfriend hesitates. "Nevermind."

Even though the hamsters in your brain have started sounding the alarms, even though you're certain he's messing with you, you still fall for it—hook, line, and sinker. It leaves you incapable of saying anything beyond but.

With an elegance you might've admired at any other time, he ignores your minor break in coherency. But the smile on his face is, for all intents and purposes, a grin, genuine but unfortunately tinged with amusement, and you can't find it in yourself to be too upset. You still remember his lighthouse comment.

You wonder if he'd notice if you took a screenshot. He did say he didn't like to use his deduction abilities on you.

Humming a song you'd texted him without explanation, he begins to ask, "How would you like me to make up for—"

"But."

"I was talking about the girl in the painting," he relents finally, softly smiling at you. You like to think your glare broke him down.

But the person in the drawing...

True, you'd never specified who you were talking about. Neither had he. It really is true what they say about assumptions, you think, aware that you can't quite think of an accusation that won't backfire on you.

So, like a gaping fish—maybe one swimming in warmer weather, if your warm cheeks are any indication—you gawk at him.

"Is that surprising?" he asks.

Deliberately, you turn your head away. To make yourself feel like a productive person, you pretend you're searching for your beloved cat, who must've slinked away at some point. Then again, you're pretty sure bribery goes a long way with Beanie—and no one's better at it than Cael.

Maybe Beanie would side against you instead.

"Maybe I haven't said it enough. That you're the most beautiful person I know."

As your mind slowly registers the words, you blink. Clearly, Cael hasn't spent enough time staring at a mirror. If he'd said woman, you might've debated for a bit before folding. You might've even seized the opportunity he's presented you with immediately.

Instead, you squint at him.

Surely, he hasn't forgotten how the students of St. Shelter Academia hold his beauty in high esteem. Or the many, perhaps unnecessary, compliments to his beauty in In Passing, even after you'd returned to Godheim. Sure, he might not have registered your unsubtle crush on him back then, but surely, now—

Surely.

Maybe I'm the one who hasn't said it enough.

"That's right." You nod your head solemnly—as if you're unbothered by the thoughts running through your head—and hold up your pinky finger with a smug grin. "You should say it more. Pinky swear."

Despite the distance, he still holds up his pinky finger for you.

[apple-spider-vinegar]

Not a Norman Osborn Apologist or a Norman Osborn Hater but a secret third thing

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Side request that isn’t on your WIP list at all, but if you ever wanted to share any snippets or to have an excuse to work on your hockey au (perhaps as a way of coping with watching the Bruins), then like

🌹

🏒🥅⛸️

Hockey AU my belovedddddd And thank you for encouraging me and listening to me drone on about it months ago. It has been on my mind as I watch my B's (which I am doing currently and they are actually winning!). For your generous ask, here is the (current draft) to the opening that gives insight into the fic itself:

Rebecca watched the movers take the David Hockney painting off the wall with a mixture of regret and disappointment. She should have asked for it in the divorce. Instead-she got the hockey club. She was now the proud owner of the Richmond Greyhounds, no matter how hard Rupert tried to destroy the team prior to her takeover. No matter how hard Rupert tried to destroy her. 

She survived him. And she wouldn’t let him take this team from the fans. Now Rebecca simply had to figure out exactly how she was going to do that. 

“Oh, surely not the Hockney, too?” Higgins grimaced, watching the mover carry it out the door of Rebecca’s office as he entered and took one of the chairs across from her desk. “That must be worth a million pounds.”

“I know Higgins, but we have bigger problems at the moment.”

Higgins made a strangled noise, “Where should we start?”

“Let’s start with why you’re still here,” Rebecca said. “And why you didn’t follow my ex-husband out the door?”

Another startled sound escaped his lips. 

“Well, I believe in this team, and I’m not willing to walk away when I think it can still be saved,” Higgins answered. 

“We have a lot of work to do. Rupert did his best to run this team into the ground.”

“Unfortunately, I am well aware,” Higgins said. “And with all due respect, Mrs–Ms Welton, why are you here? Why do you want to be here?”

Rebecca sighed. She knew there would be a lot of questions regarding her position, so she might as well start swinging. 

“Did you know Rupert bought the team for me? It was a wedding gift. Not for me to be involved, of course, but my present was him owning the team.”

“Don’t tell that to Mrs Higgins; she’ll have much higher hopes for our next anniversary.”

Rebecca smiled sadly, “He forgot our anniversary the next year.”

Higgins winced. 

“But! Not the point!” Rebecca said with a forced cheer. “The point is we need to turn this team around and we only have eight games left to do it. If you’re ready to help me do that, I’m promoting you to team General Manager. Patrick has not built the team that we need. I think you will do a much better job of it than he has.”

“Patrick left with Rupert, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

Higgins nodded a few times as if unsurprised by this development. Higgins has worked at Richmond since before Rupert bought the team, working his way through the ranks, becoming loyal to Rupert and Rebecca wondered how loyal he would be to her, but she had little time to find a replacement.

“Let’s start with the team itself,” Rebecca said. “We are severely under the salary cap, Rupert choosing to save money rather than pay players.”

“While there aren’t many players available in free agency at the moment, and we don’t have enough assets for many trades, but I do have a lead on a sniper from Manchester City we might be able to get for under-market value. He’s an up-and-coming talent, but seems like he’s worn out his welcome with his current club, and no one else is willing to take a chance on him ruining a changing room. He’s a free agent at the end of the season, so it would just be a loaner, and there is absolutely no chance he’ll resign.”

“Make it happen. We need whatever help we can get for the rest of the season.”