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the-shedevil-writes · 1 month ago

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I Was Made For Lovin' You (Tyler Owens x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: You're a reporter desperately needing a story good enough to save the magazine. That's how you end up in the middle of Oklahoma interviewing the charming tornado wrangler, Tyler Owens. You end up getting a lot more than you bargained for when you end up in the passenger side of his storm-chasing truck. WORD COUNT: 5.6k WARNINGS: Cussing? Sensual jokes? Just a good old journalist x Tyler romance. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Y/n sat at her office cubicle, gnawing at her pencil. There had to be something. Scrolling through articles and hours of social media, trying to find something decent enough for a good story, had her clawing her hair out. It didn’t look that stressful in her mundane, fluorescent office with the succulents and cat posters, but inside, she was scrounging everything she could. Post-it notes and lists littered her whiteboard. The whole thing practically looked like a crime scene.

Then her coworker Stella came by, sipping flavored water and holding her phone. Stella was the producer for the video side of the magazine and her closest friend. But even she didn’t know what her boss and CEO of The Culture Edition had privately said during a meeting.

Y/n, you’re our star journalist. That’s why I want you to know. We’re filing for bankruptcy. And there’s a very good chance we’re shutting down our doors come fall.

But she didn’t want to work anywhere else. She had heard about other magazines and online companies. The unethical means and money-hushed journalists. That wasn’t why she became a journalist. She wanted to explore and put out work about culture and people making a difference.

That’s why when Stella went. “You heard of this Tornado Wrangler guy on YouTube?”

She let out a loud scoff, pinching the bridge of her nose. It already sounded like a tragic addition to her list of ideas just by name alone. “No. Do I want to?”

“He’s like this guy out in Tornado Alley, and he’s chasing tornadoes in his truck and well… wrangling them.”

She furrowed her brows. “Like stopping them?”

She nodded. Huh… There might be something there. Whether this Tornado Wrangler knew it or not.

“Like look-” Stella said, holding out her phone so that the both of them could watch.

They watched the livestream footage of a blonde man in the front seat of a pick-up truck. He definitely looked attractive enough to be internet famous, that’s for sure. She squinted her eyes suspiciously until another camera angle was shown from some sort of drone, showing the truck driving near the tornado. That was an interesting play.

Then it switched back to him and his other passengers hooting and hollering annoyingly at the camera, and she was turned off.

“Could be a good story.” Stella said, wiggling her eyebrows, “And I mean- the chance to talk to a real-life cowboy.” She teased.

The two of them had been talking of a ‘cowgirl summer’. Watching westerns with a dreamy protagonist. Listening to Shania Twain and Carrie Underwood next to the pool. But let’s face it, the two of them were city girls. California was their home. If she were ever flown out for a story, it was usually to New York or Atlanta for arthouse openings and charity fundraisers. She didn’t exactly enjoy the mud and dirt.

“I don’t know. It’s intriguing, but how big even is this guy?” She said, unsure. Would it be worth it for the company to fly her out to the middle of nowhere?

“He got a million subscribers.”

She blew her off and waved her hand. “Who doesn’t?”

“No, no. A million subscribers last night. He’s at four million today.”

That’s how she ended up in Oklahoma, a week later. Walking up to the motel that this Tyler Owens guy said they would be at. The sun was slowly setting behind her as she stepped out of the rental car. Her decisions had been poor already, with a car that could barely handle the dirt roads and the formal block heels that sank just slightly into the dust. Her beautiful hair was already frizzy from the weather. But she needed to look professional.

She looked around the surprisingly busy parking lot. It had people sitting around in lawn chairs, lighting campfires, drinking, and talking. It looked like a tailgating party. She walked stiffly in her pencil skirt and blouse as she looked around, trying to find the recognizable Tyler. She was used to people looking at her when she had a press badge around her neck, but right then, she felt people eying her strangely. The most probable reason being that she looked completely out of place. Compared to the lighthearted and casual atmosphere, she was an alien with a camera bag bouncing on her hip.

“Ms. Y/n!” A voice called, and her head whipped around to find the man she was looking for sitting on the roof of his famous truck. He waved with a screwdriver in his hand and climbed down.

She walked over. Her heels crossing over from dirt onto the bumpy asphalt made her balance worse, and when he noticed, he rushed over with his hands out. She quickly took purchase of his large, calloused hands out of necessity.

“We gotta get some boots on ya, city girl.” He said helping her find her balance.

She stared down at her feet, steadying herself. “Thank you.” She replied, and when she turned up to see his face, she couldn’t help but swallow. Wow, this guy was handsome. He looked like a movie star, not exactly a tornado wrangler. With chiseled features and sea green eyes. He had his hair swept over and his stubble taken care of. Rugged and clean at the same time.

She quickly shook herself out of it, though she could’ve sworn that he was looking at her with the same look of admiration in his eyes. She reached her hand out stiffly. “I’m Y/n. Thank you for having me.”

“Tyler. Thanks for coming.” His accent was strong, and his voice was deep, making her remember her and Stella’s ‘Cowgirl Summer’ jokes and ideas. The brown corduroy button-up shirt that stuck to his sweaty body didn’t help. MUST STAY FOCUSED.

“What were you just working on?” She asked, gesturing to the top of his truck, which had some sort of satellite sticking out of the top. It was unlike any pickup truck she had seen before, with gadgets, spikes, and equipment poking out of it.

He smirked. “Right to business, huh?”

She nodded a little shyly. She had interviewed hundreds of people, yet she was so out of the loop here that she didn’t even know where to start with him.

He nodded his head for her to follow him, and she trailed him to the truck.

“Do you mind if I record this?” She asked, rushing to open her camera bag.

A friendly smile grew on his face. “Sweetheart, I’m on camera every day. Go right ahead.”

God, the word sweetheart coming from his mouth sent a blush across her face that she fought to get rid of. She took out her video camera and started recording.

“It is June 5th, 2024, and I am with Tyler Owens.” She stated for future purposes.

He chuckled and waved. “Hi guys. I’m Tyler Owens, and I was just about to explain to the lovely Y/n here what I have been working on.” He pointed to the satellite on the roof of his truck, “You see, that is a Mobile Doppler Radar. Or a DOW. A doppler on wheels. Mine is kinda crappy compared to those of other meteorologists, but we use it to track supercells and scan tornadoes in real time. That way me and my crew know when to go in and when to go out. I was just adjusting it cause some screws got knocked loose.”

“You say ‘other meteorologists’. Are you a meteorologist?” The question just naturally came out of her.

He seemed kinda stunned by that question off the bat, and he was about to say something until a shorter, tan man with wild black hair appeared from the side.

“Damn right he is. Don’t let him tell you he isn’t.”

She quickly zoomed out the camera to incorporate the new character. He slapped Tyler’s back. “This guy right here’s got a degree in meteorology. Genius. He’s taught me everything I know.”

“Boone, okay, okay,” Tyler said, chuckling and shaking his head.

“Woah! Sick equipment.” Boone said, pointing to her camera.

She smiled. The guy was welcoming, and he was now speaking her language. “It’s for work. Wish it was mine.”

Then she realized the opportunity that had just come up.

“Could you introduce yourself for me?” She asked, now she was diving deeper, and she developed this feeling in her gut that this story was gonna be good. With only meeting only two people, she had never met anybody else like them.

Boone nodded and looked at the camera. “I’m Boone. I’m the videographer for this awesome guy right here.” He and Tyler wrapped their arms around each other proudly.

“And would you consider yourself a meteorologist?”

He shook his head with pursed lips. “Me? No. I’m just the camera and rocket guy. But I sure do learn a lot every day from Tyler.”

Tyler nodded and clicked his tongue. “You see, there’s a common misconception that you need a degree to do this sorta thing. But my crew doesn’t need PhDs or fancy gadgets. I can guarantee you that Boone and my crew have seen more tornadoes than your average weatherman.”

Boom. Quote. She couldn’t help the grin that grew on her face. An underdog story? Are you kidding me?!

“You get real pretty when you hear something you like,” Tyler said, and she quickly pressed stop on the camera.

“Oh! Well-” She stammered nervously and looked at her heels on the asphalt.

Boone laughed at her off-guard reaction. Was it appropriate? No. Was it unwanted? … Well.

“Thank you for that. Both of you.” She said, looking up and facing the two of them. “Tyler, I’d love to interview you one-on-one at some point tonight after I check in. Then the same with the rest of your crew.”

He smiled again. “Yes, ma’am.”

Getting into her motel room, she felt the need to splash cold water on her face. The only reason she didn’t was to sustain her makeup, but she did dab her sweaty face with a rag. How anybody survived this dry heat was unbelievable. She looked into the mirror, and her makeup was practically melting off her face. Shit.

That’s why when she walked out an hour later, she had redone her face and washed her sweaty hair by leaning over awkwardly in the motel sink. Instead of heels, she put on a pair of loafers. They were still definitely unsuitable for the environment, but they were less so than the previous heels.

She found Tyler and his crew sitting around a campfire. They had a pack of beers open, and their laughter could be heard from the second-floor balcony strip of the motel.

As she approached, Tyler waved, looking her up and down. “City girl’s back. And in much more comfortable shoes.” He turned to the circle, “Everybody, this is Y/n. She’s the reporter doing the piece on us.”

They all waved and said their hellos. She smiled and waved. The group seemed welcoming, but she still felt a little out of place.

“Tyler, if you could spare a few minutes, I’ll try and keep it brief.” She said, not wanting to be a bother, but also needing to do her job.

“You have me as long as you want.” He said, slapping his thighs, and standing up. As they walked away from the group, he looked at her, “Do we need somewhere private? We can sit in the trailer.”

Her eyes lit up at that prospect. Perfect. Now the audio wouldn’t be completely destroyed by the crowd noise and cicada screaming. “Yes! That’d be perfect.”

He led her to the trailer, and as she stepped in, she whipped out her camera to start recording the space. It wasn’t exactly spacious, but it was filled with audio and video equipment. Screens and switches of different weather instruments were packed alongside. A string of Christmas lights hung across the top, making it homier. Along with pictures of the crew hung up next to the small window. It all felt cozy rather than cramped.

Tyler stood by the door. “Door open or closed?” He asked, and she immediately felt better about the situation. If he were leading her into an enclosed space to murder her, he wouldn’t have asked.

“Closed works. Cleaner audio.” She said, and he nodded.

After closing the door, the noise level went down infinitely. Now it was just an awkward silence inside this tight trailer. But she was used to awkward silence. It came with the territory of interviewing people. People often didn’t know how to conduct themselves on camera or audio recording, and their answers were often rehearsed. Yet she had a feeling she wouldn’t have to worry about this with the Tornado Wrangler.

He sat down in a small booth across from her. She set up the camera on the counter of the windowsill. The angle didn’t matter as much, it was just for her to look back at later and be able to write accurately.

“You ready?” She asked, looking at the camera monitor, making sure his face was in focus. It felt like she could stare at the screen all day…. Shit, that must be one of the reasons why people were so obsessed with this guy. The warm lights of the RV trailer cast nicely on his skin, and he gave her a small, shy smile. He looked different from how he did on the livestreams. More subdued. He looked a lot more thoughtful when he wasn’t screaming. She was sure that even if she ended up posting this footage, it was bound to go viral just by the oxymoronic nature of it.

He nodded. “Whenever you are, city girl.”

The interview went perfectly. She got to ask about why he specifically focused on tornadoes, and she received answers that showed the heart and soul he had for weather. She listened to the story about seeing his first tornado, and she wrote down notes in her pen pad.

“I was just mesmerized. But I looked over at my aunt’s face, and I knew that I was supposed to be scared.”

Her head tilted. “Is the Tornado Wrangler scared of tornadoes?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not exactly.”

She learned about his bull-riding past and his college degree. The start of his YouTube channel. For an interview that she promised would be a few minutes, she ended up so invested in the conversation that they were there talking for almost an hour. It got to a point where he was asking her questions now, and it wasn’t just an interview.

“How long have you been doing this for, then?” He asked, curiosity in his eyes.

She shrugged, “Hard answer. Did the newspaper in high school and college. Studied journalism. Got my job at The Culture Edition straight out of school and never looked back.”

“The Culture Edition… Why that one?”

She smiled. “I’m supposed to be the one interviewing you here, Tyler.” Just then, her camera beeped, and she looked over. “Shit- I mean- Shoot, my battery died.” She said. That was a rare occurrence for her. A slip-up in professionalism? But she had been so comfortable talking to Tyler that she must’ve gotten too cozy.

He laughed at her fluke as she tinkered with the camera.

“Well, that’s alright. The last fifteen minutes are us talking about nonsense anyway. Thank you for talking to me.” She said genuinely.

She started packing it all up, and she didn’t even notice his gaze stuck to her like glue.

“It’s no problem. You’re the one who flew out here just for little old me.” He said, standing up now, so his staring wasn’t obvious.

They walked to the door, and she was about to reach for the handle, but he got to it before her. He opened the door for her, and they stared at each other for a moment. A lingering look that said ‘I don’t want you to go’.

“Hey, you should come join us on the road tomorrow. Could be good for your story, and I can guarantee it’ll be a lot of fun.” He offered.

She was taken off guard. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped slightly. What should she say? She had seen the video clips of how violently that truck moved, and how dangerous it was near those tornadoes. The thought of her in the back seat made her stomach twist. But she also knew it’d be so good for the story. Potentially company saving.

She took in a deep breath. “I’ll meet you in the morning then.”

He patted the hinge of the door excitedly, and she gave a polite smile before walking down the steps of the R.V.

After a long night of interviewing the rest of his crew, she was completely exhausted, but also so satisfied. The story was coming along perfectly. A group of diverse misfits chasing tornadoes and providing relief aid to towns hit by them. All led by a man who was bound to make star headlines.

The day had been so long. With the travel time and the late-night interviews, she crashed as soon as she hit the pillow.

It was only a few hours later when her heart leaped into her throat as a BOOM of thunder awoke her, jolting her right up. She put her hand to her heart even though she could hear it race in her ears. In her mind was her mom’s advice. Go outside. It’s only scary when you’re inside because your brain does all the talking.

Wide awake now, she got out of bed and strolled out the door in her silk yellow nightgown. Surely, there wouldn’t be anybody awake at three in the morning during a storm this bad-

As she shut the door, she made eye contact with Tyler, who leaned against the railing and looked back at the sound. Her eyes widened.

“Oh! Uh- Sorry. I’ll just-” She went to turn back around.

“Wait- What are you doing out here?” He asked gently, and it seemed like he was suppressing a smirk at the sight of her in a little nightie like that. Her hair was a wild storm in of itself. Meanwhile, he was dressed in a white T-shirt and sweatpants. Certainly a lot more covered up.

“It’s stupid. I just-”

CRACK. The thunder boomed again, and it was close. The flash of light was visible from a near distance. She jumped and covered her ears with her eyes closed. It’s just thunder. It’s just thunder.

A dawn of realization cast on Tyler’s face. He cracked a smile. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re afraid of the storm now.”

She brought her hands down from her ears and walked over to the railing. Her arms shook as she held onto it, and she avoided looking at him and his condescending smirk. Instead, she tried to look at the rain and how rivers of water slid off the roof above them and onto the ground. It reminded her that it was all just clouds and water.

“My mom always told me to go out and look at the storm when I was scared. Helps me feel better.” She explained.

He nodded and clicked his teeth. “Now tell me this, why is a woman who is shaking like a leaf at a little thunder doing a story on storm chasers in Tornado Alley?”

She sighed, debating on whether to tell him or not. After some deliberation and looking over at his kind expression, she decided there was no harm in telling him.

“The Culture Edition is going bankrupt. And… I think this is a good enough story to get us back on our feet.” She said

He let out a soft whistle. “You really care about your work.” “You really care about the weather.”

He pointed to her as if to say ‘touche’. “But you can write anywhere for any company, can’t you?”

“Technically, yes. But…” She shook her head, “It’s a long story.” “I’ve got time.”

She looked over at him and couldn’t help but notice that he was looking directly at her face. Not her exposed chest or her shivering thighs. But her face. And with genuine interest.

“The Culture Edition was, of course, the first job that took me. But I also just… I feel like it’s a side of journalism that’s dying out. I mean- our political climate’s a mess, and reporters are siding with one or the other. They’re often being paid for or sponsored by somebody. Even if it’s not political, journalists are writing opinion pieces and reviews on products that they’re being paid to endorse. It’s becoming so… so soulless.” She shook her head sadly, “Not The Culture Edition. We focus on exploring human stories and connection. And I love learning so much about different people with every job. So the fact that I might not have it come August… I’ll do anything to keep it.” Tyler looked at her, nodding.

“You really think that this story’s gonna help you guys bounce back?” He asked.

She nodded. “You and your team have given me some of the best quotes I’ve gotten in months. You’re genuine people, and the public will recognize that.”

He chuckled and looked at her with an admiring smile. He took his hand and gently traced her bare arm with the side of his index finger, sending a trail of electricity up with it. “You’re still shaking.”

Looking up at him, she realized he was watching her arms now as they involuntarily shivered. She nodded again.

“You sure you wanna do this tomorrow?” He asked.

No. But looking up at his face, he had a sense of determination across his eyes.

“I don’t have a choice.” She whispered.

“Then let’s get you a goddamn good story.”

The next morning, she was texting Stella as she sent many cowboy gifs and the song lyrics to ‘Save a Horse’.

S: Can’t believe you’re ‘going for a ride’ with Tyler Owens.

Y: IN HIS PICKUP TRUCK!

S: Sure… Sureeeee. Go save some horses for me.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t resist sending some GIFs back.

A knock at her door startled her, and she turned off her phone at record speed. She opened it and found Tyler standing there in the whole shebang. A brown flannel over top a white wifebeater that was tucked into his jeans. She looked down at his belt with the biggest buckle that she had ever seen, but couldn’t resist looking up at the cream-colored cowboy hat that crowned his head.

“Morning!” She said with a smile, taking him all in.

He looked at what she was wearing. “Oh no, city girl. This isn’t gonna work.” He laughed.

She looked down at herself, confused. She was wearing a tight white button-up blouse tucked into some black slacks. If she was gonna be on camera, she should probably look the part of a reporter, no?

“What?” She asked, looking back up at him.

“You’re gonna get all dirty today.” He said with a smirk, “You pack any jeans in that little suitcase of yours?” He pointed over her shoulder.

She looked over and saw that he was looking at her small capsule wardrobe. She nodded.

“Good. Cause I can get you a new shirt.” He said.

A little while later, she sat in the passenger side of Tyler’s truck wearing a baseball tee that had the graphic ‘Not My First Tornadeo’. Jesus, it was kind of hideous, and she couldn’t believe that she was gonna be introduced as a journalist wearing this. But Tyler was right, even as they simply drove with the windows down, the dust from the dirt road was getting everywhere.

She kept her notepad open, but didn’t film because there was no point in using her fragile camera when they were already capturing this at every angle possible.

The storm clouds started to appear in the distance, greying the sky. Her chest tightened just slightly, and her shoulders clenched.

“We ready to start the stream, Ty?” Boone asked from the back.

“Yeah, let’s just-” Tyler said, looking over at the anxious Y/n, who was sitting stiffly and chewing on the end of her pencil. “Boone, put on your mixing headphones.”

“What? Why? I wouldn’t be able to hear any-”

Tyler looked back at him and tilted his head with raised brows.

“Ohhhhh… Yeah. Got it.” Boone put his headphones on, and she let out an anxious laugh at that.

“How we feeling, city girl?” Tyler asked

She looked over at him as he drove forward. “Like I’m gonna puke. But I really don’t wanna do that on camera.”

“You’re not just facing your fear today. You’re riding it. And I think that’s incredible.” He encouraged.

She stayed silent, taking in deep, shaky breaths as raindrops started pittering against the windshield. Looking back down at her legal pad and chewed-up pencil, she felt a sense of dread shake through her.

“You’re gonna be just fine.” He said, reaching over and squeezing her shoulder. He soothed her with a gentle brush of his thumb afterward. “I’m so sure, in fact, that I wanted to ask you something.” He took his hand back and put it on the steering wheel.

That caught her attention. She looked over at him, but he kept his eyes on the road, as if he were nervous to look at her.

“After today’s stream, can I take you to dinner?” He blurted out with a small smile poking the corners of his mouth, “We can celebrate. Facing your fears.”

Her jaw dropped slightly, and she blinked in surprise. She looked back at Boone, who was jamming out to music in his own world, then back at Tyler, who was anxiously waiting for an answer. This couldn’t be real. He was asking her out.

“I think you mean riding them.” She finally replied confidently, “Yes. I’d love to.”

His grin somehow grew larger. “Let’s do this, city girl.”

She looked back at Boone and waved to get his attention. She motioned for him to take off his headphones.

“Is it go-time?” Boone asked

“It’s go-time,” She said, surprising Tyler.

The start of the stream was certainly interesting. She watched as Tyler and Boone communicated with Lily, Dexter, and Dani in the R.V. using a radio. She feverishly scribbled notes and was in the middle of writing them when Tyler said into the propped-up camera:

“Today, we are being joined by the lovely Y/n, from The Culture Edition!”

She looked up in surprise and gave a smile and a wave to the camera.

“She is a very talented reporter, making sure the crew and I are on our best behavior for her story coming out. And you guys should all go check out The Culture Edition online.” He expressed to the camera.

Her head turned to him as she couldn’t help her astonished reaction. He didn’t have to do that. She didn’t even ask. That wasn’t his job, and this wasn’t a partnership yet- he did that just for her.

When he looked over and saw her face, he sent her a smirk and a wink before checking the sensors on his dashboard. And for some reason that felt more dangerous than the goddamn tornado they were about to see. If she somehow managed to survive this, was she even gonna survive dinner?

“Dexter, you seeing the same thing I’m seeing?” Tyler radioed in.

“Looking good up ahead. Low-level cape. Good enough shear. Good moisture.” Dexter’s voice came through.

“WOOOOOOOOOOO!” Boone suddenly cheered from the back, startling her, but she let out a laugh. “You ready?!”

She nodded with a nervous smile. Even though the rain was pouring onto them now, it was hard to be scared with Boone and Tyler’s optimism.

That’s when she saw it. This giant mass of whirlwind is in the distance. It looked like something out of a religious painting. A god damn hole in the sky that tunneled and touched down onto the grass. The already uneven road rumbled, and the truck shook like Hell had just opened up beneath them.

Tyler let out an excited scream. “ALRIGHT. HARNESSES ON.”

She quickly glanced back at the black straps on the seat and swiftly put her arms through. She buckled herself in. She couldn’t believe this was real. If this saved the magazine, then she was very much deserving of a promotion.

“Someone’s awful quiet over here!” Tyler said excitedly, looking over at her. But it also seemed to be his way of checking in on her while the cameras were rolling.

She smiled at him and rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Give us a yell!”

“A yell?!” She looked over at him, laughing, and he seemed relieved to see her do so as they neared the center.

“A yell! Like this!” Boone said before demonstrating a shrill woohoo.

She blushed with a bashful smile before finally letting out a “WOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!”

Boone grabbed her shoulders from the backseat and shook her, making her laugh. “THAT’S what we’re talking about!”

“Folks, we got here a natural Tornado Wrangler.” Tyler looked over at her, and if the circumstances were different, he’d take his time watching her. Admiring how, even though she was shaking hard, she still had a gorgeous smile on her face. Her hair whipping every which way as they drove on the bumpy terrain.

She sucked in a breath as they got so close to the tornado, she could see the chunks of dirt and assortment of nature it had picked up. Spinning and flying like the Wizard of Oz. But over the harsh sound of the rain and wind slamming into the windows of the truck, there was Tyler’s laughter. For some reason, his nonchalant attitude and genuine glee grounded her.

Tyler grabbed what looked like a joystick in the middle of the console and pressed the red button.

“Anchors deployed.” He announced.

“What do those do?” She yelled over the rumbling.

“Those keep us on the ground, honey.” He said back.

She nodded and wrote down in her notepad to ask him more about that later. Of course, she felt his grin on her and the shake of his head as he watched her somehow write with a full-blown tornado in front of her.

Looking back up, it was right in front of her very eyes. Leaves and grey dust spun violently, erupting a loud whistle in the air like she had never heard before. It was roaring fast and straight into them.

“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god!” She squealed, closing her eyes and gripping the grab handle with one hand. She felt Tyler reach over and grab her other. He squeezed it, and she exhaled her scared breath. Opening her eyes, she watched him as he continued yelling and hollering for the livestream. Just under the camera, he held onto her hand, letting her squeeze it as tightly as she needed.

He looked over and nodded as he saw her open eyes now. “Wanna do the honors? Press that switch!” He pointed to a small silver switch between them.

“NOW?!”

“YES NOW! WE’RE IN THE TORNADO.” He cackled.

She quickly flipped it and screamed, startled as the shriek of fireworks sent off into the air ignited. Watching above, she observed as the rockets disappeared into the clouds, then BOOM. They didn’t explode like they normally would. The flares of color went in the direction of the winds. Green, blues, and reds swirled around them. She had never seen anything like this in her life. She couldn’t help but lean forward, amazed to watch it all. And Tyler, who had seen this dozens of times, was instead watching the reflections of color dance in the pupils of her eyes.

Then the roar of the winds started to lessen, and the area started to clear. She could see the path in front of her again. Boone and Tyler were going crazy, excited to say another tornado was wrangled. And she was left sitting awestruck and shaking. But now it wasn’t out of fear, but out of pure adrenaline and excitement.

Once they got back to the motel, Tyler walked over to her side of the door and opened it for her. She sat frozen, considering she was about to open it herself, but then she took Tyler’s hand and climbed down from the truck. She dusted her hands off.

“Did you have fun?” He asked.

“How could I not? That was… incredible.” She smiled breathlessly.

“Told you we’d survive.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, do I get to pick the place we eat at tonight?”

He nodded. “Whatever you want. It’s your day.”

She looked down at her loafers, which were absolutely covered in a coat of dust. Unable to stop her bashful smile, “Thanks. For what you said about The Culture Edition in there. You really didn’t have to.”

“And you really didn’t have to face a tornado for your job, yet you did.” He said, looking down at her. “Wanted to make it worth it.”

“Oh, it was more than worth it.” She said with a newfound confidence, looking up at him. She was breathing heavily, and he reached out to brush away some wild strands of her hair out of her face.

He smirked. “Was it now?” He moved closer and cupped the side of her cheek now.

Hesitantly, she started bringing up her opposite hand, and he calmly took it mid-air and put it on his shoulder. More than permission. Asking for it. She spread her hand across his back before reaching up with her other to tap the brim of his cowboy hat.

“You always wear this?” She asked teasingly

“What can I say? The ladies love it.”

“That they do.” She smirked before leaning in to press her lips against his.

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no-resolution · 22 days ago

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Part of my problem with Angel is that I feel like they created a very interesting and complex character but both btvs and ats are more interested in presenting him as a hero and are too bogged down in the "soul so good" and "no soul so bad" dichotomy. To me, Angel is the epitome of the problem with the "soulless vampires are unfeeling, inhuman demons" lore that is established early in btvs.

I view Angel and his evil counterpart Angelus as one person, someone who, when he has a soul, is constantly battling his dark urges. Angelus is just as much a part of him as Angel is, but a soul, whatever it is, allows him to be able to fight back against it and makes him feel bad for having sadistic tendencies and an innate bloodlust that has little to do with his vampirism.

Though feeling guilty about Angelus' actions makes sense even if Angel is just a bystander watching his body do these things as someone else pilots it around, his guilt complex is much more interesting if part of the guilt is that even with a conscience, he still desires to kill and torture. His drive for atonement isn't just to tip the scales of his actions from a net negative for the world to a net positive, but to prove to himself that he isn't just his base instincts that that he can overcome them. I think that this interpretation also makes the 100 years between his ensoulment and actually starting his path to redemption more sympathetic. When he is alone, it's all he can do to suppress the evil part of him, but when he has support, whether from Whistler, Buffy and the Scoobies, or from the Angel Investigations crew, he can look outward from himself and help others (at least sometimes).

Unfortunately, this isn't really the angle that either show takes with him. Though both shows mostly operate on the basis that the soulless personalities of vampires are based on their human selves (ex. that line in "Dopplegangland", the way that all vampires (including Angel) are handled in flashback sequences, and, I don't know, the way that every vampire other than Angel is handled, like, all the time), Angel is mostly treated as a person with split personalities. When he has a soul, he's Batman and when he's soulless, he's the antichrist. Season 4 of ats even implies that the two personalities are so separate that they don't even share memories, which doesn't make any sense.

Due to the stark line drawn between Angel and Angelus in the shows, the audience is expected to not hold him accountable for his soulless actions. This makes his guilt complex less engaging for the audience, I think. Ensouled Angel feels guilty for his soulless actions but it's presented as more of a "ugh, no one will ever understand my pain" than something that the audience has any real connection to. He has a vague sense of guilt over "what he's done" to mostly nameless victims that drives him to help people but shows very little guilt for how he treated people that he hurt and actually could make amends with such as Drusilla, Buffy, Giles, and Spike.

His lack of guilt about what he did to Drusilla specifically really bothers me. In my opinion, she is the most tragic figure in the Buffyverse, since she is the one who was so "broken" that I don't think that she could ever be "fixed" (though also I wouldn't want her to change; she's perfect the way she is). Angel, despite his immense guilt complex over "what he's done" is confronted with one of the worst things he's ever done, his "masterpiece", but he never so much as appears conflicted about Drusilla and his role in making her what she is. This is a problem for a character that is primarily motivated by a guilt complex. I also think that guilt over the events of btvs season 2 and specifically his relationship with Buffy could have been a a greater motivator for Angel in ats, but they rarely (if ever) even mention it. B.angel have True Love, and despite everything that Angel did to Buffy and her friends while soulless, he isn't expected to make amends with her or anyone else because he "isn't the same person that did all those things".

With a soul, his darker impulses come out occasionally, but the show almost invariably takes his side over anyone in opposition to him (via the majority of characters agreeing with/supporting him), so it's unclear whether the audience is meant to view Angel attempting to kill Darla, abandoning his friends, attempting to kill Wesley, etc. as morally gray/evil or if we are supposed to agree with him. This is also the case with some of the questionable things that he does in btvs, like dating a sixteen year old (sometimes acknowledged as wrong, sometimes they're treated as the ultimate soulmates) or purposefully withholding information from and lying to Buffy, even when these lies endanger her (Buffy is more often presented as being immature about it than Angel being wrong for lying). Angel is too-frequently presented as the hero, when I think that he should have been more of an antihero.

I feel like they created a character that could have a lot of inner emotional complexity, but they get too bogged down in the soul dichotomy and write themselves into a corner where they force themselves to present him in the least interesting way possible and I think that it makes him a worse character. His guilt complex is sometimes nonsensical, sometimes undermotivated, sometimes misplaced. I can see a universe where I actually really like Angel but the way that he is handled in both shows ended up frustrating me and frequently turning me off of him. He is a character that is defined by the early soul lore, something that I think is one of the worst things that the Buffyverse ever tried to establish, since it locks the world into a strict black-and-white morality, when both shows work best when they are operating in a gray area, in my opinion.

#i dont even hate angel i have a lot of complicated feelings about him and i love to bully him #im not gonna make a habit of angelbashing but i had to explain what my issue with him is because it finally occurred to me what it is #sorry if this doesn't make any sense it's mostly off the dome lol #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #btvs meta #ats #angel the series #anti angel #anti bangel

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evilminji · 1 year ago

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Broadway :3c

And I hear ya. (Insert spooky joke here) There is a sprawling WEB of central hubs, for The Arts. For trade. For getting drunk and having a good time. The Zone is large and it is endless. You'll NEVER reach the far end. It can never reach you.

All things, in gentle sweeping waves, across eternity.

So when folks want to have "a market" or "a movie theater" or "the waterpark"? You gotta PICK a point on the endless map. Figure if you are close or far enough away for others like it, to make it worth the effort to build.

You might even be the first to do it for GALAXIES in any direction! People might fly for WEEKS to come to your place! Move their Lairs to be closer too it. Like dust gathered by gravity, slowly creating planets and stars. A mega Lair. A CITY.

They rise, they fall, the Zone shifts all the while.

But!

Does the dead starlet stop singing? Does getting gunned down, stop the show?? I think NOT! Where is her STAGE? What musicals? What dramas? What operas and tragedies and forms unknown to human kind??! Ballet dancers who CAN defy gravity! Singers who have no NEED for air! The haunting blend of instruments, that could never in life have met! From empires long turned to ASH!

The greatest show in DEATH!

Ember was a world wide hit. Yes, her voice was hypnotic. But that could be FOUGHT. It was SKILL that carried the game. And she was hardly "I was Literally The Greatest My Planet Ever Produced" skilled. She was good, great even. Not "I was Born For Greatness" Excellence.

And like?

.....eventually? Danny's gonna ask after "cultural-y" Culture stuff. Clothes and food. Music and the arts. To help his parents get used to the whole "our son is half-dead" thing. To show he's not some mindless monster now.

And? Ghostwriter? Probably an absolute legend. Does he know where you can find some CULTURE? Oh THANK ZONE! He thought you'd NEVER ask! You unsophisticated-! *fist fight in a library* Still a dick, though. Always and forever.

And just? Imagine Broadway stretched out into a floating city. That never sleeps. Never stops. Shows ever changing. Some on a cycle, some only once. Dream-like. Beautiful. Eye catching.

And yeah, Danny didn't think he LIKED musicals. It was more of a Jazz thing. But? This was important! Gotta get the whole family in the Speeder. We're going to see a play, guys! We'll pick when we get there! Family road trip! Educational! We can make notes!

His parents are trying to be supportive. Big, fixed, strained grins. Trying to pretend to be excited. But they... DO seem reluctantly intrigued? And Jazz is all but vibrating in her seat. It's basically her "before you go away to college" present. And she is THRILLED.

The longer she excitedly speculates? The more into it she gets their folks. This IS gonna be new! Exciting! Never before seen Ghost Culture! Music! As a FAMILY! Think we could find souvenirs? Ooooh, wonder if they sell CDs??!

Then? They GET there. And it's... it's like seeing the Las Vegas strip for the first time, except multiplied into a city. Made of even MORE styles and eras. At angles gravity would never allow.

The air filled with laughter and excitement, people rushing to shows or humming bits of tunes. Street stalls. Fountains. Flowers growing everywhere.

They could stay for months and not even reach a fraction of these buildings. His parents are taking countless photos. His sister squeeling with joy as she races for an information kiosk like they just arrived at Disneyland. He, at least, remembers to lock up the Speeder. Grab their day bags.

When did HE become the responsible one?

The argue over shows. Obviously. Wouldn't be Fenton's otherwise. HE wants to see the alien one. It's from mars! But it's his sister's trip, as his dad points out, so she gets to choose. She picks a musical set during the Fall of Krpton. He's... reluctantly kinda interested. I mean, EVERYBODY likes Superman, right?

It's... it's amazing. Terrible, but amazing. I mean? A coming of age story cut tragically short? Oof. Hello, massively projecting then getting FEELS about it! Yeah, sure, rip my heart out why don't you? He's fine. No, really! Just drowning in his own emotions over here. The refrain of "A Life Well Lived"? *gargling dying whale noises* he's FINE. Not grappling with anything! Go on without him!

Thankfully?

They DO sell CDs.

He... he may end up, kinda, getting a bit of a collection. Going on the weekends, hoping show to show. Wandering to whichever catches his eye in the moment. Buying the CDs for one's he likes. Which? Honestly is a lot of them. Even though there's all sorts of genres and languages. Cause it... it RESONATES you know?

The grief. The anger. The "I have died but I wasn't FINISHED. It isn't FAIR.". And? Something about ghost speak flows so BEAUTIFULLY in song? It's hard to explain. But he... he needs them.

A pair of headphones, a CD, and a clear night sky? Nothing touches it. It's like a trance made of light. Like he can just drift.

The problem? Is the CDs are kinda... Zone made? They're radioactive, for one. Nothing a Fenton CD player can't handle. But... they? Also? Kinda fuckin GLOW? Like... very, very noticeably. And not in a "ha ha, cool glow in the dark paint!" Sorta way.

.........but like FUCK is he leaving his music behind when he goes to college. Gotham will have to deal. It's already a burning shit-nado, it can handle this. Probably. He'll put um in a lead lined box. Actually, speaking OF.... he needs to get a few more of those... *goes back to packing*

Which? Is how? The Bats are treated to some of the most HAUNTING music they've ever heard, belted and crooned from Some Guy's speakers, out an open window, on the "stop for a mid-patrol drink of water and a snack" building. It's one of the intersections of their patrol routes. And THAT? That is some dude listening to a Romani ballad about death and the circus. Now it's a musical about the trenches of an obscure war.

Okay, that was DEFINITELY Kryptonian. Like... coherent Krypto- *Bruce gets a call from Clark on his "work" number DEMANDING to know where that is coming from. Who is that voice Bruce?!* huh.... Well Then.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @spidori @mutable-manifestation @the-witchhunter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #minji's writing #broadway of the Zone au #Danny's music au

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moonsaver · 1 year ago

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Do you have any thoughts about the opposite of the "Im afraid to confess because our friendship could get ruined"? As in, "I'm afraid to reject you because I don't want to lose this friendship so I accept your confession even though I don't feel that way for you and never will".

Like the protagonist tries to convince themselves that this is just like being friends only that we now kiss (and more). I feel like it would fit with a yandere that is a bit delusional or desperate, eveb insecure so whenever the protagonist doesnt seem as into this relationship as them, they just try to convince themselves otherwise, or love bomb the protagonist.

Idk lately Ive been into reversing the tropes and I found this one particularly interesting to me when it comes to a yandere. In HSR i was thinking of Argenti as he seems like the delusional type. Or even Aventurine who would have had to put down a lot of walls to be friends with you and then even more walls just to confess, so rejecting him doesnt seem like an option to the protag (out of pity and care).

THIS THIS THIS!!!! qnon ur brain is so wrinkly and soggy with brain juice..... this used to be my favorite trope at some point idk why i forgot about it i remember eating up any fanfics out there based on this

Tw: yandere (obv), manipulation, intimacy (mainly romantic, only hints of sexual), emotional blackmailing, whatever yadda yadda

But anyways, under the cut!

Okay, so, I imagine this is possible with literally... almost all of hsr's cast. Mainly because most of them have such tragic backstories, and most of them out of that have a really shrewd and cunning mind, so they'll exploit this to hell and back.

I also imagine this is with a people pleasing reader, so lets go with a bit of implication of that.

Anyways, since Aventurine and Argenti are the ones mentioned specifically, I'll probably dive in on them first.

Aventurine is so hard to not feel pity for. Every stolen glance at the marking on his neck makes you feel worse and worse for "rejecting him", knowing he's been throwing signs of wanting more than a friendship quite possibly everywhere and you're most likely ignoring them in hopes of keeping your friendship. It's not like he hasn't quite caught on, either. He knows people's hearts quite well. And where there's opportunity, he seizes it.

It's a bit frustrating for him – just why can't you see he wants more? Or rather, just why aren't you accepting him? You're the first thing on his mind when he wakes up, when he clutches his chip and bets on his life, the last thing on his mind when he goes to sleep. Hell, he's even tried to dream of you, forcefully. But then he realizes.. how easy you are to just push around. He goes ahead with the confession, and it's almost a sadistic kind of pleasure when he sees you even try and stutter out any kind of a rejection when he's leaning in a perfect angle that shows off his little marking (out of all the times he curses it, it seems like this time it's worked in his favor). He watches carefully as your eyes nervously flit to his neck and you shut up immediately for a second, before accepting. And when you do.. he's over the moon! Coddles you, kisses your cheeks, becomes so much more grabby, as his keen eyes watch your discomfort. Well.. you didn't reject him, so this is what you should expect.

Again, the frustration doesn't wear off easily, but just seeing you writhe and try to create distance while he suffocates you in affection far from platonic nature, is so sadistically pleasuring to him. He loves watching you in that state, bending to his will so easily, as he waits for you to snap. But he'll probably find it easier to squeeze water out of a rock than to squeeze a rejection out of you – which is precisely what he exploits. You're not going anywhere, are you? He puts on his best, pleading little eyes that he used to have to put on, shaking, trembling voice, desperate hands that cling to you; all the things he acts out like his life depends on it when he senses even a waver of your hesitation.

Oh, fine.. he hates seeing you so queasy almost all the time, so he'll give you a reprieve from time to time. Plans and schedules things you used to do "back when you were friends" (he emphasizes this – you don't think you can just ignore everything, right?), and makes sure to at least crack a few smiles and giggles from you. Of course.. his hand is still loosely hanging around your waist, pecks you on the lips from time to time, just as a small reminder of what you guys really are now.

Argenti on the other hand, has no awareness of your discomfort at all.

He's like a huge dog, the way he's so happy about you accepting his confession and doesn't even stop to think afterwards just why you were so hesitant during it.

Constantly praises you, and it's not soon before it gets to a more intimate nature. He wants to do all the romantic things – kissing under the rain, protecting you from something, twirling you in the air and then kissing you again after putting you down, telling everyone proudly that you two are a couple, buying more and more "romantic" gifts that turn more intimate sooner or later. You have no way out of this without completely ruining everything.

It's.. almost painful the way he doesn't realise. At some point your discomfort probably gets so.. obvious, but he just shrugs it off; perhaps he hasn't been paying you enough attention? Or you're just too shy to ask something of him? Oh, how sweet! How adorable! He thinks. He simply falls deeper and deeper into this delusion, stringing you along and stretching your patience thin. Unfortunately, unlike Aventurine, you can't find most, if any bits of the things you both used to do as platonic companions in the relationship you have with Argenti. He's just a full-blown romantic who wants to do only that. It makes you even more queasy when people look at you in pity, if they realize just what happened between you two.

You can't back out, even if you tried. If you somehow manage to find a way to squeeze out a rejection, or have any kind of a reservation about things getting more intimate/romantic stuff, he's so devastated. Did he do something wrong? Perhaps he's not as experienced as you wanted him to be? Or you're not satisfied with some of the things he's said? Don't fret, he's right on it! Constantly holding you so close you're afraid your bones will break, whispering incessant praises into your ear that slowly spiral into affirmations that you belong to him, spoiled rotten with everything you want; yet, even then.. you can't shake off the intention they were given in. Not when you're suffocated by it.

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gerogerigaogaigar · 18 days ago

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Lalah being stuck in time is a pretty potent symbol. The rest of the Gundam franchise goes on, variations of Char and Amuro and different universe rotating around the same themes from different angles. But Lalah? She is stuck at the moment of her death forever. It's the only thing about her and that is more tragic than her death. Her major contribution to the series is that halfway through any given Gundam series a female love interest will probably die to further a male characters development (GWitch and GQuuuuuuX gender flip this which is a nice change of pace honestly). But yeah the idea of unsticking Lalah from time alters one of the foundations that MSG is built on.

Oh also it's a cute move to have Char slick his hair back like in Char's Counter Attack and then have him chide Kycilia for trying to kill everyone on Earth. She unknowingly calls out an alternate version of him for wanting the same thing. And then the end credits is the end credits song from Char's Counter Attack. I'm not sure it means much in the long run but it's a cute detail. Honestly separating the meaningful stuff from the fan service is interesting because there is no telling what is what. The Braw Bro being named the Kikeroga in GQ actually hinting at Lalah's absence from the plot this hinting at her role in the story? Is that an important detail? No. But it was still a thought out piece of world building. Meanwhile introducing Murasume Labs and the Psycho Gundam seems to have been pure fan service. We'll see though, there's still time for some of the zeta stuff to come back around. Speaking of Zeta stuff the theatre scene is shot for shot from the ending of Zeta. I was gonna grab screenshots but someone already made a convenient little video

youtube

Oh and they outright said the thing that I called back in episode 2 about the Elmeth being scrapped in favor of putting it's psycommu into the Red Gundam. Just wanna note that I have never been wrong about anything yet lmao.

#gquuuuuux spoilers #mobile suit gundam #gundam #gundam gquuuuuux #gquuuuux #Youtube

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corseque · 6 days ago

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clair obscur spoilers, thinking about Alicia from a strange and unpopular angle

my pretty firm belief is that because Verso and Alicia could not figure out who were the actual favorite children were, it means Aline and Renoir were actually surprisingly good and successful at not showing favoritism to their children. I firmly believe that if Alicia was the one who had died, Aline would have reacted the same way. She will always be her princess.

I keep thinking about the small painting that Alicia painted that went on the wall, and there are several details about it that make even that a not-straightforward thing to me.

the painting is actually not that small. It's smaller than the others, but it's still a full canvas. It's just the others are much bigger. This actually seems to me like another sign of Alicia's lack of ambition, because even if it wasn't the best painting, why didn't she try to paint something like the size of Verso's painting? Why did Alicia START small?

Alicia never painted anything into Verso's canvas as a child - at least, not that we are told about. She didn't even play with them except occasionally enough that Monoco would recognize her. She really had no interest in painting for fun or for expression.

Alicia has so little interest in and practice at painting that Painted Verso had to teach Maelle how to do it........... and Alicia could have painted miracles if she wanted at any point, she just... didn't even know how

Like, I fully believe that Aline was stern and discouraging and overbearing in some way and perhaps the pressure and comparisons with Clea's perfectionism turned Alicia off from painting forever, like I do fully believe that. That's really unfortunate and it's unfair and that isn't good parenting. All of Alicia's terrible paintings should be on the wall.

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, it's also kind of telling to me that Alicia showed no interest in (or tragically lost interest in) painting and did not spend time at painting and seemingly didn't really have a passion for painting even in the innocence of childhood and she knew less about painting than even Painted Verso.... and yet she still felt bad that she didn't have 100 big paintings up on the wall. It's like the Reacher, she stays in place and wonders why she isn't getting anywhere.

Like I feel you, girl, because I'm that exact same way, but.... what did you expect to happen. I'm sorry, I think have a really strangely stern viewpoint on Maelle/Alicia because I am extremely VERY VERY similar to her in personality and character weaknesses, so I'm like... well yeah, that sucks. Sometimes you're discouraged before you even start. Sometimes your first baby attempt at something you don't care about isn't the best thing in the world. Get over it or you're going to die without having moved from the spot you are now, girl. Or at least, don't be surprised you're not moving. Lol

In a kind of related topic, it's so interesting to me that Alicia has such anxiety and low self-confidence, but she's in NOTHING BUT trousers in the year 1905 (extremely unusual) when even Clea wears a dress. And she fought with her mom about her passions. And she feels utterly confident in her father. Idk it seems like she wasn't actually that messed up until the fire happened, and that affected her confidence in everything. And I think Renoir's painting of the Reacher would have been very different if he painted Alicia before the fire.

Like what is the truth, is Alicia so cowed by her parents' expectations that she create great art that she can no longer try? Or is she an extremely unusual trouser-wearing trail-blazing writer who won't be cowed even by the head of the painter's council?

I would love to see more about their life before the fire because the unreliable narration here is so thick. I actually like... do not completely believe a single thing Alicia says about her family because it seems to be so self-defeating. It takes Verso being in the same room challenging almost every sentence she says about her family to make you realize just how biased her viewpoint is.

#Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 #spoilers

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liedownquisition · 2 months ago

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Hi, Hello, and welcome to:

Snowbirds Don't Fly is Kind of Good, Actually, and You Should Read it and Rethink Your Biases About The Story It's Telling You

By yours truly.

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER: now like a lot of people who read older comics, I do have my beefs with dear ol' Denny, but there are a handful of things that your criticism starts to teeter into more than a little bit of a red flag. I'm going to discuss why that is, alongside why I think more people need to learn the core message of this arc.

I HIGHLY encourage people to read Green Lantern/Green Arrow #85-86, which depending on where you read might just be listed as part of the Green Lantern (1960) series because it is in fact technically part of that.

And when you do so I want you to actually read what's being said in the comic, in particular I want you to read Roy's lines. Because it is so, so important to acknowledge that, as a whole, this particular arc SIDES WITH HIM. Which is, honestly incredible.

Like, guys, I'm not going to say you're wrong when you say this is an anti-drugs PSA. I'm saying that if you read this comic and saw it only as an avenue for the "War on Drugs" then I'm not sure you really processed some of the messages in this comic. Because most War on Drugs propaganda is NOT interested in empathizing with the addicts in question, and encourages isolating them ("Just say no, and stop hanging out with people like that" being a familiar refrain from school assemblies over the years.)

Listen, I'm American, I've been having anti-drug PSAs preached at me my whole life. War on Drugs all around me. Grew up in somewhat poorer neighborhoods, literally was told to my face by multiple people that they were surprised how well I turned out because they thought that despite everything I was going to grow up to become a "drug whore." I'm not fucking joking about that one. I had family members say that to me, even.

Anyways, just, keep that in mind. I grew up around dealers and addicts and I have a lot of feelings about their portrayals in media. This whole thing was originally going to be part of a different media but it's probably best to split it up this way anyways.

TW: Slurs, drugs (obviously)

SO, without further ado,

Dennis O'Neil, in addition to comics, has a background in Journalism and some investment in social activism. He actively stated that he thought that he could use this in his comics, especially because, at the time, Green Lantern comics were potentially getting cancelled so he had a bit more freedom to do whatever he wanted. Basically, if it flopped in a probably-cancelled comic anyways, nobody had anything to lose. Think something along the lines of that Flinstones Comic by Mark Russel and Steve Pugh.

Ignore the goddamned cover, it's sensationalist and meant to get your attention, and it does the job. READ the WORDS. The above image is straight off the first page of the book. O'Neil takes off running with the utmost of compassion for the addicts in question, emphasizing their humanity, their mistreatment, and their suffering.

Now, lets be realistic with ourselves: Not every addict is so nobly tragic* as are depicted in Adams & O'Neil's story, but if you've heard people talk about addicts, both then and now, you'd know that it really does mean a lot that they come into this from an empathetic angle. *Yes I'm aware that I called them "nobly tragic" despite actively betraying Ollie & Hal and helping to drug them & leaving them to get caught by the cops while drugged up. Though they do express some hesitation at different parts along the way. The fact of the matter is people often ascribe a certain "nobility" to "victims" that they have enough distance from - whether by them being fictional or by not knowing them personally or changing their narratives after people's deaths to support themselves. in real life it's not uncommon for victims to be unpleasant to be around, they can also be perfectly pleasant people. They're human, and humans cover the whole range of personality and experience. Even if they are not "noble" & even if you do not have that distance, they deserve dignity.

Now, while our first introduction to the addicts (who we don't immediately know are that) they are trying to mug Ollie for money for dope (the dope part is implied). The second time we're introduced to one, however...

We are immediately thrust into the struggle of: quitting. Not using, but how difficult it is to quit. That's the worst part. This won't be the last time we discuss this.

Now, this is an arc where we see Green Arrow, who's typically the more liberal voice voice to Hal's politically neutral straight man, but I have to admit that as a Flawed Ollie enjoyer, I like to see him make a mistake, and he makes a LOT of them here. He is, in particular, harsher with the kids than he should be, and he holds a very very common position of seeing addicts simultaneously as "victims" of their dealers, while also refusing to sympathize with them.

The world is hard for everyone, why can't they Just Say No?

Up to this point, we're looking at pretty standard War on Drugs-style propaganda. But near the end of the story in #85 and for the bulk of #86, this is where I'm going to flat out say that the most important voice in this entire comic, is Roy's.

Roy doesn't at any point hesitate to stand up for himself (verbally) and call his generally well-meaning guardian out for his bling hypocrisy and ignorance. We see that neglect and loneliness led him here, but lets go back a bit and look at the reasons from a few of the other addicts:

Discrimination, cruelty, a need for an "escape." Any even mildly sympathetic media will have addicts explain that's their motivation, and I worry sometimes that people hear this and don't process it, because it's only one part of the circumstances that lead them there. the War On Drugs not only took the people who needed the "escape" the most and shoved at them a bad "solution" then imprisoned and profited off them.

From here we go back into Green Arrow's flawed logic:

He's a good, flawed man. He's like many parents who bring up their kids a certain way, a way they think is right perhaps because it's not unlike how THEY were brought up and absolutely missing the ways that they're harming them. Ollie will eventually see the error of his ways and regret these mistakes, but they're very common and very mundane flaws for him to have.

Alright, I'll admit I included this page mostly because that composition makes me giddy. Like, holy SHIT that's gorgeous. And now we are once again introduced to the idea of the struggle we were shown at the beginning: Quitting Cold Turkey.

It's extremely painful. It's dangerous. It could potentially even kill you as sure as the dope does. This is not something for everyone, and definitely not something to handle alone, which Hal himself expresses some uncertainties over, before inquiring what led Roy to this.

Is he wrong? Are the things he's saying any less true now than they were back then?

Even now there is plenty of pro-war propaganda (Just the other day I overheard someone talking about how their grandfather was in a war "Not World War 2, but one of the other Good Ones."). Even know there's lots of explicit and implicit racism that is treated as if it's justified and really MEANS anything about our humanity (Immigration/border control/ect). Even now we have people who believe that wealth is a measure of a man's worth to society or that it makes them inherently better (... I mean, I don't think I have to explain this one).

Hell, this doesn't even touch on gender (Whether discussing strictly feminism or if it's a trans issue) or sexuality or ableism (Whether physical or mental). Do you know how many people I've heard tell me they won't go to a therapist because they don't want to be reliant on a drug that might get prescribed to them? (ignoring the distinction between different branches of the psych field here, they never know the difference)

These are all things that get parroted to kids. We've seen the rising resurgence of gender essentialism, we've SEEN the rise of neo-nazi-ism, and TERFdom, and all these extremist views and movements and they ALL originate in the exact same place.

"What does that have to do with drugs?"

It's the same story. They're dismissed, they're disdained, they're not treated as equal living and learnign human beings. They are TOLD but they are not EDUCATED and they aren't treated with the kind of respect that leads them to think that they can even believe adults when they ARE being taught.

That neglect will be filled, whether by ideological groups preying on the vulnerable or by drugs or something else.

And here we meet our villain. We see society tossing the children away... and a man profiting off their despair. A CEO of a pharmaceutical company, even. Though, that's not really revealed until a few pages later.

... I'm so obsessed with this page you guys have no idea.

Our villain could have been a foreigner, a slumlord, a stereotypical drug kingpin, but it's not. It's a man with an abundance of wealth and a pristine reputation. A man so well known that he's on TV.

Denny O'Niel may or may not have known about the deliberate efforts to put drugs into black communities and prosecute them for them, but he clearly did see that the root of the issue was NOT someone among them, but something that someone else who could exploit them was bringing down to them.

Bringing this back to the dismissal of the youth and Roy's voice being the single-most important one in the story. Roy explicitly states that he only made it because he had support. Kicking a habit when you're on your own isn't impossible, but it's sure as hell not that far off. And, as I've mentioned, going "cold turkey" can also be deadly.

Now, yes, we have managed to create pharmaceuticals that can be useful for getting people off the harder drugs, and sometimes you can even find it for fairly "cheap"... but in our current day and age I don't think I should have to explain how predatory "Big Pharma" (and the health insurance industry) tends to be for those who have a need.

Like many things these days, even something like a rehab center is an industry - largely for profit, and the ones that aren't are often religiously and ideologically motivated. Even THOSE have issues that many result in incredibly dehumanizing conditions. (I was trying to find an article I read a while back including a few interviews from people discussing the conditions and treatment they faced while in rehab to link here, but I can't seem to find it. Must've gotten lost in all my other links and bookmarks.)

Despite there being places online you can look for how to spot a bad rehab center, the fact that these places will continue to exist with bad treatment methods and a complete lack of regulation and many people fall prey to them especially because they don't know to look for this stuff remains. Even still, and this particular one might be a bit outdated, It's not fully understood how best to treat addiction, especially since the one thing we do know of for absolute certain is that it has to be judged on a case-by-case basis. Though there have been good outcomes recently using MORE.

Social stigma and discrimination Including in media and news journalism plays a huge role in perpetuating these systems. And most people have this mentality of thinking it can be "cured", rather than being a chronic disorder with a management system. Here's another page discussing addiction treatments. Have I made my point yet?

My point is that this comic only reads as war on drugs propaganda if you're only listening to Ollie, who is FREQUENTLY being challenged on this throughout the entire arc by every person around him. Ollie in this is someone who has heard and fully bought into the propaganda, despite being a good person who typically tries to help those in need, He Is Not Immune To Propaganda.

There is a reason that this comic starts with a statement emphasizing that the story is about humans being mistreated, and ends with Roy calling Ollie out.

Ollie comes away from this with a changed perspective. It's not outright stated at this point but it's strongly implied because of how proud he is at the end there, and the ways he tries to repair his relationship with Roy down the line without (mostly) being too overbearing.

I would definitely say the worst part of this comic is that the solution our "hero" (Roy) uses is going cold turkey, which is a miserable, godawful, and dangerous experience. I will allow some forgiveness because it's likely that better addiction treatments weren't well understood back then.

So, in conclusion, Denny O'Neil is not without faults, but if you're issue with his works are "He wrote one of the most human-focused anti-drug propaganda pieces of his time, if not also compared to a lot of our time as well" or "He incorporated a lot of social justice topics into his comics" then I genuinely think you need to reevaluate yourself. Maybe he's a little heavy-handed with it, but have you SEEN people's reading comprehension even TODAY?

Sometimes a heavy hand reminding you that other people are human too, and you need to face the "ugliness" of our society and how it treats them and how YOU treat and think about them is the kind of kick in the ass people need.

I'm not even mad that they used Roy, because nobody is above addiction - not even a hero. It doesn't ruin him, because addicts aren't ruined. It's interesting and dynamic. If later writers take this history and write dehumanizing storyline that frame Roy as the villain of his own addiction, that's their biases, not the original story.

Anyways, ending this on my favorite moment that's not fully relevant but not irrelevant, from Justice League of America (2006) #7:

#dc #green arrow #green lantern #speedy #oliver queen #hal jordan #roy harper #Dinah Lance #Black Canary #<- I debated tagging her but she's in some of the panels.#I don't heavily discuss her role here but it's very important to me nonetheless.#Mashing Meta Bones With Axel #Fuck it I'll post it now.#I considered adding more links #But I gotta go to work

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star-crossed-fates · 3 months ago

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Even My Damnation Spells Your Name

Chapter 4: The End Wore My Face

Synopsis: In a city of steel and stars, you fall in love with a man the world calls a monster. He looks at you like you’ve haunted every life he’s ever lived. Sylus is danger wrapped in silk, secrets stitched into every glance, every touch, every word spoken like a spell. He’s yours before you even realize what you’re remembering.

Because this isn’t the first time.

Dreams unravel you. Memories not your own. A dragon’s death cry. A kiss beneath bloodied skies. A love too eternal to stay buried. As the past bleeds into the present, you begin to piece together the truth. Some memories burn brighter than the stars, others wound deeper than any blade.

And love, no matter how timeless, always demands a price.

Pairing: Female! MC [Named] x Sylus

Rating: Explicit 18+ [MDNI]

Spoilers: Sylus's myth cards/memories. Please note: memories might be a little different than from game for story purposes.

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit smut, including various kinks: Praise, degradation talk, first time, CP, DP, anal sex/play, probably some Dragon!Sylus smut, maybe a lot of it. Many, many more that I'm forgetting to list. Consider yourself warned. - Unlikely to be completely canon. - MC is named. Her personality is darker than in the game, far more morally grey. - Switching between MC's memories/dreams/flashbacks and current timeline. - Other love interests will not show up in this. - Some plot, but not super planned out. Basically, this is a "what if the closer they became, the more MC remembers her life with him on Philos.

You’re seated at your desk with a datapad in one hand and your chin in the other, pretending to review a mission report that was due, oh, a solid week ago. Maybe two. Time is fake, and paperwork is a government lie.

The words blur together into a mess of acronyms, jargon, and phrases like “potential kinetic anomaly,” which really just means someone got punched very, very hard. Your eyes glaze over somewhere around the third paragraph.

Your brain? Elsewhere. Specifically, imagining Sylus with his shirt off, sweat gleaming down the line of his pecs while he does something completely unnecessary like fixing a motorbike he probably stole or recalibrating a sniper rifle with his veiny arms and that concentration face he does.

There’s a particular angle—head tilted slightly down, lashes low, mouth curled just enough to be dangerous—that basically rewires your entire nervous system.

God, you miss him.

He’s been off-grid for three days, doing Onychinus things. Probably threatening someone while sipping espresso, playing chess with a war criminal, or, worst-case scenario, getting shot at in another suit that costs more than your entire apartment.

You tap your pen against the desk, sighing so deeply it might count as a medical event. Sitting on his face wouldn’t be the worst way to die. The thought hits you like a derailed subway car, and you blink hard.

Okay, wow. You need air. You need water. You need help.

You’re just starting to wonder if anyone’s ever died from horniness-induced dehydration when a voice cuts in beside you:

“Earth to Anira,” says Ethan, leaning a little too close over your desk, like he’s trying to solve the mystery of your very obvious spiralling. “You okay? You’ve been staring at that same paragraph for five minutes. Either it’s written in code, or you’ve transcended language altogether.”

Ethan is tall and clean-cut, with that golden-retriever energy that screams, Will hold your purse and cry during Pixar movies.

“Sorry,” you say, straightening in your chair and dragging yourself out of lust-ridden la-la-land. “Was just… thinking.”

“Mysterious,” he teases. “You’ve got that far-off look in your eyes, like you’re in a tragic romance. Should I be jealous?”

You manage a smirk. “Only if you’ve got a criminal record and a death wish.”

He laughs like you’re joking, which is adorable.

“No record, but I did get a parking ticket last weekend.”

You feign a gasp. “Scandalous.” What did you do last weekend? Oh yeah, threaten to break a woman’s fingers after you watched Sylus beat some guy senseless in an underground fighting ring.

Ethan leans a little on the desk, flashing you his best grin. You can practically feel the sugar content. “Listen, if you ever want a break from whatever tragic romance you’re stuck in—”

Oh no.

“—we could grab lunch sometime. My treat. There’s this new café on the east end. Supposed to have great pie.”

You smile noncommittally. “Thanks, Ethan. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He beams like you just handed him a lottery ticket, and you have to resist the urge to pat his head. “Okay! I’ll let you get back to your report.”

You wave as he saunters away like he’s just been invited to prom by the most popular girl in school. Ethan’s a good guy. Sweet in that kindergarten teacher way. Maybe in another universe, you’d want the kind of love that feels like a home-cooked meal and happily-ever-after. But in this one?

You fell for the man who only smiles like that when something’s about to burn, and you pray that it’s you. Thankfully, Nina comes to your rescue when she snaps a rubber band at your face.

You flinch. “Hey!”

Nina grins, not even pretending to look sorry. “That’s for ignoring my texts. Again.”

She’s the only person here who could get away with this kind of crap. Short, sharp, and with a smile like a blade. Her pink undercut changes shades weekly, and she has exactly zero time for authority, which is probably why you like her.

“I was busy,” you lie.

“You were drooling,” she corrects, pointing at the report you’ve smudged. “I don’t know who he is, but I hope he’s hot enough to justify endangering official documentation.”

You shrug. “Depends how you feel about knives and moral ambiguity.”

Nina raises an eyebrow. “God, you do have a type. You know, normal people crush on actors or influencers. You look like you’ve been mentally raw-dogged by a Bond villain.”

“Only the sexy ones.”

She snorts and tosses a candy bar onto your desk. “Sugar. You look like you haven’t eaten since 2025.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Across the bullpen, Ethan is still hovering, possibly pretending to reorganize a supply crate so he can glance your way. When he notices you noticing, he gives a small wave.

Nina clocks it too. “He’s gonna ask again.”

“I know.”

“You gonna let him down gently or hit him with the full ‘emotionally unavailable with a vampire kink’ package?”

“I was thinking of faking my own death.”

“Bold choice. On brand.”

“Anira?” Captain Jenna approaches.

You swivel in your chair as she stops beside your desk, crisp in her dark uniform, arms folded.

“Yes, Captain?”

Jenna holds out a data tablet, and your name’s already glowing on the screen.

“Field request just came in. Metaflux surge in the western fringe. Abandoned warehouse near the old docking lines. Locals flagged it. Too volatile to ignore. Normally I’d assign this to a recon team, but your records from similar anomalies show strong results. I want you on this one personally.”

“Understood.”

Before Jenna can move on, Nina leans back in her chair with a groan that’s more drama than protest.

“Oh, come on, Captain. You know she’s not gonna say no. Let me tag along, and we’ll wrap it up by lunch. I’ll even promise not to blow anything up unless it bites first.”

Jenna exhales with a small nod: “Fine. Take a two-man team. Gear up and move fast. Report anything unusual immediately.”

The warehouse is an old relic, wedged between half-demolished buildings and silent, rusted-out rail lines. Chain-link fences rattle faintly in the breeze, and sunlight filters through the cracked skylights in long, narrow beams that illuminate swirling dust.

You and Nina move in silence, boots crunching over loose debris. Her pistol is out, held low and ready, while yours rests in your holster.

“There’s nothing here,” Nina mutters, voice tinny through the comm. “No recent activity.”

Your Evol hums beneath your skin, like static crawling through your veins. It’s faint, not enough to triangulate, but unmistakably there.

“There’s metaflux,” you inform quietly. “Weak, but it’s here.”

Nina doesn’t question you while she adjusts her grip and keeps moving. She trusts you, probably more than anyone else in the Association. Not that you’ve given her much in return. You’re grateful, in your way, but you’ve never been good at letting people get close.

You sweep your eyes over the interior again. Rust-streaked girders, shattered crates, and scorch marks on the concrete. You’ve seen so many spaces like this before they all start to blur.

The air changes, growing drier. You taste smoke before you see it.

Nina curses softly. “Got movement. South wing.”

You draw your weapon. From the far end of the warehouse, there is a flit of red light, then another. Then flame bursts along the floor in a sudden whoosh, licking at the edges of crates, catching on old wiring, and climbing into the shadows.

The Wanderer steps out of the blaze like it was born from it. Tall. Humanoid, but stretched wrong, like heatwaves made corporeal. Its eyes burn brighter than its skin, twin coals in a shifting face. You recognize the type immediately: Cindertide-Class. Fire variant. Fast. Destructive.

Your body reacts before your brain does. You fire, and Nina splits to the side, her Evol flaring to life in a shimmer of kinetic force as she tries to flank it.

Embers spiral toward you, drifting, and everything slows. The orange glow, the heat, the way the flames dance and spiral—it’s too familiar.

Reality tilts.

The temple’s roof yawns open to a sky that’s gagging on ash and smoke thick as gravecloth, blotting out stars that once bore witness to miracles and massacres alike. Fire coils through the ruins in serpent spirals, hissing where it touches broken stone, tasting the marrow of walls that once begged the heavens for mercy.

You stand in the center of it all.

Wings cloaked against your spine, smudged in soot. Horns splintered at the tips, like they once caught the sky and lost. Your tail coils around your leg in a loop, flicking now and then in the echo of anger. Rage has been worn thin by time. There is only the hollow, echoless quiet where feeling used to live.

The ruin sings your name in the creak of melting beams, in the soft sigh of glass breaking under your feet, and beyond the temple, the city screams.

Thousands of voices rise. Some are a wail of history folding in on itself, burned down to the root; others are no louder than a breath caught mid-prayer. The sound is extinction made audible: walls folding inward, lives torn loose from the world, and the future weeping as it burns down to bone and ash.

Your claws trace the mosaic. A girl with a crown of light. A sword in her hand plunged through the chest of a great black dragon.

He is dying.

She is shining.

And the story, God help you, dares to call it salvation.

Your hand drags across the curve of his spine. Over inky-scaled wings and red-threaded horns. Over the throat you used to trace with kisses. Over a body you once held so tightly, you thought you’d never be alone again.

Your breath trembles. Your lip splits between your teeth. The world blurs around the edges.

“Why?” you whisper, and the word feels like it’s being torn from somewhere deeper than your lungs. “Why did you make me do it?”

And oh, it burns. The ache in your throat. The sting in your eyes. The grief has teeth, and it gnaws at you like penance.

It wants you hollow.

Soldiers crash into the temple behind you. You hear steel unsheathing, bowstrings pulled taut, and boots scraping over the fallen dead. You smell sweat and blood and the rot of corrupted faith. Parasites draped in holy colours. Greed gleaming in their souls like oil on water.

“Kill the fiend!” someone shouts.

But you do not turn until the first arrow sings through the smoke. It is only then that you unravel. Tendrils burst from your skin, black and red and gold, like the soul of some dying god writhing free.

They snap through the air, catching arrows mid-flight, stopping blades inches from your skin. They wrap around the soldiers like vines of vengeance, dragging them to their knees.

You leer at them. Pale faces. Ragged armour. Eyes wide with fear they fucking earned.

You can smell the sweet decay of humanity too far gone to be saved.

“You know not what you’re worshipping,” you accuse, stepping down from the mosaic like a god dismounting her altar. “You don’t know what was taken.”

Screams tear through the ruin, echoed in the howling wind, in the collapse of stone as more of the ceiling falls away. Blood splashes the floor. Bones snap like brittle twigs.

Their deaths are not merciful. You make sure of that.

They thought he was the end of the world.

It turns out you are the Armageddon they should’ve feared all along.

The fire doesn’t vanish; it shatters. A heatwave slams into your side, and then a beast with burn-slick skin crashes into you like a meteor. Your breath is torn from your lungs, ribs crunching under the pressure, and the ground rushes up too fast to catch yourself.

Pain explodes through your spine and arms as you skid—palms shredded, elbows scraping concrete. Blood smears. Your skull rings like a bell struck too hard.

You lie there for half a heartbeat, lungs wheezing for air. That vision hasn’t left you. It’s in your bones now. It pulses, slow and volcanic. Rage curls through your ribs, dragging itself up your throat, coating your teeth in molten heat.

The Wanderer screeches. A wrong sound, like a forest burning alive.

You rise with fury. Blood streaks your temple. Your gloves are torn. Your breath comes ragged, but your eyes lock onto the burning shape before you, and something inside you smiles.

There are four of them now, maybe five, slithering out like smoke with claws. Each one hunched and malformed, fire weeping from the cracks in their skin like molten wax. One lashes toward you again, but you’re already moving.

You spring sideways, gun drawn mid-roll. Two clean shots hit center mass. It snarls, staggering back.

A wall becomes a launching point as you leap, your boots skimming up stone as you backflip over a Wanderer. As you twist in midair, you plant a bullet in the thing’s skull. It jerks, legs folding in on themselves. Dust explodes as it hits the ground.

Another roars from behind. You slide under its strike, one knee dragging across glass and gravel. You twist your body at the last second and unload two rounds straight into its gut.

They swarm, and you spin between them. Hands like lightning, legs a storm. You vault over debris, use a half-collapsed beam to spring up, flip, shoot from above—always one step ahead, always just out of reach.

You are precision and chaos braided together. The fourth one tries to corner you, flames jetting from its spine. You charge. No fear. Gun empty—fine. You throw it hard enough to clock its jaw. While it’s reeling, you draw the second, jam it beneath its chin, and pull the trigger.

“Anira!” Nina again, breathless.

You’re barely listening. The last one sees the others fall and falters. A shiver runs through its warped limbs like it senses what you are now.

Too late.

You sprint, closing the distance in seconds, and slam into it. Guns forgotten. You drag it down with your hands alone. Teeth clenched, you rip its head back and drive your knee into its chest. Once. Twice. Three times.

Its hide gives way with a sickening crunch, and still—you don’t stop.

It’s Nina’s hand on your shoulder that grounds you. “Hey. Anira. It’s dead.”

The warehouse is scorched and steaming. Smoke curls upward like incense from a battlefield altar. You’re panting—chest heaving, ribs screaming. Your knuckles are raw. Your palms are slick with blood. You close your eyes. You try to breathe, but that mosaic still burns behind your eyes, each shard a brand pressed into thought. In your chest, an old fury stirs, raw and restless, clawing at the hollow beneath your bones. It whispers a name wrapped in smoke, a name you almost remember but never quite catch.

You’re behind the wheel before you know it. The streets blur past your windows, painted gold and red by the low-hanging sun. Traffic thins as you leave the central district.

You don’t remember turning off the main route. Linkon fades into a rougher silhouette with shadowed alleys and neon signs stuttering. The N109 looms like a forbidden thing you step into willingly.

When you pull up to the tower, the sensors register your car. The elevator knows your name. When you press your thumb to the scanner outside his penthouse, the door clicks open like it’s been waiting.

It’s dark.

Not just dim, but hollow.

No Mephisto shrieking with his next dramatic entrance. No Luke yelling from the kitchen about you stealing his last soda. No Kieran teasing you.

Nothing.

The silence is so complete, it roars. You step inside, and it swallows you. You don’t even take your boots off. Just ghost through the empty space, down the familiar hall, until the soft red gleam of his room meets you like an old scar.

You open the door, but you don’t make it to the bed.

You sink onto the floor like your legs finally give out. Knees pulled to your chest. Arms wrapped around them so tightly, it feels like you might keep yourself from shattering, and then you’re crying.

You don’t even feel the first tear fall. But then it’s another. And another. Until they’re hot, scalding trails down your cheeks, down your neck, across the bruises blooming along your ribs.

You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, but the sob still escapes. The rage is back—wild and feral in your throat, snarling. The grief is a fist around your heart. Your mind is full of ash and questions and that goddamned mosaic.

You want to scream. You want to sleep. You want to understand. But all you do is fold in on yourself, trembling, your breath shaking in the hollow of your chest.

This place is the only one where you can bleed in peace.

You don’t know how long you’re asleep, but when you wake, the light outside has shifted, washed in the indigo hush of twilight.

The door creaks open behind you.

You don’t have to turn to know it’s him. That sharp, charged air, like the pause before lightning strikes, gives him away. You feel his presence like you feel your own heartbeat crawling beneath your skin.

You should be relieved, but your body twists with something sour and ugly.

“You know, don’t you?” You spit from the floor without even offering a greeting. “You know what’s happening to me.”

His brow lifts, barely. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Don’t play coy.” You rise and take a step toward him, fists clenched. “The visions. The memories. The dreams. They started after I resonated with you, and they haven’t stopped.”

Sylus gives you nothing but that maddening quiet and that gaze like he’s seeing more than you’re saying. Like he’s weighing the weight of a thousand lifetimes in your single breath.

Your voice cracks with the fury you can’t cage. “Are you doing this to me? Did you plant them in my head? Is this part of whatever the hell your eye can do—”

“No.”

His voice cuts clean through your spiralling.

Just that.

No.

It should be comforting.

It isn’t.

“Then what the hell is happening to me?” You demand, every inch of you shaking. “Why do I remember things I’ve never lived? Why does it feel like my soul’s splitting open every time I sleep—”

“You’re not splitting. You’re remembering.”

Before you can push or punch him for being so damn cryptic, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.

Not delicately. Not cautiously. He folds you against his chest like you belong there, and even as you stiffen, even as you try to shove him away with all the fury still fizzing under your skin, you can’t stop the sob that breaks loose from your throat.

Your fists press against his chest. Your knees give out again, and he goes with you, sinking to the floor without letting go.

“Tell me,” you whisper, voice ragged. “Please, Sylus. What aren’t you telling me?”

His hand moves slowly through your hair, fingers brushing the base of your neck. You press your forehead harder to his chest, trembling, breath shallow and sharp.

He doesn’t answer.

He just holds you tighter.

And for now, that’s all he’ll give you.

Chapter Masterlist A03 [Cross-posted] Taglist: @mcdepressed290, @animecrazy76 As always, thank you for reading, and I hope it's enjoyable. Please feel free to comment and tell me what you think ❤️ Take care everyone!

#dragon sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus smut #sylus x mc #sylus x you #sylus x oc #lads

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sigmaleph · 8 months ago

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So the other day I finished When I Win the World Ends

A couple months back, my wife recommended me a pokemon fanfic. It was not When I Win; it's called Ghost Town and it's about a young trans woman returning home and coming out to her family while simultaneously finding out her closest childhood friend has been murdered. It's beautiful, definitely the most moving piece of writing i've read this year, and also entirely unlike WIW except that both are, nominally, set in 'the pokemon universe'.

These two works are not remotely set in the same universe. Their settings are entirely different, the result of two different people taking the thing we are presented with in the pokemon video game series and asking 'OK, but what does this world actually look like?' and coming to very different answers, because it turns out that setting is not really pinned down much by the games.

Are there animals beyond human and pokemon in the world? In WIW, the answer is no, except perhaps in some parallel universe like where the Ultra Beasts come from. In GT, the answer is yes; when the pokedex calls wingull the seagull pokemon, this is because there are actual seagulls in the world for comparison.

What's the deal with all the game-like elements of pokemon battling, like taking turns and pokemon only being able to use four moves and so on? In WIW, this is a competitive ruleset; pokemon battling is a highly regulated sport, and pokemon act in turns because their trainers specifically train them to wait between moves. In GT, this is just not a thing; 'pokemon only know four moves' is an abstraction made for game design concerns, the same way the game present us with a location with three building and tells us this is a town. The 'real' Pallet Town has more people and buildings than that, and 'real' pokemon don't act like characters in a turn-based RPG.

I could go on further but I will not; you get the point. The games present us with broad strokes of a world, but it is not a world that really holds together very much; it is not a series interested in worldbuilding. Game Freak doesn't go into the question of what is the geopolitical relationship between Johto and Kanto, or what does a culture where ten-year-olds are allowed to go out on their own into the world accompanied by monsters look like, or what the hell is Cinnabar volcano burger made out of, and this leaves room for fanfic writers to step in with their own answers to these questions.

I spend a lot of time pondering these questions, perhaps more than I should, and while there are boring answers one could give sometimes writers come up with genuinely fascinating takes on it, trying to weave them together into a world that holds together while at the same time resembling a beloved video game series that cannot decide if America is real or not.

So when I finished Ghost Town and most of the other works by the same author I saw a number of people in my dash talking about this other pokemon fanfic, and it did not disappoint despite being so different and having a tragic lack of explicit trans lesbians.

I've never been much into competitive pokemon battling despite playing the actual games themselves on and off for most of my life, but the angle on that in WIW really does work as a central focus (even if it does, unforgivably, get Umbreon's ability wrong). The one thing in it that still sits oddly with me is that I cannot really get a handle on what Cely's deal is. She's not psychic, apparently (the public perception of psychics in the pokemon universe is yet another of those things WIW and GT have different opinions on). She's not some kind of fated RISE messiah, because RISE is just a cult and doesn't have any deeper insights into the nature of reality. Is she just lucky? Are we just happening to observe the one particular timeline where she got all her predictions right for no reason in particular, or was it perhaps necessary that Cely get all her calls right for us to see an outcome where the world doesn't end, anthropic-reasoning-style? If there is an answer I was supposed to get from the story, I didn't

But that's quibbles. It's an excellent work, I loved it, i'm very glad I was following people who'd talk about it often enough I gave it a shot. This is not really a review of it, though, or of Ghost Town. This is just my excuse to talk about pokemon worldbuilding and namedrop the cinnabar volcano burger.

#pokemon

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graysoncritic · 7 months ago

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He Walks: Dick Grayson, the Survivor

This is a meta written for the ten year celebration of Grayson. For @grayson10yearslater.

From it’s prologue in Nightwing #30, Grayson by Tom King and Tim Seeley, boldly poses its readers with the question of how to describe one of DC’s oldest and most iconic characters when he is stripped of his familiar superhero identities. Who is Dick Grayson when he can’t hide behind Robin? Nightwing? Batman?

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim; Tynion IV, James, writers. Janin, Mikel; Hetrick, Meghan; Garron, Javier; Lucas Jorge, illustrators. Setting Son. Nightwing. 30, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Page 30]

Divided into twenty issues and three annuals, the story explores the theme of identity from all angles, pushing Dick away from his comforts to dissect the different layers of his character. A hero, the end of the last issue seems to say, is the true answer to this difficult question.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Antonio, Roge, illustrator. Spiral’s End. Grayson. 20, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2016. Page 23]

And while that is undoubtedly true, each of the preceding nineteen issues elaborate on what traits can folded into a hero.

Dick is a storytelling, the first annual says;

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Mooney, Stephen, illustrator. A Story of Giants Big and Small. Grayson. Annual 01, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Page 11]

Dick is compassionate, the finale of Act I with the Paragon Brain proves;

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Mooney, Stephen, illustrator. Sin by Silence. Grayson. 07, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Page 19]

Dick is a partner.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. Nemesis Part Two. Grayson. 10, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 23 to 24]

I want to focus a little bit on that last one. Dick, after all, was created to be the perfect partner. In 1940, he was the sensational character find that became Batman’s other half, the missing element to his mythos. Move further along his history, and a diverse number of writers were compelled to team Dick with other characters — he’s the Titans’ leader, the missing third piece of the World’s Finest, Batgirl’s love interest.

Grayson, too, is interested in exploring this aspect of Dick Grayson. In its first act, it pairs him up with Helena Bertinelli, whose more experience, tragic background, and darker personality is meant to mirror Batman.

Tom King: For me, it seems to make so much sense because basically she almost has that Batman female origin. She shares that origin that Batman and Dick have of having gone through this violent period when she was young and coming out of that a hero. We wanted to play with that. We wanted to play with the dichotomy of what Barbara is in Dick's life versus what Helena is in Dick's life. Helena's much closer to what Batman is and much closer to the father figure Dick was related to, so I think that creates immediate tension and fun stuff we can play with.

[Katzman, Gregg. "Interview: Tom King & Tim Seeley Talk GRAYSON." Yahoo! News, 4 Jan. 2015. Accessed 8 Dec. 2024.]

In act two, he is paired up with Tiger King of Kandahar. In fact, there is a theme of duality and partnerships throughout Grayson, showing that this is a critical aspect of who is Dick Grayson.

The exception to this is Grayson #05.

A self-contained story, Grayson #05 isolates Dick to get to the core of who he is. By contrasting Dick with Helena and Midnighter, placing him in the unforgiving vastness of an infernal desert, and calling forth the tale of Robin Dies at Dawn, Grayson #05 presents us with a man who does not give up and does not give in. Dick walks, even if he must walk, at times, alone. When laid bare, without the trappings of a superhero identity or of a partner, Dick Grayson, Grayson #05 says, is, at the core of his being, a survivor.

In this meta, I want to see just exactly how Grayson #05 does that through a close reading of the issue.

Now, without any further delay, let’s get started.

Let’s start with the cover.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014]

Everything about this cover radiates heat. The sun is beaming down mercilessly, the spirals mimicking the sun rays, the color palette a strong orange that is highly saturated but not bright. The reader can feel how hot it is in this desert, and all around there's nothing but sand. Sand, sand everywhere the eyes can see, and in the center of the image, a lone black figure braving this infernal bare landscape.

This cover tells us not just the location of where the issue will be set, but it also shows that Dick will be alone out there. It tells us this will not be an action-filled story, but it will be one of survival. Man vs Nature, and nature does not discriminates with her ruthlessness. Dick stands alone facing the elements, but he stands. He is walking, he is not giving up. It would be so easy for this cover to have a close up of Dick's, Helena's, and Midnighter's exhausted expression as they each try to survive, but instead we just see Dick by himself, alone, walking. He does not give up, he does not give in. He survives.

The issue then opens in medias res, immediately presenting the readers with that main conflict: survival. It does not waste any time with unneeded exposition — after all, though Dick would hate this fact, we as readers do not need to know the name of the mother who is dying; we do not need to know the details of Minos’ mission before it all went wrong; we don’t even need to know how Midnighter managed to track Dick and Helena. All we need to know is that Dick and Helena, and Midnighter are all after the Paragon Heart, which belongs to the, as of this page, unborn baby; that ARGUS somehow tracked Midnighter who was fighting Dick for the Heart; and that mid-fight the mother went into labor.

There's an elegance in the way everything is conveyed so well and so quickly in this one page. It's brilliant storytelling from both a writing and a visual stand point.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Page 01]

As they crash into the desert, the mother passes away. ARGUS is gone, but our trio and the newborn baby girl are faced with a mightier enemy: The desert. The nearest town is days away, they do not have a lot of supplies, they do not have how to call for help. Here, we’re faced with this issue’s main question: Can they survive this? The answer seems to be resounding “no.”

Let’s take a look at how each of the characters approach this situation.

Helena is pragmatic. She is thinking of the mission, but her expression is troubled. She doesn't see a way out of this. She knows they have to survive long enough for Spyral to eventually find them, but the odds are against them. Given the fact she’s injured, it’s unlikely she’ll ever make it out of this desert. Still, that does not mean she’ll fall into despair. She'll do what needs to be done, but she knows this is not something they can easily get out of. If she goes down, she'll go down fighting. Like I said, she’s pragmatic.

Midnighter, on the other hand, is a pessimist. He is jaded. Why bother trying? Midnighter is a nihilist. “We’re dead,” he says not once, but twice.

Then we have Dick. Beautiful Dick, he holds the baby in his arm like she's the most precious thing in the world. And in this moment, she is. His reply to Midnighter is telling. They aren’t dead. They can't be, because if they are dead, then so is she, so death is not an option. It's not a question of what is practical, of what the mission is, of what the odds are. It's not about being an optimist, either. It's simply about her. She is all that matters and she is entirely dependent on them, so they can't be dead. They cannot let her die, this little innocent child who is not even an hour old. So what will they do instead? They’ll walk. They’ll survive.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014 Page 02-03]

The next page displays what will become the brilliant standard for this issue — open skies, sand, and small figures walking. Everything about it conveys this vastness that is so oppressive in its openness. It's the majesty of Mother Nature.

Note how tiny the figures are. Note how Dick leads the other two, not by a little, but by a lot. In his arms Dick holds the baby, nurses her with the formula from the mother’s bag. In the pages we see Helena struggling, Midnighter drinking water and shedding away his clothes, but Dick remains stoic. He leads, separated — isolated, distant — from the rest, determined, disappearing into the far orange of the page.

In this, we see Dick’s silent determination. It’s notable that he is not trying to make light of the situation through humor. Instead, he is silent. And he walks.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 04-05]

As the story continues, Midnighter’s pessimism deepens. It is notable that this issue is the first time Dick and Midnighter have seen each other since Grayson #01. And what does Midnighter do? He lashes out at Dick by revealing he knows who Dick is. This calls back to Forever Evil, where Dick’s identity was revealed to the world. Midnighter is weaponizing Dick’s trauma against him, trying to draw a reaction out of Dick. Not only that, he says that they only way to survive is to kill the baby and use the Paragon Heart. Otherwise, the odds are not in their favor, and he deems this "just walk" strategy is pointless. This is how Midnighter copes with the hopelessness of their situation — he dwells on the negative and lashes out.

Helena reacts to Midnighter by subduing the threat, but she doesn’t comment on his defeatist attitude. Nor on his plan. She is, again, practical. She won’t say they’ll make it, but she won’t allow Midnighter to pose a threat to the mission.

Dick, though… Not once does Dick acknowledge Midnighter’s taunting. Not once, not even to defend the baby. A weaker writer would have tried to get Dick to empathize with Midnighter, to tell him again that they're not dead yet, that they just need to keep trying. Instead, Dick’s refusal to even look at Midnighter shows how he won't even acknowledge the possibility of not surviving. His focus, instead, is all on her. That is what is driving him so that is what has his entire attention. Midnighter's temper tantrum is not even worth his time. Not when her survival is at stake.

I also want to take a moment to take in the environment. In this scene, the first panel shows how tiny the three of them are in the vast desert, the beautiful sky expanding above them. Mother Nature, the issue seems to say, is beautiful, worthy of awe. It is big, bigger than any human. More powerful, too. It is a challenge unlike any Dick has ever or will ever face. It cannot be charmed by him, it cannot be fought against, it cannot be conquered. It is not cruel or evil, either. It simply is, bare and uncomplicated, honest at all times. To survive her, Dick must also be the barest, least complicated version of his self.

While writing this, I often felt myself hesitating when writing about the conflict between Dick and desert. Phrases like “go against the desert,” often came to my tongue, and I had to swallow them back due to how wrong they felt. To “go against” someone (or something) is to have an antagonistic, adversarial relationship, and I’m not sure that is incredibly accurate to this scenario. The desert is indifferent towards Dick and the others. Midnighter speaks of fighting, of winning, of conquering this challenge, but Dick, by contrast, is quiet. He is not trying to “win” against the desert. That is not the right frame of mind. Rather, he is simply trying to survive.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 06 - 07]

As time passes, Midnighter continues to talk. To taunt. His negative attitude doesn’t light up, and he is still trying to get a reaction out of Dick. Here we see that Midnighter is perhaps not fully comfortable with his enhancements, like he doesn't see himself as fully human because of them. He resents them even as he trusts his enhancements more than he trusts his own abilities. He says he sees all outcomes and there are none where they survive this. Not as humans. Not without the Heart.

Note how Midnighter presents their situation as not about being tough, but about how much energy you have. This framing seems to reject the idea of survival — of “toughing it out” — and instead looks at their situation as one of victory and defeat — you have to have enough energy to make it out of the desert, and in doing so, you’ll be victorious.

Yet, Midnighter predicts himself to outlast Dick, but in reality, he falls before Dick does. This begs the question: Was Midnighter right? Must you defeat the desert and win against it in order to win?

Personally, I believe the story is saying “no.” This is not about victory and defeat, but about survival. And to survive, one must lay themselves bare of foolish things such as pride and ego. To survive, you must dig deeper within yourself, and find something that will allow you to not go against mother nature, but to continue walking along side her.

Dick has found his something deep within himself. That something is his compassion. Helena collapses, and Dick leaves with her his shirt, laying himself bare. Yet, despite his fallen partner, his priority is still the baby girl. He will survive for her, and in this action we see the depths of Dick’s compassion for others. He continues to walk. He continues to survive.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 08-10]

Finally, after days, Midnighter is confronted with the true force that is Dick Grayson. He was so certain he was going to outlast Dick. “I have… My… Enhancements. I have powers,” he struggles to say. But what does Dick have? How can a simple man continue to go against these conditions?

This page shows how deeply Midnighter underestimated Dick’s humanity and his compassion. Dick is not a superpowered individual, no, but Dick’s determination is unlike at other. This is who he is… Someone who walks.

Dick is a survivor. When Dick was a small boy, he lost his entire world in a traumatic act of violence. From the moment those ropes snapped and the Flying Graysons plunged to their deaths, Dick became a survivor — someone who had to figure out how to walk forward when everything seemed lost. And Dick did it.

If I can go on a bit of a tangent here, I’ll say that I really dislike whenever child heroes are characterized as child soldiers, be it by fans or by canon writers. This reading is, in my opinion, incredibly lazy and displays a lack of understanding of what superhero identities are meant to stand for. We can discuss the traumas that come along with being a child hero, but to dismiss it as a universally bad thing and equating to the real world horror of child soldiers ignores the fact that this is a fictional world in which the fantastical concepts act as metaphors for larger ideas.

Robin is not a child soldier. Robin, much like Batman, is a response to trauma. Specifically, Dick’s Robin is a response to the trauma of being a survivor of violent crime, and Robin demonstrates how a victim can regain agency and transform their tragedy into an empowering narrative. As Steve Braxi points out in his On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes essay, Batman “transform[s] trauma into will power,” and Dick, whose story is meant to mirror that of Bruce’s, does the exact same through Robin. Through Robin, Dick is able to not only find justice for his parents, but he is also to help other survivors like him. And that is what allows him to keep on walking.

This is what Grayson #05 demonstrates. It strips away the metaphor of the hero identities and the distraction of partnerships, laying Dick out bare and showing that as long as he can help someone, as long as he has his compassion, Dick Grayson can survive anything.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 12 - 13]

In the following page, the vastness of the desert is contrasted with close up shots of the baby. We see Dick, so impossibly small standing against a large desert that disappears into the horizon, and ocean of sand and oranges, and we see the whole reason why Dick is still alive. The environment that may kill him is contrasted with the reason why he will survive.

“I’m here. I’m here,” Dick tells the baby girl as she ceases her cries. “I’m still here.”

He gets up… And he walks. The repetitiveness of the action throughout the issue emphasizes the slog of the immediate aftermath of a traumatic event, those moments when you realize time is progressing forward as it always had, but your mind and heart are still stuck in that one moment that changed your life forever. All Dick can do is walk, walk, walk, yet he is still lost in this vast desert, the trauma is still overwhelming him, there’s no end in sight… But he does have his reason for not giving up — his compassion allows him to continue onward.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 14 - 15]

Robin Dies at Dawn is the title of Batman #156. In this two part story Batman finds himself in an alien planet filled with threats. Robin saves him from sentient, walking plants, and after escaping, they find a giant stone idol that comes to life and begins chasing them. They manage to leap over a deep fissure and realize that if the stone idol were to do the same, the unstable down would crumble and the stone idol would fall, securing their safety. As they wait for the idol, they see that it, too, realized the ground was unstable and it tries to figure out a safer passage to the other side. That’s when Robin provokes the stone idol, who, in fury, grabs a boulder to throw at Robin. Before it can do it, the floor crumbles and it falls, but boulder still hits Robin and kills him. Later, it is revealed that this was a hallucination induced by an experiment Batman subjected himself to meant to study the effects of loneliness in astronauts. Through the following days, Bruce has occasional hallucinations of alien creatures putting Dick in danger. It isn’t until Dick’s life is threatened by the Gorilla Gang that Bruce is able to “overcome” the lingering effects of the experiment, the threat to Dick’s life being enough to “shock” him back to normal.

[Finger, Bill; Boltinoff, Henry; Schiff, Jack, writers. Moldoff, Sheldon; Boltinoff, Henry, illustrators. Robin Dies at Dawn. Batman. 156, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1963. Page]

To the baby girl, Dick recounts this Golden Age story as if it were a dream, focusing on the part where the stone idol kills him with the boulder. In this tale, we go back to Robin, Dick’s first survival mechanism, and to the first person who first showed him compassion and to whom his survival was paramount — Batman.

Though so far Dick has rejected the idea of victory vs defeat, he presents the baby with a scenario where he is faced with such a conflict. Yet, in this case, to “go up against” the enemy is to call them forward so they will fall. Dick’s taunting leads the stone idol to it’s defeat, and this is the point which Dick says he wants the baby girl to focus on. You must welcome danger, he seems to say, and face it head on. You must walk forward instead of running away.

Yet, it is notable that the enemy is not the only one who is defeated in this story. After all, Dick “dies” at dawn. This is what Dick doesn’t want the baby to focus on, but I think it’s important in understanding this idea of survival. In the story, Dick sacrifices himself so Batman can escape. He goes up against an enemy, he achieves victory, but he does not survive. But, crucially important, Batman does.

This paints a picture where Dick's survival and his victory are not one and the same. Not the way Midnighter seemed to have believed. While Dick’s compassion is intrinsically tied to his status as a survivor of violence, this story seems to indicate that Dick will readily relinquish his own survival for the sake of someone else. In the framing of victories and defeats, other people’s safety -- other people's survival -- is Dick’s “win” condition.

This, I believe, demonstrates how Dick's compassion allows him to pass own his survivor status to others, even at the cost of his own life. By shielding them and giving them the opportunity to move past a trauma, Dick creates other survivors. He becomes their protector, their patron saint.

[King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014. Pages 16 - 18]

Dick Grayson is a lot of things, and he has numerous qualities. He is a partner, a hero, and a friend; he’s good, he’s funny, and he’s brave. While all of those are important aspects of his character, they can also distract from one characteristic that is crucial to Dick’s genesis.

Before he was Agent 37, before he was Nightwing, before he was Robin, Dick was a survivor. Having survived violence, Dick used his compassion to transform his trauma into power. Grayson #05 isolates Dick from the world, putting him in a dangerous and revealing desert to expose his ability to survive through his compassion. This, the story says, is who Dick at the core of his being, when stripped away from the distractions of partnerships and superhero metaphors. This is who Dick Grayson is: He is a man who walks.

Bibliography:

Braxi, Steve, “On Superman, Shootings, and the Reality of Superheroes” Comics Bookcase, September 2021

Finger, Bill; Boltinoff, Henry; Schiff, Jack, writers. Moldoff, Sheldon; Boltinoff, Henry, illustrators. Robin Dies at Dawn. Batman. 156, e-book ed. DC Comics, 1963

Katzman, Gregg. "Interview: Tom King & Tim Seeley Talk GRAYSON." Yahoo! News, 4 Jan. 2015. Accessed 8 Dec. 2024

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. We All Die at Dawn. Grayson. 05, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Mooney, Stephen, illustrator. A Story of Giants Big and Small. Grayson. Annual 01, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Mooney, Stephen, illustrator. Sin by Silence. Grayson. 07, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Janin, Mikel, illustrator. Nemesis Part Two. Grayson. 10, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim, writers. Antonio, Roge, illustrator. Spiral’s End. Grayson. 20, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2016

King, Tom; Seeley, Tim; Tynion IV, James, writers. Janin, Mikel; Hetrick, Meghan; Garron, Javier; Lucas Jorge, illustrators. Setting Son. Nightwing. 30, e-book ed. DC Comics, 2014

#dick grayson #agent 37 #nightwing #batman meta #dick grayson meta #grayson10 #grayson10meta #grayson

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mollyrolls · 7 months ago

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stop the clock 𖦹 matsukawa i. x reader

day 8: the name drop

in collaboration with get ugly by @eggyrocks @warlocksoup

an: if you guys haven't seen my rampant screaming, eggy's new phenomenal fic get ugly is in the stc universe!!! you must go read it and give eggy love otherwise ill eat you

uquiz 𖦹 pinterest

prev. / mlist. / next

“You broke my heart, you know that?”

Issei calls out to the expanse of the store as he enters, foot barely past the threshold before he speaks.

“Uh, sorry?”

Suddenly, his blood runs cold. The voice coming from the desk is not the one he’s come to love, but a completely new one. He turns slowly, preparing himself for the embarrassment he will have to endure.

Sitting in her perch was a shorter guy, with a streak of blonde cutting right through his hair. He’s looking at Issei like he knows him, which is confusing because Issei’s sure this is the first time he’s seen him.

Upon seeing his face, the guy from the counter breaks into a huge grin.

“Oh my god, you must be Mattsun.”

Adjusting slightly to appear more relaxed, he gives a tentative smile.

“Uh, yeah. I am.”

The guy leans forward on his elbows, watching him like a TV show.

“How much money have you actually spent on cherries? It’s got to be like ¥4000 at this point.”

This peaks his interest significantly. He hasn’t told anyone but Makki and Suna about the cherries, because he had to explain the new business expense he’d been logging, so it must have been her.

This of course means-

“She talks about me?” He can hardly contain his glee at this news.

“Yeah. It’s not-”

Issei puts a hand up to stop the guy. He doesn’t care to hear what she’s been saying, for better or for worse. Since it’s likely worse, the knowledge that he consumes the tiniest bit of space in her brain is enough for him.

As he does so, the guy splits into a huge grin.

“You’re just like I imagined. Can I please watch you flirt? I need this for science.”

Before he can do anything, the guy behind the counter yells out to the store.

Yells her name. Something in Issei’s head starts to spin.

He wanted to know her name. So badly that he was chastised relentlessly by Makki for spending his whole shift on his phone with Suna. They had scoured every corner of her spotify account, looking for anything to identify her.

Tragically, she’d prepared for him. Her username was just a bunch of numbers, she had no profile name or picture, and all the playlists were simply numbered 1-16.

So yes, knowing her name was like fireworks sparking in his head. But this was not how he wanted to learn it. He likes that she makes him work; he wanted it to be a prize that he’d earned.

At the sound of her name, she appears behind the little isles and looks over at where they are. Issei can’t help but notice she’s in his corner. Where the cherries are.

As she makes eye contact with Issei, her facade cracks. Surprise, embarrassment, realization, embarrassment, collected, all in the span of a few seconds. She comes around to round out their circle, not really looking at Issei.

He thinks it’s weird seeing her from this angle. She’s not different, maybe a little nervous, but not enough to really change her demeanor. Yet, without the safety of her counter she looks more vulnerable.

“Is something wrong, Noya?” She asks the guy behind the counter, seemingly unprepared to handle Issei.

Noya grins cheekily, and gestures to the space between them as if inviting the show to begin. She glowers at him but he seems unaffected. Issei’s impressed; if he was on the receiving end of that glare he’d need some new pants.

Noya beams wider before turning to him again. “Cmon, let’s see it! Lay on the charm man.”

“You’re gross. And stealing from me by still being clocked in,” She bites back before Issei can even start. He just stands back and watches their exchange, like a spectator at the zoo.

Something in him is jealous of Noya and the way he can get her to shed her skin. Regardless, he takes what he can get. Despite his nasty gut feeling, he’s seeing a side of her he’s never gotten access to. What she’s like with her friends, when she’s not putting on her facade. Who his mystery girl really is.

Noya eventually concedes after being threatened short of death and is pushed out of the store. Before he disappears into the dusk, he whispers something to her that makes her eyes roll all the way to the back of her head.

She watches him turn the corner and disappear into the night, and Issei notices the steadying breaths she has to take.

Upon re-entering the store, she looks more collected. As she tucks her hands in her back pockets, she rocks a little on her feet. He looks down and notices the boots she’s sporting, and the tiniest little streak on the toe.

“So.”

His attention is brought back up when she addresses him, still swaying slightly.

“So?”

She shifts her shoulders back reflexively, like she’s ready for a fight. “You know my name now.”

He looks back at her, saying nothing. She doesn’t take the bait.

“What, you aren’t gonna berate me to death? Wax poetic about how beautiful it is and how it suits me and how when you heard it, angels sang?”

He tries to hide a smile. “Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“Then I won’t.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “What happened to you?”

He gives a tiny shrug.

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m still the same old Issei.”

Unconvinced, she glares at him a little longer. He takes it on the chin. When she presses, he stands firm.

Issei thinks she’s sorting things out in her head. He’d give her whatever she needs, even if it makes his knees a little weak, and right now that means a silent dressing down. His hands are sweaty.

“This is unnerving.” She admits after a few moments, then turns on her heel to walk back deeper into the store.

Issei waits a couple moments then follows.

“What is?”

“You.” She reaches her destination, and starts to restock his cherries.

“Haven’t I always annoyed you though?”

“Yeah. But this is different.”

She continues picking up the pots from the box, rotating them around and sliding them into their place. There’s about 20 little jars, only taking up a single shelf.

Issei lingers nearby, leaning on the doors of a fridge. His back radiates enough heat to make some condensation. “How do you mean?”

She stops for a second in contemplation; looking over her shoulder to peer at him again, turning thoughts over in her mind. She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it just as fast.

In her hesitancy, Issei notices a touch of vulnerability in her eyes. It’s hidden deep behind her irises, but he knows her now. With a blink, it’s gone.

Instead, she lets out a deep sigh, a bit of frustration and a drop of disappointment.

“I dunno. Never mind.”

“Hey, cmon.” Issei tries to probe her again, keep her talking, but she grows resolute in her decision. She quickly emits an energy that is impenetrable. He doesn’t have the tools yet to identify a crack.

He stands and waits for an opening, one that she doesn’t give. The condensation from the fridge starts to drip down his neck.

He feels a buzz in his pocket, and sees a text.

suna [9:57 pm]: ur gonna b late. get some salt while ur there, quit harassing women, and hurry up

He can’t help the small grunt of annoyance he lets out, resentment growing at everything around him.

When he looks back up, she’s staring at him in a way he’s never seen. There’s not a lack of emotion, there’s too many to sort. He expects her to glance away, and she does.

The whirr of the fridges is louder than normal.

“I’ll uh… I’ll see you around,” Issei starts, feeling oddly small. He scuffs his shoe, hoping she’ll ask him to stay, or ask him a clarifying question, or anything other than this suffocating silence. When nothing comes, he pushes off the wall and starts down the aisle.

He really does try to leave, but sometimes he can’t help himself. He pauses, and she watches.

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s lame your friend ruined that bit. It was kinda fun having the mystery.”

She takes the peace treaty gratefully, but still doesn’t speak.

“If you want, we can agree to forget it? I’ll earn it fair and square?”

There’s a little chuckle, mostly to herself, before she replies.

“Are you even capable of forgetting that?”

He laughs, somewhat from relief that he had managed to salvage whatever he’d fucked up.

“Nah, probably not. I can try though.”

She dismisses that with a wave of her hand.

“Why bother. I’ll just… put bleach in Noya’s shampoo or something.”

He grins at her, easy and open. She doesn’t return it, but stands up a bit more casually.

The unspoken words between them weigh heavy in the air, but it’s returned to a level that Issei can manage. They’re closer than he’d thought.

He realizes he’s been staring, trying and failing to place her perfume. Issei ducks his head quickly, before turning and walking out more intentionally.

Right before he reaches the door, he turns around one last time. To his surprise, he meets her eyes.

“I- I hope the concert was good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He can’t hear her from across the store, but sees her mouth ‘bye.’

By the time he gets to work, he’s distracted. Anytime a woman tries to flirt with him, all he can think of is the melody behind her eyes, and what was going through her head.

Issei doesn’t make that many tips that night.

She’s hunched over her drawing table, various trashed doodles surrounding her. Her phone is plugged into the wall, just above 14%. It always dies faster when she’s on the phone.

“I don’t see what the big deal is?”

Seven’s voice is breathy over the speaker, she’s out in the cold. She fills in the background of her strip with haphazard crosses.

“So he’s a little dorky guy with a crush. Is he threatening?”

She lets out a half-there chuckle. “No. He likes batman band-aids.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Her pencil tip breaks from the pressure.

“I-”

Instead of sharpening it, she fishes for another.

“I think he actually likes me. Like, not as a bit.”

Over the speaker, some rock radio comes over from Seven’s side. It’s loud enough that she can hear it. It makes her cringe.

“Is that so bad?”

The response takes so long that Seven has to ask if she’s there.

“Yeah. It is.”

She hangs up before she’s faced with the next probing question.

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taglist: closed.

@bakingcuriosity, @nobodybutnnoorr, @ciderscape, @lilchubbyyy, @soulfullystarry,

@interstellarz, @wakashudou , @myromanempiree, @notverymarley, @aozui,

@lllaw,, @cnnmairoll, @cosmiicdust, @reignsaway,

@wyrcan, @garfieldissocool, @soobin1437, @guitarstringed-scars, @adorerinn,

@thiisisntlovely, @miliondollagirl, @snail-squasher, @pocketful-ofdaisies, @cherrypieyourface,

@honeekyuu, @rivaiken,

@ineednanami, @akaashislovee, @kodzu-ken

@yoshit-he-dinosaur, @thyproblem, @cupidsblonde, @little-flower30, @asthmaticcchoeee

@lunasfics, @bakery-anon, @haikyuuluverrr, @chososcamgirl, @seroh

@introvertsince2003, @thechaosoflonging, @kameyyy, @riousluvs, @totallytatum

@animenaces-world, @layskettlecookedchips, @chaotic-neutral-ig, @jadeoru, @anniewings

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu smau #hq smau #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu matsukawa #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa issei x reader #issei x reader #matsukawa x you #issei x you #matsukawa smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #mw.matsukawa issei #stop the clock

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