#he’s an ANGEL for godssakes

[lookinglass-fic]

The Stars Are Not Wanted Now (Put Out Every One)

SPOILERS FOR GOOD OMENS SEASON 2 4.5k - Crowley/Aziraphale - Post-Canon - Angst - Someone give Crowley a hug for godssakes - Crowley deserves gay friends and a wine night

Funny, it is, how Crowley still expects Aziraphale to see him leaning there against the Bentley like a warning and realise. How one brief glimpse, one final last shot, Angel, might change his mind when the rest of it didn’t. The bloody grovelling and the pouring out of his non-existent heart. That kiss against lips as unmoving as stone.

Aziraphale looks back for one moment that lasts an absolute age, and then he’s gone, the Heavenly elevator swallowing him up and disappearing as if it never even existed.

Crowley’s chest stutters. Funny old thing, this corporation of his. Acts of its own volition sometimes. He doesn’t need to breathe, but suddenly it feels like he’s drowning.

He waits a half second too long, and suddenly someone is there at his elbow, gazing off down the street in the same direction as him. There’s nothing to see.

“You alright?” Nina asks.

He doesn’t trust himself to speak just now. Swallows thickly—there goes his body doing human things again—and shakes his head.

“What’s happened?”

“He’s gone,” he manages, after a moment, and lowers himself into the car. Nina stops the door with her hand before it can close.

“Gone,” she says, like it’s silly, like it’s a mistake. “What d’you mean, gone?”

Crowley levels a glare at her, but she doesn’t look moved.

“There is no way that that man,” she says, pointing to the bookshop as if he were still there, “that… that lovesick, puppy dog of a man has heard what you’ve had to say and then just left.”

“Well, that’s bloody well what happened!” Crowley shouts. Doesn’t apologise for it, either. He’s a demon, after all. Or was, once. The empty place where his conscience should be might feel bad about it, later.

Nina lets him close the door, but he doesn’t start the car. Just sits there, feeling the hush from his plants in the backseat, like even they are too stunned to quake.

Nina’s still there at the open window with her arms crossed. “Listen,” she says, “I should be off around 8:30, if you want to, I dunno, chat, or whatever. We could have a pint or four.” She nods toward the pub, toward the place where his world just came to an end.

He doesn’t have it in him to say he’d sooner drink holy water than enter that pub ever again.

“Thanks,” he says instead. “Another time.”

He starts the car. Vera Lynn starts crooning at him over the speakers. He mashes a finger against the off button before she can turn into Freddie Mercury. No nightingales, he thinks as he speeds away.

Read the rest on ao3

[cardansolo]

me during all of crescent city trying not to like hunt athalar just in case sjm pulls a tamlin vs me becoming obsessed with him anyway

[matriarchjojo]

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐎

YANDERE!JAMIL + BIMBO!READER

18+, NONCON/DUBCON, hypnosis kink, jealousy, cheating (?), corruption kink, misogyny, jamil Talks a lot abt purity, slapping, degradation, rough sex, switch!jamil, multiple orgasms, all characters are over 18, readers skin color is not mentioned

Jamil was already sick of kalim, but now hes got a crush on YOU?! you of all people..and then you even go on a date with kalim. No, no he won't have it.

Jamil couldn't take it anymore, this happened before..but..this is different.

He was sick of being kalims slave and being seen as less his whole life but now the woman he likes is also choosing kalim over him. This isnt fair, its just not fair.

You were supposed to be HIS. He always helped you with everything, he spent more time with you than kalim for godssake! How could kalim even think of asking you out on a date?! He should have known that jamil was deeply in love with you! Why does he keep ruining things for him?!

Jamil was sick at the thought of the two of you laughing together, holding hands or even worse, kissing!

He had to fight the urge to throw up while cooking FOR YOUR DATE NO LESS

everytime the thought of jamil losing you to his rival made him want to kill kalim with his bare hands, jamil hated the thought. But soon enough he got an idea..

Thinking back to when you 'adored' him when he overblotted, was his favourite thing to think about but that made him remember..

He could just control you.

Yes, yes of course! How didn't he think of this sooner?!

As soon as your dinner with kalim was over (which was pure torture for jamil by the way. Except for the way you looked, that was heaven) He was suppossed to escort you out, and that was the perfect time for him to hypnotize you, and keep you as his own~

While you were talking about how good his cooking was (which he could listen to All day, if he didn't have something important to do with you right now) he stopped and hissed

"Jami? Oh dear! Is everything okay?" There it is..that cute nickname you got for him..you might not be the brightest, like kalim, but that was different. You were an angel, and kalim is a Thorn in jamils eye.

"Ah..no, no..it's just something in my eye.." he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing his eye. Yes he used that old trick, but it worked on you.

you looked at him worried and walked up to the tall man "noo~ lemme see! Maybe i can help.." jamil smirked and as you took his hand away from his eye and looked at him he took the oportunity to use his spell on you.

You realized what was happening as your head started hurting, just like the first time you met him! "J-jami?! Wh-what are you.." you trailed off and got quiet as a little drool already threatened to drip from your plump lip

It made jamil laugh evily and put his Hand on your cheek afterwards "who am i to you, my love?" He asked caressing your cheek and holding your waist with his other hand "my dear master.." you smiled completely out of your mind, just how jamil liked you. Hearing you calling him Master just did it for him, you made him feel sinful feelings all the time but..now its even worse.

"good girl..what else am i, dear?" He asked, his face inching closer to you "you're the best man i have ever met..it would be an honor to become your loyal wife and bear your children.."

Fuck

This was all he ever wanted to hear! He couldn't help himself anymore.

Jamil suddenly pushed you up against the golden wall of the hall way to roughly kiss you, he fucking hoped kalim would come into the hallway to see you getting kissed so lewdly by his supposed 'friend', and your beautiful hands clinging onto him, pushing him closer to you.

Jamil broke the kiss with a heavy gasp "i want you, my dear..do you want me too?" His index finger ran across your jaw as a smirk grew larger and larger of his handsome face.

"I want you so bad, master." You suddenly began grinding your hips against his thigh and so jamil just grunted and had to suck in a deep breath before grabbing your hand and running off to his room with you.

After he shut the door he grabbed you by the throat and pushed you onto his bed "who do you love the most?" He asked, his breath hitting your pretty face.

"I love you, master! I always did!" You said, swinging your legs around his waist and pulling him closer to you. You looked so beautiful tonight, you always do of course but that beautiful dress that exposed your cleavage and hugged your waist so tightly was a sight for sore eyes, truly.

Hearing you finally say that you love jamil and not kalim was literal music to his ears

"I love you too, angel" he huffed out before roughly kissing you again and shoving his hot and wet tongue inside of your warm and welcoming mouth

He felt to good in your arms, every curve, dip and inch was made for him. And HIM ALONE.

kalim could never even get a taste of you, not when jamil has his grip on you.

He couldn't stop his hips from rutting against your clothed pussy anymore, he just needed some friction on his cock. "Tell me you love me again." He bit his bottom lip afterwards while staring into your eyes "i love you, master!" You whimpered out to which jamil smirked again "come on, my dear..let those pretty whimpers out as loud as you can~" he wanted the whole dorm to hear you screaming his name.

Everyone knew what an innocent little angel you were, dispite how quite slutty you dressed sometimes. Makes him think that you are just trying to make him mad, with how much attention you draw from the men

Jamil began to pull his hoodie over his head and then to unbuckle his dress pants, but he wanted to leave you in that beautiful dress for a little longer. He wanted to defile you in that beautiful—almost angelic dress.

Jamil slid his hand up your dress and felt how wet you already were, feeling it made him smirk then bite his bottom lip again. "Does me playing with you turn you on that much, my love?" He asked with a cocky smile. You just drooled more and whimpered "ye-yes..master.." your words became more slurred, and not as collected as before. This was a good thing in jamils eyes.

He wanted you to break apart because of him, he wanted to hurt you, dirty you, he wanted to be the one that owns that beautiful flower of yours between your plush thighs.

"Lift your dress up" he ordered caressing your thighs before squeezing them. You did as he ordered since you truly had no other choice, you couldn't say no..though you wanted to..you loved kalim, yet here you are..lifting your dress up for his best friend, and being so wet for, again, his best friend

Jamil grinned when he saw those cute white panties with a bow on it, already dirtied by your innocent pussy. "Come on. Spread your legs more" he slapped your thigh harshly and you proceeded to spread them widely for him, you wanted to cry, but you couldn't..no matter how much you wanted to say no to jamil..you..couldn't..and maybe you dont even really want to. The things he does for you, the way he treats you so dominantly..was so different from kalim, but in a good way..

Jamil hooked his fingers under the crotch of your pretty panties to show him your virgin cunt. "What a beautiful little flower..truly the prettiest" he licked his lips and began to hungrily dive into your wet pussy with his tongue.

Jamil has ruined kalims relationships a lot in the past three years, just out of spite and hate for the sweet and dumb man. He didn't like anything about those women, he just wanted them to fall for him to leave kalim. Then he would drop them.

But you, he actually did have feelings for you, before kalim did.

So he took kalims feelings for you as an attack on him, he will not have it. You are his and his alone, he will not share you..unless..

It may be a good tactic to let you marry kalim and just keep on pleasing you behind his back, jamil still believes that he deserves it. He has not learned from his past mistakes, he just learned that he has to hurt kalim the way he did to him for so many years.

He will make his beloved wife suck his dick everytime you are done having unsatisfying sex with your husband, and jamil will always be your number one, jamil will always be the one you run to when you feel needy, jamil will be the one you truly want.

As jamil got lost in his horrible, backstabber fantasies, he didn't notice how rough he went on your pussy. He lifted his head with his whole mouth and chin dripping with your juices to see your beautiful fucked out face and you breathing heavily.

"What a pretty angel you are~" he said before getting up and slapping one of your tits, you cutely whined at the slap and mindlessly begged for more. "Master! S-slap me again! More!!" Jamil grinned and slid his index and middle finger down to your clit to rub it in small circles before pinching it harshly "say you're my slut, Say you're my dirty slut"

Jamil felt such a rush from seeing your hazed eyes roll back into your head while your mouth hung open "i'm your slut, master!" Jamil wished that kalim could hear your adorable moans, moans that are begging for jamil and jamil only.

"Good." He said before standing up and just looking down at you "sit up and undress yourself for me." You did just as he said and slipped your dress off, along with your panties. Seeing your beautiful and soft body in front of him, all bare and ready just for jamil, it made him want to just slam your head down and take you right there.

But no, he wasn't going to rip your poor pussy open, though seeing your pretty pussy stained with blood because of him did get him a little excited.

But jamil isnt that cruel..

Jamil grinned evily as hos eyes scanned your body, every curve, dip and roll made his cock so much harder. Jamil laid you back down on your back and he placed his palm on the back of your neck "i have waited so long for this moment.." jamil whispered into your ear as he slipped his boxers off, revealing his thick, veiny and uncut cock, all red and begging for attention.

"To defile you, this beautiful angel..you're gonna be mine" he continued his sentance as his left hand played with your soft breast "isn't that right, dear?"

You nodded, with drool running from your plump lips "yess..master..yours.." you slurred, completely out of it. Jamil noticed you, trying to fight against his spell..it made him chuckle at how cute you are to think you of all people could fight against his spell.

"Spread yourself open for me, and dont hold any of those moans back." He ordered and you followed, against your will. You pressed your index and middle finger against you two supple pussy lips to then spread them open to let jamil see your throbbing clit and twitching hole.

Jamils cock twitched at the sight of it and groaned "dirty vixen.." he cursed and grabbed your thighs, so hard to the point of probably bruising them. But do you really think jamil cared? No, of course not. He wanted to Mark you up, so that kalim would see that you're a dirty slut who got fucked and dirtied by his supposed best friend.

Jamil leaned down and kissed your neck as your legs pushed him further against you with an erotic moan coming from you.

He suddenly bit down on your neck as hard as he could, making you cry out in pain

"Whore." He spat before diving back into your neck to suck dark spots into your soft skin and lining his throbbing cock up with your twitching cunt "please, master! Your dirty whore needs it!!" Jamils eyes widened as you suddenly said those words, he actually felt drool Pool in his mouth at your dirty and slutty mouth.

He couldn't help it anymore, jamil just pushed his fat cock past your pussy lips, into your tight and sopping wet hole. Your pussy gripped his sensitive cock so tightly, it made jamil audibly moan. He felt like a virgin all over again..

"S-say you love me.." he said between slow but hard thrusts, he grabbed your hair to make you look at him "do it." Your eyes went ftom hazed to soft and teary "i-i love you..j-jami.."

Jamil almost jumped back from that nickname, hmdid his spell wear off?? Does that even fucking happen? "J-jami! I love you!!" You said again before pulling him back down again to kiss him passionately. Jamil never felt like this before, he truly felt appriciated..and like he was your actual number one..

"Mhh..ah- i-i love you too.." he moaned between sloppily kissing you, your lips and tongue felt so good against his own..he could just drown in you, and the way your pussy clenches with every thrust

It drives him crazy, jamil just has to thrust even faster "f-fuck..i love you, i love you, i love you.." he slurred, still kissing you and sucking on your tongue, all needy and rough.

"I-i'm gonna cum- im gonna- f-fuck.." jamil whimpered as he came in hir and thick spurts inside and then continued to fuck his load deeper inside of your tightening cunt, you were about to cum but of jamil didn't pull out he feared that he might cum again. But as he was about to pull out you pushed him tighter against you and fucked back against him.

Fuck

This was too much for jamil, you were too much for jamil..this was the hottest thing he has ever witnessed, and then to top it all of, it was with you..his love, his angel, his one and only..

You drooled against his strong shoulder and came on his cock, the throbbing and gripping of your pussy almoat made it hard for jamil to breathe as he came again.

Jamil hugged your soft body as he tried to catch his breath, that was the best orgasm you ever had..it felt almost like you were at the gates of heaven, it had your toes curling, your back arching and you screaming.

Jamil lifted his head and looked up at you like he wasnt sure if he should even take a look at you "are you..back to your sense?.." he asked and you shyly looked to the side

"m-maybe.."

You said in that high pitched tone and those cute eyes trying to avoid eye contact. Jamil felt beyond embarrassed right now..but there was a question still lingering in his mind.

"Did you..did you mean it..?" He asked burrying his face im between your tits "did i mean what?" You asked dumbly

Jamil rolled his eyes "that you loved me..did you mean it?" He asked almost shyly

You blushed slightly and pouted your wet lips "yes..maybe..kind of?" You babbled. That was enough for jamil, he wanted to hear it again "say it again.." he said, lifting himself up by his arms to look down at you "say you love me"

You looked up at him like a little puppy and you nervously looked down, but jamil grabbed your chin to make you look up at him "say it and look into my eyes"

You gulped and nodded "i love you, Jami.."

"That means im better than kalim?" He suddenly asked and you got nervous "b-but i liie you both-" he then suddenly slapped you "i only wanna hear a 'yes, Master' do you understand?" He asked with a stonecold look in his eyes

There is that Feeling of dread again, you were scared of jamil...you suddenly came back to your full senses once he slapped you, "l-let me go.." you whimpered but jamil just slapped you again before making you look into his eyes again..

And before you knew it everything went black for you. "I am better than kalim, aren't i?" He asked again and you answered with

"Yes, master."

[softlyblues]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20026420

Moist von Lipwig, Postmaster General, Vice-President of the Ankh-Morpork Bank, Generally Involved in Railways and the Man in the Golden Suit, is currently sitting on a chair drinking a very good, but very cold cup of tea, and staring in stunned silence at the man in front of him. 

This would shock most people who know him. Or at least, think they do. The people of the city pride themselves on their smooth-talking Golden Man, who found the magic of the post, who found all that money by praying to the gods, who invented money, who started the railways - they love him, and his witty battles in The Times with Sacharissa Crisplock. When he was married, the wedding took up three whole pages, and when his baby was born that was another two. Moist von Lipwig in the minds of the people is an unflappable man, a man with a Plan (not a plan, a Plan) a man with something to say in every situation. 

His wife, Adora Belle, has seen him stunned to silence many times. This is why she is his wife. Commander Vimes has seen him shocked, too, but this is because Sybil and Sam (and young Sam) are regular dinner guests of Moist and Adora Belle (and young Letty, who’s just said her first word). 

The man in front of him has also seen him stunned to silence many times. This is why he is his boss. 

“I don’t know why any of this comes as a surprise to you, Lipwig,” says Lord Vetinari calmly. “Time passes, does it not?”

Moist stares into his cup of tea, where he can see the skim of the milk dancing from rim to rim. At the moment, that’s the only thing in the world that he’s certain is real - this tea, and himself, probably, but who knows? Maybe he did die. Maybe this is hell. 

“Mr Lipwig? Would you like another cup of tea? You’ve had that one rather a long time.”

Uberwald, Moist thinks, dreamily. He doesn’t have many memories of his childhood there, because he erased them forcibly over the years, but he does remember the simplicity. Potato farming, his grandfather’s dogs, the cold cabbage suppers, riding the donkeys for miles and miles to the well. He could go back - he could seek his roots - he could burn the golden suit and dye his hair and kidnap his wife and his daughter and run - 

“Drumknott, can you see to it that Mr Lipwig has a fresh cup? I think it would do him a world of good.”

His cup is gently eased out of his hands. It takes a while, because Moist is gripping ever so hard, but eventually another is pressed into his palm. It’s refreshingly hot. 

“Moist,” says Vetinari, at last - and that gets his attention. Moist, up until this point, wasn’t sure Vetinari knew he had a first name, and he had been sure he would go to his grave without hearing it. It sounds oddly, terrifyingly informal coming from Vetinari. 

“You can’t make me Patrician,” Moist croaks at last, and takes a sip of the scalding tea. “I’m a bastard. I’m not from the city - I’m from Uberwald, for godssakes, I’m a wanted man - I robbed people!”

Vetinari raises one slender black eyebrow, his fingertips steepled below his chin. “To rule a city as vast as Ankh-Morpork, you need to be a bastard. And you are as from Ankh-Morpork as anyone is - you may have been born in Uberwald, but you and I both know that the city made you who you are today. The wanted man you once were is dead. And robbery, Mr Lipwig? May I remind you, in case it slipped your mind, that I graduated from the Assassin’s Guild, where I believe the syllabus is a lot more… terminal than the crimes you may have theoretically committed. I believe that’s all your worries, yes?”

Moist tries to take another drink, and pours tea down himself. It puddles down his shirt. 

(His grey shirt.) 

(Moist would never wear the golden suit to meet Vetinari. After all, who would he be trying to fool? Vetinari, who told him the interesting facts about angels while the rope burn was still aching around Moist’s neck, or Moist himself, who knows every single regrettable fact about the body he’s inhabiting and the things that he’s managed to do? No. The golden suit would feel disrespectful, and cheap. When Moist meets the Patrician, he comes as himself and only himself, no frills required.) 

“Rufus,” Vetinari says - and gods, Moist didn’t know Drumknott had a first name, either - “Could you fetch a damp cloth for Mr Lipwig, please?”

“Yes, my lord,” Drumknott’s voice says from near the door. 

Moist eyes Vetinari with a hollow stare. “Don’t make me,” he says. 

“I won’t make you, of course. If you don’t want to, the door is right there.”

Pit full of spikes, Moist’s brain helpfully supplies. “Pit full of spikes,” his mouth helpfully says, before downing the remainder of his cup of tea. 

Astonishingly, it doesn’t make anything better. 

Vetinari’s face does what would, on anyone else, be a smile. “No pit full of spikes,” he says. “Moist - do you know why I’ve made you this offer?”

“Because you’re a tyrant,” Moist offers. His brain takes a dive off a handy cliff, unless it’s already done that, which would explain quite a lot about how this conversation is turning out.

And again, there’s a tiny smile under a greying, groomed moustache. “I’ll tell you, if you want to know.”

What has Moist got to lose?

“Sure,” he says. “Sure, tell me.”

“Help me to the window.”

In years gone by, Vetinari would have stood on his own and walked as smooth and silent as a panther, and a part of that elegance remains. In years gone by, his black cane was for show, not for use - but now he leans on it, his knuckles white, and reaches out for the arm Moist extends, leaning on it with most of his weight. He is featherlight, but Moist doesn’t need to register this as a new fact, because helping Vetinari out of his seat has become commonplace in the last few years. It doesn’t diminish his presence at all, but it strikes Moist that he must be one of the very few people Vetinari does this to. The shuffle from desk to window is a short one, but in that time, Moist hears how quick Vetinari’s breath gets, how noticeably his hands shake when he leans on the sill. He isn’t out of his prime, not at all, and Moist has seen him walk for hours in public without showing a sign of weakness - 

But then again. Vetinari must assume that Moist is someone there is no point fooling. Golden suits come in all shapes and sizes. 

“Look out the window,” the Patrician commands, his voice betraying none of the frailty he’s displayed. “Look out the window and tell me what you see.”

Moist looks out the window.

The city in the morning is really a sight for the eyes of the conman, reformed or not. There’s Dibbler, selling his pies, and a few members of the Watch hanging around the corner with cigarettes clutched in their fists, and a dog taking a piss against the wall, and a bunch of tourists being politely robbed by a member of the Thieves Guild, and a few seamstresses hanging around the front of one of those new high-end goblin coffee houses. He sees a wizard in a funny hat (even by wizarding standards) having a hot debate with what appears to be a trunk full of luggage, although stranger things have happened. He sees a carriage belonging to a visiting dignitary from the Sto Plains, the horses merrily dirtying the streets the gnolls try so hard to keep clean. He sees the meeting of a thousand people every second, and the money that flows around and around like water in a bathtub, spinning around the plug but never falling. 

“Opportunity,” he says slowly. 

Vetinari hums. He sounds delighted. “Samuel always says he sees a dog relieving himself. The Archchancellor once said he saw his brother throwing a brick at the Temple of Offler. But you’re right, of course - Ankh-Morpork is one opportunity, waiting for someone to come along and make sure it keeps spinning.”

“So, because I looked out your window, you think I should be,” Moist swallows. He can’t say it. 

Vetinari does that little smile again. “Yes,” he says. “And because, when I told Sam Vimes I was thinking of you, as my successor, do you know what he said?”

“I imagine he wasn’t very pleased,” Moist says weakly. 

(The Vimes-Ramkin/von Lipwig-Dearheart dinners are a weekly event, because Moist and Sybil have become fast friends who think their children need to interact with more children of their own unique situation. Young Sam is a lot older than Letitia, who’s just turned two, but Letty adores him. Young Sam is learning card tricks, and when he pulls coins out of Letty’s ears her giggles are a blessing to any crooked man’s heart.) 

(All the same, Moist always gets the feeling Sir Samuel himself disapproves of him. Moist and Sybil are friends, good friends, and Vimes and Adora Belle get on so well it makes Moist nervous. At their dinners, Vimes smokes a cigar and sometimes Moist catches him looking at him, like he’s measuring him for something Moist isn’t sure he’ll fit into.)

“I’ll tell you what the Commander said,” Vetinari says. He’s still leaning against the windowsill. “He said firstly that I was a damn fool for considering anyone, yet, and secondly that if I was going to persist with it, that I could have picked someone worse.”

“Oh,” says Moist. 

He can argue with Vetinari, and he can argue with Adora Belle, and he can argue with Harry King and Groat and Sybil and Derek and Bent and Stanley and Gladys and - and anyone. Anyone. 

But he can’t argue with the confidence the Patrician gives him, and the trust in the way he leans his weight on Moist’s arm. 

And he can’t argue with the grunt and the smile Vimes gives him next time they cross paths. He can only accept what’s happening to him - 

But hope that it doesn’t happen for a long while, yet. 

[drkoestersmithrpg]

Ah Damn

“Tell me what you need, angel,” he insisted, running his thumb over Tony’s mouth.  “I need to hear you say it.”

Tony’s eyes were closed and Peter enjoyed, for the moment, the beautiful look on the man’s face.  He was whimpering for godssake, but he didn’t stop.  He stopped moving his hips.  Tony made a frustrated noise.

“Tell me what you need, Tony.  I need to hear you say it.”

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

I’m trying to finish another chapter of Perils tonight.  I have MOST of it written.

UNFORTUNATELY

I have no idea what “ He was whimpering for godssake, but he didn’t stop. “ means, who it refers to, or why it matters.  Which He?  Is Peter annoyed at himself for whimpering?  He certainly wouldn’t be unhappy if TONY were whimpering...

[bewarecreepercomics]

Beware the Creeper #1

First issue in the original six issue miniseries written in 1968. Creeper’s had about three of these over the years, none of them exceeding twelve issues. Well, better a short, comprehensive story than, well...the Clone Saga.

Behind you. The Menace lurks behind you. If you’d just turn around-he blends in only slightly better than you do-he’s got orange on him for godssakes, is he Naruto’s grandfather or something? He is behind you!

Again, not a bad cover at all. No wasted space, an actual background, stuff happening. My only criticisms are that the rain looks like melting icicles instead of rain, and that the colors clash a bit, but hey, Silver Age. Riotous colors were not unusual.

We start out on a dark and stormy night, in which no one sees a green and bright orange ninja scaling a building. Well, it is raining, perhaps there are fewer people on the streets. Sure, I can suspend my belief for that.

This guy is The Terror, and he is going to these great lengths to sneak up on an unfortunate fellow he believes is going to betray him. We get the immediate establishment of this guy as a bad guy. No mysteries here.

I’ve got some bad news for you, sir...

Exactly what you think is about to happen, happens.

Actually, it kind of doesn’t. Yes, The Terror bust right through that window, but how this guy dies is a mystery. Mr. Terror doesn’t shoot him. Doesn’t stab him. It’s implied that he maybe hits him, but just then...

Jack Ryder, you have the worst timing of any man alive.

The Terror kicks his butt. How embarrassing. And then leaves without even bothering to kill him. The insolence!

His poor victim dies of...plot-convenience-itis, but not before giving Jack a list of names to check out. Now that’s spite.

Jack, of course, wants to follow up on this as soon as he can, but is stymied by his boss, who has assigned him to watch over the stations weather girl, Vera Sweet.

Yes, that is seriously her name.

I told you so. Vera is a publicity hound who smokes like a chimney, and has zero respect for our hero. She is also listed on almost every Creeper bio description as his love interest.

There is literally not a single comic in which this is true.

Really. We never, ever see this. The best we ever get on this subject is several mentions in more recent years that they used to go out, but it went bad and now they barely get along. In these original comics, they are practically antagonists.

Meanwhile, the Terror bursts in on a gangster, still dressed like that. Instead of busting into laughter, he gets busted in the face, and the Terror demands half of his rackets profits. And it looks like he’s not the only unlucky mobster to be victimized by the Terror.

Aw, the double-crossers might have been double crossed. I don’t feel sorry for any of them.

Jack ditches Vera at the very first opportunity to check up on those names victim #1 provided. First up, Gerk Kreg.

Try saying that name five times fast. Anyway, for a supposedly successful gangster, it sure is easy for Jack to just walk right into his house. More like succ-sessful, amirite?

Anyway.

It’s so easy for him to get in there that he has to switch to Creeper and bring attention to himself just to get noticed. He also makes the first mention of what is in later iterations referenced as an addiction to Professor Yatz’s serum.

Hey, if throwing up the horns is supposed to be demonic, does throwing down the horns invoke angels?

Of course, a Goon Battle follows. You know the kind. Where these supposed tough guys can barely lay a finger on our hero, and are sometimes so bad at fighting that he can have an entire internal monologue about how awesome he is without even getting interrupted?

Yes, yes, you are the very picture of idealized manliness. And so are your underoos. (Nice buttcheek we got there, thanks Ditko.)

Well, he battles his way through the mob penthouse, stopping only to question a goon, but doing so gets him ambushed and restrained. Let this be a lesson to you; punch first, ask questions later does not work. Punch only, and ask no questions is the way to go!

Gerk Kreg(ugh, why) decides that, before he shoots Creeper, he wants to know who he really is. No, you fool! Didn’t you learn? Punch only! No questions!

In attempting to rip his wig off, we learn something interesting.

That’s right, the molecular rearrangement device doesn’t just change his clothing and administer a dose of serum, it actually fuses that stuff to him. The wig, the rug, the makeup, the suit, none of it can be removed when he is Creeper.

Oh, the implications! The horrible, horrible implications.

Everyone’s startlemant at this revelation gives Creeper a chance to punch his way free and escape. You see! He got the lesson!

Jack thought that Kreg might be the Terror, but didn’t manage to get any proof in that punch-fest, so he moves on to the next name he had been given, that of Hack Axeley, a...private detective? With that name? Could’ve sworn he’d be either a hitman or a lumberjack.

Hack wants nothing to do with any of this, clearly being too busy working out of a closet with a gorgeous window view. Seriously, it is crowded in there.

Jack decides to do as Axeley suggests-go ask Cleary the lawyer. Who promptly runs him out. Not a big surprise there, Jack is no longer a reporter, nor is he a detective. He is small-time TV network security. Buuuut, Cleary’s defensiveness has made Jack suspicious, so he decides to go back in, in costume.

Up the side of the building.

In broad daylight.

Where everyone can see him.

Still wanted by the police.

BrainTrust.jpg

To get away, he hops a few buildings, drops into an alley, and switches back to Jack.

I wasn’t kidding in the previous review, he seriously does this all the damn time. Oh, and now he remembers Vera, and that he has an actual job.

Love interest, everybody!

She wants to punish him for ditching her by making him walk her dog in the rain. Is that all? What the heck is he got to gripe about, nowadays they’d have his job. Again!

Well, he caves, and they head back to his place to grab an umbrella. She might be a shameless fame-seeker, but Vera is no monster! However, the Terror is! And he is waiting in Jacks apartment to get the drop on him, fully armed with the Punch Only philosophy!

He was not, however, expecting Vera’s Shriek Like a Banshee Technique!

The name of the game in this issue is Jack Gets Ambushed. But the Terror makes a run for it, figuring Vera’s screaming will have attracted too much attention. Jack immediately ditches Vera yet again, to chase after him.

Nice working with you Jack.

Forth comes the Creeper, and so commences The Chase! Which takes up the rest of the comic, with one small break.

Here’s a bonus: My favorite panel in this issue. Get a look at those hands. It might be worth mentioning here that Ditko also helped create Spiderman. I wonder if there’s a way we could tell?

No time to contemplate now, time for another ambush!

Gosh darnit Jack, just look behind you every now and again! 

We get a dazzling rooftop fight out of this. There’s fisticuffs! Close calls! And of course...

Ass shots!

The Terror makes his escape. Again. Jack puts two and two together and gets a high value of three. In other words, the Terror waiting at Jacks apartment means that Gerk Kreg can’t be the Terror, because Jack didn’t question him as Jack-only as the Creeper. Only two fellows know that Jack Ryder was researching the Terror, and he decides to drop in on one of them, the misleadingly named Hack Axeley.

Who is just so dead, you guys.

Worried for the safety of the lawyer Cleary, he phones to warn him to stay low, then goes forth to question the late Axeleys secretary, Ida Horn.

Fear his swayed hip! Become powerless before the provocative pose! The distractionary merit of the skimpy outfit is proven yet again!

While she is sufficiently terrified-partially by Creepers questions and vague threats, but mostly by his sexy, sexy photoshoot vogueing- He notices something cleverly hiding behind her drapes.

The Terror is truly a master of stealth. Especially since there isn’t even a window back there.

More brawling for our champion and his nemesis! Oh, but this time, there is a maverick contender!

Kick his ass, baby! No, wait...

Uh...I don’t think that phrase means what you think it means...But whatever, Creeper has recognized the Terror’s voice, and the jig is up! Almost.

Aw, I kinda liked her. It’s too bad her legs have detached from her body. But enough of that! Resume the chase!

Just swinging about in empty space, in a storm, in the darkened city. Badass. But they have been spotted by those who are out for their blood. So now that he’s got him, what does Creeper do?

Freaking publicly unmasks the Terror, revealing him to be Hack Axeleys assistant! Remember? This guy?

He said two words while Jack was there. He was clearly super important and involved, oh yeah. And now his face is uncovered and visible...In front of everybody who wants a chance to murder him. Great job, Jack. This guy is sure to survive until his court date.

No, nevermind, Creeper drops every single one of the gangsters by himself because he’s the title character. How could I forget. The police reap a bumper crop of crooks, and Jack escapes, but not without surveying his work.

He’s not addicted, he can quit any time he wants.

And so our comic comes to an end with Jack and Vera bickering. How romantic.

While this is the first issue of the miniseries proper, it is completely removed from the story as a whole, presenting us only with a mediocre mystery, and a lot of awesome fight scenes. The real story starts next time, in Beware the Creeper #2, coming soon!