#my interpretation of how the Quinn situation went

[gavinsdeviant]

Feel the Light

cw/tw- talks of past harm done to character, talks of torture, emotional distress, trauma response, a traumatic flashback, hurt/comfort, Quinn, insults and harsh language

word count- 1,645

pairing- Sam & Darlin

fandom- Redacted Audio

fic inspired by the song feel the light by Jennifer Lopez

@davidshawswife @daveysangelsposts @angelcactus @morgansplace @annahhopee @romeo-the-homeo @zozosrandomthings @miyowmiyow

hope you enjoy!

“Quinn doesn’t get to keep hidin’ from you, not now. Not anymore.” Darlin’ gives a small smile, squeezing his cold palm in theirs. He brings their hands to his mouth and kisses a line down their wrist.

Do you remember,

“I’ll be fine. They ain’t gonna know what’s hitting ‘em,” he adds, flashing them a toothy grin. They laugh, even as nerves bounce around in their stomach. They reach up to press a kiss to his cheek.

When we fell under,

“I love you.”

“I love you too, darlin.”

—

Fifteen minutes later the shifter and their Alpha are seated overlooking a drab, empty room. The air is cold, quiet.

Darlin’ scrunches their nose at the smell of stale coffee.

“Where is he?” David asks again. He’d been hounded Detective Clark as soon as they had sat down, hackles raised at the room that still appeared vacant. Their stomach churns.

The fluorescent lights hum, buzzing as they drum fingers along the cold rim of the table they were sat at.

Henry beckons them to look. The door slides open and a familiar silhouette steps out seconds later. *Sam.*

Hurry up, hurry up,

There’s no more waiting,

He shuffles over to take his seat, flannel sleeves pulled up to the elbows. They smile to themselves as their chest warms. ”Samual Collins. He’s your partner, correct?”

He glances back to the glass, saluting them, something akin to mischief alight in his eyes.

We’re still worth saving,

The scrape of a large chain rattles the door before they can find a way to reply and then, with a slow creak the door swings open. With dusty hair and a charming smile, the man in the door almost appeared normal.

Sam’s smile drops.

I left my pack for him,

I gave my heart to him, my fears to him,

I put myself second for him,

Everything for him.

All they had done had been to have him behind bars and now, they couldn’t even look him in the eye.

Coward, their mind hissed.

Feel the light,

Shining in the dark of night,

Their heart pounds in their ears as their cruel vampire ex regards the man who had let down his walls for them— had let them love him for who he was, even when it wasn’t pretty. “I keep these walls high so those feelings don’t get the better of me but… you climbed over them. And you’re in here. I love you, Darlin’. Deeply.”

“Is my little mouse here?” Quinn demands, leaving in as if in whisper. A vein throbs in Sam’s temple.

They knew he’d ask— knew he’d try and draw them out, to no avail.

“No matter,” he snarls, smile too wide,” I don’t need them here for the things I’m going to tell you.” He lets out a huff, fangs flashing. “My pretty little pet didn’t share the details, did they?”

Sam bites back a growl.

“You really don’t know half the shit there is to know about your darlin. Oh, now you’ve got me excited.” A pause.

“Ever notice their limp?”

With a sharp scrape, their chair goes flying back as they press closer to the glass. “He doesn’t get to do that,” they hiss, turning to the detective. He shakes his head. “We need this information out of him. We’ve got him talking… now he just has to keep talking.”

Slowly, they turn back to the creature, one they’d called “lover” so many years ago, its eyes faint with delight. “Oh, the things I’ve done. Seen the scar on their ankle?” He seems almost nostalgic, eyes cast to the ceiling in thought.

Remember what we forgot,

I know its a long shot,

“I broke them, bit by precious bit, and I liked it,” he mused. They swallow hard. “Broke that ankle five, maybe six times, until my name became a prayer.”

“You,” Sam bites out,” don’t get to pretend you’re still apart of them, that you know anythin’ about them.”

“You new bloods are all the same. Young and naive. Don’t know what you’re saying.”

In a flash, Sam has him pressed to the wall, breaths coming hard.

Quinn only huffs out another laugh. “I would’ve made an example out of them. For all the empowered and non-empowered humans dead at my hand, they’d be a living example. Say, ever heard of the blood eagle?”

There’s a silence, long enough for darlin to hear their pulse in their ears before he continues.

“The Brazen Bull then? Eaten by rats, perhaps? They will always be a pathetic fucking mutt, in my eyes. Meant to be taught a lesson—“

Without a word, the shifter slowly rises from their seat and pushes the door open, grimacing at the ache that creeps up their ankle. Sam had never asked and hadn’t wanted to push anything they weren’t willing to give, but oh how they had wished he did.

They were humiliated.

Here I go, here I go,

Their eyes burned with tears, ones that they furiously wiped away. He didn’t deserve their tears, not when he fed on their pain like a sadism demon took to brutality.

A few minutes pass, the cold wall pressed to their back as they breathe in, and out. Their heart still beat like a thousand drums in their chest and they couldn’t seem to make it slow. They glance at the door just as it opens, David’s muscled frame waiting.

Feel better now, feel better now,

He hesitates, face taut.

And then, with long strides towards them, wraps them up in his arms, head to his chest. They shudder.

“It’s okay,” he breathes. “You don’t have to go back in there, if you don’t want to. That fucker doesn’t get to take that choice from you too.”

They nod.

“Do you want Sam?” Again they nod, eyes burning.

“I’ll go get him.”

“He should be in there,” they try weakly. “Trying to save that girl.”

“I don’t care. There are other ways.”

Without a further word their friend pushes up from where he’d practically sunk down on his knees in front of them, and swings open the door. It shuts with a resounding click behind him as they slump back against the wall.

Here I go, here I go,

Feel better now, feel better now,

Their shoulders shake, chest heaving as they bite back tears. They were just messing things up— if it weren’t for them, none of this would have happened.

You’re his thrall… always will be.

And then, Sam is there, gently cradling their face in his hands and whispering soft words.

“Hey, hey— you needed me, and I’m here.”

They see the panic in his eyes, the hurt as if reflected mirror-like in front of them.

No.

They lay a gentle hand on his chest, pushing back. He doesn’t touch, only opens his palms instead.

“These hands will always be for you, darlin. Always. Never to hurt or bruise. To hold, whenever you might need it. We’re safe.”

”Oh pet, my name tastes so good on your lips… as you scream it. How’s your leg, hmm? Holding, and healing, I hope.”

They roll their ankle, over and over again, tapping along the ridge where the scar had healed.

Still here, still here.

Still here still here still here still here still—

“Darlin.”

”Nice and crooked. Shifter bones are harder to shift and clay, but this… Now you can never run away. Why would you? Such a masochistic wolf you are. And so the wolf traded their life for another. The fox and the wolf.” He smiles. “What a tragic tale. Sly fox, stupid wolf.”

“I had this horse on the farm I grew up on, way back, in Mont Blanc.” They blink, lights unbearably bright. “Athena, we called her. And me, bein’ the small stubborn boy that I was, decided that I could damn well ride her if I pleased.”

There’s a pause, the shifter tapping a finger along the bone of their left ankle as they look up at him, present now.

“I fell off a horse that day, and my mama was not impressed.” They smile, reaching a hand out to take his palm.

“I’m sorry, its just—“

“No apologizin’.” They shrug but gesture for him to continue.

“Well, Athena got up to a whole lotta trouble in my day. She loved goin’ out and never wanted to come back,” he smiles, somber. “Couldn’t really blame her.”

They take his hand in theirs, squeezing as if to say I’m here.

“We can go back,” they say suddenly, the quiet too big. He looks concerned by pulls them gently to their feet anyway, a stream of tears drying on his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasps, voice raw. “You shouldn’t have had to live through that.”

They smile, a genuine smile, one they hadn’t felt in weeks.

From behind them Detective Clark clears his throat. The shifter and vampire both turn to him looking distraught, hands behind his back.

“Quinn lashed out. He managed to shatter the glass to the back room and has been placed again under a magical suppression. We don’t believe it’s safe for Mr. Collins to return back in there.”

He walks closer, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You did well. Thank you both for coming, we appreciate the patience in this difficult case in finding Mr. Fox.”

An hour later, Darlin and Sam are standing on the sidewalk, breathing in the cold evening air, feeling lighter than they had ever been.

Sam throws his head up to the stars, eyes bright.

“As long as those stars burn,” he points. “And as long as I live, I will always be here for you— morning, noon and night. Whenever you need me, darlin. I love you.”

Here we go, here we go

“I love you too, cowboy.”

Feel better now, feel better now

[baby-alien11]

Could you do a headcanon with Ethan Landry and Carpenter!reader (I love love ur fics btw)

hiii, thank you so much for the love

I hope you like how I interpretate your idea, for this I wanted to do it with gf ethan because when you sent the idea my mind started to flow with reader reaction during the act three

credits to CZsWorld and his video of 156 Things You Missed on Scream VI because it helped me to write a part of the shrine

being a Carpenter and dating Ethan Landry

Since your older sister left the house due to a fight with your mom, you and Tara stayed together

Due to Tara being the oldest by a year, she was the one that took care of you when your mom was on a work trip

Like the one that changed everyone lives with the return of ghostface

That night while you and Tara were preparing dinner, she answered a call that seemed innocent and some prank at the beggining, but the moment it turned threatening, Tara instructed you to run towards the second floor and call the police

Even if you wanted to stay with her, she was quick to push you to the second floor

While you were in there calling the police, you cried hearing how your sister was being attacked, finally getting down the moment you heard the police on the first floor

During the whole night at the hospital, you spend it answering the police questions and waiting in Tara's room unable to sleep

The arrive of Sam along with her boyfriend was a relief to you because having your older sister meant someone to take care of both of you

But the killings didn't stopped, ending in loosing Wes, sheriff Judy and Dewey; and you, Tara and Richie were attacked at the hospital, leaving you with a medium scar in your thigh and a small one in your back

Deciding that leaving the city was the best for yours and Tara security, Sam took the decision to move to Modesto where she and Richie lived

Unfortunately, Tara didn't had her inhaler with her and the replace was at Amber's house

Hell broke in there because of the reveal of Amber as the murder when she shot Liv on the head, and then Richie when he stabbed Sam

So, after a long night that ended up in you, Sam, Tara, Chad, Mindy and Sidney and Gale, the OG's, injured, the killing spree was over

Since your mom ignored Sam after she told you and Tara the truth about her biological father, you felt bad for her because she did everything to protect both of you

So you started to hang out more with her to recover the lost time

After Tara and the twins finished high school, they decided to go to Blackmore University in New York, along with you since you mannaged to finish your last year online

Sam also went with the four of you to keep an eye on both of you, which Tara didn't like

While Tara decided that the best way to cope with the situation was forgetting what happened and try to live her life as a normal young adult, you got closer to Sam because you felt safe with her

Renting an apartment close to the university, the three of you manage to get a roommate named Quinn to share the costs of living there, who was the daughter of a detective

Meanwhile, Chad and Mindy stayed in the dorms

That's how you and Ethan met

He was a little shy and quiet, and that's what you liked of him, also how he was sweet, nice and caring with you

So, after three months of knowing each other, you and Ethan started a relationship

But before he had a small interrogative by Sam, Tara, Mindy and Chad

Ethan was basically the perfect boyfriend

He listen to everything you said, took notice of small mannerisms you use to do, remember everything you liked, help you with your homework or school projects, almost every morning got your favourite drink from your favourite cafeteria or your favourite snacks, give you gifts on random days

Taking you to dates to dinner, to the movies, to the theater, etc

You trusted him enough to tell him what happened last year

When Halloween was around the corner and a frathernity was organizing a party where all the friend group planned to go, Sam didn't let you and Tara go

"What about we stay in your department or in my dorm and have a movie night?", Ethan suggested while walking around campus

"Oh, we're going to that party", you exclaimed

"I thought Sam forbidden you and Tara to go to the party"

"She did, but she also has her therapy session that night, so we are going to scape the apartment, and Quinn already said she will cover us, anyway, what are you going to use as a costume?"

"I was thinking about the cardboard knight costume of Murder Party"

"Sounds interesting! I might be using something similar so that way we can be complementing each other"

"I like that idea", Ethan smiled leaning over to give you a kiss that you acepted with a smile

After an emergency go out shopping with Tara, both of you got your costumes

The night of the party, the moment Sam anounced she was going, you and Tara were getting ready to leave for the party

While Tara dressed as a pirate, you chose to be a princess, with your outfit that consisted in a short pink dress with silver platform ankle boots and a tiara with your hair in small waves

A few minutes after Sam left the building, you and Tara practically run towards the campus which wasn't so far

Arriving at the frat house, you were quick to glue to Ethan and Chad while Tara stayed with her friends but still been supervised by Mindy and Anika

Things were normal for a few hours, except for the people dressed as ghostface, until Tara got into little trouble

"Hey, big guy, you're needed", Anika called, "You too little Carpenter"

Knowing it was about Tara, all of you ran towards the stairs where a drunk Tara was going to the second floor with a random guy

"Hey partner!", Chad called getting their attention, "Tara's good down here"

"Sorry, bro, I didn't catch that", the random guy said

"Yeah, you did", Chad laughed sarcastically

"Tara, what if we go to get some shots", you tried to convince her to stay, "A fun contest between sisters"

"Chad, Y/N, it's fine", Tara said getting down from some stairs, "I want to"

"No, you don't", you continue to try, "Just stay here with us, please"

"Yeah, see, Chad?", the creepy guy intervined, "She wants to, Y/N can come too, to have more fun"

"Don't talk to her", Ethan intervined steping closer to you

Taking Tara by the arm with strength causing her to fall at what Chad was quick to pull him to the first floor and start a small fight, while you kneeled next to Tara to help her

Things started to get violent, until Sam arrived tasing the creepy guy in the balls leaving him in the floor, but Tara wasn't happy to see her sister there, so she was quick to leave the party with Sam and the rest of you following close

"Tara, will you stop?", Sam demanded walking behind her

"I cannot believe you did that! You embarrased me", Tara yelled

"That guy was a dick", Sam yelled in response, "He was gonna take advantage of you"

"So?"

"You did not say that!", you intervined getting closer to them

"So?"

"If I want to hook up with an asshole, that's my decision! It's my decision", Tara exclaimed, "It's not about you! You're out of mine and Y/N lives for five years, and then you can't leave us alone for five minutes"

"Hey! I'm happy to have Sam around us", you said standing by their side

"Because you're not dealing with what happened to us, Y/N has gone with me sometimes with my therapist to talk about it, have you even gone to see the counselor once?"

"No, I'm not going to"

"Why not?", Sam asked

"Because I'm uninterested in living in the past like you are"

"What's that supposed to mean?", Sam questioned a little shocked

"Guys, come on", Chad tried to stop the discussion but it didn't work

"It means I'm not gonna let what happened to us for three days define the rest of my life", Tara explained

"So you're just gonna pretend it never happened", Sam concluded

"What are you doing here, Sam? In New York", Tara sighed, "You're working two shitty jobs to help with rent, whatever, but what's your plan? I know what I'm gonna do, okay? Because I'm gonna keep going to college, I'm gonna get my degree, and I'm gonna live my life"

"I was the one who told Sam about our plans to move here", you revealed surprising her, "And convinced her to come with us"

"Why did you do that?", Tara questioned

"Because I feel safer with her around", you exclaimed

"Are you fucking serious?", Tara yelled, "She is here breathing in our necks because of you?"

"Exactly", you responded in the same way, "You're welcome"

"I'm just trying to look out for you", Sam spoke looking at the both of you

"I know you are", Tara sighed more calmed, "You can't do it for the rest of my life, though, you have to let me go, you have to let us go"

But before Sam could say anything, a group of random girls throw a drink towards her accusing her to be a murderer

Arriving at the apartment Tara was quick to enter her room while you did the same to change into your pajamas that consisted in an oversized shirt and biker shorts and to return to the living room where the rest was and sit with Ethan in the one-person couch

Watching the news, they anounced that there was a multiple murder that night alerting everyone because ghostsface masks were involved

Of course the instant reaction of Sam towards that was to you and Tara to pack your things to move, but of course both of you refused

Getting a call from detective Bailey, Sam started to make her way to the police station, at what you and Tara decided to follow her

But Ghostface apeared threatening to kill the three of you, ending up in a tense scene in the bodega close to the apartment, fortunately getting alive from there

So, after being in the police station all night, meeting Kirby Reed and knowing by Gale that Sidney decided to not intervined and go away, which the three of you understand

After changing clothes and being a little more calmed and reuniting with the others, all of you decided to have a little reunion to discuss the situation

"Okay, nerds, listen up!", Mindy started with her monologue, "As terrifying as this all is, I’m actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not calling the killers last time, the way I see it, someone is out making a sequel to the requel?"

"What's a requel?", Anika asked

"You'are beautiful sweetie, let's hold questions to the end", Mindy responded

"Stab 1 took place in Woodsboro, Stab 2 took place in college", Sam reminded

"So the killer is trying to copy the movies?", Tara suggested

"That is one posibility", Mindy nodded, "Heroes now in college, check, suspicious new characters brought into to add to the suspect list and our body count, check, check and check"

"I don't like this", Ethan murmured at what you sitting by his side took his hand in yours

"But it can't be just about Stab 2"

"Why not?", Tara frowned at Mindy comment

"It make sense if this just a sequel, but we are not in a sequel, because no one does sequels anymore, we're in a franchise!", Mindy exclaimed, "And there are certain rules to in a continuing franchise, rule one: everything is bigger than last time, bigger budget, bigger cast, bigger body count, longer chasings, shoot outs, beheadings, you've got to duplicate everything to make people keep coming back; rule two: whatever happen last time expect the opposite, franchises only survive by suberting expectations, if the killers last time were whiny snowflake film nerds with Letterboxd accounts instead of personalities, you can bet the opposite will be though here; and rule three: no one is safe, legacy characters are expandable at this point, usually brought back only to be killed of in some cheap bit of nostalgia, it's not looking too good for Gale and Kirby, and that's not even the worst part"

"This is the part were she tells us the worst part", Chad said writting in his notebook

"The worst part is franchises are just continuing episodic stallments designed to boost an IP, which means, main characters are completely expandable too, Laurie Strode, Nancy Thompson, Ellen Ripley, Sally Hardessy, Jigsaw, Tony Stark, James Bond, even Luke Skywalker, all died so their franchises could live on, that means it's not just us friend group, any of us could go at anytime, specially Sam, Tara and Y/N"

"Wait, wait, wait", Ethan spoke, "Any of us? Am I in the friend group?Am I like one of the targets? Am I gonna die a virgin?"

"You're not a virgin", you exclaimed turning to look him while frowning, "And we both know it"

"That was a weird and gross overshare", Mindy interrupted, "But that bring us to our current suspects, Ethan, the shy dorky guy who no one suspects because he's so shy and dorky"

"Wait, why am I on the suspect list? Because I randomly Chad's roommate and Y/N and I are dating?"

"Rommate lotteries can be juked, you could've fix it to be next to us, and that also applies to your relationship with Y/N; Quinn, the slutty roommate, a horror movie classic"

"Sex positive, but, thank you?"

"Hmm, how did you come up to live with Sam, Tara and Y/N?", Mindy asked

"I answered their add online"

"Okay, say no more, you already implicated yourself enough"

"It was an anonymous add, Mindy", Tara said, "And you know we vetted her, plus her dad is a cop"

"And that makes her more likely that she is the killer, because having a cop dad is a great cover, you don't remeber how this movies work, Tara?!

"Is she always like this?", Quinn asked at what Sam nodded

"And finally, Anika, never trust the love interest, that also goes to you, Y/N"

For the rest of the day, all of you tried to stay together or in pairs, untill the night were everyone will be having a sleepover at the appartment, but Ethan couldn't go because he had econ that night

Things started normal at first, until Danny, the cute neighboor and Sam's boyfriend airdroped a photo in which the scene of Quinn being stabbed by ghostface in her room followed by screams and hits inside her room, and then a creepy silence was enough to run towards her door

Hell was released when the dead body of Quinn was thrown out of the room towards the group landing on Anika

In a reflex move, Chad took Tara's hand who took you by your arm dragging the three of you to the entrance door to scape, but leaving the rest inside, but relazing that the rest were still inside the three of you tried to enter again but all of your keys were inside

The next morning, Ethan arrived at the scene instantly being interrogated by Chad about where he was last night, at what he said that he was at econ, just what he told you the day before

After everyone was more calmed, Gale lead the group to a old theater that now was a shrine dedicated to ghostface and the Stab franchise, from some posters to all of the ghostface robes, everything was there, except the masks

Coming out with a plan to catch ghostface in broad daylight and in a public space, you along with your sisters put yourselves as the bait while the others wait in the van where Kirby will be tracking the origin of the call

Unfortunately, the call was track down in the same appartment building where Gale lives, making the three of you to "steal" Wayne's police car and drive towards there, arriving when she was laying on the floor with life threatening injuries but alive

Another plan was made: catching ghostface in the shrine and traveling in group

Arriving at the subway, and due to the crowd station because of Halloween, the group got separated in two, with you, Sam, Tara, Chad and Danny in a train, and Mindy and Ethan waiting for the next one

Being the first ones to arrive at the shrine and leaving Danny outside, Tara and Chad went to the snack bar, while you stayed with Sam, trying to contact Ethan or Mindy but none of them responded

Being there, you just took a seat in the steps of the stage watching how Sam took the old knife that once belonged to her father

"Should I grab a knife too?", you asked getting her attention

"Only for security", Sam nodded

Walking a little, you watched the collection until you stopped in front of a display where a draw of Richie's death was along with a knife covered in blood, so you opened it to take the knife and hide it in the back of your jeans

Things went down quickly when Sam recieved a call from detective Bailey warning about Kirby being ghostface due to being to affected by the Woodsboro 2011 masacre

Running to get Chad and Tara, they informed that ghostface was there and where attacked by him, so a persecution in the whole theater started, realizing that they were two of them when Chad was stabbed multiple times by them leaving him in the floor

Keeping running and dragging Tara, the three of you returned to the central part of the shrine only to being circled by the two ghostface at what Sam took some brick from the floor to defend yourselves

But the son-to-be fight was interrupted by a injured but alive Kirby who started shooting at the masked killers

When detective Bailey arrived, in a unexpected move, he shot Kirby while the two ghostfaces

"Great job, both of you", Wayne praised his two partners leaving the three of you shocked

"You?", Tara asked in shock

"Yeah, of course me", Wayne responded, "Frankly, I expected more from the three of you after what you did to us"

"What do you mean, 'us'?", Tara asked again

The moment you saw the face of one of the ghostface you felt like something broke inside of you, most exactly your heart

Sensing how you must be feeling, Sam was quick to hold one of your hands

"Mindy was right", Ethan laughed, "It was easy to juke the roommate lottery, all I had to do to meet you was room with a conceited, condescending alpha literally named Chad, fuck it felt good to kill him! And Y/n, you were never part of the plan, but we kinda connected, so being in a relationship with you was even better for this"

"Fuck you", was the only thing that was able to come out of your mouth at that moment

"This was your grandmother's, Sam", Ethan continued pointing at the mask, "Nancy Loomis, really runs in the fucking family, doesn't it? Speaking of family...wait for it, my name's not Ethan Landry, is it, dad?"

"Well, that explains why I never met your parents", you commented with your arms crossed, "Wait a second, if you are father and son, that means Quinn was also part of your family, and most probably knew the twisted plan, and she was "killed" last night, or it was all fake, am I right?"

"I told you she has a great mind", Ethan murmured to his father while the other ghostface took their mask out

"Hey, roomies", Quinn sing softly, "You didn't see that coming, did you?"

"Yeah, because you died!", Tara exclaimed

"Kind of didn't, though", Quinn said, "It was a good way to get off the suspect list, stab Gale Weathers, stab Mindy on the train, that sort of things"

"Yep, and I just made sure I was first on the scene so I could switch her body out with a fresh one", Wayne explained like it was a normal thing, "Little fake blood, a prosthetic, you'd be amazed at what a grieving father can get away with"

"I got Stu Macher's mask", Quinn spoke now being at one side behind some displays, "He was my favorite"

"Nice, that's number three", Wayne continued refering to the masks, That's two, which leaves your father's, this is what we've been counting down to, Sam, I'm gonna need you to put it on"

"Fuck you!", Sam yelled throwing the mask away

That action made Ethan slash Sam's arm scaring you and Tara more

"What? What is this? You did this as a family?", Sam interrogated

"Hell yeah, bitch!", Quinn screamed getting closer to the three of you, "You should know better than anyone"

"They're still not getting it", Ethan giggled

"I don't know what you believe, but I didn't commit those murders in Woodsboro", Sam said with desesperation, "It wasn't me!"

"We know that", Wayne spoke again, "Of course you didn't, you think this is based on some bullshit conspiracy theory? Come on, who do you think started the rumors about you in first place?"

"Do you know how easy it was to turn Sam from the hero of Woodsboro into the villain?", Quinn mocked, "How easy it is to convice the world to believe the worst in people rather than the best?"

"Because it's not enough to just kill someone these days", Ethan continued, "You have to assassinate their character first, so when dad here "discovers" your horribly mutilated bodies posed with Sam wearing her father's mask, he'll say some poor bastard read on the internet that you're the real ghostface and took matters into their own deluded hands"

"Exactly! That's why it's the perfect alibi", Wayne exclaimed, "All the best lies are based on the truth, and you're a killer, just like your father"

"No, I'm not!", Sam denied

"Yes, you are, you motherfucker!", Quinn yelled, "You killed our brother!"

"What are you talking about?", Sam questioned

"You said your brother died in a car accident", Tara reminded

"No, no no, you sweet, dumb thing", Ethan spoke again, "He died in Woodsboro at the hands of your bitch sister"

"Wait a second", you said finally realizing everything, "Curly and kinda light hair, light colored eyes, Richie was your son and sibling"

"Yeah", Wayne nodded

Slightly turning around, Sam recieved a quick stab near her chest by Ethan, which made the three of you to try to scape but again you were circled

"Now! It wasn't until I saw that photograph of what you'd actually done to him that I knew, that I knew you had to fucking die! You had to be punished! Along with anyone else who stands in our way", Wayne continued to yell

"There she is", Quinn murmured with her knife against Sam's throat noticing the look in her eyes, "There's the fucking killer"

"Great parenting job, by the way", Tara commented at what you snorted

"Shut your whore fucking mouth!", Quinn screamed pushing the three of you to the center of the space

"Have I been a perfect dad? No", Wayne proceeded, "Have I maybe overindulged Richie's love of these little movies? Yeah, maybe, for me, they're just a little dark, but...Richie really loved them, he loved them! He even made a few of his own"

In the screen on the scenary, one of Richie's home made movies was playing while Wayne started to climb the stairs

"There's a very special bond between a father and his first son"

Hearing that phrase, you turn your head to look at your psycho boyfriend with pity at what he shared a look with you that demostrated a little bit of pain, but he hide it quickly pointing his knife at you, making you return your attention to the stage

"Which is why I helped him build this collection"

"This was all his?", Sam asked

"Yes, he's a very passionate collector, and he inspired others, we had to kill those two wannabe film students because, well, we had to do kill you first, Sam, I put the theater in their name, then good old detective Bailey would've just stumble on it, but I didn't have to because, by golly, that Gale Weathers is one hell of a journalist, I built a tribute to my son, which is why this is where you have to die, Sam, surrounded by the things he loved the most"

"What happens next? After you're done with us you just disappear?"

"No! We got to hurry over the hospital and make sure Mindy and Gale don't pull through, because everybody dies, Sam! Everyone who had anything to do with the death of my son suffers and dies, now put on the mask"

"He was so pathetic", Sam sighed

"That's not true", Wayne suttered

"Yeah, your son, he was a man-baby who made his girlfriend do all the killing"

"He was a strong, virile young man", Wayne insisted slightly trembling

"He was a limp-dick little fuck who cried before I slit his throat"

With that last phrase, hell got loose because Quinn angry for hearing those words of her late brother loose control running towards the three of you which caused to you and Tara to hit her with the blocks, running towards a stairs thanks to a distraction by a very alive Kirby who shoot at Wayne

Stopping for a second, you turn to look at Sam stabbing Ethan repeatedly in the chest and shoulder, before following Tara on the stairs to the second floor, at what you were quick to grab your knife from your jeans

Once Sam was by your side, the three of you started to walk in the little to no space being careful to not fall

Until a bullet hit where you were passing, causing you to almost fall if it wasn't for your sisters holding your hands

"Guys, I'm sliping", you said with desesperation

"We got you", Tara tried to reassure you

"It's okay", Sam continued

But even with both strenghts combined you were still sliping because the blood on their hands, even worse when Ethan was under you waving his knife at your feet

"Come here so we can play like we like to, Y/N", Ethan mocked

"Fucking psycho!", you yelled, "And I'm breaking up with you!"

"Fuck you! You guys are so fucked now"

Noticing how Quinn with her face all bloody and a few teeths gone was aproaching the three of you, Tara was quick to give a solution

"Sam, we have to let her go"

"No", Sam denied

"Sam, please", you pleaded understanding the plan, "It's the only way, please, let me go"

"We have to let her go"

Trusting in both of you and making sure you got your knife in your hand, Sam and Tara let go your hands to take care of Quinn

Falling to the first floor, you landed in front of Ethan who was quick to stab you in the stomach

"Gotcha!", Ethan smiled with pure evil

Taking advantage of his open mouth to return the stab in his throat leaving him surprised by that action, but still looking you in the eyes

"At least you won't die a virgin, my love", you said in a low voice twisting the knife, "By the way, this is the knife that killed your brother"

With that last sentence you pulled the knife feeling the blood combined with saliva splashed in your face and upper body from your psycho now ex boyfriend at the same time his body fell on the ground

Almost a few seconds later of your first kill, a gunshot along with screams sounded on the shrine, next to the scene of Sam and Wayne falling into a glass display

Thankfuly you and Tara managed to wake her up and make a plan to finish the situation

So while Sam will be using her father's robe and mask to kill him, you and Tara will be doing an old fashioned ghostface call from her phone

Fortunately, Wayne fell into the trap, ending in Sam stabing him multiple times, finishing him with a stab on the eye

After a jumpscare of Ethan which ended in Kirby trowing a TV in his head to kill him, Danny arriving with the police and the core five reunited and alive, hell was over

[ulkaralakbarova]

Tensions rise when the trailblazing Mother of the Blues and her band gather at a Chicago recording studio in 1927. Adapted from August Wilson’s play. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Ma Rainey: Viola Davis Levee: Chadwick Boseman Cutler: Colman Domingo Toledo: Glynn Turman Slow Drag: Michael Potts Irvin: Jeremy Shamos Sturdyvant: Jonny Coyne Dussie Mae: Taylour Paige Sylvester: Dusan Brown Policeman: Joshua Harto Band Singer: Quinn VanAntwerp Ma Rainey’s Dancer: Chloe Davis Ma Rainey’s Dancer: Mayte Natalio Ma Rainey’s Dancer: Johanna Elmina Moise Ma Rainey’s Dancer: Onyxx Noel Ma Rainey’s Dancer: LaWanda Hopkins Ma Rainey’s Dancer: Sierra Stewart Ma Rainey’s Dancer: Malaiyka Reid Ma Rainey’s Dancer: Catherine Foster Laborer (uncredited): Antonio Fierro Chicago Worker (uncredited): Daniel Johnson Film Crew: Director: George C. Wolfe Producer: Denzel Washington Original Music Composer: Branford Marsalis Production Design: Mark Ricker Producer: Dany Wolf Executive Producer: Constanza Romero Costume Designer: Ann Roth Producer: Todd Black Editor: Andrew Mondshein Director of Photography: Tobias A. Schliessler Casting: Avy Kaufman First Assistant Director: Michele Ziegler Second Assistant Director: Xanthus Valan Stunt Coordinator: Chuck Jeffreys Art Direction: James F. Truesdale Set Designer: Travis Kerr Assistant Art Director: Wes Hottman Set Decoration: Karen O’Hara Set Buyer: Paul Bucciarelli Set Decoration: Diana Stoughton Set Decorating Coordinator: Darlene Salinas Script Supervisor: Megan Graham Makeup Department Head: Matiki Anoff Makeup Artist: Sergio Lopez-Rivera Makeup Artist: Sian Richards Makeup Artist: Carl Fullerton Makeup Supervisor: Debi Young Supervising Sound Editor: Skip Lievsay Screenplay: Ruben Santiago-Hudson Prosthetics: Gary Archer Makeup Artist: Rachel Geary Makeup Artist: Bethany Montecalvo Makeup Artist: Bethany Townes Makeup Artist: Jai Williams Supervising Sound Editor: Paul Urmson Theatre Play: August Wilson Visual Effects: John Allegretti Movie Reviews: Manuel São Bento: If you enjoy reading my Spoiler-Free reviews, please follow my blog @ https://www.msbreviews.com Usually, at the end of each year, I prepare my watchlist for the next twelve months. Obviously, no matter how many movies I add to the list, I know dozens of more films will be announced and released throughout the year. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom is one of them. I didn’t know a thing about this flick, but it received the always interesting awards buzz, which turned it into a mandatory viewing before Christmas comes around. I went in knowing only one thing: this is Chadwick Boseman’s (Black Panther, Avengers: Infinity War) last appearance after he passed away a few months ago. I really didn’t know what to expect from this Netflix’s Oscar-bait, but I was afraid that Boseman’s nomination chances were high only due to what happened in real-life instead of him truly deserving that recognition… Well, I can safely and confidently write that Boseman delivers his career-best interpretation, and it wouldn’t be unfair for him to get tons of awards posthumously. From an impeccable accent to his mind-blowing emotional range, passing through long monologues and uncut takes effortlessly, Boseman is the strong glue that holds everything in place. What seems, at first, a hangout movie (narrative without a clear central plot) turns into a character-study. Levee wants to follow his dreams, do what he does best in his own conditions and with his personal interpretation of music and soul. Boseman incorporates this character seamlessly, delivering a memorable performance that I hope will be remembered as a worthy Oscar winner if this situation ends up becoming true. Even though Boseman is the actor that shines brighter, every single one is absolutely outstanding. Viola Davis shares the main spotlight with him by representing the (real-life) iconic blues singer, Ma Rainey. To be completely honest, I didn’t know who this singer was nor how she impacted soul music. Ruben Santiago-Hudson first feature-film sc...

[defiledheartsblog]

Ok so probably a bit if a ”counter argument” for lack of a better word coming your way. And I in no way mean any offense to the other anon who sent in the ask. I can definitely see where they’re coming from. This is of course just my personal take and simple feedback that you are obviously under no obligation to take.

I actually really like how talking to Marcus about our siblings went. Ever since the first time in his office and the subsequent talk with Quinn after there’s been this spoke yet unspoken fact that Marcus knows the truth. The MC’s internal dialogue states as much, though it can be vague. With each of their encounters there’s always been, at least to me, this underlining understanding that MC know that he knows and Marcus knows that they know he knows.

i just really like the build up that its never talked about between them till the party, because MC finally has a chance to ask. There are no prying eyes or ears like there would be in his office or the camp. The garden scene just really offers that prefect moment where they’re finally being semi venerable, in as much as Marcus can be of course. The MC just final comes to that moment where they feel comfortable enough to ask. To drop that barrier between their two worlds and the weight of the unknown they’ve been carrying around. And because its been hinted that Marcus knows that they know it not surprising for him that they’d ask. I just really loved that moment!

Of course again this is just my interpretation and any additions you make I know are going to be great because your writing is amazing!

Ah, this is interesting! Thank you for the "second opinion", so to speak. I see where you're coming from, too, and this is a fun situation where inteinterpretations vary depending on different people. Perhaps there needs to be more clues about Marcus knowing, perhaps I need to add more internal dialogue. I'll see what to do about this issue, thank you for your input. <3 And thank you for your vote of confidence!

[mable-stitchpunk]

Please rant abt fnaf interpretations I am, all ears

.I didn't expect such a positive response! 8D I got a few asks for them, and I'll see if maybe I can reply to a few of them with different interpretations...

...Also-

Let's begin with the rants. You might've seen some of these points before, but I'll bring them back up because I desire to.

1. The ghosts of the Missing Children are evil.

I don't read a lot of fanworks anymore, but I used to loathe when I would find those fics where the murdered children would be portrayed as vindictive little monsters who were going out of their way to ruin everyone's lives. Possessing main characters and forcing animatronics to go against their wishes to attack innocents for little reason.

I find this is the reason I also don't like the "animatronics are sentient and possessed by second consciousness" headcanon. Not all of them are bad, mind, you, but many of them eventually go the earlier route.

Why I hate this is because it's never a situation where we're being led to see the children as sympathetic, or corrupted by time, but a way to make the Missing Children less sympathetic to the audience. Or to raise drama by having a slew of ghosts who feel no sympathy and cannot be stopped.

Other versions show them as being especially bratty or excessively mischievous, which I just find a little annoying.

Funny enough, I don't think a child's soul going rogue is a bad idea. Such as in the case of Andrew, who I feel was massively underutilized. You can just tell when it is a pull to make the reader see in a specific direction. You can tell when there's a subconscious desire to make the murders seem 'not that bad'.

Also, the idea that the ghosts of dead children are evil because they're looking for justice for their deaths is kind of frustrating when so many headcanons try to excuse William's actions by suggesting that something traumatic triggered them.

Of course, in these cases the children are seldom actually looking for their murderer and instead are just circling around someone else.

...Oh yeah, and since we're on it-

2. William killed those children for revenge. (As a defense)

Specifically, when this is NOT used as a plotpoint, but instead used as a blame shield for William Afton. You can usually tell the difference by how the effect is cast on William.

If the tone is: William lost someone and then went on a kamikaze mission to ruin everyone's lives. Then typically it's fine.

If the tone is: William killed a lot of people- but he only did it because he lost his x! Then it gets frustrating.

It's the same boat as that Henry depression excuse, though it's worse in this case because William didn't just murder children, it's suggested that he hunted and tortured them, and then brought them back to continue making them suffer as animatronics.

3. William was a scientist.

Don't give him that much credit. This man didn't start doing science experiments until the plot got so elaborate that they needed to one-up him with himself.

4. Henry was a good father.

I absolutely loathe this one, because it hinges off of the novel's version of Henry, who actively abandoned one of his children to obsess on the other one. To the point of forcibly bringing them back without caring if the other existed- and then ditching that one too.

Sammy Emily does not exist to the FNAF fanbase. He's not a sympathetic character or an important character, he's just a plotpoint that's written out when it comes time for the big Shyamalan twist. He's pretty much totally ignored.

And by his father too. Henry never acknowledges Sammy, never cares about Sammy. He only cares about what happened to Charlie.

...But not enough to do anything about it.

Which is why I think a little acknowledgement that Henry wasn't great just because he died would go a long way. I won't even go into his more egregious actions.

5. Circus Baby's sexualization.

This is one actually backed by canon, but that doesn't make it any better. I hate the constant sexualization of Circus Baby... and especially the hypocrisy that surrounds it.

Let me give you one example of an event I had once.

When I was first writing CGHA and Mike and Mari got together, there were a lot of people who apparently missed the numerous references to the fact that Mari had aged in his many years as a puppet. This meant that Mari was now an adult, but they said since he died as a child that he is still a child. The word pedophilia was dropped a few times.

These are the SAME people who are all gung-ho about Baby dolled up in a sexy human body with skimpy skirts and long boots, dolled up by her daddy. But isn't SHE still a child?

Well, no... Because she's a bad girl, so she doesn't count.

Get off with that.

6: Vanny is in love with William Afton.

Unless we're talking Stockholm Syndrome, I don't think you're going to love a demonic entity possessing you and threatening to break your fingers if you do the wrong thing. I guess you can say that's abusive love, but like Joker and Harley Quinn, people somehow manage to forget that aspect.

I've gone into this before, so I'm not going to rant on it again. Largely because I don't know how FNAF will portray Vanny, and it's not above them to take inspiration from other sources.

Now, unlike some of these other headcanons, I THINK someone could actually write a story and make this work if they acknowledged that it was beyond "toxic". Vanny would have to be emotionally and mentally crippled to respond positively to such treatment, but it is possible if it was backed up with behavioral issues and a backstory.

You'd have to get on Silent Hill 2 levels of backstory, but it is possible if you want to go that dark.

---

I think I'll end it there for now. I know some of these might be hot takes, but I'm just voicing my thoughts here. Again, not saying anyone's wrong for holding these interpretations, but I think they should consider why they hold them.

Because it looks to me like these are used-

1: To make this Missing Children Incident less severe. 2: To make William Afton more sympathetic. 3: To make William Afton look cool. 4: To make Henry a martyr in contrast with William. 5: To have a forced femme fatal. 6: To underplay how gross the possession aspect- especially when it is a middle-aged man in complete control of a young woman's body and actions.

...But hey! That's just me. Rant over, for now. XD

[lifeisadoozy]

sharing a short dousy video edit i made.

i don't know why but i really like this and thought i'd share it on here too.

should i rant about what goes in my head while making this video? no. will i? yes.

basically the song is beginning middle end by leah nobel from to all the boys i've loved before part 3. this song is basically about two people falling in love from the early years of their lives. since lara jean and peter met when they were kids. but then started (fake) dating in high school and their adventure together started right then and there. anyway, watch the movies if you haven't already. this song fits lara jean and peter so well (i don't know if it was written specifically for them or not).

but daisy and sousa didnt meet when they were kids because of one obvious reason: when daisy was a kid, sousa's dead; and when sousa was a kid, daisy hadn't been born yet. they weren't supposed to meet. so their journey started off separately.

daisy's beginning in shield was rocky, to say the least. but she found a home there with coulson, fitzsimmons and may (i'll get to ward) in season 1. they bonded quite quickly, mainly daisy skye and coulson. i think it shifts when she got shot by ian quinn. everyone in the team, especially ward was terrified and angry at the situation. now. she had a relationship with miles early on in the season, which was broken off. but within the context of the song, her beginning was ward. he was her s.o. she was falling for him when she uncovered that he's hydra. add that trauma to the ones she already had prior to shield. no wonder she has trust issues.

her middle was her powers. even though the story started early in the series, it's still the middle. because she struggled with her powers throughout seasons 2 - 5. the middle would always be the bulk of it all. it's where everything happens. it's the crux of a character, of a person. it's where daisy became daisy. now, in the middle of her middle (pun very much intended), was lincoln. the first inhuman who helped her and understood her. i'm sure they've got their own problems and everything, but it doesn't change the fact that he was someone who knew what she's going through. none of her found family could help her the way he could. this is where i think it gets interesting. seasons 2 - 5, where i said was her middle, and basically the peak/climax of daisy as a character, she was falling for and fell for lincoln. it was known that daisy was still in love with lincoln in season 5. possibly around 2 years after he died. but then we found out that she had moved on from lincoln in the beginning of season 6.

season 6 and 7 is the end of her journey with the team. they're still a family. just a family who occassionally see each other. now in season 6, like i mentioned previously, it was acknowledged that daisy had moved on. the past will always be with her, no doubt. the trauma would stick. hopefully just bits and pieces. but it would still be there until she either had alzheimer's, dementia, any other retrograde amnesia injuries or diseases, or the day she died. she would never forget lincoln or ward, heck even miles. she won't forget her past. unless it was taken away from her. so, back to the topic at hand, she wanted her own fitz. she had grown from the woman she was in the beginning, she had grown from the woman and superhero that she was in the middle. she knows who she is now. with the people she worked with. and the people she calls her family. and also with anyone. daisy's ending was perfect (to me at least). she wasn't looking for love right then and there. she was burnt one too many times. but she wanted that kind of love and support. the love and support that fitz and simmons have for each other. something that daisy lacked all her life. she ended up with someone who gave her what she wanted. and what she needed.

with sousa, it's a little different. because we didn't get to see much of his background and family life. we didn't get to know what his life was like during the war and before the war. we begin to see him in the ssr. we all knew, literally everyone knew, even the characters knew that sousa's practically in love with peggy. except for maybe peggy herself. but i'm sure she had an inkling. she definitely had an inkling. but then things go on and he became chief of the west coast office and he was in los angeles while peggy was in new york. he moved on (or so we thought). he started dating violet and was ready to marry her. he told her he loved her. and he did. it's just that he was also in love with peggy. still. and violet saw that. it's as clear as day. and they broke it off.

we didn't get to see much of sousa's middle. mainly because ac wasn't renewed for a third season. which was such a waste because it ended with so many things left unanswered. but we know that between 1947 - 1955, peggy and sousa broke up. we have no idea why. we don't know if steve was back. nada. all we know is that they broke up. when did they break up? again. no idea. but we know that peggy means a lot to sousa. she's like (sorta; i don't like making comparisons but anyway) sousa's lincoln in a way (i'm not saying that they're the exact replica. daisy/lincoln and peggy/sousa are quite different. but they do have similarities. those pairings are the kind where they want to be together forever but knew that it wouldn't work; my interpretation). she didn't die, we know that. but she's sort of the one that got away. my guess is that it's because shield and the world was more important than each other. which wasn't dissimilar to daisy and lincoln's situation. so, yes. peggy's sousa's middle. she influenced him a lot. and he found himself amidst ssr and shield (just like daisy did).

sousa's end was again, perfect. he went to the future. got to see what the organisation he helped build came to be. he went on an adventure to explore space. which he would geek out over. instead of dying, he got to live. with the love of his (new) life. he may be a man out of time, but with daisy and their ragtag family, he is right where he belongs.

daisy and sousa began with "who the hell are you" and ended with "it's beautiful" (just putting this here because i love that fact).

so. they started pretty quickly, didn't they? 4 episodes in and sousa fell in love with daisy. 7 episodes in and daisy fell in love with sousa. though i doubt that they thought they're in love. but they're falling. or walking towards it. 7x03 was when they met. it's where it all began. in area 51 of all places (foreshadow much?). but what's even more interesting is that technically, they began twice. from daisy's perspective, they met in 6x13 (which plenty of people had pointed out; but @agents-of-fangirling was the most recent). even though they didn't actually meet because sousa was wearing that blue (seriously his colour really is blue) hazmat suit and daisy was disoriented (may dying and all that jazz). but from sousa's perspective, they met in 7x03. where they actually made eye contact and conversed. how many couples can say that the when of their first encounter was debatable?

now. their middle, in the video edit, i used the scene from 7x10. because i think that's a pretty good middle. they had their first first kiss. sousa had no idea that happened. yet, there he was, wanting to help. just like his time-loop self. he extended a hand and she accepted. she accepted help. do you know how much of a development that was??? because i think that it's a huge character development (i still haven't rewatched so don't take my word for it). i think that's a good depiction of their middle. oh yeah. before i forgot. they also had two first kisses. and again, i say, how many couples can say that they had two first kiss? figured i'd choose the scene in the middle of those first kisses (pun intended lmao).

sidenote: did y'all see the devastation in her eyes when sousa volunteered to stay in the 80s? or how her eyes went wide and she started to panic when he was injected in the time loops? sousa's a man of action. and when he says something, he means it. so, his constant concern over daisy and him wanting to help in any way he can, it's his love language.

and then we have their ending. the perfect end to an imperfect couple (because nobody's perfect *cue hannah montana*). daisy got sousa a typewriter. because he's from the 50s. since when did daisy buy gifts for her boyfriends/partners/lovers? and they watched e.t. together? that's normal couple things. even though they are far from normal. but they get to experience it all together. daisy didn't get to in the past. none that we know of anyway. and now she does. also, that smile when she talks about him. that fond smile that grazed her lips at the thought of him. i've never seen her smile like that before (none that i remember; and if she did, well then i'm so so happy for her). she looks happy. serene. and her saying "he's a dork" twice in the season just makes my heart burst with happiness for them.

sidenote: my headcannon is that "he's a dork" is code for "i love him too much to explain it in words."

i'd like to believe that even though it has ended, their story has just begun. they're going through their middle right now. and i hope that they won't end. in other words, their end was not an ending. it was a beginning of a new life.

as daisy said, "we're loving the journey together." keyword: journey. it's a long road up ahead. with countless of challenges and obstacles in the way. but in the end, all that matters is that they face it together.

that's it. thanks for coming to my ted talk (for those who actually read it all the way through, i love you).

[low-budget-korra]

Comments about the characters of The Wilds

Now that I'm watching for the third time

Leah: She still isn't my fav because I think sometimes it's like she is like us, watching the story and not participating in it, which is also annoying when it comes to writing. But i started to like her and understand her more and more, i also think that she was in denial about Jeff, like, it's easy to think that they are in love and someone screw that instead of think she was being used by him.

I also saw some people comment about her having some kind of mental illness, like boderline, i think it would be cool because but i also don't know much boderline to comment on it

Fatin: I cannot stop talking about it how amazing Sophia acting was in that scene when Fatin discover her father's affairs. I watch 3 times and still felt the heartbreak in all of them. I think her character, just like Toni, Rachel, Dot and Nora, will still have a big moment in the next season.

I also saw some people comment about her sex life also having some self destructive thing, especially because she probably had sex with older man. I dunno

And knowing that her father made explicit that she is no longer welcoming in home and had becomed a inconvenience for them...do they know the Dawn of Eve that shit?

Dot: After watching for the third time I don't think she is somehow helping Gretchen. I think Gretchen recruited her because she know survivor shit and Dot's father didn't know about the Dawn of Eve, i think for each parent she told a different history.

Maybe Dot thought she would be part of the crew of the project, something like that. Because she was really pissed at being in the island something that Nora, the impostor, didn't express.

Nora: She was just so calm about their situation almost like she knew it was a set up and their have a whole crew of people watching and taking care of them. The only time when she loses is her fight with Rachel.

I don't know if it was intentional or not but she really reminds me of Rue from Euphoria. I think if it wasn't for the drug shit, Rue would be like more like Nora.

I feel bad for her because she doesn't have her own life, is all Rachel. But i can understand why, after witness Rachel's bulimia and after Quinn dies she became more protective and always wanting to help, even when people don't want to.

I don't think she is dead, at least not by the shark

Rachel: She needs something, her character needs something , a big moment you know? She is great but I think the shows writers didn't give her much of attention. She can easily be reduced to the angry girl with problems that's almost literally always angry, even more than Toni.

This can indicate, at least is what I hope, that her character will have a more important role in s2. Especially now that Leah probably will expose Nora as the imposter.

I also think that maybe the shark isn't real, make a robot that Gretchen put there to distraction to give Nora more time to comes up something which isn't that's hard since all of them now how paranoid Leah is and that her had been wrong about them before.

By the way if i was Nora i would say I had save another marijuana candy to eat later and them took them and was tripping balls talking to a tree

Toni: Our angry little lesbian I really like her growth in this season, i don't think it came outta nowhere. She started to simpatize with Shelby after Leah go crazy on her but she still was pretty no chill about her until the kiss...And then Toni really empatize with her.

I also think both girls are crushing each other, and part of Toni's anger towards Shelby was because she didn't wanted to have a crush on that homophobic christian.

And I know that because in my first watch, even me being the lesbian that mostly crush the brunettes and even before being told by the show that Shelby was gay i was already mad that was crushing that beautiful blonde homophobic christian

And I still waiting for Toni's big moment.

Shelby: Her and Leah really stole the season, both are the characters with the best plot related moments of the season.

I really wanna know if she really went mentally ill or the "detectives" only assume that because now she is free and it's acting the opposite of how she acted back home.

Her backstory still is the one that hits me the most and boy her dad as abusive...That type of abuser who doesn't need to be physically aggressive or raise his voice for you to feel the threat

Martha: Saw her backstory puts all her actions and behavior in a new perspective. Is she brame herself for what happened? Is she still in denial?

Her killing the goat also can be interpreted as her "killing" her past self, her coming to terms about what happened

I don't consider this one big moment because is character related and not plot related , so i wanted to see her big plot related momento in s2.

I also don't think she died

[thelatelockdownlist]

A Series on Series 01: Bridgerton

Hi. I’m Alex, a YouTube newbie. 

I resurrected this channel mostly because I wanted to do this thing. It’s something I’d planned back in 2019 and never got around to it because I was too lazy. However… life happened and I thought that with everything that happened in 2020, I should stop procrastinating. So I did nothing in 2020 -- aside from the usual like work. I was one of the lucky ones whose only inconvenience really was being unable to go outside when I wanted to -- which, to be honest, wasn’t really that often. In ordinary circumstances, I don’t really like going out. But the thought of having an actual lockdown order PREVENTING me from going out, well, that’s a whole ‘nother thing.

So 2020 was a bust, but I wanted 2021 to be different. However long this pandemic is going to go, I wanted to make better use of my ‘free’ time.

On to the show. I’m doing A Series on Series, where I talk about my favorite book series. I figured since I read a lot of them, might as well talk about them right here. So let’s start with what’s currently popular: Bridgerton.

So I watched Bridgerton on Netflix the day it came out in my country, January 1. 

I’d actually read the Julia Quinn series -- all eight books -- years ago. After I watched the first season, I went back and reread the first book in the series which is the basis for this first season.

Just a disclaimer: I’m watching this through the lens of someone who has read historical romance novels almost my entire life. I understand that there are a lot of issues that should/need to be addressed here like race. However, as I’ve read the books that this series is based on, I know the period in which it’s set. That is to say, the characters are mostly white and mostly straight. It’s the overarching theme of most historical romance novels.

With that said, it’s not to say that I won’t have comments about current issues that we see play out in the series, but I just want to ground this -- this whole thing -- on my own experience mostly because that’s really my frame of reference. 

On the race issue, my comments are going to be from someone who is a person of color BUT has lived all of my life in a country, Philippines, where we’re really mostly just one race. There are a lot of biracial people in my country, but for the most part our issues are nothing compared to what black people have experienced and are experiencing everywhere -- especially in the U.S. What I’m saying is, I am aware of the Black Lives Matter movement and I agree with what they stand for and what they’re fighting for. What I’m also saying is that as a person of color who lives in a country with people who have the same skin color as I am, I don’t have the same issues of representation in the media. In OUR media here, I am very much represented. However, in the U.S. people of color are in the minority and struggle with representation. I’m saying that now because we’re going to come back to that later. Also most of my comments are going to be from the lens of someone who identifies herself as a decades’ long (yes, I’m aware that I’m aging myself) historical romance reader. However, even though I used to be the kind of reader who belongs to the ‘the author is dead’ school of thought, these days, one finds it difficult to divorce the author from the work. 

From “The Death of the Author,” an essay by French literary theorist, essayist, philosopher, critic and semiotician Roland Barthes. Basically, it says that the author does not factor in the reading of their work -- that their words get to be interpreted by the reader however they may. The point is not to try to understand what the author’s intentions are, and just focus on the actual work itself.

I went to school for this so I’m going to have to balance the death of the author vs my own thoughts -- immediate and otherwise -- when it comes to what I read. 

So we’re good? If not, I’ll come back to it -- if you’re still here. [wink]

So in this first episode of A Series on Series: Bridgerton, I’m going to talk about my impressions regarding the series and then point out the differences between the Netflix Season 1 and the first book, The Duke and I.

First impression of the series & some issues:

I was pleasantly surprised to see a black man play the Duke of Hastings.

In the book, he is described as tall, dark-haired and with ice-blue eyes.

Also a pleasant, surprise? Queen Charlotte played by a black woman.

You see, some historians believe that Queen Charlotte was Britain’s first black queen.

She was born the youngest daughter of a duke and a princess in the Duchy of Mecklenburg-Strelitz in northern Germany. She married King George III -- yes, of Hamilton’s ‘You’ll Be Back.’

However, in this timeline set years after that, he’s more The Madness of King George.

Going back, historians are split about this because while some believe they can trace her lineage to the mixed-race branch of the Portuguese royal family and that the royal physician of her time described her as having a “true mulatto face,” other historians say that it’s never been proven. 

History says that she might be black or she might not be. In the series, she is, and I had absolutely no problem believing from the get-go that the black actress playing her is in fact, Queen Charlotte. 

Some people actually point out the casting of black people in the series -- not just the Duke and the Queen -- but others as well like Lady Danbury, the late Duke and the current Duke’s sparring partner, Will Mondrich -- as race baiting. 

Merriam-Webster defines it as the making of verbal attacks against members of a racial group. But that’s the 1961 definition. However, its other definition says it’s  the unfair use of statements about race to try to influence the actions or attitudes of a particular group of people. This, I think, applies better. 

As someone who isn’t black, I feel like my opinion doesn’t hold much water here -- or at least not the ‘diamond of the first water.’ Yeah, yeah. I went there.

But for me, since the series creator -- who is white -- made a big deal of wanting a diverse cast and ‘colorbind’ casting, a lot of hype surrounded the casting of black people in these particular roles -- who are white in the book. I think certain expectations were set -- whether intentionally or not -- about what it means to cast black people in historically white roles. Hence, the issue of race-baiting. 

Was that an issue for me? No. But I’m not black and I’m not the one who may or may not be baited. So what I say isn’t exactly something you can hang your hat on. However, I’ll say it anyway. I like the black actors who play their characters. 

In the book, Simon is almost god-like because of how handsome he is. The actor who plays him, really hot. I don’t mind that he doesn’t have ice-blue eyes. 

Lady Danbury is my favorite character because of her interactions with Simon and how fierce she is as a friend and aunt. She doesn’t feature much in the book. 

Queen Charlotte, also not in the book, is great. I especially liked her in that scene with George who was lucid one moment and then crazed the next. I didn’t think this at the time, but she must have both pitied him and been afraid for herself because he did threaten her. And what does that threat really mean for her? Is it just for her? Or for her people as well? 

Because as Simon says later during his conversation with Lady Danbury, their ‘elevation’ relies on the whims of this madman. 

The late Duke, well, he was just mean. But that part, when he gets so mad that Simon can’t speak -- I sort of understand why he wants a perfect child. It’s self-preservation. He says that their situation is precarious, that what they have will only remain theirs as long as they remain extraordinary. I felt that vehemence there. While I don’t condone it -- after all, he’s doing this ranting at a child, his child -- I understand the reason behind it. Book OG Duke doesn’t have that reason. 

The series kind of followed the book. There were certain departures, but it didn’t really bother me. 

For those of you who have not seen the series and/or read the book and don’t want any spoilers, leave now. 

Okay. 

SPOILER ALERT

The first 9 minutes (more or less) in the series don’t actually appear in the book. But it does a good job of setting up this world. We’re introduced to the Featheringtons and the Bridgertons. 

In the first book, the Featheringtons don’t really feature as much. Also, the Baron is dead there. Then there’s Marina Thompson, the Featheringtons’ distant cousin --

Not in the book.

Then there’s Lord Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton and his mistress’ (Siena) amorous activities -- also not in the book.

But I suppose it’s there to give us a glimpse of his character. You know, that he’s a playa.

Also, in the book, Daphne has come out -- as in debuted -- for nearly two seasons. In the series, it’s actually her first time hence the presentation to the queen. 

Lady Danbury’s ball is in the book, but Daphne’s entrance which causes a stir due to her being proclaimed as ‘flawless’ by the Queen and --

#recordscratch

Did you think I’d forgotten about Lady Whistledown? Of course not. Especially when she’s voiced by Julie Andrews. I love that they chose her to be Lady Whistledown, but for the purpose of this comparison, I won’t be dwelling much on her, as much as I love Dame Julie Andrews.

#backtoourregularprogramming

Lady Whistledown as ‘a diamond of the first water’ doesn’t happen in the book. While book Daphne was by no means unattractive, according to her: ‘no one was dazzled by her beauty, stunned into speechlessness by her presence…’

Then there’s how Daphne and Simon meet. In the series, Daphne bumps into Simon accidentally, trying to escape Nigel Berbrook. In the book… it’s a little complicated.

First, there’s when and where (and really how their ‘grand scheme’ is concocted). In the series, it happens at Vauxhall Gardens where Simon overhears Daphne and Nigel Berbrook arguing. Then he discovers them after Daphne hits Lord Berbrook when he tries to assault her. Then Simon concocts the scheme with the dramatic cutaways of them rejoining the crowd as they watch the fireworks. 

In the book, this actually happens at Lady Danbury’s ball (which we see in the series; the ball. The scene with Berbrook does happen, but it’s at the ball, off a corner. It’s how Daphne and Simon actually met. Anyway, it’s a whole coverup. They leave the unconscious Berbrook and they go back to the ballroom, separately.

Simon meets Daphne’s brothers and they end up introducing him to Daphne and they both agree to pretend that they’d never met before. Anyway, Simon gets all these looks from Lady Featherington and the other mamas and feels the need to escape. He then asks Daphne to dance. 

THIS is where and when they concoct the scheme. The plan -- thought of by Simon, same in the series -- actually happens during this -- their first dance at that ball. AFTER their witty repartee, while waltzing. They multitask. 

And unlike what happens in the series, the scheme didn’t happen because Daphne needed to be saved from ruin. Simon proposed it because he wanted an out from being stalked by ambitious mamas and offered it to Daphne AND this is a departure from the series -- to make her more desirable to other men. 

See, in the book, Daphne always gets FRIENDZONED. I know, I know… but the term really does apply to her here. And with no malice, really. 

They don’t view her as someone desirable. She says that she’s still unmarried “because everyone sees me as a friend. No one ever has any romantic interest in me. Except Nigel.”

So Simon’s reason of “men are always interested in a woman if they think other men are interested,” which he also says in the series is due to this. 

So to sum up the difference: In the series, it’s to save Daphne from ruin; in the books, it’s so she no longer gets friendzoned. 

So they both agree and the next day…

In the series, Daphne and Simon start to hang out and they go out on dates. 

Kind of the same in the books, BUT they let Anthony in on the secret. 

Anthony was incensed because Simon appears to be breaking the bro code. You know, the one where family is off limits? So they had to tell him. Of course he thinks it’s stupid, but goes along with it because he does see the benefits for Daphne. 

In the series, Anthony is in the dark.

Anyway, the dates. BECAUSE this is a historical romance novel set in the regency period, book Simon isn’t quite so bold. The spoon scene?

Not in the book.

The scene where Simon basically gives WAP tips to Daphne?

Not in the book.

And the biggest plot in the series that isn’t in the book?

Yeah... he’s not in the book.

But the part where Anthony catches them in flagrante delicto? 

That happens.

And the duel?

In the book.

The heartfelt speech to the queen?

Not in the book.

The scene where Mama Bridgerton tries (and fails) to explain the birds and the bees? 

Happens. And it’s actually funnier in the book because Daphne asks her, “So you did this eight times?” (whisper) And her mother blushes furiously and says that, no, not just eight times because sometimes you do it because you like to. 

Read the book. I found it funnier than the scene on Netflix. For one, Daphne is actually quite eager for this conversation “I’ve waited for this all week.” -- which shocks Mama. 

The wedding?

Kind of the same, since Daphne only remembered the funny moments -- which were not shown in the series. 

And I know you’re waiting for this: the wedding night. 

Um, they were different. 

For one thing, the ‘I burn for you’ line?

Not in the book.

In the series, their wedding night was pretty intense.

In the book, it starts out funny because remember Simon telling Daphne how he couldn’t marry her because he CAN’T have children? Well, Daphne -- having had what passes for sex education for women in Regency England -- thought that meant he COULDN’T have sex -- as in he’s impotent. Which sends Simon into paroxysms of laughter. 

And then there was sexing. 

But in the book, the sexing was confined mostly in the bedroom. 

In the series, it was everywhere, including the bedroom. You know, the library (against a ladder), the mausoleum, in front of the swans near the lake 

all to the tune of an orchestral version of Taylor Swift’s ‘Wildest Dreams.’ 

BUT

You know the course of true love never runs smooth. Our lovely couple has to hit a snag. And it’s in the form of animal husbandry, planting and a little putting of two-and-two together.

How Daphne finds out is sort of the same, but also different. 

Like I mentioned before, I’d read this years ago. I’d forgotten about the particulars of this. So when I saw this scene in the Netflix series, I somehow sort of hazily remembered that that’s not what happened in the book. But as soon as I re-read it, I had to put it down. Not because the scene was well-written. But because I just had so many problems with it. 

Which kind of makes me thankful that they changed it for Netflix. Because in the series, Simon doesn’t come inside Daphne but this is also what convinces her that he DID lie to her. Remember that earlier scene when Mrs. Colson, the housekeeper, tells Daphne the story of Simon’s parents? How his mother died in childbirth and how his father always wanted a son and blamed his wife when she miscarries? Then Mrs. Colson says, “A womb won’t quicken without strong, healthy seed.” 

In the series, Daphne clues in to this when during one of their romps, AFTER she’d spoken with Mrs. Colson and the wheels started turning, she noticed Simon spend on her handkerchief. She then marches to her maid’s room and asks her for essentially a rushed version of sex ed. Then after Daphne and Simon have dinner, they have sex… and I honestly don’t know if Simon came in her or not. But that’s when she accuses him and Simon basically admits it, they then fight. From then on, their marriage becomes strained and they sleep in separate bedrooms. So that awful scene in the book doesn’t exactly appear in the series. 

Book Simon comes home drunk because he and Daphne had been fighting because of THE LIE. He manages to convince her to stay with him in bed, and she does. Then she is awakened later and as she talks to him and starts basically caressing him in his sleep, he responds. Which she realizes that this is when she could do WHATEVER she wanted, have WHATEVER she wanted.

So she basically giddyups and rides him like a cowgirl and being super extra, impressing even Simon, as is written in the book. BUT things take a turn when he starts climaxing and she essentially uses what strength she has to pin him down so he couldn’t pull out. 

He’s angry and is feeling betrayed and then he starts to stutter -- which makes him angrier, with her, with himself. He’s just a confusing mass of emotions at this point. 

And then he leaves for one of his other estates. Daphne goes to London and her brothers visit. One day, she assumes she’s pregnant and sends a letter with Anthony to send to Simon. Simon receives said letter and promptly sets out for London. 

In the series, this doesn’t happen. They’re basically living separate lives, apart from posing for a portrait, several social engagements and a ball. 

In the book, Simon goes after Daphne who’d been out riding at Hyde Park and she tells him that as it turns out she’s not pregnant. They don’t exactly resolve things there, but at least they’re talking. Daphne’s brothers sort of accost them at Simon’s house demanding that he convinces them that he loves her. Which sort of terrifies Daphne, but Simon takes her to another part of the house and in there actually professes his love, which he does unknowingly in front of her brothers who followed them. 

And then sex. This time they both finish. Together. Inside. With enthusiastic consent. On both sides.

In the series, we have sort of the same but in the rain. Not just the Bridgerton boys as audience, but all of their guests. 

Then sex. This time they both finish. Together. Inside. With enthusiastic consent. On both sides.

In the series, it ends with Daphne giving birth to Simon’s heir. Then we see them saying good bye to Colin who’s off to tour the continent. Book Colin actually returned FROM the continent the night of Lady Danbury’s ball. 

Then we get a hint of the next season, knowing that it’s going to be Anthony’s turn. 

AT THE END OF THE DAY

What do I think?

Well, the series was HIGHLY entertaining. I enjoyed watching it, which, for me, is the chief purpose of TV shows like this. So that’s one box checked.

Was it faithful to the book?

Largely, yes. And whatever departures it made didn’t take away from the book, IMO. 

Was I bothered about the ‘colorblind’ casting?

No. Like I said before, I had no problems believing the black actors were the characters they played. It wasn’t a shock and it certainly wasn’t distracting. 

So I loved it; I may rewatch it from time to time while waiting for Season 2 as we go into Anthony’s story in, The Viscount Who Loved Me.

[jackjots]

#3 Suspicions

Wayward Guide for the Untrained Eye 30 Day Prompt

(This takes place around the second half of Episode 3)

Day #3 @30daysofwayward

CW: Mention of blood, alcohol mentions.

(I do not own any other characters or place names outside of Shelby St. Ranger, this is just for fun)

Reading about silver mining while laying in bed eventually got me tired enough that I fell asleep with the book in my hands. When I woke up, the book was face down on the floor. I picked it up and found it was open where pages had been ripped out. I frowned and looked up what chapter was missing: “The Werewolves of Connor Creek”.  I thought that was odd, and I wondered if the library knew their book had been torn, or if they’d blame me. I sighed and put the book on my bedside table as I got ready for the day. A day of catching up on my work, and then I could learn more about the town, I decided. With a fresh mind, it was easier to sort my priorities and shove that weird guilt I’d been feeling away from my mind.

I drank some tea I’d found in the back of a drawer, noting to myself to go get coffee from the market later, and got some writing done. I got stuck on another small detail about Norse life that would be such an easy Google search normally. As I waited for the page to load, I looked over at my notebook, flipping back to my notes about Connor Creek. I’d gotten a good chunk of writing done, the internet was being even slower than usual, and I started thinking about the book again, so I went back to the document containing my novel and typed a quick note to myself to look that up later, and closed out of everything. I brought the book to the couch and started to read again. My eyes dragged over words about the sustainability of silver mining next to gold mining, and suggested that the mysticism surrounding silver could account for the many bizarre tales that came from similar towns across the country. I thought of the chapter on werewolves, and looked through the index for any other such tales. Most of them were tales about the MacMahons greed, probably written by Connor descendants, and tales about the Connor’s inability to welcome change, probably written by MacMahons descendants. There were impartial footnotes at the bottom that suggested whoever compiled this wasn’t sure which side to believe. 

My stomach growled, and I felt like I was going nowhere with this book, so I decided to go into town. Get some coffee from the market, get some lunch from the Dead Canary, and maybe, just maybe, ask questions about the current political situation in the town, now that I was getting an idea that the town was founded on a quarrel about a quarry, I was even more curious about the current quarry quandary. The possibility that I was creating something where nothing existed was still there in my mind, but was that so bad? 

I brought the book with me, since I could read while I ate. I drove into town, and the ease in which I found a spot still made me happy. I knew eventually I would take free parking for granted, and I’d gotten a few tickets the first week before I knew exactly where to park, but for now I was pleased. 

I noticed Ryan Reynolds' face plastered all over the outside of the Dead Canary. I knew it would be cold to take them down so soon, but it was hard to look at him smiling thirty smiles at me. I gripped the book in my hand and entered the bar that seemed to hold its gloom even in the middle of the day. 

Quinn, the chef, took my order begrudgingly. I just wanted grilled cheese, but he insisted on making it bleu cheese with strawberries and balsamic for dipping. I shrugged and asked Desmond for an iced tea. 

“How’s that book goin’?” He asked as he slid me the glass.

“Trying to read it quickly, since I have to return it to the library soon.”

“A library book?” 

I showed him the stamp from the library. “Yep. It’s old school, but I kind of like that. Shame it’s a bit ripped up though.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, someone tore it up. That’s why we can’t have nice things.”

He wiped a glass and shrugged. “Not sure I’ve had many nice things.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. It’s all a matter of opinion.”

“Wise words Shelby. We’ll get your food right out to you.”

I remembered the bleu cheese and grimaced. “Can’t wait.” I paused before I went back to my booth. “Desmond?”

“Yes?”

“What’s your take on the podcasters?”

“Podcasters?” He said the word like he didn’t know how to fit it in his mouth so it came out sideways. “You mean the nosey ones, Artie and Paul?” I nodded. “They’re alright. Nosey.”

“Yeah, you said that. What exactly are they investigating? The race? The murder?”

“I don’t exactly know. All of it, from the sounds of it.”

“That makes sense. But why did they even come here in the first place?”

“Why don’t you ask them yourself?” He gestured outside. “Word is they’re out there at Miner Mole right now.” 

I shook my head. “I think I’ll stick around here for a while.”

“Good idea. Here’s your lunch.”

After a surprisingly delicious meal, which Quinn nodded approvingly from the bar at me while I did so, I washed it down with the iced tea and read a bit more. The closer I got to the chapter that was missing, the more the pages alluded to the chapter. I realized it would’ve been a nice chapter to have. Despite the silliness of the topic, I knew there would be information in there, even if it was open to interpretation. I decided I could try to find the book online and order it, from the library computer so I could simultaneously return the book. 

I went up to settle my tab. “Where you off to now?” Desmond asked as I had my keys in my hand.

“Gotta get some coffee from the market, and then I think I might just head over to the library today.”

“Done with your book already?” He handed me my change.

“Actually, I think the chapters that were missing might be more important than I thought. I think I might go see if I can buy a copy myself.”

“Why is this so important to you?” 

I tilted my head. “I’m not sure, but I’m just kind of going with it.”

“Good for you.” He patted the bar. “Have a safe drive. Those turns can get hairy.”

I decided to get coffee at the market, since it was cheaper and I’d probably forget by the time I got to the library. Besides, I liked supporting the town I lived in. The mailman, Odie Doty, stopped in and got excited when he saw me. “There’s a letter waitin’ for you, it’s from your editor. They’ve liked what you’ve sent them so far, but they want more violence. Not sure why, what you sent them was mighty violent already. At least the parts I read.” 

I blinked a bit. I was still not used to the intrusiveness of the local postal service. But in some ways, it took the anxiety out of getting my mail. “Thanks Odie. Look forward to reading it.”

“You coming to the town council meeting tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” I said, which was the honest truth. My curiosity about the town was piqued, but it probably stopped at gathering with the locals. The introvert's dilemma. 

“The mayor will be there.” He said in a sing-songy voice as he left.

I hadn’t met the mayor yet. All I’d heard of her, was that she was quite a dog. Just kidding, I knew she was actually a dog, but wouldn’t that be funny? That would’ve been funny. “See you later Odie.” I called to him as I headed to my Volvo. 

“Is that your car?” His voice boomed from remarkably far down the street since he’d just been right next to me.

I pointed at the Volvo. “Yes?”

“Looks like you’ve got a flat!” 

My face fell. “Thanks.” I looked. I had four flats. My tires were slashed. I looked around, but no witnesses were to be found. Grumbling, I threw the coffee beans in the backseat and went back to the Dead Canary. “Can you call the shop? My tires are...well slashed.”

“Are they now? ‘Fraid I can’t do that, they’re closed Thursdays.” 

“Are they now?” I echoed Desmond. He just raised his eyebrows at me and I waved it away. “Fine, I’ll just walk home.” 

“Want a beer before you go? You’re walkin’ anyway.”

I chewed on my cheek for a moment and then shrugged. “Fine. I can read around the chapters that are missing, right?”

“Couldn’t of been that good if they’re gone.”

“Or they were too good.” It was one of those moments where I didn’t realize what I was saying until I heard it myself. A memory resurfaced and highlighted itself in my mind. “Desmond, did you see anyone sneaking around this book last time I was here?”

“Not sure why anyone would.”

“Me either. Except I’m fairly certain it went missing long enough for that chapter to get ripped out.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Yeah, why would anyone steal a chapter about werewolves?”

“Can’t imagine.” He repeated, as he pointedly handed me a beer. 

“What’s with all of this imagining Desmond? That’s not like you.” The curved shape of a human at the end of the bar slurred. I’d let my eyes slip over him enough times that I jumped when he spoke. 

“Okay Henry, let's get you something to eat.” 

I mouthed a thank you and went back to my spot. 

Much to my chagrin, the book drifted farther from the town as the chapters went on. I didn’t care how the silver affected the coast of California. I didn’t care about when the first bank was established. I didn’t care about the guessing game the rest of the family feud story had devolved into. I shoved the book aside and found a new beer replacing my empty cup. 

“You look like you needed it.” Desmond said and turned around.

Did I? I looked at the glass. Fine. I drank a big gulp. I saw a few patrons slip in and looked at the clock. I’d killed a lot of time with one beer and a few boring chapters I realized. I might as well stay for dinner. 

By the time dinner was in my belly (something something caprese something something), I’d also consumed another two beers. I was usually good at pacing myself, but for some reason, with my tires and the book, I was just ready to be drunk. I didn’t see Desmond, so I put the exact change out under my plate with a note ripped from my notebook. I went to my car and pulled out my coffee beans. I was going to have coffee, that was for damn sure. 

As I made my way down the street, I ran into someone lurking in the shadows; a solid form that was wearing a big fur coat. I said sorry as I blundered forward past them and passed the neon signs of Prism’s shop. I turned a corner and thought I heard something. I leaned my head back and with bleary eyes saw a shape running away. I walked back, cautiously, and looked into Prism’s shop where the door was ajar. The red stuck out to me as not red enough. It occurred to me this was my first time seeing blood, in large amounts, on a real live - a real dead person. Prism was dead. And there was someone else face down next to her. I tore back to the Dead Cannery and found Desmond cleaning a glass - how the hell does he have glasses to clean when no one was there was what my brain was saying before my voice started working. “There’s bodies, there’s bodies over at Prisms’. And I’m not sure I can handle it.” His face set grimly and he told me to sit down while he made calls and asked me where exactly. 

I wasn’t questioned so much as told what I saw. The Sheriff gave me a ride home. Trying to keep my mind from seeing the not-red-enough-red, I babbled about my slashed tires, and when she asked me why I hadn’t gotten them fixed at the shop, I told her what Desmond had told me. And she gave me a look that told me I had probably misheard him. But I hadn’t. Even in my slippery thought state, where every thought I had felt like a wriggling fish I tried to hold onto, I knew I hadn’t.

I fell into bed wearing the same shirt I’d worn all day; the drunkenness already melting into a spiky headache. As sleep started to lurk in the corners of my eyes, I thought about Desmond. The book at the bar, the slashed tires, the fact that he was gone when I’d left the bar and conveniently back after I’d found Prism...something was wrong with all of these things, and though when I pinned them on Desmond I had trouble sticking them there, they still fit too well for comfort.

[hellzyeahwebwielingessays]

The Not-So-Amazing Mary Jane Part 34: AMJ #6.1

Previous Part

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Master Post

You know I considered ending this series after the initial arc. I may well discontinue it after awhile. But for now at least I am going to press on. Thus begins the second of what I and dead certain will be a shitty arc of AMJ. Pray for me.

Before we dive into the issue I want to quote for you the solicit for this issue:

WELCOME TO NY, MJ! After the CAN’T-MISS events of AMAZING MARY JANE #5, your favorite redhead is back home! First stop: Spider-Man! But has her relationship with Mysterio changed things with the love of her life? Next stop: a press tour! Complete with iconic New York guest-starring gigs, and OH NO WHAT’S THAT?!?

We spent over 10 years of seeing Peter and MJ separated in the 616 universe.

Thanks to Nick Spencer they blessedly got back together.

Across 25 issues we got to see Peter and MJ interact and 99% of the time it was awesome and helped some old and open wounds get a little better.

It wasn’t every issue, but that was good. Don’t want to get indulgent right?

Then this series came along and Peter/MJ interactions got limited again due to the nature of the story.

That was a shame but at least we were going to get a great MJ story right?

Except we didn’t. We got a story that paradoxically simultaneously celebrated MJ whilst also inadvertently character assassinating her and just being a disgusting fucking mess in general.

But here we have MJ back in New York where Spider-Man is. This issue is even promising us an interaction between them.

Sounds good right?

Let’s see if it will deliver.

As always here we get the recap.

And once more it gives us the full title of the movie in spite of the comic yet to have done that.

As for the ‘strength of his vision blah blah blah’, you know the drill by now. That’s all bullshit, Mary Jane would never connect to Beck over that or allow him to walk free because of that.

There is also a passage in the recap claiming that MJ connected to Beck over familiarity with his situation. The idea of this being their last chance to make it big. I’ve already talked about how that’s bullshit, see part 12.

Finally, the recap confirms that MJ has still failed to tell Peter the truth. Nice to know MJ will continue to be hardcore out of character moving forward into this new arc.

As the issue starts we see MJ introduced as a guest on some kind of chat show.

As has been the case throughout the series, the art is (stylistically at least) gorgeous.

Beyond that there is little to about this page. Except of course the fact that Mary Jane has thought captions.

Let me repeat that.

For the first time in six  issues the readers are being given an insight into the thoughts of title character!

You know, if this were a brand new run, a re-launch or even say the beginning of an outright new era for a series maybe that’d be okay.

But it isn’t. It’s the same run, the same volume, the same story, merely the next arc. This is like if Nick Spencer hadn’t used thought captions throughout the first five issues of his ASM run but then randomly did for the Trivia Night storyline with Boomerang.

Thought captions are perhaps one of the single most potent weapons in the arsenal of a comic book writer. It allows for immense development of characters and enables writers to combine the strength of prose stories with those of more visual mediums.

Now, it’s not that it’s bad to simply not use them. But be consistent. Thought captions would’ve gone a long way in helping us understand Mary Jane better in the first arc along with elaborating upon her asinine decisions there.

Not to mention for a character so often written off as shallow or just eye candy wouldn’t an insight into her thoughts have helped dispel such accusations? Jed Mackay has been doing that pretty consistently since the first issue of his Black Cat run. There it has done wonders for Felicia and fleshed her out more.

It’s especially bad when we consider we got more of an insight into MJ’s thoughts and feelings in one issue  of Nick Spencer’s ASM run than in the entire five prior issues of her solo title.

Anyway, as her interview with Reilly Redding begins there is some quips and verbal jousting going on. Reilly asks if the movie has wrapped but MJ explains that McKnight and the crew are still shooting in L.A. Reilly asks if MJ is sure about that.

This isn’t a positive, more a general observation. I’m not overly familiar with chat shows, let alone American ones, but to my eyes the host seems influenced by Ellen DeGeneres.

Anyway, let me dispense with the pettiest of gripes first. I hate Reilly’s hairstyle. I hate that hairstyle in general. To me it looks really stupid, like you went for a haircut but gave up halfway through. That’s not in anyway shape or form a fair criticism. I totally own that. It is just a tiny point that really bothers me personally.

On the more positive side, Williams continues her frustrating tendency to nail  MJ’s personality traits within a problematic context. MJ’s social skills are one of her greatest powers and here her charisma and ability to play verbal tennis with Reilly is executed superlatively. When Williams does stuff like this she delivers some of the best Mary Jane writing in a long time. Which is why I hate saying and believing that she shouldn’t work on the character over all. She makes traits of MJ shine whilst nevertheless damaging the character over all.

Case in point, the movie is still filming right? And the Vulture (and probably the other members of the Savage Six) are still out there. Let’s be kind and presume they are in a new secret location. That means Vulture will still want to find out where they are, so all the people (and their families) from issue #4 are still going to be harassed by the Vulture’s paparazzi gang and potentially threatened by the six themselves.

Oh well, MJ still DGAF I guess.

Guess she doesn’t care that she’s appearing in public (in NYC of all places!) in spite of six villains now holding a very direct grudge against her.

Also, we FINALLY get the full name of the movie in the story itself, not the recap pages.

As the interview continues, MJ takes questions from the audience. One man asks what it’s like for her to play a real hero for the first time considering she’s played normal female roles before.

MJ responds that they are all heroes to her. She doesn’t really make the female role distinction quite the same way either. It’s more like she plays a hero who is also a woman.

The next question is about the weird press speculation about Cage McKnight’s conduct. The woman asking the question wants to know what he’s really like. MJ responds that he’s great, just dedicated to the craft and protective of his crew. She points out the paparazzi didn’t take kindly to him because he in turn didn’t take kindly to them hounding the movie.

Reilly then reveals McKnight is here for the interview.

Once more, Williams (with a huge help from Gomez’s art) conveys the charisma and social savvy of MJ here. Gomez’s body language demands particular praise. He conveys MJ’s beauty, flirtation, charm, etc. And he does it on multiple levels. The subtle genius of this page is how Gomez captures MJ putting on a performance for the public, to convince them she’s being utterly genuine and casual.

As for the dialogue, the best faith interpretation of the man’s question, he meant MJ has never played a super hero before, just normal non-powered women. He didn’t mean stereotypical female roles. That interpretation makes MJ’s response make more sense than if the former was the intent. So I’ll give Williams a pass and presume that was in fact her intent.

As for the second question it further highlights the unethical nature of allowing Mysterio to impersonate McKnight. The real McKnight has a lot of gossip and a new public image that was not of his own making. It wasn’t even an unfair fabrication by the press, it existed specifically because someone else was using his name, face and reputation for personal gain.

Also the audacity of Williams to directly reference issue #4 where Ken was harassed by the Vulture’s paparazzi squad but just ignore the fact that that should still be going on.

To MJ’s confusion Cage McKnight joins the interview. However, he doesn’t seem to know anything about the movie at all. He says the first he heard of the movie was when he was contacted for the interview. Meanwhile MJ frantically contacts Beck on her phone. Reilly notices and calls MJ out just before Beck confirms he’s still in L.A.

To MJ’s horror she realizes she’s sitting next to the real Cage McKnight who’s returned from his penguin expedition. Reilly asks why he came on the show if he doesn’t remember movie. Cage responds that just because he doesn’t remember making the movie doesn’t mean he didn’t. he explains that in the past he’s made movies in ‘artistic fugues’ and presumes this is just one such time.

*pinches bridge of nose*

Oh my Gooooooooood this is so dumb.

I get the desire to have humour in a story for the sake of levity. But the world of Spider-Man is not even remotely a borderline Deadpool or Harley Quinn or Lobo comic book. The humour doesn’t come from absurdity or a cartoonlike breaking of logic and reality.

And make no mistake, this is absurd. Scratch that, it’s contrived to the nth degree.

First of all I’m not that well read up on fugue states so I briefly consulted Wikipedia who had this to say:

Dissociative fugue, formerly fugue state or psychogenic fugue, is a dissociative disorder[1] and a rare psychiatric disorder characterized by reversible amnesia for personal identity, including the memories, personality, and other identifying characteristics of individuality. The state can last days, months or longer. Dissociative fugue usually involves unplanned travel or wandering and is sometimes accompanied by the establishment of a new identity. It is a facet of dissociative amnesia, according to the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5).

-Wikipedia

Basically a fugue state is a sort of similar condition to Dissociative Identity Disorder, more commonly known as having a split personality. Only instead of an individual’s psyche fracturing into different personalities that take dominance, it’s someone’s mind running away with itself and becoming someone else. The individual forgets aspects of who they are and becomes someone else.

A very good example within fiction can be found in the Doctor Who episode ‘The Next Doctor’. In it a man named Jackson Lake suffers a traumatic experience and in the midst of it (through a sci-fi gizmo) absorbs a lot of information on the character of the Doctor. His traumatized mind consequently decides to imitate what it regards as the Doctor.

What I’m saying is McKnight’s dialogue about his fugues are very probably bullshit unless someone can cite evidence to the contrary. 

Using the above description though McKnight has gotten this rare  psychiatric disorder multiple times and specifically in conjunction with his job as a filmmaker. Yeah, no. Not buying it and neither should you.

Being a film director isn’t a muscle memory skill you can’t forget no matter what. People with amnesia or Alzheimer’s disease do not forget how to play the piano or how to drive. But directing a movie? There are so many moving pieces to that job that rely upon you knowing how equipment and more importantly individual people operate. You have to bear a shitton of theory in mind too. It is physically  impossible to repeatedly  have fugues and then maintain that job.

And even if it was, oh my lord, that is the single most contrived thing in this series yet. Are you SERIOUSLY telling me that Mary Jane and Beck and the entire production got this  lucky. The guy who’s reputation is what the movie is riding on happens  to be someone who repeatedly deals with this incredibly rare mental condition?

Holy shit. That’s Superior Spider-Man levels of contrived.

And yet if you still swallowed all of that it still wouldn’t make sense!

McKnight presumes he made this Mysterio movie in a fugue state right? But he wasn’t, so he would remember his life during that period of time. Meaning that there are lots of public records and personal accounts testifying that he was making the movie at the same time that he  knows he was observing penguins.

If you suffer amnesia or blackouts or DID then there are obviously gaps in time you cannot account for. The overwhelming majority of people who deal with those conditions make a point of keeping track of those gaps, for practical reasons if nothing else. So McKnight would know that there isn’t a gap in time he can’t account for and certainly not for the time period the Mysterio movie has been going for.

Shit, the movie is still  filming! How the Hell does he believe he is still making this movie in a fugue state if he’s consciously aware of lacking any knowledge about it?

Not to mention if he’s been in the Falkland Islands this whole time. A quick Google search informed me that by plane it’d take over 14 hours  to travel between the islands and Los Angeles. How the fuck is anyone supposed to ever commute that distance, let alone regularly. And McKnight sincerely believes he was doing both at the same goddam time?

You couldn’t even argue that McKnight believes he made the Mysterio movie before his penguin expedition. Because the movie is still being made and all his other ‘artistic fugues’ would have a movie as proof of what he was doing during the fugues.

This is just mind-numbingly stupid and lazy writing. It smacks so hard of Williams trying to desperately paper over the holes in her initial story.

More importantly, how fucking stupid is Mary Jane or Beck to never considered this possibility? I don’t mean the fugue bullshit, I mean the idea of McKnight just coming back  from his penguin adventure.

Was Mysterio honestly so incompetent as to have never accounted for that? He seriously never had anything in place to make sure McKnight wouldn’t just decide to cut his journey short? Jesus, and I was dumb enough to buy his line about McKnight spending a year with the penguins.

Even putting that aside, what the flying fuck was MJ and Beck’s plan for when he eventually  came back in the first place? Say he really did spend a year with the penguins then came back to the USA. Suddenly he has a movie with his name attached to it and lots of controversy. Let’s say McKnight’s fugue bullshit added up, there is no indication MJ or beck knew about them. So how the Hell were they planning on getting away with the obvious questions he or his friends or family would have had?

And if they did know about the fugues, why didn’t Williams address that before? That was kind of  a lingering question hanging over the story until now wasn’t it?

God I can’t believe I paid for this!

On the next page MJ spots a guy in an Oni Mask backstage. She presumes he’s there to scare her as part of the show. However, she notices that the P.A.s haven’t seen him. Meanwhile Reilly set up a stupid game for them to play.

I got nothing to say about this page beyond McKnight’s dialogue. Williams is clearly trying to frame the real McKnight in a less than sympathetic manner. There could be many reasons why. I suspect one of the reasons is to incline us more towards Beck’s version of McKnight and to make us not feel as bad about Beck (and MJ) exploiting his identity.

Because being vaguely and lightly sexist means you deserve to have your career, public image, sense of self and life violated and damaged I guess?????????????

As Reilly brings in people from the audience to compete against McKnight and MJ, the latter thinks that there is something weirdly familiar about the Oni-masked man.

I have little to say about this page too.

Reilly’s attitude and facial expressions make me dislike her, even beyond her stupid haircut.

And as for the Oni-Masked man (I’ll just call him Oni for now) my only guess is that he’s affiliated with Mister Negative somehow. He had his goons wear Oni masks at times. And MJ interacted with them and Mister Negative himself in the popular 2018 Spider-Man video game by Insomniac; and it’s adapted comic book City at War. As such perhaps Williams is trying to tie-in or capitalize upon audience familiarity with that.

As MJ plays the dumb game he ponders if Oni could be a lesser member of Peter’s rogue’s gallery. Observing him again she notices him murder a civilian.

The dumb game annoyed me, but that’s just me.

Beyond that all I can say is that MJ’s dialogue about Peter’s rogue’s gallery is interesting. It proves that MJ has at least a working knowledge of Peter’s major foes. Which just further proves she would have been familiar with Mysterio and his crimes, just in case anyone was still clinging to the idea that she wouldn’t.

Also, the art and especially that splash page were beautiful.

Unfortunately for MJ, Oni notices she witnessed his crime. MJ is nervous and backs away in fear, annoying McKnight when she bumps into him. Meanwhile Spider-Man swings across town yelling for to hold on as he is on the way.

Gomez draws a nice Spider-Man.

Anyway, more of Williams making us dislike McKnight, see above for more on that.

MJ backing away in fear has me apprehensive. I don’t know if that’s in character for her. I guess the shock and surprise could’ve thrown her for a loop. And if Oni doesn’t notice her then it gives her a better chance of raising the alarm and capturing him.

I must say, I do like MJ being on the backfoot here after issues #1-5 made her often overconfident and over capable at times (see her nonchalance over the Savage Six in issue #5).

Also, isn’t MJ going to give Oni the benefit of the doubt? Maybe he’s sorry for murdering that guy just now. Maybe he wants to make amends by creating a movie about his life. So why is MJ so scared?

Sure, he just murdered someone, but what is that next to the laundry list of Beck’s crimes?

As it turns out, Spidey wasn’t on his way to save MJ. He was in fact en route to a French restaurant to have dinner with her. He is actually before MJ for a change.

I know Gomez isn’t the only artist on this issue and this doesn’t look like his work. Who ever is drawing it though is doing a very bland depiction of Peter with a overly wrinkly forehead.

The joke about him arriving first for a change was funny though.

Back at the studio, the show wraps up. McKnight insults Reilly’s profession just in case you’ve not realised he is a jerk yet. MJ thinks about persuading everyone to evacuate and searches for her phone. She notices Oni leaving and decides to leave her phone behind.

I already know MJ is going to pursue Oni herself. The stupidity of that aside why the fuck wouldn’t you grab your phone before doing that? You could use it no matter where you wind up and it wasn’t so far away that he’d get that much of a head start.

In fact, if Oni knows MJ is a witness why did he bother hanging around in the first place.

And why didn’t MJ raise the alarm immediately, the worst that would happen is the guy would run away. He’s just stealthily murdered someone and is in a mask. He obviously isn’t going to take the audience hostage, so if her priority is protecting innocents then raising the alarm immediately (or in fact earlier would’ve been her best bet. Yes that’d probably mean he’d have escaped but unlike with say Peter’s origin, getting him the Hell out of there would’ve reduced the immediate threat to the civilians present.

And on top of that if she figures he’s targeting her because she was a witness to his crime then by alerting everyone to his actions she’d have removed his need (at least for the moment) of sticking around to eliminate her, thus getting him away from the audience.

If he’s leaving anyway, MJ could also just grab her phone and put a call in to Peter, her super hero chums or the police and get them on the case immediately. If she was really so determined to go after this guy herself she still could but would’ve had a back up just in case he escapes or kills her. If she fails then she’s insured someone will still pursue him.

And as I copiously detailed in parts 19-22, MJ is not a super hero (and she knows that). She has no idea what this guy’s skills, weapons or powers might be, nor does she know what resources or assistance will be nearby to enable her to survive or subdue him. This isn’t like an armed cop, a martial artist or a super powered person going after a regular crook. She really doesn’t know what she is in for. Even if he is just a normal man, he clearly has a height and weight advantage over her, is obviously willing and capable of chocking a man to death and is armed. MJ meanwhile has little self-defence training, no weapons and hasn’t got the weight or muscle capable of taking him on if she’s backed into a corner. And she’s pursuing him back stage where presumably there is a fair chance of encountering many corners!

I understand that she doesn’t want to endanger innocent people, but there is no point in risking her life there is a much more practical and likely to succeed option available to her. Live to fight another day and all that. Yes the guy might hurt people during or after his escape but that’s a lesser evil vs. going after him herself when she is very unlikely to subdue him, far more likely to die and then the guy will get away without her having passed on any valuable intel on him to someone more qualified to pursue him.

Also once she sees the guy leaving she could just tell everyone the situation and ask the audience to stay put.

Basically if raises the alarm right there on stage and/or calls Peter or the authorities she is over all putting less people in danger and increasing the chances of the guy being apprehended in the long run. But no, instead she is going to gamble on the far slimmer odds that she can capture the guy.

Not to mention, why would the guy even give a shit that MJ saw him? Why would MJ give a shit that she is a witness to his crime? He is wearing a mask! She couldn’t identify him even if she went to the police. It is literally part of the reason her goddam boyfriend wears a mask!

And by the way, are there no security cameras backstage? Wouldn’t MJ consider that or Oni himself?

McKnight apologises to Reilly (so not that much of a jerk I guess) as MJ pursues Oni (barefooted) backstage. As she does this she rehearses what she will say to Peter in her head. This entails telling him that she had to get away from the killer. As she is thinking about this the body of Oni’s victim is discovered. Backstage she comes face to face with Oni who refers to her by name.

Yay. MJ deliberately planning on lying to Peter again. It’s so awesome that Williams understands why this isn’t a really bad idea for the reasons I pointed out in part 17.

By the way, I suspect Oni knows MJ personally rather than just recognizing her work.

I’m actually going to leave it there for now as the next part of the story has a shitton to unpack.

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Master Post

[travllingbunny]

Quarantine tag game

Thanks for tagging me, @sometimesrosy!

ARE YOU STAYING HOME FROM WORK/SCHOOL? I am staying home but not from work, because I work at home. Not just now, I always work at home, so there hasn’t been any change in that respect. The volume of work was the same as always during the last few weeks, too. I haven’t had any new work since Friday, so I’m enjoying a few days of rest, but I don’t know if this has anything to do with Corona. A few days of rest and no work has happened before. It will give me more time to clean my apartment.

IF YOU’RE STAYING HOME, WHO IS THERE WITH YOU? My two dogs and two cats. They are probably happy that they get even more time with me than usual. I think that some people don’t consider pets real company - probably people who don’t have pets - which I find funny. They are amazing company and I never feel lonely or bored. It’s never boring with them. Taking the dogs out two times a day, having to feed the cats 6-7 times a day or however often they start mewing and asking for food (especially the kitten - the young one is just 9 months old), having to stand guard to make sure dogs don’t steal cat food :D and all the petting and displays of affection.

ARE YOU A HOMEBODY? Not really? But I’m also not not a homebody? LOL Normally, I enjoy going out and meeting people; I have salsa classes two times a week, which are really fun; I go clubbing on weekends; and my favorites are the Language Cafe type events, which used to be up to 3 times a week before the Coronavirus situation started (these are events for people to meet and practice languages, where you can just come, choose the table with the language you want to practice, introduce yourself and join the conversation). I go to concerts, film festivals, public lectures/debates etc. 

But at the same time, I don’t mind staying at home, and I’ve had experience in having to stay for a week or two when I had a ton of work and tight deadlines. I talk to people a lot via phone, Viber, Whatsupp and social media, exchange memes and satirical articles about the current situation, etc. I’m online a lot, and I’m trying to finally catch up/check out some of the many TV shows, movies and books I have on my watchlist/readlist and do other stuff I never had enough time for.

AN EVENT THAT YOU WERE LOOKING FORWARD TO THAT GOT CANCELLED? I don’t think it’s been officially cancelled yet (?), but I doubt that the Tindersticks concert in early May is gonna be happening. I had already bought the ticket so I hope it gets postponed. I’ve also bought a ticket for a Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds concert in early June (it’s probably too optimistic to hope that will happen?) and a Pixies concert in early September (I don’t have to worry about that one, do I?)

WHAT MOVIES HAVE YOU WATCHED RECENTLY? Since the curfew started, I’ve watched just a few movies that happened to be on TV  - which were all very different, but I wasn’t impressed by any of them (Divergent, Ironclad, and Francis Ha). 

The last time I was in cinema was for the FEST film festival, which ended on 8 March, and I watched Jojo Rabbit on the closing night. I really loved it. Before that, at the same festival, I watched Apocalypse Now: The Final Cut, Blood Quantum (pretty good Canadian horror that’s a different take on the zombie epidemic genre, as it takes place in a First Nation reserve, most characters/actors are First Nation and it deals with social issues), Spanish period drama by Alejandro Amenabar  Mientras dure la guerra (During the War) about the Spanish Civil War and Miguel de Inamuno’s role in the events, The Lighthouse (really good, really dark psychological horror drama that can have a bunch of interpretations) and Dead Don’t Die (Jim Jarmush’s zombie comedy with some very on-the-nose social commentary).

WHAT SHOWS ARE YOU WATCHING? The list is pretty long! Some shows I’ve been watching on TV include: Peaky Blinders (really good!), Babylon Berlin (still in season 1), Penny Dreadful (I’m almost finished - I didn’t like season 1 that much but it got much better in seasons 2 and 3), Wynonna Earp (not great but it’s just a fun show with some cool actors/characters). I'm about to finish S1 of The Witcher and I want to rewatch it immediately to figure out the timelines. I’m finishing my rewatch of The 100 and I’m going to resume my rewatch of Agents of SHIELD (hopefully I can finish it by its premiere date, 27 May). Also watching Outlander season 5, Harley Quinn, Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist, need to catch up on Roswell: New Mexico, Prodigal Son and Stumptown and finish The Outsider, and have recently started The Plot Against America and Mindhunter (the latter because my best friend has recommended it). I’ve even checked out the pilot of Lucifer, which I may or may not continue soon, and I’m continuing with 12 Monkeys season 1. And I intend to check out Kingdom. Quite a mix of genres there.

WHAT MUSIC ARE YOU LISTENING TO? I haven’t listened to that much music lately as I used to, but my routine for putting myself to sleep is to turn on MTV Rocks (or the Rock Alternative radio channel) on my TV, in low volume, program the sleep function for 2 hours, and go to bed. It works like a charm. I always have trouble falling asleep in silence. 

Other than that, I’ve been listening to a lot of Haelos since I first discovered them when I heard their song “Alone” in season 6 of The 100, and I’ve listened to othe songs from The 100 and Tree Adams’ soundtrack for season 3.

WHAT ARE YOU READING? Before all this, I borrowed 3 books from the American Corner library: Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye and Beloved and Tea Obrecht’s The Tiger’s Wife.  I’m reading The Bluest Eye at the moment, but I’m also going to finally start reading GRRM’s Fire and Blood, which I had never found time for.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING FOR SELF-CARE? The usual stuff I do - a bit of exercise, nurturing bath once a week, regular skin care. But last week, I also had to make an effort to relax and try to lower my level of stress and blood pressure, thanks to something that happened last Sunday. 

Rant incoming....If you don’t want to read about my bad experience with the police and idiotic government measures, stop now.

Namely, the idiotic government of my country has imposed “measures” which are supposed to be against the spread of Coronavirus but mostly don’t make any sense - they are constantly extending curfew and changing the time of it, and have changed the times when dog owners are allowed to walk their dogs. At one point, it seemed like there was no allowed time for that in the evening or afternoon. You had to listen to the news all the time (and listening to news and the President’s speeches is one of the things that annoys me the most) to figure these things out. And the weekend before last was their first experiment in an extra-long 3 day curfew, which I wasn’t even aware of, when they actually had the police patrol and arrest people for just walking on their own (or, in one case, a young farmer in his tractor - two days after the minister of agriculture said on TV that farmers would be exempt from the curfew - they changed it). So I got manhandled, put in handcuffs and taken to the station for walking my dogs all on my own, with no one else around (which is endangering people and helping the spread of Corona - how exactly??!) where i had to sit for 2 hours while a cop was writing stuff down from the records, and about 60 other cops walked right by me, 10 of whom didn’t have masks, while 3 had but pulled them up/down, then in a police car with 3 other people they picked up - who can’t sit any further than half a meter from you as there’s not enough room, then about 1.5 hours more at the court, with a bunch of other people (and everyone was sitting right next to each other - I was the only one who was like “Nope” and stood a couple of meters away from the others), where they passed the judgment that I have to pay a fine of almost 450 EUR - the amount that’s prescribed for everyone. (And in Serbia, that’s about 1.5 of the minimum wage. I can pay my bills for 3 months from that amount.) Turns out, they arrested some 700-800 people that weekend, so I guess they’re gonna extort a lot of money from the people - if all of them are able to pay it within 15 days (which I doubt. I can withdraw the money from the bank, but I don’t think everyone can). My temperature, pulse and probably blood pressure went up immediately and took an entire week to come down - due to stress, a lot of anger and fear - I had my mask and gloves, but that was still the most close contact and exposure to a lot of other people, much more than I’ve had in weeks. I yelled and ranted and told them that they’re the ones putting others and themselves in danger of contracting Corona, and they probably knew I was right, but it makes no difference -  President Vučić is either an idiot who actually thinks the virus is lurking outside in the air to jump at people, but only during the hours he decides, or, more likely, he doesn’t care, but is a wannabe dictator who likes to act self-important and playact at imposing “strict but necessary measures”.

/end rant. Sorry about that. But that’s why I bought a temperature meter and blood pressure meter, because I was having high temperature, heart palpitations and pressure in my chest, which hasn’t happened to me in a long time (I was also starting to feel PMS, which added to it and didn’t help, but is normally nowhere near as bad when I’m not stressed out) so I needed a lot of self-care last week - which included tranquilizers, but mostly trying my best to relax and feel better. And I’m finally well now and close to how I was before the whole arrest idiocy.

Tagging @jeanie205 @kizo2703 @weareagentsofnothing @turtle-paced @wolfheartgirl @theatre-steph @selflessbellamy @mytly4 @katersann @linzzmorgan100 @immortalpramheda @iishallbelieve @misskittyspuffy @marshmallow-the-vampire-slayer @justbecauseyoubelievesomething @angearia @ladyofthefrostfangs - I know some of you have already been tagged, I’m sorry if you’ve already done it but I haven’t seen it, in which case I’look for it on your blog. Sorry to everyone I didn’t tag, too. 

[kyloreyorgana]

STAR WARS 9 ! TROS SPOILERS !

In case this is not obvious enough, this post will contain SPOILERS for the last Star Wars movie, which I’m just now coming home from. These are my first thoughts. I have tried to tag as best I could so that people who mute the tags don’t see my post. Do not proceed f you don’t want to read any spoilers.

You have been warned. Long (and I mean LONG) post ahead.

First of all, I’m happy to be back y’all! Just with TLJ, I come from months (or has it been years already ?) of inactivity to jump right back into the fandom, as obsessed as I was back when I came home from TFA. Which is funny because at the time TFA came out, I had lost all interest in Star Wars and heard so many critics from people who’d seen it and said it was horrible and that Disney basically sold the franchise to the devil that I didn’t even want to see it, to keep the good memories closer to my heart. One night, one month after its theatrical release, I thought “aw fuck I might as well see it, at least for Carrie, Mark and Harrisson” so I went to the cheap theater that was near my home... I had zero expectation, and really I think it’s the reason why I loved the movie so much. I didn’t chose to ship Reylo, this ship whacked me like Harley Quinn’s oversized hammer with the Hades and Persephone aesthetics. When I came out, completely mesmerized with what I had just seen, I jumped on Tumblr as soon as I got home, and I ended up creating this blog just days later. I wanted more and more, fics, metas, fanarts, headcannons, theories, cracks, I could never get enough. For TLJ and TROS, I had lost most interest in the fanfics and the fandom (because as much as I love the movies and some people in the fandom, most of it can eat shit as far as I’m concerned). I heard so many critics of TROS already, I was afraid I was going to be disappointed. But I loved it. Only Star Wars can make me go from utterly uninterested to “Wow I can’t wait to see this new Star Wars in theater, what a time to be alive”, to a stage of total obsession that lasts for months. And that is the reason why I don’t give two shits about anyone disliking the movies. It’s sad you didn’t like them, but it made me feel the same way I felt right back when I was a child watching the original movies with my father. It feels like home. And that is the best thing I could ask for.

Like in TLJ, I cried as soon as I heard the first note of the opening. The last Skywalker story, the last time I ever see my Space Mommy on the big screen...

I know the Reylo community is about to be nuts. The whole movie, like TLJ before it, is basically a series of things we’ve already done in fics and theories. I am 100% positive I have read a fic where Rey and Ren try to hold back a ship with the Force and Rey ends up involuntarily shooting lightning. Whichever one of you did it is probably going to have a stroke in the theater. I nearly did.

And really, I wish I could see the look on the Antis’ faces when they see the movie. I’m sure it is a sight to behold. I wanted to scream “TAKE THAT, BITCHES” more than once. As in TLJ.

My biggest fear was what they would do with Leia. I knew Disney said they wouldn’t use CGI and chose to stick with the scenes Carrie had already shot, and I was afraid it wouldn’t honor Leia’s legacy. Well I... have mixed feelings. While the way they used Carrie’s scenes and made it look like she really is here is to be lauded, it sometimes feels like Leia had nothing interesting to say but they tried to put her in a dialogue anyway, because she needed to be seen doing (or rather, saying) something in the Resistance. And about her death... I still can’t put my finger on what exactly I didn’t like about it but I felt like something was missing. Watching the scene, at first I didn’t know if she was having a heart attack or if she stabbed herself or chose to give up her life because she somehow felt it was the moment, I’m still not sure just why she did what she did. I wish they put something more to motivate her decision and explain what exactly she does. I don’t know, a flashback of Leia holding baby Ben, a little more dialogue, something. Not just Leia suddenly getting up and going to bed whispering her son’s name. 

I knew I was going to be disappointed. Among all the celebrities’ deaths, Carrie’s is the one that affected me the most, and believe me I was a wreck when Bowie passed. I miss her, I think about her every single day. And Leia deserved more, much more. When I saw TFA, part of the reason why I loved the movie was that, even though it pained my heart that Han and Leia’s son turned out this way, I thought they would make it right. I spent hours imagining a scene in the 9th movie where Ren would defeat Rey (incapacitate her the Skywalker style cutting her hand or something) and approach to give the killing blow, and Leia would enter the scene, pick up Rey’s lightsaber, look her son dead in the eye and say “Over my dead body, son”. Because Leia would never give up without a fight, even with her son. And she would get her son back, and her story arc would have been completed. I would have paid good money to see this. 

Episode 9 was supposed to be Leia’s movie, just like ep. 7 was Han’s and ep. 8 was Luke’s. When Carrie died, I knew it would be compromised and it broke my heart, because Leia deserved better. She lost everything. Her parents, her planet, her father, her husband, her son, her brother, the Rebellion, the Resistance, everything. She fought all the way, all her life even faced with the worst odds she never gave up hope, she inspired hundreds of people to keep fighting for what is right, and she would never have a satisfactory ending. What a fucking heartbreak. She didn’t even get to see Lando. Leia deserved more. Every little girl in this world who grew up with her as a role model deserved more. But c’est la vie, as we say in French... My only solace is that I know fanfics and fanarts are going to make me feel a little better about it.

Of course I cried every time I saw her on screen, and especially when they honored her body, as we all honored Carrie when she passed away. This was one of the many fanservice moments, and surely the one I liked the most, although there was some concurrence (more to it later).

Another thing I didn’t like is what they did to Poe’s character. Many people disliked TLJ because of it, which they attributed to a political agenda of hate on men. This is so ridiculous and has already been debated enough that I won’t get into it. I did like the evolution of his character in TLJ, because for me it was an interesting character development as well as a good message: wartime is not only about barging in fights head first, shoot first think later, as is, let’s be honest, everything Anakin ever does. At one point, the narrative of the reckless hero who saves the day when a situation seems impossible and everyone begs him not to do it gets old. Sometimes in war, you have to think ahead, to plot, and yes, listen to what your allies have to say. And it actually was a good critic of toxic masculinity. Could the conflict between Poe and Holdo have been avoided with minimally sane conversation ? YES. But the message was here (as were Holdo’s hair and dress and WOW gurl) and I thought that was it, and Poe would evolve into a wiser person.

But this Poe is, at least in the first half of the movie, not very likable. Hear me, I never really liked Han Solo (never been into macho men) but I really loved Poe in TFA because he was genuinely nice and brave. Here, he’s bitter and annoying. I told myself that he was jealous of Rey because he heard of Finn’s crush on her and he wanted to keep Finn all for himself, which I know is just a crack headcannon, but hey, anything to make it better I guess.

Of course, I’ll never forgive Disney for not making FinnPoe a thing, when even Oscar Isaac ships them hard. And trying to make Poe flirt with the other girl (whose name I even forgot and whose face we didn’t even see, now tell me again how Star Wars has been corrupted by feminists... sigh)  Speaking of, it is me or did two women kiss at the end ? 

I liked the new droid, it reminded me of my puppy. But at the end, it was just another fanservice moment, it didn’t really do anything useful onscreen apart from being cute and funny.

When Rey was finally revealed to be a Palpatine as I hoped, I giggled like a wee girl. Watching TFA, I begged the old gods and the new that they wouldn’t make her another Skywalker, because it would’ve spoiled the Star Wars spirit for me. The whole franchise, in my opinion, is a story about fighting for what you believe is right, no matter who you or your parents are or where you come from. Even though Luke and Leia’s ended up being Vader’s children, they weren’t the only meaningful characters. Anakin was basically a Space Jesus and went from a total nobody to the Chosen One. I didn’t want Rey to be a Skywalker because it would mean that your importance would only ever lay in your bloodline, and that is depressing and totally against the spirit of the Rebellion/Resistance: no matter who you are, you can fight for what is right. For this reason, I wished for Rey to be either a real nobody or Palpatine’s granddaughter, which is also why I liked the fact that Han and Leia’s son turned out bad, even though it made me sad for them (Leia didn’t deserve this). No matter your bloodline, you can always make things right, or fuck up badly if you let yourself be taken away. And, of course, the reveal that Rey and Kylo Ren are two sides of the same coin (aka one of the many times where I picture us Reylos screaming CALLED IT in our seats) was exactly what I hoped for, a beautiful balance. I didn’t share Palpatine’s implication that a Palpatine and a Skywalker are meant to work together, though. That is not how I choose to interpret this duality. That is not what they end up doing, anyway.

Speaking of that old pal Patine, seeing the trailers I feared I would feel nauseated that they chose to reanimate the Big Old Villain, just like they reanimated the Even Bigger Death Star in TFA (how lazy can you be ?). But I enjoyed it. What saved it was Palpatine’s will to be killed by Rey to perpetuate the Sith rite of passage. I don’t even care if it’s cannon or not. I was afraid they would recreate Vader’s dilemma in ROTJ with Rey, but I liked the choices she made. And the throne scene worked for me. Like the rest of the movie it was flawed, for instance we don’t even get an explanation on how he survived. Just like we don’t even get what Finn wanted to tell Rey, even though it was emphasized several times. Was it a love declaration ? What happened to the rushed romance with Rose in TLJ ? (What happened to Rose, actually). While we’re at it, why did Palpatine want Ren to kill Rey ? So many questions. So many flaws.

And, of course I cannot comment this film without mentioning my sweet star-crossed lovers, Rey and Ben. First, I’m really eager to see your reactions. We did it, Reylos! Years of hate and slander and we were right all along. Let’s rejoice.

I like Rey’s evolution. For the moment, I don’t feel like I have too much to say about it (which is fine because this post is way too long already). I like the way she handles her emotions, I like her choices and her character evolution. 

And Ben. Oh, sweet Ben. Although I think the part where he gets his old mask fixed wasn’t necessary, I kinda like what they did with him as well. I must say though that I liked his hair in TFA better.  Oh boy, I loved Kylo Ren but I absolutely adore Ben Solo. And I think the way the movie depicts him even surpasses some fics. The moment when Rey gives him the lightsaber and he gets up and does the Han shrug  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  I almost lost my mind. This ties with the hommage to Leia’s body as my favorite fanservice moment.

And their relationship... Look, I know I wet my pants really enjoyed myself in TLJ when they held hands, but that scene felt rushed even for me who ships them with the force of a thousand suns. Like many things in TLJ (and, as I said, also in TROS) it felt like things I had already seen in fanfics, but in the fics I enjoyed the most Rey had tried to kill him at least 5 mores times before even agreeing to have a one-on-one conversation with him. Their romance in TLJ felt like it was hormone-driven, but I get Johnson couldn’t really do a slow burn in 2 hours. When Leia died and they both felt it in the Force, I could feel that Rey wanted to touch him, to confort him, to grieve with him. I’m glad she didn’t. It wasn’t time. And I really like that she told him she wanted to hold Ben’s hand, not his. And Ben, the Dork Knight, finally realized that if he wanted The Girl, he shouldn’t, you know, threaten her and chase her but get back to the Light Side like she begged him multiple times. Because he really isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, this is apparently what makes him choose to tip over. That or the fact she saved his life. I was still frustrated by Leia’s death so I don’t know if I’m not entirely convinced because it happened just after, I’d have to watch it again. I liked Han’s moment, though.

And in my opinion, Rey and Ren’s fight on the wreck of the Death Star is as good as Anakin and Obi-Wan’s. My Reylo heart will always have a special place for their couple fight in TLJ (aka the best non-sex sex scene in cinema, don’t @ me) but I also liked this fight in light of their relation. Surprisingly, it reminded me more of their fight at the end of TFA, when we see Ren holding his blows and Rey barging in. I thought it was endearing.

The end. Oh my god, the end. I can’t wait to see the first gifs and I really really can’t wait for the HD gifs, because oh boy, I now only live for Ben Solo’s smile. That’s it, I found my will to live, my depression is cured. And the way he handles Rey’s body with the utmost care (while Finn apparently watches it and does or says nothing). And that kiss... And the SMILE. And the KISS. 

Oh, dear gods. Oh dear.

I can’t wait for the first fics in which Ben doesn’t die and they live happily ever after on Tatooine or Naboo or wherever they damn want. Or the fics where he is indeed dead and they still share a beautiful relationship (if Force Ghost Luke could get his X-Wing out of the water, I’m eager to imagine what Ben would do with his Force dick, tongue and fingers. Forgive me, it’s getting late and I’m still flustered thinking of their kiss)

And the fact that she declares herself a Skywalker ? I know a lot of people are disappointed in this, but apart from the fact that she completely deserves the title in my opinion when she inherited the will of both Luke and Leia, which is reason enough, she is absolutely married to Ben and deserves her place in that family. Also, it’s again a beautiful way to remind you that bloodlines don’t matter as much as what we choose to do with our lives. And while I’m glad they showed Leia’s Force ghost (I would’ve been really mad if they didn’t) I’m super frustrated they didn’t show Ben’s. What am I to believe, that he gave his life for her, became one with the Force and vanished into litteral nothingness for him to never be seen again ? Like hell I don’t. Again, counting on the fics and arts to right this wrong.

The movie sure has its flaws, and I still have many unanswered questions, like what the fuck is the badge Maz gives Chewie, or how Rey does her lightsaber staff at the end, and I wish they explained some things better. I wasn’t sure if the saber Leia wanted Rey to have was hers or her mother’s. Most of those questions will be answered by bigger geeks than me in this fandom, so I really can’t wait to read from y’all.

I know a whole lot of people are going to hate the movie. The antis, the gatekeeping trve fans (already I’ve seen people say that those who enjoyed the movies are not Real Star Wars Fans and welp, we’re going to see a lot of shit). The manbabies who genuinely believe in a feminist takeover and see equality as a direct threat. I’m specifically happy they will be disappointed while I got the privilege of enjoying Star Wars as much as I did. It’s not my fault, or Disney’s fault even, that they turned out to be on the Empire’s side. And the day has not come when I defend a megacorporation. 

Leia was the first SJW. The Resistance lives on. People will always fight against evil, like it or not. I know the world is a shitty place and we don’t have much hope nowadays for things to get better, and Star Wars has always motivated me to keep going and stick to my values and my convictions. I felt chills several times in the movie, like at the end where everyone comes to fight, and now I’m more willing to keep fighting than ever. For Leia.

Godspeed, Rebels! 

[smokeybrand]

Harley Quinn and the Miscalculation

Harley Quinn: Birds of Prey is bombing in theaters and what i was apprehensive about, is coming to pass. All of this rara, GRRRL-power, superficial, laughably toxic, feminism saturates this picture. And that’s fine. A little misandry never hurt anyone, especially with as much unapologetic misogyny that is rife within Hollywood. Still, there is a limit to and, while i didn’t mind the whole emancipation equal initialization angle this movie was going for, i can see why it would turn off so many others. We’re on the back end of the MeToo movement now and, in a world where Amber Heard has been exposed for the violent abuser that she truly is, the climate is a little different from when this flick was greenlit. It’s wild watching a marketing strategy trying so goddamn hard to alienate half their audience. Seriously, that sh*t was box office suicide but its not the reason why BoP failed. The media wants to blame sexist men for not supporting an all-women production but that’s not realistic. The demo breakdown for those who went to see BOP skewed heavily male. No, there are several reasons why and i kind of want to go over them here.

Issue 1: Feminist Marketing

The biggest issue this movie had was the way it was marketed. Besides the gung-ho drive in an attempt to appeal to that ludicrously vocal minority of third-wave feminists that don’t support sh*t outside of their own little echo chamber causes, it appears the WB did everything in their power to shoo away and semblance of testosterone. I noted this early, but that sh*t blew up in their face immediately. No one want to sit around and be preached at or two hours. I endued that sh*t because i enjoy comics and Margot’s Harleen is pretty legit but, goddamn! In a world of Nice Guys and Neckbeards, going so hard at that misandrist angle was a goddamn mistake. That, and the misleading push of Harley Quinn. This is not a birds of prey film and never should have been promoted as such. I could tell this was a Harley Quinn film immediately, but Normies sure didn’t. I imagine they wanted more Harley but saw the Birds top billed and decided it wasn’t worth the trip.

Fix: Better Marketing

To just say “Better Marketing” is kind of glib, but bear with me. There’s a lot to this. First thing first, that title should have never got approved. You want to lead with Harley, you lead with Harley. Hilariously, someone at WB thought so, too, and they changed the name. Personally, out the gate, i would have named this thing “Harley Quinn: Birds of Prey.” from the start, you set the expectation that this is a Harley Quinn movie AND assert that the BoP will have some sort of presence. The movie, itself, can still be exactly what it is, but that title change alters the entire expectation of that whole experience. Doing that also gives you an opportunity to promote this thing in a more balanced manner. Maybe don’t attack all the dudes that might want to see your flick with bullsh*t politics. I rather liked the idea of an all-girl gangster flick. It worked super well for Widows. If executed properly, you can even keep that whole Tarantino-esque vibe. But that might conflict with the second issue...

Issue 2: Hard R Rating

Everyone wants to be Deadpool but no one can be Deadpool. Look, i love the Hard R in my capeflicks. The aforementioned Deadpool was excellent and i absolutely love what Philips and Phoenix brought in Joker, but if you want to see how to do a proper R rated superhero film, look no further than Logan. Holy sh*t, that movie was good. and violent. and moving. I cried at the end of that thing. Shed me a man-tear, for sure. The thing about all of these films? That R was earned. You want to go Tarantino? You go full Tarantino. Bop did not commit like that. This motherf*cker was a “hard PG-13″. Seriously, the violence in this thing was akin to the violence in The Wolverine, a PG-13 flick. Why did they need that Hard R? Just to keep pace with the other Hard R flicks? See, that alienates your best bet at a profit.

Fix: go for that “Hard PG-13″

You want kids to see this thing, specifically young girls. Girls LOVE Harley, as they should. She’s become one helluva character. The growth shown in her comic persona is to be celebrated and this movie kind of touches upon that. 14-year-olds can’t get into your unnecessarily R rated film. You want those 14 and 15-year-olds to see your movie multiple times, and this thing had the potential for just that. Instead, they went too hard for that Hard R and it ruined a massive source of revenue. Besides, you already have a mature Harley show airing on that DCEU streaming whatever. The adults can check that one out, especially since it’s f*cking dope.

Issue 3: Character Interpretation

Harley Quinn has a very specific, very Snyder-esque design. You can’t shake that. Quinn is gonna Quinn. How the f*ck did the rest of these characters land on their respective situations? Hell, Cassanda Cain is “in name only” and that sucks! Cass is one of the dopest Bat-Kids in the fam and she’s relegated to that? Really? You barely even hint at Montoya’s sexuality, which is fine because it doesn’t define her, but to push this flick as LGBTQ, or whatever, without acknowledging the biggest L in the film seems disingenuous to me. And Huntress? Oh, my darling Huntress. You were the best thing about this movie and they didn’t even let you be IN the goddamn movie. Look, I’m all for creativity and letting creatures create but come on. At some point, you gotta give a little back to the fans, not just slap them in the face with such mediocre adaptions.

Fix: Better Characterization

Out the box, you should have NEVER adapted my girl Cass the way you did. Everything about this character is bogus. Where is my socially inept, traumatically mute, bad-ass human weapon? You give me a potty-mouth pick-pocket instead? For real? Nah. A much better character for this would have been Bluebird. How is Harper Row not perfect for this part? Considering her origin, she could start off as Harley’s protege and become better, actually become Blurebird and join the Birds later on down the line. How is that not a thing? And Montoya? Aside from a lack of screen time, maybe tie her into the plot a little better. Aside from a few throwaway line, what do we really know about her? Canary is fine, they did more than enough to give her character legs, but all of the Birds should have gotten as much time to develop. Speaking of time, my darling Huntress should have had WAY more screentime. She was SO dope and it’s a crime you didn’t give Winstead enough time to play with this character because she was having very real fun with her.

These three problems crippled any opportunity this movie had at being great. I’m sure WB thought they had a hit on their hands, or that the name “Harley Quinn” could carry this flick on it’s own but really? After Wondy and Aquaman, hell, even Shazam to a certain extent, you’d think these cats would have learned something. Instead, they opted to go hard with the Snyder-isms and the Box Office reflects all of that. This should have never been a BoP films. Margot should have definitely went for Gotham City Sirens. Still, we got what we got. It’s not good, but it’s not that bad, either. If they would have done the above three things, it could have been great. Missed opportunity.

[littlereyofsunlight]

When the Holiday Spirit’s True

My Steggy Secret Santa gift for @lavellenchanted for the @steggyfanevents exchange. Happy happy and merry merry—I hope you enjoy the story AND have a wonderful 2019!

**

And these are the gifts we keep And this is the morning that we breathe And then we see These moments are the only gifts we need — In the Morning, Jack Johnson

**

“A penguin costume?” Peggy frowned down at the note Lillian handed her. “Whatever for?”

“Christmas pageant, Mummy!” Lillian replied, turning back to her after school snack.

“I’m quite certain there were no penguins present for the birth of Jesus, darling.” Peggy chewed on the inside of her bottom lip, thinking. “Still, your father should be able to sort you out something suitable.”

Later that evening, as Peggy worked through her backlog of emails from the Thanksgiving break, she overheard their precocious daughter in conversation with Steve.

“I’m gonna be a penguin, Dad.”

“Is that so?” Steve’s reply seemed a little distant. There was a splash and a gurgle in the background. Bathtime for Hal, then. “Why do you want to be a penguin?”

A beat. Peggy could imagine the look on Lily’s face as she thought through her response; their daughter was a little copy of Steve. “Well actually, the roles were assigned by Ms. Beckman and Mr. Lewis.” Another pause. “And penguin is better than a reindeer’s bottom.”

Splash. “Oh, sorry, buddy.” Steve apologized as the baby gave a shocked cry at the water Steve had no doubt surprised him with. “Lily, could you start again? Why did your teachers assign you the role of penguin?”

Lily’s long-suffering sigh was a scarily accurate copy of Peggy’s. “For the Christmas pageant, Daddy,” she explained, patience wearing thin, judging by her tone of voice.

“Christmas pageant?” Steve repeated, his own voice sharpening in that way Peggy knew foretold an oncoming rant.

“Yes, Dad, the Christmas pageant. There are reindeer and penguins and elves and we sing Silent Night and Jingle Bells and Come Y’All Faith-fool—”

“Come All Ye Faithful?”

“—and at the end Mr. Lewis comes out dressed like Santa.”

“Do you sing any other songs?”

“The big kids are singing.”

“What are they singing?”

“I don’t know, big kids songs.”

“Are they all about Christmas?”

“Yep.”

“Nothing about other holidays? Maybe Hanukkah?”

“What’s that?”

Steve, it turned out, was getting pretty good at that patented sigh as well. Peggy tuned him out as he explained the holiday to Lillian while finishing Hal’s bath. These emails weren’t going to reply to themselves, and she would need to nurse Hal soon.

Much later, after Lillian’s bedtime routine and another round of quieting fussy baby Hal back to sleep, Peggy’s eyelids were closed before she’d even crawled fully under the covers.

Steve cleared his throat as he tossed his balled-up socks into the hamper.

“If you put them through the wash and dryer that way, you’ll end up with damp sock balls in the fresh laundry.” She still hadn’t opened her eyes.

Peggy heard Steve move over to the hamper and pick out his socks. “Did you know about this?”

“I’ve been dealing with your socks for seven years, yes.”

That sigh again, as he sat heavily on his side of the bed. The mattress dipped and heaved, signs that Steve was arranging a mountain of pillows to sit up against. They were going to have a chat before she could sleep, it seemed. “Did you know about the Christmas pageant at Lily’s school?”

Peggy rolled over and looked at him, his handsome face so grave despite the subject matter. “She handed me a note about needing a penguin costume this afternoon.”

“And you’re okay with this?”

She blinked. What there was to not be okay with, she wasn’t sure.

He went on. “I know for a fact that several of Lily’s classmates practice faiths that don’t celebrate Christmas. This sounds exclusionary. All the songs they’re singing are Christmas songs. Some of them are hymns!”

“I’m not following, darling. Christmas seems like the dominant holiday this time of year.” Steve had been off on a mission just before Halloween, and by the time Peggy had realized she needed to get Lily a costume, half the stores had already switched to Christmas gear. Lilian had stoutly refused to go as one of Santa’s elves, resulting in a rather madcap dash across several neighborhood Duane Reades in search of the desired princess dress. Initially she’d wanted to go as Black Widow, but Peggy drew a line at catsuits on six year-olds.

“We send our child to a public school.”

“...I’m aware.” If he kept her up much later, Peggy would need to dig up some of those luxe under-eye masks Pepper had gifted her just to feel presentable in the morning.

Steve’s voice reached new levels of incredulous. “Separation of church and state?!”

Oh. “How very American,” she replied, a bit frosty.

*

But Steve was like a dog with a bone. Now that he had an inkling of how Christmas had taken over the entire month of December, he kept uncovering new traditions to be upset over.

One night he bolted up from his laptop, eyes wide. “This is madness!”

Peggy was nursing Hal (Peggy was always nursing Hal.) “Hmm?” She glanced up from the tablet perched precariously on her knee so she could skim a mission report.

“Did Lily tell you about the Elf on a Shelf?” Steve was using his Captain America voice already, and whenever he put that voice on at home, Peggy almost wished for another ten repeats of Baby Shark with their daughter belting along off-key.

“No, darling,” she said, deftly juggling baby and technology so Hal was at her other breast. “Is it a new television program?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I thought we agreed we’d limit her screen time.”

“So we did. What’s this Elf business, then?” Peggy tried to smile but then the baby made use of the tooth that had broken through just the other day.

Steve ignored her gasp of pain, building up a head of steam. “It seems most of her classmates wake up each morning to find this doll in a different spot, getting into some kind of trouble, as a reminder from Santa to be good.”

Peggy frowned. “That doesn’t sound right.” Hal was dozing off, so she motioned for Steve to swap with her. Her heart swelled briefly as she watched him cradle their son in his big hands. His spoiling-for-a-fight face softened as he looked down into Hal’s milk-drunk eyes, a shade lighter than Peggy’s, cinnamon rather than chocolate.

She took the proffered laptop and scanned the site Steve had been reading. “These are so elaborate!” She looked back at Steve. “Who has time to do all this?”

Steve tore his gaze from Hal’s face. “Peggy, this is just priming children to accept living in a surveillance state!”

Peggy shook her head, scrolling through the list of ideas, with photos illustrating the scenarios. “Those are teeny-tiny flapjacks. I can barely feed myself and our children, now I’ll have to feed an elf?”

An angry gurgle made Hal sound as though he was agreeing with one or both of his parents. But then he spit up all down Steve’s shirt, so the conversation was shelved.

*

On a video conference call at headquarters one afternoon, Peggy’s assistant interrupted her with something akin to semaphore or interpretive dance from the doorway of her office.

“Pardon me, Secretary General Guterres, it seems I’m needed urgently. I trust we can continue this conversation before the next assembly?” Peggy smiled and thanked the former prime minister before signing off.

Quinn stood there, wringing their hands. “Ms. Carter, I’m sorry to intrude—”

Peggy could feel her blood pressure rising. “And yet you have, so it better be life and death.” She heard their gulp from across the room.

“Well, ma’am, it’s your husband.”

She shot out of her chair. “Steve’s not on assignment, he took the month off.” She jabbed blindly at her phone, pressing the receiver to her ear with a shaky hand.

“No, ma’am, he’s not…” Quinn’s response faded from her hearing as the call connected and Peggy heard Steve’s cell ringing.

Peggy’s annoyance overtook her relief like a lion bringing down a sick gazelle. “If he took on something at the last minute without bloody clearing it with me, I swear to Christ—” There were any number of situations the organization had been monitoring over the last few weeks that could have blown up spectacularly, or certainly would, if Captain America chose to insert himself.

“Peggy?” Steve’s greeting sounded especially guilty, which only enraged her further.

“What have you done, you great impulsive pratt, what ridiculous endeavor has your god-complex led you to now?”

There was a moment of strained silence on the other end of the line, but Peggy didn’t hear gunfire or explosions or Clint Barton’s voice in the background, so that was slightly reassuring. Still, the utter gall of Steve to go running headlong into danger, with no thought to his wife or children at home.

Eventually, Steve found his voice. “God-complex?”

“Um, Director Carter?” Quinn had crept into the room and stood at her elbow, whispering.

“Out with it,” Peggy snapped, unclear whether she was speaking to her husband or her employee.

Quinn shrank back but managed to squeak out an answer. “Your daughter’s teachers wanted to speak with you about the emails Mr. Rogers keeps sending them about the holiday pageant.”

Peggy felt her eyes roll back into her head of their own accord. The Carter-Rogers family’s trademark sigh exploded from her lungs. “Steve.”

“Yes, love of my life?” She could picture the too-innocent look on his face just from his tone of voice.

Peggy counted to three, for all the good it did. “Have you left the tri-state area?”

“I am at our home in Brooklyn, with our children.” A faint “hello, Mummy!” sounded down the line. “Lily says hello.”

“Love and kisses,” she replied automatically.

“Did someone tell you I was somewhere else?”

Peggy raised an eyebrow at Quinn, who still stood there, pale-faced and sweating. “Not exactly. Now, what’s this about you emailing Lillian’s teachers?”

Another wary pause. “How much do you know?”

“I know we’ll need to come up with an extravagant offering, if they’re calling me to get you to back off.” Peggy leaned back in her chair and adjusted the waistband cutting into her stomach. “Honestly, Steve, you can’t dictate every aspect of our child’s education.”

Steve sniffed. “But I got them to add a Hanukkah song.”

“Well then, let’s say that’s the end of it, shall we? Give those poor young people a rest. Between you and Lillian, how are they to have any energy to deal with the rest of the class?”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, contrite. “I’ll drop it. For this year.”

That would have to do. “Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me, Quinn and I need to review when it’s appropriate to interrupt calls with high-ranking members of international governing bodies.”

“Well, have a good afternoon. The kids and I can’t wait to have you home. Love you.”

“Likewise, darling,” Peggy replied. Then she hung up and turned the full force of her disappointed face on her assistant.

*

“Did you know that Immaculate Heart around the corner celebrates midnight Mass at ten pm?” Steve asked Peggy one afternoon as they folded the laundry side by side.

“I certainly did not,” she replied, focused on pairing Hal’s tiny socks. He’d soon grow out of them, and no part of him would ever be as small as he was now. Her baby was already so much bigger than when he’d been born. Soon enough, Hal wouldn’t be her baby any more. She closed her eyes against a sudden rush of tears.

Steve shook out a fitted sheet and handed two corners to Peggy without looking at her. They both stepped back and quickly tucked their corners, paired sides and folded in half, then quarters, then eighths. Steve smoothed out the wrinkles on the top fold, shaking his head. “I knew everything was going to be different from the moment I first came back.”

He put the sheet onto the linens pile. “But the thing of it is, the differences never stop. Every time I think I’ve gotten the hang of living now, something comes up to put me right back at square one.” He took up one of Lily’s tees, running his fingers over the puffy letters on the front that proclaimed her a “future engineer/princess” whenever she wore it. “I know we don’t go to church.” He folded the shirt, turning it into a tiny square of glittery fabric in his hands. “But going to Mass with Ma was one of our few Christmas traditions.”

Peggy stopped folding to look at Steve. “Darling,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “We can go, of course we can go.”

His eyes were shining when he looked up at her, the corner of his mouth quirked up in what might have been a smile. “Nah.” He scratched his nose. “If I can’t put Lily through three hours of mind-numbingly unintelligible Latin, what’s the point? And if Hal’s there, we run the risk of a dirty diaper smell combining with the incense into some kind of chemical weapon.”

Peggy laughed with him, but noted the way the corners of his eyes stayed tight. “Well, I could go with you, anyhow. It’s been a few years, but I bet I can still follow along all right.”

That earned her a real smile, at least.

*

Peggy contemplated, not for the first time, whether Natasha might be giving their daughter spy lessons. The cache of presents in the crawl space above the master closet seemed untouched, but as Lily had found every other hiding spot, Peggy wasn’t so sure that the little girl had just gotten better as covering her tracks. Her back twinged as she reached in to pull them down and she groaned.

“Peg? Everything okay?” Steve asked from the doorway, just back from his run.

She stepped gingerly down the ladder. “Could you please fetch the gifts at the back up there?” Peggy pressed her hands into the small of her back and stretched, feeling some of the tension release as she did. “Perhaps I’ll need to ask Santa for a massage,” she murmured to herself.

Steve handed down the packages to her while she admired the view of his back muscles in the too-tight workout gear he favored. As he came down with Lily’s final present in his hands, he puzzled over the tag. “From Santa?”

“Jolly old fellow, spreads Christmas cheer to good little girls and boys?” Peggy sorted through the other presents, checking the tape at the seams for signs of tampering.

He turned the box over in his hands. “Santa did stockings, at most, back in my day.”

Squinting at a tiny rip in the paper, Peggy didn’t catch the note in his voice. “Perhaps he has better funding these days, dear.” No, not a tear, a cut made by the associate at the store who’d wrapped the thing.

“Hold on, Peggy, is this the big castle she’s been begging us for?”

“That’s what we agreed on for her big gift, yes.”

“But you labelled it from Santa?”

Peggy concluded her inventory, satisfied that either Lily hadn’t sussed out this hiding spot, or that she was, in fact, exceptionally good at six year-old espionage. Either way, she could be proud. “I’m not following the thread, here, Steve. What is the problem?”

Steve’s eyebrows were drawn together on his forehead, his hands on his slim hips. “Peggy, we really shouldn’t be teaching our daughter that the most expensive gifts come from some man she doesn’t know. The big gift should be from us.”

She sat on the bed, suddenly very tired. “Well then you can write a new tag for the present, I don’t care.”

“I just want us to be mindful about the messages we’re sending.”

“Yes, and while you’re being mindful, and harassing the teachers, and raging against the commercialization of the season, I’m just trying to get through a bloody holiday without an international incident sidelining our plans!” Finally, it was Peggy’s turn to let loose. “You do so much for our family, Steve, but there’s even more you don’t know needs to be done! The teachers’ gifts and the scheduling and the gift wrapping that has to happen before the presents even come home, because our daughter is a super spy, plus trying to keep the mood festive even though you’ve been shitting over every aspect of the holiday this year.” 

She threw up her hands, too angry to even look at him. “Oh, not to mention the fact that I’m pregnant, Steve. Again. Hal isn’t even a year old, so well done, us. I’m tired all the time and hormonal and weepy and at this point, on Christmas Eve, I don’t even feel like celebrating. I hope you’re happy.” She marched into the ensuite bathroom and slammed the door behind her. She went to run a bath, but remembered she wasn’t supposed to soak in hot water, so she turned on the shower instead and sat down, breathing hard, as steam started to fill the room.

Steve knocked on the door. “Peggy?”

She didn’t respond, only picked up a brush and began running it through her hair.

“Peggy, I deserved that.” No Captain America voice now, just Steve, abashed and remorseful. “I’m sorry. I’m going to give you some time to cool down, but then I hope you’ll let me make it up to you.”

Peggy bit her lip, her resolve softening already.

“And Peggy?” She pictured him leaning against the jamb, the way he did many nights while she went through her toilette. “That’s great news about the baby. The best damn present you could have given me.”

Crying now, Peggy opened the door. “You have been an absolute shit, Rogers.”

He took her in his arms. “I have,” he agreed. She twined her arms around his neck. “I’ve been a real Grinch.” He held her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder, tears dripping on his shirt.

“I’m not sentimental over these sorts of things,“ she sniffed. “And I’ve come through hundred of high pressure situations before, I don’t know why this one got to me.”

Steve pulled back to meet her eyes. “Maybe because I’m supposed to be supporting you, not adding to your stress?”

“You usually do support me!” Peggy protested, the tears passing as quickly as they had come on. “And I can see how hard this Christmas has been for you.”

He nodded. “That’s no excuse for my behavior, though. I should have dealt with it better.”

She sniffled again. “Well, do better now.”

Steve squeezed her tight. “You got it. How about you hop in that shower and I’ll deal with the presents, okay?”

Peggy looked up at him from under her lashes. “You can deal with the presents, but I think you need a shower, too.” She plucked at his sweaty tee. “You can scrub my back as your first act of penance.”

Steve laughed and let her lead him into the bathroom.

*

On Christmas morning, Peggy woke with a start. Steve’s side of the bed was cold, and it was past ten, judging by the stark winter sunlight streaming into the room. The scent of bacon wafted under her nose before she was fully awake. As she lay in bed wondering if she could realistically sneak in a few more minutes of rest, Lily galloped into the room.

“Mummy!” She zoomed around the bed. “Dad wouldn’t let me come in until breakfast was ready but it’s ready now and then we have to open presents and so it’s time to get up, get up, get up!”

Peggy laughed and sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Thank you for letting me sleep in, dearest.”

“Daddy said you two were up late watching for Santa.”

As if on cue, Steve appeared in the doorway, Hal strapped to his chest and a tray in his hands. Peggy raised an eyebrow at him. “Daddy said we were up late, did he?”

Steve blushed. “I was trying to explain why you were so tired.”

“Well, Lily, your Dad and I were just so caught up in the holiday spirit, we didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

Lillian clambered up into bed beside Peggy. “I tried to stay up, too, but I was too knackered.”

“Well, we still weren’t up late enough to help Santa with his packages.” Peggy cuddled her close. “Did he leave you anything?”

“Yes, there are presents under the tree I haven’t seen!”

Steve raised both eyebrows. “I guess I’ll have to give Nat a call later.” Peggy shrugged. “I made you an apology breakfast.” He gestured with the tray.

“I can smell it from here!” Peggy said approvingly. “A lie-in, plus bacon. You are well on your way to being back on my nice list, Steve.” He grinned at that.

“Can we eat it in bed?” Lily asked.

“I suppose it is a special occasion,” Peggy replied. “Come sit with us, darling.” She motioned for Steve to join them. He handed off the tray and unwrapped Hal from his carrier, settling him in his lap.

“Tea, bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes and the last of that banana bread Sharon sent over,” Steve said, indicating the plates practically overflowing from the tray. “Merry Christmas, Peggy.”

Peggy looked up into Steve’s clear blue eyes to see the love shining there. “Thank you, Steve. Merry Christmas.”

[404botnotfound]

The Line [10]

…and where to draw it

SERIES: Destiny WORD COUNT: 7,525 SHIP: Quinn/Drifter CHARACTERS: quinn leonis (AU), glyph, kel

x. tangled web

idiom. a convoluted situation usually caused by some form of deception; very confusing and difficult to understand.

“I’ve always wondered—”

Ahead of her Kel stops moving, turning around to face her quietly and waiting for her to catch up. They’re making their way up the deteriorating structure of what had once been a building somewhere in southern Europe, aiming for a vantage point to get a better lay of the land.

Huffing, Quinn mutters fuck it, using a pulse of light to jump up to the landing he’s on through a hole in the ceiling and avoiding the questionable-looking stairs nearby. The floor responds with strained creaking, and she shrugs when he fixes her with a flat look.

“—why doesn’t Echo talk?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, continuing with her on his heels.

“Has she ever?”

He pauses to think, his head cocking to the side. “Not as long as I’ve known her.”

Which is nearly two thousand years. Kel’s ghost is the only one she’s ever known to be what counts for mute among her kind; other ghosts can understand her just fine, and Kel is able to as well, but even after knowing her for nearly twenty years Quinn still has trouble parsing her method of communication.

“Have you ever asked?” It’s more to fill the silence than anything else, but it’s something she’s been curious about for a while.

“Ghosts have pasts, too. It’s not my business,” Kel replies, hopping into the air—hypocrite—and bouncing up to the next level as she had below. “Have you ever thought to ask Glyph about its past?”

She stops and blinks, realizing that she had not, in fact, ever thought to ask—hopefully Glyph doesn’t hold that against her.

She hadn’t exactly wanted to spend time getting to know it in the beginning of their relationship, too unsettled and afraid of it (as well as being spooked by everything else like a kitten) to talk to it about things like pasts and likes and dislikes and other staple twenty questions. 

As the years passed, any discoveries they made about each other came about organically rather than through wary, awkward icebreaking. Glyph hadn’t ever broached the subject. She wonders if it avoided bringing it up for fear of upsetting her due to her own lack of memories.

“My past really isn’t all that interesting,” it says, sounding embarrassed, “mostly just planet-hopping while I was searching for you. I did nearly get eaten by a big Fallen in the Reef, once. He tried to crack me open like an egg. Eugh.”

Her nose wrinkles at the thought; eugh is right. She knows the Fallen subsist on a synthetic, light-like substance called Ether, but the idea that some or most of them might consider a wayward ghost a snack isn’t a pleasant one. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t get eaten.”

It chirps happily in response. “Me too.”

Kel’s already gotten to the top during her lapse in attention. When she catches up again, she finds him leaning against the edge of a shattered window, scanning the landscape through his rifle scope. Side face. Smaller target. Harder to see, harder to hit.

She hadn’t taken many of Kel’s attempts to teach her how to snipe to heart after she had figured out she preferred being closer to the action, but there are still a few things she had adapted as useful regardless of range.

Peeking around the other edge of the window, she squints into the distance and sees nothing but scattered snow drifts amidst withering grass and the decaying husks of city buildings that grow denser farther away. “So, what were we doing out here, again?”

“Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Gonna be honest,” she says, “I spent most of Zavala’s spiel in a state of shock. I heard the words, ‘I’m sending you into the field,’ and the rest was like a fly buzzing in my ear.”

Part of that may have been her still simmering disdain for the man, but that’s neither here nor there.

Kel’s scope drops as he fixes her with another quiet look. “A fireteam went missing in this area. Zavala sent us to look into it.”

She gets the feeling the explanation hadn’t been what the look was for, but she doesn’t mention it. “Sent me to look into it and sent you to babysit so I don’t go high-tailing it after the Prince, you mean.”

“I know you haven’t already. You know that.” He returns to scouting.

“You do,” she says, leaning against the other edge of the window and crossing her arms, “he doesn’t.”

He doesn’t respond. She can either interpret that as an affirmation of her suspicion, or just Kel being Kel. If it’s the former, on the plus side, at least Zavala thinks she isn’t going to go postal anymore—on the other, he isn’t sure how far he can trust that judgement.

“Glyph, have you been able to pick up anything as we traveled?” she asks, her eyes drifting up to settle on the clouds she can see through what little roof remains.

Her ghost beeps with frustration over the team frequency in response. “Nothing. If any guardians passed through here, it wasn’t recently. Is Zavala sure it was here?”

“He’s sure,” Kel answers, lowering his scope. “So am I. Let’s go.”

Without waiting, he hops onto the windowsill and drops the five stories to the ground below, a single pulse of light before he hits the ground halting his momentum and letting him land safely.

She starts to follow, but pauses on the sill when she happens to glance up and catch sight of a familiar rock formation in the distance. A cliff peaking over the top of a forest, broad edge hanging over the copse of trees below and a waterfall cascading down into a stream she’d nearly been knocked into before.

Kel is heading towards where the stream exits the forest and flows into the ruins on the edge of the city they’re near.

Glancing again at the waterfall, she drops down and jogs to catch up, her boots crunching in the light snow. “I’ve got an idea. Follow me?”

He stops, and after a moment gestures for her to take the lead.

She grabs her hand cannon from the holster on her thigh before moving ahead; no use being the point man if you aren’t prepared for the worst, and if her unhappy hunch is right, she needs to be prepared for the worst.

There’s not a single good reason she can think of for a fireteam to go missing near a Gambit arena, even if Zavala had sent them to investigate something odd—and a large group of guardians throwing a bunch of Taken at each other for sport certainly counts.

There still shouldn’t be anything left around to be a danger, though, and that sets her on edge.

Any of her warm cheer from newfound freedom takes a backseat to discomfort. Does the Drifter have something to do with the missing guardians? Is he trying to keep his unsanctioned competition a secret from the Vanguard? If that’s the case, it means he’s unaware that at least one of the three—unofficial or not—already knows about it.

Kel follows her into the forest without question or comment.

Glyph, on the other hand, picks up on their surroundings quickly once they get closer to the arena she’d been in just last week. ‘I didn’t even realize where we were. Quinn, if that fireteam went missing here…’

Her lips press into a thin line to keep herself from replying within earshot of Kel. She already knows the implication, but she doesn’t want to validate its or Kel’s warnings about the Drifter. Something in her gut tells her that there’s more to this coincidence than some vagabond’s secrets.

When the treeline breaks and they step into a wider, open clearing shadowed by the looming cliff and waterfall, they find nothing noteworthy at first glance.

Quinn hops up onto a ridge she knows is hidden behind the waterfall and shivers as the frigid spray from it hits her. Moving around the back of it and up the small hill in the center, she finds that there isn’t anything there but turned snow and dirt and a large divot where the mote bank had been dug in.

Her eyes narrow to scan their surroundings while Kel steps up next to her.

A huge tree is off to her left, half-uprooted near the base of the hill, kept upright and alive only by its weight leaning on the cliffside and half its massive roots still dug into the ground. The waterfall and the stream it flows into—ice starting to form around the edges—are to her right, and if she looks behind her she knows she’ll find the cave system her team had been dropped into at the start of the match.

Ahead of her she can barely see a lone spire of the Fallen’s scavenged technology, one of their ramshackle outposts visible between the trees ahead.

“I’m picking up faint light signatures,” Glyph says, “those guardians were here.”

And so is the faintest trace of the darkness that had been thrown around like a toy during the match.

Gooseflesh ripples over her skin, something light and heady settling in the back of her mind. It’s a familiar sensation by this point, and she’s come to recognize the feeling of the darkness seeping into and mixing with her light.

Like Kel’s inexplicable nose for things that are off, it seems she’s become sensitive to the darkness.

She pays neither it nor the brief flicker of relief she feels any mind.

“Tamped grass and snow over here. Footprints ahead. They were running,” Kel says.

She turns and heads over to where Kel is crouched down on the east side of the hill, his rifle braced on the ground next to him while he scans. “Running?”

Had the Taken lingered? Had there been enough residual energy to draw them here even without Gambit’s influence? She can certainly sense it here, and if she’s become more sensitive to it, then he’s sure it’s even easier to pick up on for the denizens of the darkest realm to find.

Kel looks ahead, gesturing and drawing her eyes into the distance. Rather than trampled grass, she can see turned dirt and snow. “Look at the distance between those divots. There wouldn’t be overturned dirt if they were walking. The distance between would be smaller.”

“Hold on—Quinn, can you go over to that big tree for a second?”

Blinking at Glyph’s request, she jogs back over to the uprooted tree. It flashes into sight when she gets close and darts over to the underside of the trunk, a probing beam of light striking a spot that comes into view as she steps under it.

“Scorch marks,” Kel says from behind her shoulder, looking up at the spot being inspected.

Her brow furrows. “There’s no grass or snow here. It kind of looks like the ground just...erupted.” And she doesn’t remember this section of the arena getting hit with crossfire from either her team, the enemies, or the opposing invaders.

Granted, it had been pretty damn hectic at the time.

“Solar grenade, probably.”

Glyph’s facets pulse outward with energy. It flits over to her. “There are tracks in the bark, too—bullets grazed it. More embedded in the cliff, along with more discoloration from heat.”

Kel stares up at the trunk silently. She and Glyph watch him curiously until he turns away and heads back up the hill towards the footprints. He hasn’t always been the most verbose, of course, but he seems tenser than he had been moments ago.

Glyph demats and she follows. By the time she crests the hill, he’s already reached the treeline; when she reaches the treeline herself, she has to ignore the inexplicable prickle of need to turn back around and linger.

The sets of tracks follow loosely along the stream’s path, darting around as though ducking through the trees and undergrowth. They had been running from something, for sure.

Question is, what?

It isn’t like guardians to run from a fight unless there’s overwhelming odds stacked against them, and even then, it’s rare. There isn’t anything to suggest a firefight had broken out in that clearing unless one of them had turned on the others, and since they’re currently following three sets of tracks all in line with one another—

Hold on.

Her breath mists in the chilly air as she glances between the three sets she sees and the fourth one she had just noticed. “Kel? There’s a fourth set of tracks.”

“I know.”

She frowns, but continues onward.

They travel in silence, the trees eventually giving way to the city ruins they had been poking through the outskirts of before. The tracks disappear once they reach solid pavement and the snow thins out, sun keeping warm the cracked asphalt of roads littered with dying but determined tufts of grass.

A series of beeps and chirps come through over the comms, and Glyph translates Echo’s not-words for her sake. ‘Light signatures are heavier here.’

“This way,” Kel says, moving towards a side street and rolling his shoulders. Echo materializes ahead of him, her pink-speckled, black shell flitting quickly ahead and leading them forward.

Let it not be said she’s less bold than her own ghost. Or Roland’s, the poor thing.

This city had fared better than most others in the area. Buildings are still mostly intact, bricks and solid exteriors only just starting to crack and crumble with overgrown vines and grass and trees determined to reclaim the abandoned earth. The smell of moss and greenery, despite the rapidly chilling temperatures, is thick in the crisp air.

It should be a light atmosphere, but the farther into the city they travel and heavier the air gets, so heavy that one might think the air itself is the cause of the creaking of rusted structures around them. Her skin prickles with the powerful, lingering light charge she can feel around her.

A fight had definitely broken out here involving multiple guardians—that’s not hard to figure out, and even harder to further deny.

They find their next sign of the lost fireteam as they emerge from the streets into an enclosed square, part of a collapsed building having split the foundation of the street into shattered pieces. She’s not sure what she’s looking at, at first, but as she follows Kel’s assured steps and gets closer, she finds a chilling horror overtake her.

There, on the solid surface of the collapsed building’s wall, is a shadow—a scorched figure in the shape of a person burned into the brick.

She stares at it with wide eyes as she struggles to process the sight.

There isn’t a single weapon belonging to any of humanity’s enemies that can do something like this. Not even the scorch cannons some of the Fallen captains wield. Not a single weapon or threat she knows of can so thoroughly burn a guardian that it leaves a solid figure rather than an outline, nothing that can do it so quickly that the body falls to block the violent energy necessary to make that outline.

“Kel,” she asks, slowly, unable to tear her eyes away, “what the fuck am I looking at?”

His answer is a quiet murmur that doesn’t sound like it’s meant for her. “It’s happening faster than we thought.”

Blinking, she forces herself to look away from the scorched surface. She finds him looking instead at the pavement nearby; following his line of sight reveals an unnatural swathe of cleared snow where another shadow is burned—distorted by length, but definitely another person.

“What the fuck,” she breathes.

“They got on the bad side of someone they shouldn’t have,” he says after a prolonged length. Then, he turns around and heads back the way they had come. “Let’s go. No reason to stick around.”

“What—wait a second! We still haven’t found—”

He cuts her off. “We found two shadows. We’re just going to find one more.”

Glyph flashes into sight, flying ahead of her to join Echo alongside him. “Kel, you can’t just say something cryptic like that and expect us to drop it!”

“I can and I do. Drop it.”

Aggravation swelling, she puts on a burst of speed so she can bypass him and stop in his path, forcing him to a halt. He’s standing stiffly, staring her down in a clear indication that she needs to back off and leave it alone.

Which, considering they had just found what barely constitutes the remains of two dead guardians, she refuses to do. She’s tired of feeling lost and in the dark—she wants answers.

“What is that?” she demands.

Kel’s fingers tighten around the rifle at rest in his hands. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

Can’t just say some things.

“Bullshit,” she hisses. “You know what we just found and I want to know what it is. Nothing kills a guardian like that, and do you really think Zavala is going to be happy with a mission report that consists of, ‘they’re dead, case closed, no need to investigate further’?”

“There’s one thing that kills a guardian like that. You want to know what it is? Keep dancing to the Drifter’s tune and you’ll find out.” The snapped response is uncharacteristic enough that she recoils in surprise.

Kel never openly displays so much emotion—let alone the kind of anger he’s clearly feeling right now. It typically just comes out as a muted irritation and a projected leave me the fuck alone demeanor. If that isn’t enough to make her head whirl with more questions, then the multiple layers of implication in his words is.

Ultimately, the thinly veiled threat is what she latches onto. “I’m not dancing to his tune.”

“Uh, guys?” Glyph bobs into her periphery, but she pays it no mind.

“Do you really think Gambit is the answer to what happened at the Prison?” He leans into her personal space, she has to grab hold of her quickly boiling over anger to keep from being cowed by the disconcertingly out of character intimidation tactic. “Do you honestly believe that he’s not using your grief to his own ends?”

How does Kel know Drifter? Why does he so firmly believe the Drifter is really so different from the Drifter that she’s come to know?

She thinks of the joking flirts, the advice, the easy smiles and laughs, the open sincerity as he listens to her, and the way he had helped her—without any request for compensation or favor—discover how to tap into her light.

Kel and Glyph want her to believe it’s all just an act. Kel’s instincts have always been scarily accurate, even more so after his return to the City, and he’s the most experienced member of the team—but she likes to think her instincts are decent enough as well.

Drifter has been nothing but kind to her. Weird, cryptic, and obnoxiously smug, yes, but still kind. He’s also the only one not trying to convince her to drop the anger and pain, just to know it’s there and not let it get the best of her, and it isn’t.

She likes him.

‘He’s not who he wants you to think he is,’ Kel had said. But what if he’s not who Kel thinks he is, either?

“Guys?” Glyph’s voice has pitched up another octave and it sounds more insistent this time, but she again brushes it off.

“I’m not being used! I’m just blowing off steam because I can’t go put Uldren in the fucking ground like he deserves,” she snaps, “and at least he’s not telling me to just put it behind me!”

“What do you think Cayde would say to you letting yourself drown in all that anger?”

Her mouth drops open. Furiously, she holsters her gun and shoves him back with both hands. “Don’t fucking bring him into this! He’s gone and you don’t know what he’d think!”

“Did he never tell you why I left the City four years ago? Do you think I have no idea what you’re going through, and how easy it would be for someone like him to get inside your head? I’ve been where you are. You’re holding onto your anger because you think it’s the only thing you’ve got left, but it’s not,” he says, set back only a step by her shove.

It’s not her anger she’s holding onto, damnit, it’s the knowledge that Cayde deserves justice and she’s going to get that for him. Ikora and Kel had both given her the choice to do so, but at the same time had held a threat over her head as they did so.

Whether or not that had been the intent, the fact is they had, and she knows she’s still not willing to burn those bridges—even though it’s tempting.

She’s not being manipulated by anyone, and she knows herself well enough to recognize if she were. “I know you lost your shit and tried to kill Luke. Where the fuck do you get off, trying to tell me how to manage my grief? Unlike you, I haven’t tried to kill someone that doesn’t deserve it!”

“Yet,” he snaps back, tone icy.

It douses her rage and forces her to finally back down. She swallows, her eyes stinging from frustrated tears that well up as she stares, unblinkingly, into the expressionless helmet he wears.

He doesn’t really believe she’d ever do that, does he?

“Guys!”

Both of them stiffen at the tinny shout from Glyph, all anger shelved by the frantic urgency in its tone. A flicker of a thought that it’s simply distressed by the heated argument passes through her mind, but it’s discarded when she looks at it and finds it staring past the two of them, facets twitching nervously.

She turns her head.

Standing a little less than a dozen yards down the decaying street is a trio of people, all armed and armored. A ghost hovers over the shoulder of the one standing in the middle, a tall man wearing light, black armor with a jagged ‘x’ scratched into the paint on the breastplate, and a silver, asymmetrical cloak.

Hunter? A glance at the other two solidifies the theory at the sight of what looks like another hunter and a warlock flanking him.

The hunter in the middle isn’t wearing a helmet, his handsome face wearing an expression of dark amusement. As he glances between her and Kel, he runs a hand through his dark hair, tapping the auto rifle in his other against his shoulder—then lifts his eyebrows and gestures at them. “Oh, by all means, don’t let us stop the lover’s spat. It was just getting good.”

She takes her cue from Kel and says nothing, feeling wariness twist in her gut. There’s nothing to outwardly indicate they’re a threat, but her skin is prickling with wariness.

Between them, Echo chirps nervously and darts towards Kel, dematting and taking his sniper rifle with her. Glyph is frozen, but shakes it off quickly and follows suit; its nervousness does nothing to ease her own.

The hunter’s sharp eyes settle on her with keen interest, and the only thing that keeps her from tensing in outright discomfort is the gut feeling that it’d be the exact wrong thing to do.

Her wary stare on the hunter is broken when Kel moves ahead to block her from sight; when she steps to the side just enough so that she can keep an eye on the strange guardians, his arm lifts as though to push her back. His index and middle finger are extended, the other two curled into his palm.

It’s his warning to be careful—and not a signal he’s ever used in the field unless they’re facing a massive group of enemies they’d be better off sneaking around rather than fighting, and definitely not something she had ever imagined him using when dealing with people.

His uncanny knack for picking up on when things are off is rarely wrong, and she knows, then, that her unease is justified.

Kel’s movement draws the strange hunter’s eyes away (she fights not to shudder in relief), where they flicker down to the hand cannon holstered on his thigh. The black, jagged one that he’s favored over his old auto rifle ever since he’d returned to the City.

“Nice piece,” the hunter nods at him, breaking the uncomfortable stretch of silence, “what name did it give you?”

She blinks. What the fuck kind of question is that?

“It didn’t. Can we help you?” Kel answers, flatly.

The hunter works his jaw and lifts his chin, giving him a derisive once-over and looking unimpressed by what he sees. “Huh. Not one of us, then. How’d you get it?”

Not one of who?

“Can we help you?” The question is a good deal more forceful this time as he refuses to be straight with him.

“Maybe,” the hunter replies, tapping the rifle against his shoulder again before it demats in a flicker of light. His ghost flashes out of sight, and he steps forward with his arms open wide as though he’s greeting old friends. His head tilts, and he focuses a brilliantly disarming smile on her. “We were looking for someone else, but this is just as good. Overheard you talking about the Drifter—you know him?”

The predatory intent behind his eyes fails to match the charming smile, leaving a chilling disconnect that sends a shiver up her spine. “What does it matter to you?”

“We’ve got some unfinished business with the man, is all. What rock has he scurried under this time?” He continues at a languid pace, halting only when the hand Kel doesn’t have extended protectively in front of her settles on the grip of his hand cannon.

His smile widens, and the two people flanking him shift restlessly.

At first, the hunter’s smile reminds her of the Drifter—but the longer she watches him, the more she realizes that the Drifter’s smile hasn’t ever held a fraction of the malicious charm she’s seeing right now. “No need to make a mess, here. We just want to know where he is. You didn’t seem to have any love for him a minute ago, either—why hold out? Just a simple question with a simple answer.”

“You realize who’s been through here recently?” Kel asks slowly, giving her the impression that there’s a layer to the question she’s failing to see.

He, like Ikora, always makes sure to choose his every word carefully; he’s never believed in beating around the bush or wasting words. But rather than being his usual short but straightforward self, this time it feels different. Like he’s playing a game with higher stakes than she understands.

“Sure do,” the hunter replies, breezily. “We’re not afraid of the Renegade. Dangerous man, of course. Not scary.”

“Then you’re more stupid than you look.”

The longer this stretches on, the more lost she feels. Who are these people, what do they have to do with the Drifter, why does it feel like Kel knows more than she does yet again, and who is the Renegade?

A sharp edge flashes through the hunter’s expression and he turns his gaze back on her—this time, she straightens involuntarily, freezing like a deer in headlights at the cool threat he isn’t bothering to hide anymore. “Just do all of us a favor and tell us where we can find the Drifter. It would make things a lot simpler—and less painful—for you.”

She lets out a shaky exhale, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. The smile on his face is hollow, his friendly words empty of warmth. He isn’t looking at her like she’s a person—just a roadblock he’s fully willing to tear down to get at what he wants.

Not much has scared her after her time spent trapped in the Ascendant Plane, but this look? 

It scares her.

“What do we do?” she quietly asks.

“Duck and run,” Kel answers, cool and focused and leaving no room for argument.

Fast as a flash, his hand cannon snaps up from its holster and a single shot rings out.

Without waiting to see if it lands, she warps to the side and bolts, making it to one of the side streets before more than just that first shot starts ringing around her, echoing off the sullen husks of the broken city. The already chilly air stings with the speed of her flight. 

Fear settles a tight grip around her chest; it’s hard to tell, but that sounds like a lot more gunfire than just four guns can dole out. “Kel?” she calls out on the comm.

“Keep running,” he answers through a crackle of static and muffled gunshots, voice louder than usual but still even and controlled, “I’m right behind you. And whatever you do, don’t let them hit you.”

She can’t spare the breath to laugh humorlessly at the order. “Glyph, how many of them are there?”

‘All the residual light must have masked them, I can’t believe so many snuck up on us—’

“Glyph!”

‘I don’t know!’ it replies, frantically. ‘I don’t know! A dozen? The light signatures all over this area are mucking with my sensors, I can’t even figure out where Kel is!’

A dozen. Maybe more, maybe less. Fucking hell, who are these people? The hunter had said they’re looking for someone else, someone other than the Drifter, but they’ve evidently got enough of an axe to grind with him that they’re willing to hunt her and Kel just because they have a lead.

All the questions this outing is leaving her with only add to the storm of non stop turbulence she’s been suffering for weeks. It’s beginning to feel like the moment she had met Drifter, her entire life had begun to spiral out of control—and she had already been in a flat spin after Cayde’s death.

When is she going to get a chance to breathe?

She runs and ducks through alleys and streets, making the mistake of leaping onto a rooftop to bypass a barrier of debris only once. Avoiding that bullet is a stroke of pure luck, and she hastily decides she’s just going to stick to the ground where they’ll have less visibility on her and she has more places to hide.

Or would have places to hide, if it didn’t seem like every time she feels like she’s gotten some distance she has to duck and change direction to avoid another one of them.

The only times she’s been under threat from other guardians up to this point has been from Gambit, and she makes a note to thank the Drifter and his illicit competition profusely for sharpening her instincts and reflexes.

A warlock in tattered, dark gray robes drops into her path from somewhere above. She yelps in surprise and skids to a halt with loose stones clattering under her feet; when her wide eyes settle on the black  hand cannon the warlock holds, three thoughts occur to her.

The first: that looks like Kel’s gun. Darkness curls around the barrel like smoke.

The second: ‘Don’t let them hit you.’ Lady Luck is testing her today.

The third: Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—

The warlock’s finger twitches. Time slows.

Quinn lifts a hand and summons her light shield right as the gun fires; she thinks at first the bullet is stopped short by the shimmering surface, but something sickly green and corrosive chews through it like paper—

—her overshield pops and shatters when the bullet reaches her, and her heart leaps into her throat.

Dropping the shield, she reaches for her own hand cannon and lifts it to fire a return shot.

“Quinn, behind you!” Glyph cries.

Another shot booms through the alley before its warning registers. She yelps as something slams into the back of her shoulder and sends her stumbling forward, the gun dropping from her hand while her nerves light up like fire. Her vision blanks and her lungs seize from the sudden shock of pain.

Another of the unknown guardians, gun lifted, approaches her from behind.

She glances between the two, mind a numb haze of shock and fear. Her senses return like a tidal surge, and she starts to move again, knowing she still can get away, caught off guard or not—warp out of the way and fucking book it.

As she braces herself to move, sparkles of weak light appear next to her and out of the tiny flash drops Glyph; it clinks to the hard surface of the ground, its eye dim and shell stiff and unmoving.

Outright panic chooses then to finally hit her.

She and Glyph had been the only ones unaffected back when Ghaul had captured the Traveler and robbed every guardian and ghost of their light, and as an ill feeling sweeps through her, she knows that, somehow, their thread had been the one snapped this time.

Her handgun sits close to where her friend has fallen. The guardians advance on her.

She snatches Glyph up from the ground and hastily steps back, something catching underfoot and sending her to the ground, where she scrambles away until her back hits something solid.

More questions join the rest. What the fuck are those guns? Why do they look like Kel’s? What happened to Glyph?

“Alright, time to fess up,” the warlock says, her voice a mocking facade of cheer, “where is h—”

Something hisses through the air. The warlock is silenced by a throwing knife that embeds itself in the side of her skull, and her body drops with a heavy thud. Her ghost appears a moment later, blinking in surprise.

The other unknown guardian spins around in time for a pair of bullets strike his helmet right between the eyes. He falls as well—but his ghost is nowhere to be seen. Was he not a guardian?

A third shot rings out. The ghost hovering above the warlock’s body shatters and explodes with a wave of brilliant light, and the remains of its shell scatters across the ground with a light staccato like falling glass.

Kel appears at her side and snaps her out of her panicked shock. “I told you not to get hit.”

She stares at him like he’d grown a second head. He just killed a guardian permanently without a trace of hesitation. In her defense or not, he doesn’t even sound rattled by it, the same rock-solid, calm demeanor he’s well-known for in place.

Her mouth moves soundlessly, thoughts jumbled to hell and back.

“Get up. We need to go,” he says impatiently, gripping her uninjured arm and dragging her to her feet.

Without thinking about it, she uses her other arm to brace herself against the wall she’d been huddled against, and then hisses at the fresh fire that burns through her nerves. The sounds of their pursuers closing in breaks through it; no time to wait for it to pass.

Kel sets off and she follows, not sure where he’s leading her but trusting that if he knows their enemy well enough to have predicted what would happen if they hit her—yet another question of how—then he knows what he’s doing.

As he leads them deeper into the city and the snowy grass and overgrowth around them turns sickly and withered, giving way entirely to the uncomfortably familiar, chitinous infection of the Hive’s dug-in presence, she starts to question that trust.

Writhing worms hiss nearby and underfoot, and vile Hive magic overpowers and chokes the already thick air. It’s getting harder to breathe. Her limbs feel like lead.

They round another corner, Hive growths now so thick they had curled up and over the street like gnarled branches of trees, and a group of acolytes, thrall, and a pair of knights spot them, howling and shrieking in offense at their intrusion.

Kel turns down another path without slowing.

Boots slipping on the nasty, unnatural terrain, she follows, barely dodging the thrall that swipe at her with razor-sharp claws. She tries to shift into a warp to gain some distance.

Nothing happens.

She can’t feel her light. Her earlier theory unpleasantly confirms itself. Fuck.

Pushing herself as hard as she can to catch up to Kel as he weaves through the Hive’s territory, their quick feet—hers beginning to lag worryingly fast—put them ahead and away from the creatures. Gunshots ring out from where they’d left them behind, the familiar cadence of those guardians’ weapons causing her fear to spike.

She’d already been shot once, and she doesn’t want a repeat experience. Not with these guns.

Rounding a corner, she skids to a halt with her throat tightening in fear; Kel is nowhere in sight. A pathetic whine bubbles in her throat, and she forces herself to keep moving. She can find a place to hide. No big deal. She’ll be f—

An arm snags her around the waist and a choked noise leaves her at the unexpected and abrupt cessation of forward motion. Kel hauls her back into a small, darkened hole in a wall she hadn’t even noticed. It’s black within, but the sound of chittering and writhing Hive worms around her leaves her skin crawling in disgust.

“What are we—”

“Quiet,” he shushes her, still unbelievably calm. As he had when facing the guardians before, he throws his arm out in front of her, gently coaxing her further behind him and the jagged corner he’s peering around.

If they’re found here, whether it be by the Hive or by those guardians, they’re dead or worse. Both of them. They’re backed into a tight corner with a narrow exit, and the air is smothered in the Hive’s dark magic, the kind that’s strong enough to suppress light and leave his ghost more vulnerable than she would ordinarily be.

What the fuck is he thinking?

Glyph is already out of commission, and it couldn’t revive her even if it were. Unlike Kel, who she’s sure still has his light-given abilities just from having operated with her teammates in darkness zones like this, she can’t feel any bit of her light within. It leaves her feeling empty and unsettled.

The heady, black static in the back of her mind that she’d experienced back in the Gambit arena earlier builds in turn. Is she getting sick?

She glances to the side, blinking away blurriness around the edges of her vision. She can’t see the wound on the back of her shoulder, but the corrosive effect she had seen from that warlock’s bullet when it hit her shield appears in her mind.

The flare of pain in her nerves when the bullet had struck has spread into her arm and chest.

Her eyes flick down at Glyph, and her gut twists with anxiety at the sight of the darkened bulb in the center of its tiny shell.

The gunshots get closer, every one of them sending a fresh wave of unease through her and making the ill, dizzying feeling that’s afflicting her even worse. She can hear the howling and shrieking of agitated Hive gradually die out, until nothing but the unnerving sound of chattering alien insects remains.

Around Kel’s shoulder, one of the guardians appears, followed by a handful of others.

Kel tenses, the grip on his blackened hand cannon firm and assured. It looks so similar to the ones the other guardians are using—but unlike theirs, she can’t see the same wisps of smoke she had seen around the warlock’s. Instead, seams of venom green glow within the barrel.

“Where’d they fuckin’ go?” one of the guardians demands, stopping in the middle of the enclosed section outside of their hiding spot.

“Wasn’t smart to run,” the same hunter from before says, “but I’ll give ‘em credit for playing it smart and running here.”

He wanders closer to the hole they had ducked into and she holds her breath; he stares, seeming to consider it. The hair on the back of her neck stands on end, and the material of Kel’s glove creaks as his grip tightens on his gun.

Then, a snarl curls the hunter’s lip, and he turns away.

Is he blind, or does he think it’s too obvious of a hiding spot?

“My ghost can’t pick up a single fucking thing with all this Hive magic around.”

She blinks. Oh. Now Kel’s choice of direction makes sense.

Another of the guardians hefts a stone and chucks it furiously at one of the larger worms twisting through the brown, stone-like growths nearby. An angry, squealing hiss splits the air, and the worm squirms out of sight.

“Think they got eaten, Locke? Those thrall sounded hungry.”

The man they now know as Locke turns a nasty look on the one that had asked. “You see what gun that hunter was carrying? They’re still alive. Spread out. They’ve both got something we want.”

When she looks at Kel questioningly, she receives no response—not verbally or even an acknowledgement that he sees it. He’s as immobile as a statue, watching the group file out of the dead end they’d hidden in.

The longer they wait, the worse the pain in her shoulder feels. It’s almost like the bullet that struck her is trying to chew its way through her flesh, like it had been coated in poison or acid.

She swallows, blinking away the blurriness that once again creeps into the edges of her vision and exhaling shakily. Her eyes close and she tips forward, leaning against Kel’s back, free hand fisting weakly in his cloak as she tries to draw strength from his solid and unflinching presence. The unnatural weariness that quickly overpowers her fading adrenaline rush seemingly laughs in the face of the attempt.

When Zavala had decided to let her back into the field, this definitely is not how she’d been expecting her first official outing since the Reef to go.

The hand holding Glyph to her chest shakes, her knuckles white.

She stumbles when Kel moves from his statuesque position. He holsters his gun, hooking his arms under her back and legs before she can fall and lifting her up; while she knows she would have dropped right onto her face without his quick response, the knowledge that he’s now the third hunter to have picked her up like this during a moment of duress is more than a little mortifying.

Mildly delirious, the Drifter mentioning that he ‘thought she had a thing for the hooded look’ pops into her head, and snorts softly. Maybe not a thing, but she certainly is a magnet for them.

It’s frustrating, too, to be reminded during moments like this that she’s that much more vulnerable than her peers. She hates these reminders. She hates feeling weak, and she’s never felt weaker than she has in recent months—until she had met the Drifter.

Rather than leaving the way they had come and risk running into their pursuers, Kel turns towards a steep incline made of the Hive’s corruption. There’s no way he’s going to be able to jump up it while carrying her, with his light or not. She starts to voice as much, but—

Her added weight clearly throws him a bit off balance and strains him, but he makes it up without issue.

On the other hand, the staccato bursts of sudden motion leave her feeling even more ill. And weak. And in pain. “What kind of bullets were they using?”

“The kind that kills guardians.”

She thinks of the man he had shot back in the alley; if he had been a guardian, his ghost hadn’t even shown up to revive him. And when he had shot the warlock’s ghost, it had shattered and died in a way she’d never seen while a ghost’s protective light field is active.

Except for Sundance.

What the fuck is she dealing with?

Swallowing thickly, her fingers curl tighter around her ghost. “Kel, Glyph is—”

“It’s going to be fine.” His tone is surprisingly gentle, considering their heated argument before as well as their current situation, but the statement and what little she knows leaves her wondering.

“You know those people.” It’s not a question.

He says nothing and continues. In the far distance she can hear the roar of approaching engines; he and Echo must have decided to risk visibility for the ability to get the fuck out of dodge faster and called in his ship.

It’s as she catches sight of the blurry splotch of color that confirms her theory that he finally responds. “I’ve heard stories.”

Damnit, she’s so tired of all the vague non-answers. “Who are they?”

“They’re what happens when you associate with people like the Drifter.”

[wander-over-the-words]

Even Super-Villains Do It #7

Summary: (Not-so)Kinktober challenge, using Scriddler as the muse.

Characters: Jonathan Crane, Pamela Isley, Bernie, Edward Nygma; mentioned Joker, Oswald Cobblepot, Harley Quinn, Selina Kyle.

Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma. Mentioned Pamela Isley/Harley Quinn.

Warnings: NSFW content, accidental drugging, bodily harm, blood.

Notes: Decided to take up the Kinktober challenge with my boys. I’m very much late because, to be honest, I didn’t know this was a thing. But, hey - learn something new everyday. Prompt responses will range from drabbles to full-on fics, depending on where the inspiration takes me.

All material belongs to DC Comics (although, my interpretations of the characters are used).

Extra summary: Jonathan has an unfortunate mishap in Poison Ivy’s greenhouse, which turns into a very fortunate situation for Edward.

Extra notes: I guess this counts more as sex pollen than anything, but it was where my mind went first. Featuring the lady who pretty much made sex pollen a thing.

Day Seven: Aphrodisiacs.

Link to fic on AO3.

…

Jonathan’s hand was just about to close around the flower’s head when a voice called out to him.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Before Jonathan could even turn around to address the owner of this luxurious greenhouse, there was a tight grip on his ankle and he was pulled straight off of his feet by a vine thicker than his arm (which wasn’t much of a feat), up into the air and dangled upside-down over the very desk he’d been standing before just seconds ago.

Jonathan cursed as he was elevated, arms flailing as he went, and he was working on adjusting to being upside-down when he caught sight of the other Rogue.

Calm as ever, his sense of fear having been taken away years ago, Jonathan nodded politely in greeting. “Dr. Isley.”

Pamela Isley regarded him with a look of patient irritation, the exact same kind a teacher who wanted to throttle their bad students would use. Arms folded, one finger tapped against her own elbow joint in a steady, slow rhythm, then Pamela cocked her head with a poison-laced smile (literally).

“Dr. Crane.” She looked him up and down. “Any particular reason you’re in my greenhouse?”

“Oh, y’know,” Jonathan said casually, giving a shrug despite having his arms dangling down below his head, “jus’ came ta…admire,” he gestured vaguely around them, at the mass amount of plants that occupied the rest of the glass house’s space, “…yer babies.”

Pamela’s lips turned up at one side, either in amusement at his lame lie or out of genuine affection for her children. She held out her right hand, calling upon a vine’s attention; it slithered down to her like a snake and she pet at it gently, letting it curl around her wrist as, behind her, a flower larger than the front door carefully lifted Pamela off of her feet and let her sit upon it like a giant beanbag chair. She gave no reaction at all beyond a smile.

Jonathan supposed he admired how passionate she was about her chosen topic, but even he found the motherly attitude toward plants a bit weird. Luckily, he was wearing his mask, and so Pamela had no idea of how strange he found this plant-petting.

“They deserve to be admired,” Pamela cooed, then turned back to Jonathan with the same icy smile, “but we both know that’s not why you’re here.”

“Do we?”

“We do.”

Jonathan bobbed his head slowly in a nod, averting his eyes as he tried to think. His gaze drifted downwards, looking to the desk he’d been trying to steal the purple and white, potted plant from. It sat there still, behind the chemistry set that, thankfully, didn’t currently involve any boiling or burning (that would’ve been a disaster he wasn’t prepared to handle), just powders and liquids.

So close and yet so far; now how to reach down and grab the stupid plant?

“I think,” Pamela went on, resting her chin in her free hand, “you were just trying to steal from me.”

“Whaaat?” Jonathan replied. “Nooo. No, nothin’ like that.”

“Mm-hm.”

“No. Surely not. What would I want with yer child? Other than to admit their beauty.” He frowned. That had sounded better in his head; it was a good thing they were talking about flowers here.

“Oh, I don’t know.” The flower on which Pamela sat inched closer toward him as she tilted her head in fake thought, then she finally let her smile drop as she scowled at him, tone bitter and angry, “Perhaps to cut up and mix into that disgusting toxin of yours?”

Jonathan stared at her in silence for a few moments, then raised an index finger, which now pointed toward the ground rather than up at the ceiling.

“My toxin,” he said carefully, “is not disgusting. And yer no better with yer stuff, so don’t gimme that.”

“I don’t murder plants for mine.”

(Right, right, the plants made ‘sacrifices’. Jonathan resisted the urge to point out the similarities.)

“Neither do I. Usually. It’s just this particular strain requires -”

“I don’t care what it requires,” Pamela snapped, a brief flash of green veins beneath her brown skin, twisted and poisonous and looking not unlike the vines that surrounded them. “You are not killing any of my children for it.” Her expression dropped into a pout. “What kind of mother would I be then…?”

“One that understands the concept of ‘one must die fer the good of many’.”

Wrong choice of words; Pamela immediately scowled and threw an arm out toward him.

The gesture summoned a second vine to shoot toward Crane like a dart, coiling around his left arm and tugging it until Crane was bent nearly in half, a sharp pain and then a dull, irritating ache immediately settling into the bend of his spine. Jonathan hissed lightly and tilted his head back to look at Pamela.

“You disgust me,” she spat, the green veins stretching across the vast plain under her skin, practically glowing as she grew increasingly angry. “How dare you step foot in my greenhouse, disturb my children and dare attempt to kill one, right under my roof?”

“Yer certainly speakin’ like a mom…” Jonathan muttered sarcastically (not that he would know how a mother spoke), then spoke louder for her to hear, “Look, what if I told you I was gonna use it on the Joker? Huh?”

“Then I’d tell you that your toxin doesn’t work on him.”

“Ah.” Jonathan glanced to the side. “Was hopin’ you didn’t know that.”

Pamela growled lowly from deep within her throat, leaning in a clear command for her plant chair to move forward, and Jonathan raised a finger again. “Look, Dr. Isley, why don’t we jus’ pretend this didn’t happen an’ move on, huh?”

“You’re trying to bargain with me?” Pamela said icily, scowl deepening.

“Hm. Yeah, I know. Stupid move.” Jonathan nodded casually, then sighed. “Alright, doctor. You’ve forced my hand.” He ignored how Pamela began to sneer in nasty amusement, instead focusing his gaze upon the tunnel at the end of the room, down which the front door would be, and shouting, “Now, Edward!”

“What?!” Pamela quickly whipped around to the spot he was looking at, expecting to see a smug Riddler with a knife or perhaps his own lit torch, ready to take down her plants, save his boyfriend and claim Crane’s prize - but there was none.

Edward wasn’t there.

Pamela’s scowl deepened as realisation hit her and she turned back just in time to see Crane use his sickle to slice through the vines holding him captive; the cut vines flailed in the air, spewing chlorophyll.

“NO!”

The chopped-off ends fell to the desk below, draping weakly over the beakers and test tubes, and Jonathan very soon followed. His body crashed into the desk, shattering the glass and breaking the table in two, and he cursed loudly as his arm was cut by a sharp piece of wood jutting out from one of the halves. It tore through the sleeve of his costume, cutting the skin below and making it bleed, and Crane hurriedly twisted onto his belly to try and get up. The bare skin of his arm pressed into a pile of yellow dust and glass shards and he hissed in pain before scrambling to his feet.

Ignoring the glass shards jutting out from his costume, some long enough and embedded deep enough to have penetrated his skin, Jonathan sprinted for the exit, calling to Pamela quickly, “Always a pleasure, Dr. Isley!”

“You monster!” Pamela shrieked, hurrying off of her plant chair to grasp at the flailing, chopped vines to caress and comfort. “Murderer!”

“This is hardly news!” Jonathan shouted back, coming to the entrance of the glass tunnel leading out of there.

Pamela screeched in rage and threw out gestures all around her, and the lines of flowers, bushes and vines that laced the tunnel’s sides began drawing closer together, closing in upon Crane, who continued to sprint as quickly as he could toward the light at the end.

Leaves rustling all around him, Jonathan’s heart pounded with pure adrenaline as he tore through the soil path to the entrance, feeling the plants brushing his ankles as they quickly closed in, trying to trap him within the flora. The plants up ahead were coming to life, shaking as they took in Pamela’s commands, and soon the light up ahead was shrinking, the plants coming together to block his path and trap him in there with Pamela.

Hell, they’d probably skip straight to turning him into plant food - and that was an occupation Jonathan wasn’t willing to take up.

Crane sucked in a breath and picked up speed, using his sheer will to live as fuel; he raced down the path, waiting until the last second before diving forward and through the small circle of light still available to him, out of the tunnel’s exit, just as the last of the shrubbery came together to create a blockage to the greenhouse.

Before Pamela could continue the pursuit, Jonathan scrambled to his feet and tore off home, cursing himself aloud for his brashness, decision not to wait for a better time to try and nab the plant, and for his inability to talk to women.

…

By the time Jonathan got home, his body felt odd - and by ‘odd’, he meant it felt like it was on fire.

The first thing Jonathan did upon returning to he and Edward’s abode was stagger into the bathroom on the ground level of the house to remove his costume, leaving himself in his boxers. From there, he went to the cabinet above the sink to get disinfectant, bandages and the tweezers Edward used to pluck his eyebrows. He twisted the tap for the cold water and went to work.

The long cut on his arm was the first to be addressed; Jonathan picked the glass and few splinters out from the wound, hissing lightly when he was forced to dig the tweezers into his skin to grab the glass that had gone too far. The shards were deposited into the bin nearby, then Jonathan frowned at the light dusting of yellow powder on his skin. He brushed it off with his hand, then washed that hand under the running water. He splashed some more around his wound to clean it of both powder and blood, then went about applying the disinfectant and wrapping his forearm in bandages.

When that was done, he saw to the rest of the glass that had gotten into his skin, creating a scattered litter in the bin, then sat down on the edge of the bathtub to pick out the pieces from his costume.

As he sat there, a frown grew upon his face and he twitched lightly.

Was it always so hot in here? He felt…very, very hot. In his face, mainly; a quick glance in the mirror revealed the tomato-red colour his skin had become and that only made him frown more. What on earth was happening? He gave an uncomfortable twitch of the shoulder, turning his head this way and that to try and relieve himself of the feeling. It didn’t go away.

His mind made a quick assumption; Jonathan groaned. “Better not have been any damn lavender in that place…”

He wasn’t sneezing or breaking out in a rash, but one couldn’t be too careful. Just in case, he paused in his cleaning of his costume and reached for the cabinet, taking out the bottle of allergy pills and popping one into his mouth. He used a handful of water to get it down, then returned to his previous task.

When he was finally done seeing to the glass, Jonathan put back his supplies and left the bathroom to go to the bedroom instead, scratching at his face along the way. He put his Scarecrow costume into his closet and collected his usual combination of jeans, a t-shirt and his flannel shirt despite the heat in his body. He wasn’t the type to walk around in his underwear, even if Edward had seen him in less. Replacing his contact lenses with his glasses, he left the bedroom.

He went to his basement study next and fed a couple of peanuts to Bernie before settling in his chair to work. While his mouse squeaked away in her cage and hastily nibbled upon the nut in her tiny paws, Jonathan sat and tried to get himself to pick up his pen and write, but the tight heat in his body was too distracting. He was sweating now and panting lightly, using one hand to wipe at his forehead.

The study was too stuffy and too small; he couldn’t stay here, it was unbearable, and Jonathan walked briskly out the door after almost falling out of his chair.

He found settlement on the middle sofa out of the three in the living room, sitting there with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He would’ve been lamenting his failure at getting the ingredient for his toxin, feeling embarrassed at himself for his foolishness, but his current condition was just too distracting.

The heat was spreading, pooling in his belly and just below, and he groaned to himself. It was getting insufferable, he was almost tempted to see if he could peel his skin off with the blunt ends of his nails; the universe was against him, however, for it felt as though his clothing tightened with the mere thought, he could practically count every stitch in his jeans. In the back of his mind, he recognised the feeling, particularly the way his boxers suddenly seemed stifling.

It couldn’t be what he thought it was, could it? Surely not; he wasn’t that type of man. One could ask Edward, Crane wasn’t the type to just…get in the mood. But this heat - he was blushing, completely flushed and almost tempted to jump into a cold shower to relieve himself of it.

In fact - that sounded like a great idea.

Jonathan rose from the sofa carefully, stumbling lightly, and pulled at his t-shirt to try and get air onto his chest. Sweat had developed over the skin there - hell, sweat was everywhere, to the point that he could feel his hair dampen against his forehead and the top of his neck.

He was almost at the bathroom’s entrance when the front door opened.

“Jonathan, dear, I’m home! And guess who won Cards Night again!”

Oh, Jesus, no.

Edward Nygma stepped gracefully around the door of their home, shoes clutched in one hand and cane in the other. He closed the door with his hip, depositing his dress shoes on the shoe rack nearby. A bright grin was on his face, eyes practically glittering with joy; the domino mask was the only part of his Riddler outfit that was missing, more than likely an instruction from Oswald as to not abuse a poker face.

“I swear, Oswald’s going to stop inviting me one of these days,” Edward was saying, chuckling to himself. “He probably ought to because - boy, am I betting him out of house and home!” He laughed again as he went to turn to Jonathan. “Before long, if he’s not careful, the Iceberg Lounge itself will be all he has to gi - Good Lord!”

The sight before him made the grin fall immediately: Jonathan, leant against the shared corner of the walls that led to the bathroom and the stairs, bright red in the face, drooping where he stood and panting harshly, hair mussed up and eyes barely open, a layer of bandages on his left arm and little cuts across the other.

Edward looked him up and down. “What happened to you?”

“I…” Jonathan tried, then shook his head. “I don’t feel good, Ed. Let me just…” He tried to step toward the bathroom’s open doorway, one hand reaching for it, but Edward was speeding forward and taking him by the arm.

“Come and sit down, come on,” Edward was saying, pulling him over to the couch he’d sat upon before Edward had returned home.

Jonathan wanted to wrench his arm away, tell Edward not to touch him - please, God, don’t touch him - but all he managed was a weak gesture at the bathroom. “No - No, wait, ya don’t understand…”

Edward got him back over to the sofa and sat him down, taking the seat beside him as he looked him over, setting his cane down on the floor by their feet. He tilted his head to try and view Jonathan’s face, as Jonathan almost immediately doubled over, one arm around his tummy to try and hide his crotch and the other hand pressing against his face to hide how it burned.

“What’s happened?” Edward asked, then took Jonathan’s left arm and pulled until it came free from around his waist; it was quite a fight, during which Edward gave Jonathan an incredulous look, then he looked over the bandages when he finally managed to get them in front of his face. He gently touched them with his gloved fingers. “What’ve you done to yourself? You’ve hurt yourself, look.”

“Fell,” Jonathan said within a grunt.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.”

“Where? Down the stairs? Against a wall? Use that excuse again and people might think I’m beating you.”

(As if he could.)

“Into a desk. Lots of glass,” Jonathan answered.

Edward frowned confusedly, wondering how Jonathan could’ve fallen upon his own desk, then realised it wasn’t his desk he was referring to. When that realisation came, Edward’s shoulders fell and he rolled his eyes. “Oh, good grief - you broke into Pamela’s greenhouse, didn’t you?”

“Mm,” Jonathan replied from within his hand.

Edward huffed. “I thought you were going to do that next week, when Harley said she and Pamela were leaving for a day or two to see Selina in Spain.”

“Got impatient…Greedy…Wanted my toxin now…”

“Clearly.” Edward sighed, then clicked his tongue and shook his head to scold him. “Well, you’ve made your bed, now you lay in it, you silly thing. What did that bitch do to you?”

The venom in Edward’s words didn’t shock Jonathan; he’d despised Pamela since the incident long before he and Jonathan had gotten together, where Pamela had seduced him, only to drug him and take his house and make it a temporary base for herself, Harley and - eventually - Selina. He’d awoken to find his house in tatters; Selina got back into his good graces by paying for the damages, Harley was lucky he was still speaking to her, and Pamela could go to hell.

“She didn’t exactly…She had me danglin’, I cut the vine -”

“Good. I hope she cried.”

“- an’ fell…fell onto a desk, got covered in glass…touched somethin’…”

“Touched what?” Edward was looking him up and down again, then slid backwards, away from him, and recoiled. “God - did you clean yourself? I don’t want any of that harlot’s experiments on me.” He looked over his hands critically.

“Yeah, I -” Jonathan turned his head to look at Edward amidst his answer, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Edward was sitting there, looking the same as ever, in his Riddler suit and his hat and his gloves and his purple socks with the green question marks that Jonathan knew, from experience, were held up with sock garters that had little question marks as the pins; with his slicked back, dark brown hair and his carefully clipped and combed sideburns and plucked eyebrows and perfectly shaved face and creamy skin and beautiful, green eyes behind clean, rectangular glasses. He looked the same as ever and yet Jonathan couldn’t take his eyes off of him, for he was breathtaking and gorgeous and Jonathan just wanted to take hold of him and - and - and -

Jonathan groaned desperately into his palm and reached for a pillow from where it was leant against the couch’s arm, snatching it from its place and pushing it into his lap to cover his crotch. He tried to hide his eyes again, but ended up peeking over his hand at Edward, noticing every curve and every straight line of his face, just in time to see Edward’s frown.

“Jon?” Edward asked. “What’s wrong? What symptoms do you have? Come on, we can work up a cure.”

He reached for Jonathan again, one hand going to his shoulder to steady him, then he was blinking with surprise as Jonathan leaned on him, bottom half of his face coming to press into Edward’s collarbone. Confused, his heart squeezing lightly with concern and affection, Edward loosely hugged him with one arm.

On Edward’s shoulder, Jonathan thought about how soft Edward’s clothes were in contrast to the hard surface of his bones beneath his skin, and that only made him groan again. He inhaled deeply, taking in Edward’s scent, and his eyes almost rolled into the back of his head as he grew drunk on it, his jeans unbearably tight now and the pillow becoming an offender rather than a defender.

Edward tilted his head slightly to look at him. “Are you smelling me?”

“Mm.” Jonathan did so again. “You smell divine.”

Edward raised an eyebrow, put-off by Jonathan’s complimenting him. That didn’t happen often, especially not as forwardly as now. “…Thank you. I did shower before I left, and I am wearing cologne. The usual; I didn’t know you liked it so much.”

“I do. It’s lovely. You’re lovely,” Jonathan said, then tilted his head to press a kiss to Edward’s neck.

Edward flinched, shocked, then frowned tightly and looked down at the pillow in Jonathan’s lap. Jonathan hadn’t put that pillow there for no reason and anybody could figure out why people usually did that, it didn’t take a genius. It didn’t, and this genius now knew exactly what was going on here.

Frowning still, he pushed Jonathan back with one hand planted firmly on his chest, stared at him for a moment, watched him pant, then he reached down and yanked the pillow from Jonathan’s lap.

“Wait -” Jonathan said, just as it came away, and the bulge in the front of his jeans was revealed.

Silence came over them for a few moments (besides Jonathan’s deep panting), both men staring downwards, then Edward said, “Ah.”

And then he promptly burst into laughter.

Jonathan flinched and stared at Edward in confused irritation, watching as he fell back upon the couch cushions in his laughter, hugging himself as he cackled to the ceiling. His laughter was partially muffled when he tilted his head halfway into the couch cushions, then it returned in full-force as Edward projected it to the ceiling again.

“Oh, my God!” Edward exclaimed when his laughter died enough for him to speak again. “Oh, my God! Oh, Jon, oh, Jon…” He laughed again, then wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh, dear, I thought you’d fallen in something life-threatening, the way you’re sloppily moving about. But no, it’s - ah-ha! - it’s an aphrodisiac! You’ve fallen in an aphrodisiac!” He cackled again, then wagged a finger. “And what’s more: you tried to hide it from me!” He laughed, then directed an incredulous look Jonathan’s way. “Jon, I’m your boyfriend,” he gestured to Jonathan’s crotch, “I’ve had that here,” he directed a thumb to his left, “there,” he pointed the other thumb to the right, “and everywhere!” He turned his hands around so the thumbs would point in their respective opposite directions, then burst into laughter again.

Jonathan frowned in return, the new heat in his face developing not due to the aphrodisiac, but due to embarrassment. “I know what it is, Ed. You think I wanna announce that I - hngh - that I’m feelin’ bad cause I fell in some powder that gets me in the mood?”

“No, but - pfft - but the pillow…Oh, good grief…” Edward wiped another tear from his eye, then his laughter died down to a few spare chuckles that sounded fond rather than mocking. With the pads of his fingers, he tilted Jonathan’s chin up slightly and cooed, “You silly thing. You’re lucky I find it charming nowadays.” He tilted his head. “Getting embarrassed about being turned on. What am I going to do with you?”

Jonathan groaned. “I weren’t embarrassed about it, I was -”

“Embarrassed about the circumstances. Yes, well, I’m sure it is rather humiliating getting horny just because you fell in some plant lover’s concoction. Usually, that takes me cooking you a steak, scaring someone half to death or putting on one of those outfits that you love.”

Jonathan pictured Edward doing all three and promptly groaned in ecstasy.

Edward chuckled and gave him a little pout. “You poor thing. It is funny, though, how this happened to you, of all people. Out of the two of us, one would expect it more likely for me to be infected with sex pollen rather than you. An intense kind too, by the looks of it, but that is to be expected from Poison Ivy, after all.”

“Sex pollen…?”

“Yes. The internet can tell you all about it.”

“I don’t wanna know…”

“No, you don’t,” Edward said in amusement, looking down at Jonathan’s crotch again.

Jonathan groaned. “’m losin’ my mind…”

“Because you’re so horny. That’s a new one for your Arkham file.” Edward snorted, then cleared his throat and frowned. “Well, it is rather insulting that I’ve never gotten you into this state, that Pamela Isley technically did -”

“Was an accident…”

“- but I suppose I’ll have to live with it.” He huffed, then cocked his head. “So. What do you propose to do about this?”

Jonathan looked down at himself. The thought of a cold shower was still so tempting, the heat in his body was agonising and his cock was hard enough to be painful, and he shuffled lightly and did his best to ignore how devastatingly beautiful Edward looked beside him. “I was just gonna take a cold shower…”

“Hm. That might work, yes,” Edward said, bobbing his head. “Then again, so does the…good old fashioned way.” He shrugged casually. “If you wish to, I mean.”

Jonathan looked to him, trying to muster up his best ‘are you kidding me?’ look, but the thought had already occurred to him. What option was more appealing, after all, when Edward was sitting so radiantly beside him? What else could he think of to settle this intense arousal than making love to his partner, a shower? That might’ve settled the heat, but his cravings…

What he was embarrassed to call a whimper fell from Jonathan’s shut lips and he let his hand slowly fall, letting his contemplation become clear, and Edward chuckled deviously.

“Thought so,” he chirped, then stood up from the sofa. He pointed at his spot. “Lay there.”

Jonathan slid into Edward’s spot, caught between laying down and sitting up as he slouched against the corner where the sofa’s arm met its back.

Edward removed his hat first of all, placing it down upon the coffee table where it would be safe, then he slipped off his blazer, revealing the green braces with the purple question marks that held up his trousers. He folded that carefully and set it upon the couch to his left, then smoothed a hand over his hair and went to undo his tie. From beneath his eyelashes, he directed a heated look Jonathan’s way, and it prompted him to whimper again. That only made Edward smirk as he slid the tie free from beneath his collar.

The gloves went next, pinched at the top of the middle finger and pulled off of smooth skin, then Edward was returning to his blazer to pick out a small case.

Jonathan tilted his head confusedly, having never seen this before, and watched as Edward opened it and plucked out two square-shaped packets. One was clearly a condom, but the other?

“What’s that?” Jonathan asked amidst a pant.

“Lubricant,” Edward replied, holding it up to show him. “Easier to carry than a bottle. Though, I only have one…” He muttered thoughtfully, then set both packets and the case down on the table and pointed at Jonathan. “Stay.”

Jonathan swallowed thickly, the heat in his face rising, and he was ashamed to say he stared at Edward’s arse as he passed him to go to their second bathroom, where he disappeared, and Jonathan heard him open the squeaky cabinet door. Jonathan couldn’t say he’d noticed packets of lubricant in there, he hadn’t paid attention to anything but the supplies he’d needed before.

Edward returned to him with five more packets in total and set them with the others, then collected them all up and placed them in a pile on the sofa’s arm.

Jonathan turned his head to look; Edward had not only collected more lubricant, but more condoms. He knew him so well.

His attention was directed away, however, when Edward slid into his lap, knees on either side of his hips, straddling him and smirking at him with smug narcissism.

“You poor thing,” Edward repeated, practically cooing, passing a hand through Jonathan’s damp hair. He reached down to press slow kisses to Jonathan’s jawline. “You’ve had a rough day, haven’t you?”

Jonathan groaned from the kisses alone, pushing his hips upwards to rub his crotch against Edward’s rear, drawing a happy little hum from the younger man.

“Impatient,” Edward chided, then leaned in to press a kiss to Jonathan’s lips.

The kiss was almost immediately deep and passionate, Jonathan desperate to get things going, almost appearing to be attempting to devour Edward rather than kiss him, and Edward was deeply amused by it. He’d never seen Jonathan so desperate for sex before, not even when Edward himself had seduced him and gotten him excited.

Edward gave little rocks of his hips, grinding them down against Jonathan’s, causing the older male to moan against his lips. He could feel Jonathan’s erection through his jeans and it only made him smirk, then he pulled back to break the kiss and looked Jonathan in the eye as he reached down for his belt buckle, unfastening it and slipping a hand into his jeans to rub at him.

As soon as Edward’s fingers made contact with his clothed cock, Jonathan tilted his head back and moaned, unable to hold himself back. The aphrodisiac in his system made the feeling more of pleasant agony than anything, and Jonathan couldn’t wait for the pollen’s effects to wear off so he could be free of it.

Edward smirked wickedly at him, then slipped his hand out of his jeans and waited until he was looking at him before he reached to push his braces off of his shoulders, letting them slide down his arms. He untucked his arms from them, let them hang by his hips, then ground his rear into Jonathan’s crotch again, making him whimper. Edward chuckled sadistically, then pressed his hands to his partner’s collarbone as he slid off of his lap and stood before him.

Giving him another heated look with half-lidded eyes and a devious smile, Edward stroked over his own chest with both hands, outlining his pectorals beneath his purple and green shirt, then slid his hands down his torso, smoothing out his shirt and showing off his slim figure. His hands travelled back up to his green collar, where he began slowly unbuttoning his shirt, letting the halves split apart to reveal his toned chest. He stroked down it with his middle fingers, outlining his pectorals again, but kept the shirt on.

Jonathan watched his every move, licking his lips slowly and giving a tiny, deep whine as the heat grew worse. So much so, he leaned his head back on the sofa and his expression grew slightly pained.

“Edward…” He muttered.

“Do you want me, Jon?” Edward asked, smirking at him and giving his hips a little wiggle.

“Yes…God, yes…”

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” Edward cupped his left ear. “Speak louder, please.”

“Yes…!”

“One more time?”

“Yes!” Jonathan snapped. “Fer fuck’s sake, yes! Jus’ get on with it, will ya?!”

Edward’s smirk faltered. “No need to be rude. Keep that up, and I will leave you in the capable care of your right hand.” There was a moment, then he slapped a hand to his cheek in faux surprise. “Oh, but that’s right: you don’t do that sort of thing.”

Jonathan frowned. It wasn’t his fault that masturbation just never did the trick for him; he always felt awkward doing it, the few times he’d tried, and could never conjure up any mental images nor buy any magazines or look up any pictures that provided him with the right amount of arousal to really get things going. The media just never had what he was looking for, men with so many muscles just weren’t his thing. It was why he’d always gone out to gay bars to pick up men for the night - much more variety.

Edward wagged a finger at him. “Then you’d best be kind to me, eh?” He snorted, then ran a hand down his chest again. “Luckily for you, I was rather in the mood myself. You know what victory does for me.”

Considering the way he would sometimes pounce upon Jonathan after a successful heist and ride him like nobody’s business, Jonathan absolutely knew what victory did for him.

“It’s a shame you decided to be so nasty,” Edward went on, smoothing a hand over his stomach, “I was just about to tell you how much I want you.” The hand stroked down his belly to his crotch, where it circled lightly, making sure Jonathan’s attention was brought with it. “How I’d like you to touch me, pleasure me, make me yours.” Edward watched his own hand longingly, then looked to Jonathan, faking innocence. “Isn’t that what you want too?”

Jonathan nodded twice.

“Well, then,” Edward cocked his head, “you ought to be nicer to me, hm?”

Jonathan growled softly, impatient and irritated, but nonetheless nodded again, if only to get what he wanted.

Edward smirked. “Good boy.”

He reached for the front of his trousers, sliding the hook from the bar that kept them closed, then pushed them down his hips and let them fall down his legs, pooling around his ankles and leaving him in only his shirt, socks with their garters and question mark boxers. He slid his hands down his thighs, then back up again to pull the short legs of his boxers up, showing more skin.

With a dainty little step, he got free of his trousers once and for all, stooping down to pick them up and fold them, setting them down with his blazer, purposefully bending to direct his arse at Jonathan for him to look at.

Jonathan - in his drunk, mindless, lust-filled state - absolutely did look, and hated himself for it.

Edward smirked knowingly, gave his hips a little wiggle, then sauntered back to the couch. With the pads of his fingers, he tipped Jonathan’s chin again, if only to make him look Edward in the eye as he gave him a smirk. One perfect eyebrow arched in silent taunting, then Edward let those fingers trail down Jonathan’s chest, making sure to brush over one of his covered nipples, and they found their way to Jonathan’s jeans.

Edward got to his knees to pull them down, if only to tease the idea that he would suck his partner’s cock, and took his sweet time in doing so.

Jonathan was hurriedly lifting himself to allow for this to happen. He attempted to do away with the underwear too, but Edward’s fingers hooked only on denim and not cotton, and Jonathan groaned with impatience when Edward tut-tutted at his attempts to get his boxers down.

“Fer fuck’s sake…!” Jonathan exclaimed as he panted, one hand pressed into the top of the couch, bracing himself.

“I just don’t think we’re ready for that, dear,” Edward said innocently. “I haven’t even been stretched yet.”

Jonathan groaned again, the heat in his face unbearable, his cock actually hurting now, and he briefly wondered if Pamela had meant for this stuff to kill if the victim didn’t get their sex quick enough. Banishing the thought, he reached for one of the square packets of lubricant, only for his hand to be slapped away by Edward.

A surprised look cast his way, Edward shrugged a shoulder casually. “I want to do it.”

Oh, Lord, have mercy on my fuckin’ soul, was the first thing Jonathan thought of, eyes bugging out of his head at the thought.

Had he ever seen Edward do this part before? He didn’t think so. He knew Edward only wanted to do it now to prolong the actual sex, to tease him in his time of horrible need, but he couldn’t bring himself to be cross about that.

Edward plucked up the packet Jonathan had reached for, then reclaimed his spot in Jonathan’s lap. With one hand, he edged his own boxers - white with red question marks, playing it up a little - down far enough to expose his rear, keeping his cock (which had to be at least half-hard by now) covered, then pulled up the hem of his shirt to get it out of the way. With both hands, he ripped open the packet and held it up so Jonathan could watch as he squeezed out the lubricant onto his fingers. He smoothed it out to make sure his digits were covered, then he set one hand to the couch’s top and reached behind him with the other.

Spreading his legs a little wider, Edward reached back, circled his entrance with one finger to tease and ready himself, then carefully slipped in the tip, up to the first joint.

He got a pleased hum out of himself and a whimper from Jonathan, who looked Edward up and down like he would suddenly develop x-ray vision and could watch from there. He didn’t particularly wish to watch, but the fact that Edward was doing it, right here in his lap, when he was as turned on as he was right now - it was almost too much to bear. He was surprised he hadn’t cum in his boxers already, and wondered if that was a symptom of Pamela’s pollen as well.

Jesus Christ, why had she even invented this fucking stuff?! Literally ‘fucking stuff’!

“Jon…” Edward moaned softly, eyes shut, and Jonathan knew he’d slipped his entire index finger in. It was the same reaction he gave when Jonathan did it.

Jonathan covered his mouth with his hand, unwilling to let anymore noises slip out, and watched as Edward prepped himself, gently sliding his finger in and out before adding a second.

Edward gave a little moan as he pushed both fingers into himself, sliding fluidly with just the right amount of lubricant, then began scissoring them to stretch himself. The hand that had braced him on the couch’s top slid down to Jonathan’s shoulder, bunching into the fabric of his flannel shirt, and Edward gently began rocking his hips, thrusting himself down onto his fingers and taking them in deeper.

Moaning and letting himself adjust to being opened up, he slipped in a third, then opened one eye to look down at he and Jonathan’s laps. Shuffling, spreading his knees a little wider, Edward halted his hip movement, lined he and Jonathan’s cocks up together and went back to rocking, his erection now rubbing against Jonathan’s as a result of riding his own digits.

Jonathan whimpered and covered his face with both hands, trying to resist making noise or looking or - or really anything. Everything was devastatingly hot, everything was starting to hurt, he felt like he’d explode. Ironically, covering his face like that only made it worse, but he felt like looking at Edward right now would be a mistake on his part - a wicked, tempting mistake - and so he tried to resist.

Edward chuckled amidst the beginning of his panting, humming in delight at his own ministrations, and let himself bounce in Jonathan’s lap, simultaneously fingering himself and frotting with his boyfriend, who was still hiding within his hands. The hand that had grasped Jonathan’s shoulder went to his hair instead, nails digging into his scalp, and Edward increased the speed of his rocking with a tilt of the head and a moan.

“Jon,” he said amidst it, “oh, Jon…”

Jonathan pressed his hands even firmer to his face, fighting himself to keep them there, sparks going straight down to his erection, and he ended up peeking out between his fingers to look.

Edward’s expression - the creased brow, shut eyes, lips set in an ‘o’ shape as he moaned - practically did it for him already, never mind what Edward was currently doing. The idea of watching Edward pleasure himself had never been something he’d thought of as particularly enthralling, not something he’d ever thought he’d want to watch; if anything, it felt like something he shouldn’t have been watching, as this was Edward’s private act reserved for when Jonathan couldn’t do the job for him. He felt like he was doing something taboo - but, well, he was a murderer, a thief and all-around arsehole, so what was one more taboo to add to the collection?

Another pained whimper escaped him as Jonathan set his hands on Edward’s hips to grasp them, trying to find something to do with himself, and Edward opened one eye to check on him. The look on Jonathan’s face made him smirk.

“Need it now, do you?” Edward asked cheekily.

“I’ve needed it fer the last hour or so,” Jonathan replied tiredly, making Edward give a pout of fake sympathy.

“You poor thing.” The pout gave way for the smirk. “But how lucky you are to have such a handsome, generous lover who’s willing to satisfy your pollen-induced cravings, eh?”

Jonathan grunted and rubbed his erection against Edward’s, making both men give little moans.

“Yes,” Jonathan heard himself confess without really thinking on it, “yer lovely, divine - oh, Edward…”

Fuck this fucking pollen; he wasn’t even himself anymore.

Despite the sadistic amusement at his lover’s situation, Edward’s face fell into a deeper shade of red, his lips pursing in a silent coo of adoration. He never heard Jonathan saying such things to him; he could get used to it very quickly.

Edward batted at Jonathan’s shoulder to get him to stop his rubbing, then he lifted his hips, rising off of Jonathan’s lap, and slid his fingers out of himself. The hand that wasn’t half-covered in lubricant went to his breast pocket, pulling out the green handkerchief he’d stuffed in there earlier, and he wiped his fingers clean before pushing the cloth square back in.

Sliding backwards until he could kneel on the floor again, Edward reached for Jonathan’s boxers; the older male was quick to push himself up for Edward to remove them, which Edward did with a pull, down to Jonathan’s knees to join his jeans. When Jonathan’s cock stood to attention, practically glowing red and rock-hard, Edward’s eyebrows rose.

“Ooh,” he said, looking it up and down, no hint of amusement in his tone for once, “you really do need this, don’t you?”

Jonathan nodded frantically.

“Hm.” Edward rose off of his knees and pinched the tops of his own boxers, pushing them down and letting them pool around his ankles. He stepped out of them, set them down with the rest of his abandoned clothing, then climbed back into his partner’s lap.

A condom packet was collected from the pile, which Edward ripped open with his teeth, then he was pulling out the latex and reached down to roll it onto Jonathan’s erection. Another lubricant packet was plucked up between Edward’s index finger and thumb and he tore off one side, then drizzled the lubricant over Jonathan’s cock. With one hand, he smoothed the substance over his length, making Jonathan groan at the touch, and waited until he was fully satisfied before taking his hand away to wipe it clean again.

Empty packets set aside, Edward set his hands to Jonathan’s shoulders, lifted his hips up, lined up his hole over Jonathan’s cock, then carefully sat himself down, taking a third of Jonathan’s length before stopping to let himself adjust.

The act was met with a gasp from Jonathan’s, one of pure relief, and Edward moaned softly at the feeling of having his partner inside of him. Jonathan may have been an inexperienced lover compared to the others that Edward had had, but he was bigger, and Edward had never claimed that bigger wasn’t better in bed.

After a moment, Edward sank down lower, taking more of Jonathan’s length inside of him, and chose to stop only when he’d reached the hilt. The look on Jonathan’s face made him grin: he looked droopy again, but Edward knew this was because of relief, not the agony of earlier.

Edward kissed his forehead to comfort him, then braced himself upon Jonathan’s shoulders and lifted his hips again.

When Edward had ascended and descended three times each, he was much more comfortable with Jonathan’s girth inside of him and deemed this a good point to set a rhythm, and so began his bouncing in Jonathan’s lap, taking his cock in and out of him, a steady slide that - if they listened closely - produced a slight squelching noise.

Edward had already begun moaning, fingers bunched in Jonathan’s flannel shirt as he rode him, rolling his hips and bringing the head of Jonathan’s cock closer to his sweet spot.

Under him, Jonathan was trying to resist making noise, but couldn’t help the groans that escaped his lips every time his cock sank into Edward’s body; the heat was finally being seen to, his cravings beginning to be satisfied, his hands upon Edward’s waist as the younger male bounced on him, increasing his pace and the strength of his downward thrusts.

“Jon…!” Edward moaned as Jonathan’s cock struck his sweet spot, tilting his head back in full, exposing his throat completely. “Oh, Jon…! Oh, Jon…Oh, God, Jon - yes…!”

Jonathan watched him closely, eyes following the way Edward’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly, the creamy skin of his throat that Jonathan hadn’t even marked as the pollen had messed with their usual routine, how the colour looked so wonderful next to the deep purple of his shirt and the dark green and purple question marks of the collar and his dark brown hair, how it was being infiltrated by the soft red of Edward’s blushing. Jonathan’s eyes widened at the sight of his lover in such a state, and the intolerable heat returned.

Watching this had the same effect on him as earlier, he was becoming drunk on Edward’s scent now - the musky cologne combined with the rising smell of sex - and Jonathan groaned in something that wasn’t pleasure and shook his head.

“No,” he gasped out, hands going to Edward’s hips and pushing.

Edward stopped his bouncing, looking down at Jonathan in surprise. “‘No’?”

“No,” Jonathan repeated, pushing Edward off of his cock and pushing still until Edward was off of his lap and on his feet.

Jonathan scrambled to stand, stepping around Edward, turning him around, and he promptly pushed him back onto the couch in the same position Jonathan had been in, half-laying down and half-sitting up in the cranny where the sofa’s arm met its back.

As he did, he muttered to himself, “Too slow, too slow, too slow, not enough…”

Edward stared up at him with wide eyes, confused and startled, his lips set in a perfect ‘o’, and he watched as Jonathan completely disregarded the jeans and boxers around his knees and reached for Edward’s legs instead.

Jonathan lifted them up, bringing them to either side of his torso, just beneath the crooks of his armpits, and he hurried into the gap caused by their separation, grasping for Edward’s hips quickly and thrusting his cock back into Edward’s hole. He didn’t take any such precaution or baby steps; his entire length was pushed immediately in, Jonathan clenching his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, while Edward threw his head back and yowled to the ceiling.

Too desperate and too caught up in finally getting what he needed, Jonathan set a harsh, rapid pace, thrusting into Edward with everything he had, rutting against him like a dog, leaning awkwardly against the couch as his grip tightened on Edward’s hips, holding him down in place for Jonathan to use as his own.

Edward’s volume had increased substantially, Jonathan thrusting into him like a wild animal; his fingers curled into fists at his sides, Jonathan’s hips hitting them as he thrust, and Edward got them out of the way by clinging to the couch instead. His toes curled at Jonathan’s sides, socked feet hanging in the air as his body rocked and shook with the force of his boyfriend’s thrusting. It hurt - of course it did, with Jonathan’s size and pace - but not as much as it was enjoyed, and Edward felt his face burn bright red as Jonathan had his way with him.

“Oh, God! Jonathannnn, ahh! Oh, Jesus - Oh, Jon! Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!”

Jonathan had never been so quick during their sex; he was satisfactory, don’t get Edward wrong, he didn’t disappoint - but this? Why, this just brought to life every fantasy Edward had ever had where Jonathan held him down and made him scream - and all it had taken was some of Poison Ivy’s brand of aphrodisiac.

Feet joined together behind Jonathan’s back, Edward just barely managed to wrap his legs around his boyfriend to encourage this blistering pace and rough treatment; Jonathan was hardly paying attention anyway, face bright red, head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut and teeth still clenched as he thrust into him, groaning betwixt his closed jaws, the awkward position he was crouching in not at all putting him off - or, if it was, he didn’t show it at all.

Edward clung to Jonathan’s shoulders again, nails digging into the layers of his clothes, fingers curling in the top flannel layer, and he arched his back, head tilted right back so his neck followed the curve of the sofa’s arm. He was caught between keeping his eyes open and shutting them; every time he slid them open, they’d only open halfway, glazed over and far off, and would soon shut again as Jonathan thrust in.

Every movement of Jonathan’s hips brought with it a new sound from Edward’s lips, loud and pleasure-filled, tearing at his throat and snatching his voice from him. He wanted to beg Jonathan to touch his cock, but it didn’t seem as though the older male would listen, never mind actually go through with Edward’s request. Taking Edward’s cock in hand meant letting go of one of his hips, and that would mean Edward wouldn’t be as anchored down as he was right now, where he was in the perfect position for Jonathan to fuck him.

Ergo, Jonathan wasn’t going to stroke him, he knew, and so Edward opened one eye and reached down to take hold of his own erection himself, frantically pumping it. Try as he might, he couldn’t match Jonathan’s pace for long, which held the desperation of a man who had crawled through the desert and had finally found a place to drink.

With the stimulation on his cock, Edward’s cries of Jonathan’s name and the blasphemous expletives became unintelligible babbling and wordless moans and set off panting not unlike a tired dog, tongue resting upon his bottom lip as his head tilted back and his eyes squeezed shut.

The pace was so quick and the tension so thick, it wasn’t long before Edward was letting out an embarrassingly high-pitched cry of Jonathan’s name as he reached his orgasm, ropes of cum shooting out over his chest, narrowly missing the halves of his shirt that had been haphazardly laid out over his chest and bunched up at his sides. Thighs quivering, his legs fell from their place under Jonathan’s arms, struggling to stay together and hold their own weight.

While he panted and tried to calm himself, Jonathan was still thrusting frantically into him, making him give tired groans and little whimpers as he tried to keep his legs up for him. The older male was going for a minute more before he finally gave way, letting out a groan that was much louder and - like Edward’s - embarrassingly high-pitched, especially in contrast to what he’d usually give in this scenario, what with being so quiet in bed. The sheer relief of his orgasm finally hitting him, he almost fell on top of Edward as he grew still, having to hold himself up with both hands braced on the couch.

Both men panted tiredly, exhausted, sore and spent, then Edward found it in him to speak.

“Oh…Oh, my God…” Edward blinked twice tiredly, looking up at Jonathan’s sweat-coated face. “I always knew you had it in you, dear…God…You were even more ferocious than that time I accompanied you for your research…”

Jonathan made a noise in the back of his throat to acknowledge him, but had no response beyond that.

“And it only took some bloody pollen to bring it on…” Edward added, somewhat bitterly. He cleared his throat, then frowned. “I want some of that stuff.”

Jonathan puffed out a chuckle. “You gimme any more o’ that stuff an’ I’ll cut yer hand off…I ain’t ever goin’ through this again…”

“Shame,” Edward replied, shuffling to try and sit up the best he could with Jonathan still looming over him and balls-deep in him. He looked down at his chest with distaste, despite the relief that his release hadn’t stained his shirt, then looked up at Jonathan. “Did you want to separate any time soon or are you content to remain attached to me?”

Jonathan didn’t give the snark-fuelled response he was expecting; he was chewing his lip, looking down at where he and Edward joined, brow furrowed. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, face growing red in what was clearly embarrassment, and he said slowly, “Yeah…about that…”

“If you say you’re stuck,” Edward said seriously, “I will hit you.”

“No, no, nothin’ like that, it’s just…” Jonathan pulled himself out halfway, eliciting a little noise from Edward’s throat, and stared downwards. “I ain’t…yellin’ timber.”

Edward frowned and looked for himself: Jonathan was still very much erect.

Both men stared for a moment, then Edward said, “So not only does this pollen make you more excitable than I ever have, it makes you incapable of losing erections too.” He huffed and folded his arms. “I have never hated a woman more than I hate Pamela, I swear. And yes, I’m including my mother.”

After a moment, Edward stretched his back and cocked his head lazily at his lover. “Well. Looks like you’ll be needing my services for a bit longer, eh, dear?” He wiggled his hips, causing Jonathan to give a small noise from the back of his throat, then added, “We’re going to have to go to the bedroom, though; I fear I’ll break my spine if I stay in this position for another few rounds.”

Jonathan nodded, pulling out of him completely. He slid the condom off of himself, disposing of it in the nearby bin, and reached to pull his boxers and jeans back up, an easier method than keeping them around his ankles, and he wasn’t the type to run around the house without pants. He had to do so carefully, letting out a hiss of discomfort as his cock was tucked away again.

Edward took a moment to sit up, his arse sore, and he needed a helping hand from Jonathan to get to his feet. When he finally managed, he was quick to twirl around on the ball of his foot, ushering with the crook of a finger for Jonathan to follow him as he - still dressed in only his glasses, unbuttoned shirt and socks with their garters - sauntered over to the stairs.

“Bring the packets, while you’re at it,” he called over his shoulder, reaching the base of the staircase.

Jonathan’s gaze was glued to Edward’s hips, partially hidden by his shirt, and he made a small whimper in his throat as he had to remind himself to grab the pile of packets. When he’d gathered them in both hands, he scrambled to get after his boyfriend.

…

“Alright,” Jonathan said through his panting, nodding twice, “I am officially sated.”

Edward hummed into his pillow, the only thing safely left on their bed; the duvet and the other three pillows had been thrown off when it’d been decided they were in the way of the sex. Edward had only been allowed to keep this one because he was hugging it so tightly to himself whenever Jonathan took him from behind and almost ripping it in half by yanking on it when he was laid out on his back. Even the bed sheet had been pulled off at one corner, and that had been from Edward gripping it too hard.

Both heads of hair were complete messes - Edward’s had been pulled out of its slicked back style hours ago and Jonathan’s had reached a whole new level of scruffy - and their skin was bright red and sweat-covered. Edward’s glasses, shirt and socks had been discarded sometime after his hairstyle had been ruined, and Jonathan’s jeans and underwear had hit the floor as soon as he’d reached the bedroom. The t-shirt and flannel had joined them a couple of hours afterwards.

All in all, a very productive evening.

Jonathan cleared his throat awkwardly, tapping his finger against his chest thoughtfully. “Alrigh’,” he repeated, “one thin’ ta agree on: this stays ‘tween us. Don’t go laughin’ ‘bout it with yer chums over drinks or nothin’.”

He was certainly tired, Edward noted: his accent had thickened. Jonathan’s accent thickened considerably when he was drowsy; Edward couldn’t pretend it wasn’t endearing to hear such a thick drawl.

Edward looked at him out of the corner of his eye, then slowly raised his head and spat out a feather. “As if I would.”

“Right,” Jonathan replied, in a tone that made it clear he didn’t believe him, then eyed the feather with a raised eyebrow. “…Never made a man do that before.”

“Don’t I feel special?” Edward said cheekily, looking down at the damp spot where he’d been biting the pillow too hard. His voice was slightly hoarse from the calls and occasional screams he’d given out that evening, but he was a professional and would not be defeated so easily. He sighed through his nose and rested the lower half of his face into the pillow again.

“I meant it, though: don’t go tellin’ no one.”

“Are you really that embarrassed about getting infected with a plant-based aphrodisiac?” Edward asked, smirking at him in amusement. “How cute.”

“I ain’t embarrassed, it jus’ ain’t anybody’s business but our own.” Jonathan sniffed. “Ya make it sound li’e I’m alright with ya gossipin’ about us in any other context, which I’m not.”

“Oh, I don’t gossip often. Only when it’s worth gossiping about. If anything, I’m the ear that listens to my girls tell me about their unsuccessful dates, right before I return home to my very successful relationship.” Edward shrugged. “I’m fully aware you wouldn’t like me sharing the details of, say, what you’re packing down below and just what you’re capable of.”

“Hm.” Trusting that Edward would listen to him this time around, Jonathan was content to leave the topic there.

Edward, however, wasn’t. “I imagine Pamela knows, though - or she will, once she notices what you fell on.”

Jonathan groaned in exasperation, the first groan he’d uttered in hours that hadn’t been of ecstasy or pleasure. “Great…”

“So Harley might find out.”

“Oh, fer fuck’s sake…”

“Maybe Selina.”

“Ugh.”

“But other than them?” Edward waved a hand. “Nobody.”

“Great,” Jonathan muttered with a sigh and a shake of his head.

Choosing not to dwell on it, he shut his eyes and allowed his aching body to relax. His hips were sore and slightly numb from all the movement they’d given in the last few hours, his knees hurting from the kneeling he’d done (he was fairly certain there were indentions in the mattress) and his back stinging from where Edward had clawed at his skin. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had new scars back there; he wouldn’t have minded, they would look nicer than the ones he currently had.

Edward sighed next to him, sounding rather delighted despite the pain in his body. He shut his eyes to relax, looking much like a sleepy cat with the way he half-disappeared into that pillow, then he raised his head, rested his chin on the pillow instead, and happily announced, “I can’t feel my legs. Or my left arm.”

“Oh.” Jonathan opened his eyes to look at him. “…Sorry?”

“Oh, don’t you dare apologise,” Edward replied, equally as cheerful. “I had a fantastic time. We should do this again sometime.”

“Hell no,” Jonathan said with a shake of his head. “I meant what I said when I told ya I never wanna go through this again.” He sniffed, then raised an index finger. “Think it goes without sayin’, too, that we ain’t havin’ sex again fer a while.”

Edward sighed through his nose. “Normally, I’d consider that a travesty and would make my complaints heard, but I’ll have to agree with you on that, dear. At least, until I can feel my lower body again.” He raised his head to look over at his bedside table; the drawer had been pulled entirely out, now laying upon the floor on its side. Edward tipped himself slightly to look down at it over the bed’s side, hissing in pain as he did so, then he plopped his head back down on his pillow. “We’ll also have to buy more condoms and lubricant at some point. We’ve definitely used our entire supply.”

Jonathan grunted.

That pile of packets had only gotten them so far; Edward had had to sprint downstairs at some point to grab the rest from the second bathroom when they’d used the supply in the bedroom and discovered only two packets left in the condom box in the first bathroom.

“We’ll also have to do laundry as soon as possible. I fear I’ll get stuck to this sheet if I lay on it for too long.”

Jonathan made a faint noise of disgust.

Edward sighed through his nose again, then looked to Jonathan. “Well, I don’t know about you, dear, but I’m ready to sleep. Yourself?”

“Hm,” was Jonathan’s answer, a stiff nod alongside it. “What time s’it, anyways?”

Edward raised his head to look at the clock on his bedside table. “…Five am.”

“Jesus…”

“Mm.” Edward smirked cheekily at Jonathan. “When was the last time you had sex for seven hours straight?”

“Never. I didn’t stay around a fella long enough fer that. Not tha’ I would manage anyhow.”

“So I am special.” Edward chortled, especially when Jonathan rolled his eyes. “I’ve always known, of course, but it’s nice to be reminded now and then.”

“Edward,” Jonathan said sternly, eyes now shut, “I’m tryin’ ta sleep.”

“Right, right.” Edward continued smirking as he nestled back into his pillow. “Would you like to share this?”

Jonathan opened an eye, saw Edward indicate the pillow, then shook his head and shut his eye again. “Be fine without it.”

Edward let out a displeased little “Hmph,” causing Jonathan to turn his head to look at him, eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“Give him seven hours worth of sex,” Edward was grumbling, “satisfy his cravings like the kind, generous lover I am, and he doesn’t even want to cuddle afterwards.”

Jonathan scoffed and rolled his eyes; he knew Edward was only half-serious (he really did quite enjoy being held after sex), but he still felt the need to chide him. “As if ya wan’ me ta touch ya after all o’ tha’. We’re both put-out, Ed.” He stretched, wincing as his sore hips were jostled, and shut his eyes again as he settled to rest. “I’ll hold ya later, when we both ain’t all sticky and worn out.”

“Hm.” Edward smiled. “Well, I was joking -”

“I know.”

“- but I’ll be holding you to that.”

“Course you will.” Jonathan reached out and scratched at Edward’s scalp with the fingers of one hand, earning himself a delighted purr. “Now get some shut-eye.”

…

It was three days later that Pamela would next receive a visitor to her greenhouse, and she couldn’t be more confused at who it was.

“What’re you doing here?” She barked in confusion at the man dangling by the ankle from a vine, just as Crane had done in his failed attempt at stealing from her. Seemed as though this one had tried the exact same thing - in that regard, she supposed it wasn’t too surprising to see him here.

“I’m here to collect, Pamela!” Edward exclaimed, spitting when his tie dangled over his lips and tried to slip into his mouth. He batted it away with the hand that wasn’t keeping his bowler hat from falling off of his head, almost whacking himself in the head with his cane.

“‘Collect’?” Pamela repeated, then put her weight on one foot, leaning on one hip, as she folded her arms. “As in, steal that flower that your murderer of a boyfriend wanted?”

“Oh, like you haven’t dabbled in the killing arts yourself,” Edward replied sarcastically, then went on before she could rant about the difference between plants and humans, “I don’t care about that. I want that concoction Jon fell in the other day!”

Pamela raised an eyebrow, then scoffed. “You mean my special pollen?”

“The sex pollen, yes.”

“Not what I call it,” Pamela grumbled, then huffed. “I knew I was missing a sample - that was for Harley and I!”

“Ew.”

“And now Crane’s…” Pamela trailed off, then scoffed in disgust at the idea, knowing exactly what Edward was getting at. “You’re disgusting.”

“Excuse me?” Edward asked as he slowly turned, the vine that was dangling him spinning him ever-so-slowly, making him tilt his head to try and keep his eyes on Pamela. “Who’s the one who crafted such a thing?”

“For Harley and I.”

“I repeat: ew.”

“Not for you and Crane! That’s - ugh - That’s just disgusting.”

“Touché.” Edward made eye contact as he slowly turned in the vine’s grasp. “If you made it for a relationship’s intimacy to blossom, as it were, regardless of who it was, then you must understand where I’m coming from! No pun intended.”

“Don’t be -”

“Seven hours, Pamela!” Edward exploded. “Seven hours! He was an animal! I couldn’t get him off of me for ten minutes! You’ve heard of ‘taking someone’s breath away’ - he literally did! When he wasn’t taking me, he was humping me until I was ready to go again! I couldn’t move afterwards, much less walk! My hips are still a little bit sore! I’ve never seen Jon so excited, and I’ve pushed his buttons before, let me tell you! I’ve assisted in his research by scaring a man half to death, I’ve cooked him the best damn steaks he’s ever tasted, I’ve worn those particular outfits he likes me to wear just so he’d give me what I want! But that? That was something else!” His expression hardened into a frown. “And I want it.”

Pamela had an expression of pure and utter disinterest by the time Edward was finished, staring at him like she wanted to be anywhere but right there, talking to him and listening to him talk. She waited until Edward had turned in a complete circle so she could address him properly again, then she replied, “No.”

“Pamela!”

“As if I would do anything for him after all he’s done.”

Edward knew exactly what she was referring to and promptly rolled his eyes. “Oh, let it go, it was ages ago -”

“No,” Pamela replied darkly, the jungle of green veins flaring up under the skin of her cheeks, and Edward shut up quickly, if only to spare himself of further plant-based torture. “He’s lucky to still be alive, and he’s only alive because Harley would hate me if I killed him.” (Thank God for Harley and Jonathan’s familial bond, though Edward would’ve still said he could’ve protected Jonathan from Poison Ivy.) “Don’t you dare even suggest I do a favour for that bastard.”

Edward’s lips thinned, a few spiteful words of his own upon his tongue and ready to be fired at the witch. She wasn’t innocent herself and - while the incident she referred to had been serious, and Edward couldn’t deny that - he wouldn’t be silent as she insulted his partner like that. Before he could shoot her down verbally, however, Pamela was speaking again.

“Besides,” her tone was much less furious, and the green veins in her cheeks faded away, “why should I do anything for you? We’re not friends.”

“We are certainly not.”

“Soooo…?”

“So, our relationship doesn’t matter. My relationship with Jon, however, does. So,” he held out the hand holding his cane, wrapping his thumb around it so he could make a ‘come here’ gesture with his fingers, “gimme.”

Pamela stared at him for a few moments of silence, during which Edward got increasingly irritated and increasingly tired of the feeling of blood rushing to his head, then she sighed through her nose, tipped her head back and shut her eyes to calm herself. Her lips moved and - through some lip-reading - Edward could tell she was telling herself not to kill him, for Harley would hate her for it.

When she was satisfied and calm enough to move on, she looked at him again, straightening herself up, and waited until he’d spun around to face her again to speak. “Alright, look: I don’t have time to deal with you right now, Harley’s coming over and so I have things to do -”

“Ew.”

“Shut up - and she’d be upset if I killed you anyway. Something about ‘liking you’ or something. Whatever. With that in mind,” Pamela clicked her fingers and the vine promptly threw Edward to the floor beside her, “you can leave with your life and your limbs intact. Be thankful that I’m feeling generous today, otherwise I would’ve fed you to that flower your boyfriend wanted so badly.”

Edward yelped as he hit the ground, immediately pushing himself up onto one hand to try and spare his suit any damage. He didn’t entirely succeed and huffed at the dirt on his blazer, which he brushed at in determination as he rose to his feet, using his cane to support him.

Righting the hat on his head and giving Pamela a distasteful glare out of the corner of his eye, Edward said curtly, “Why, thank you, Pamela, for not feeding me to your overgrown weeds. I’ll make sure to count my blessings before bed tonight.”

“Watch it. Remember where you are, Nygma.”

“Oh, I remember, don’t you worry.” There was a moment; Edward cleared his throat. “…The pollen?”

“Get out.”

“Pamela -”

“Out!”

Edward huffed and went to leave, making his way toward the archway that led to the tunnel out of there; he used his cane to support him as he walked, and Pamela knew that wasn’t because she’d just had him thrown to the ground.

She promptly gave a noise of disgust.

When Edward was halfway down the tunnel’s length, he heard Pamela call to him, “And if I ever see you or your boyfriend in here again, you’ll be food for my poor, frightened babies!”

“Mm-hm, yes, alright, I’ll pop it on my calendar,” Edward yelled over his shoulder, giving a wave of his hand to dismiss her, then added in a grumble, “I’m sure Harley would love that, you poor excuse for a weed-whacker…”

A flower on his right suddenly snapped at his ankles and he yelped in shock, jumping back and away from it, making the ache in his hips flare up, and he heard Pamela laugh behind him.

Edward scowled, embarrassed, and straightened his bowler before giving a little “Hmph,” and pointing his nose up, shutting his eyes in a matter-of-factly expression as he continued walking.

It wasn’t until he was out of Pamela’s greenhouse, in the sunlight and fresh, open air, that Edward smirked and spoke again, certain that Pamela wouldn’t hear him now, “Besides, Pamela, you won’t be seeing Jon in there again…”

Reaching into his inner blazer pocket, Edward produced the head of a purple and white flower, its petals wide and pointed at the very tips and dotted with its own pollen. Edward twirled the plant in his fingers, smiling contently down at it; not out of appreciation for the plant, but out of pride for his own work.

He sighed happily. “I am just too generous for my own good.”

Laughing out loud, he made his way home to claim his reward.