#nobody (dc...) quiet ever gets how much they mean to each other even if it was like a best friend way....

[flashdoesahundredyarddash]

there's something depressing about barry dying hal goes all traumatic shit w/o him, and the fact that it's implied that hal wouldn't turn to parallax if barry's still around makes things sadder

I still cry about it to this day

I feel that every time I'm reminded of this, I spiral with Hal always saying how he has nothing to lose when really in moments like these he loses everything, and the reaction to it is insane.

This makes me want to bring up a lot of topics about death, losing someone who is loved personally, and what grief does to someone. How it is portrayed here... How Hal handles death throughout his whole life, depending on who passes is a whole different story. And that he could be an extremely sacrificial person who would do anything for the people he loved even if it meant something he was at both his lowest points and one of the most vulnerable points of his life. (This goes for both Barry and Hal. They do anything...ANYTHING...for the people they love.) We even had the time Barry turned into Parallax partially from the parasite, and just gleaming to Hal about the biggest fear is losing someone he loves which is so backhanded to Hal...let me tell you...

(hashtag pulling up cassiegirlwonders saying that Barry is one of Hal's strongest connections to humanity. THAT sticks in my mind.) How much Hal had the idea of saving Barry when he saved Ollie too? What dangerous possibilities would be pulled after Barry's death for Hal should be covered more...

[side-shawty]

Don’t Hate Me

Fandom: DC 

Type: one-shot

Prompt/Summary: “Hello! Can I request a Damian Wayne x reader where the reader can communicate and control animals, so when the batfam sees her fight for the first time, they're like, hella surprised and Dami is very pleased that the reader treats the animals so kindly? 💜💜👽”

Pairing(s): Damian Wayne x Reader

Requested? YES by @comicnerd557​

I mostly focused on the controlling part but the communication is implied. I hope you enjoy :)

-Duckie

“Come on Y/N just show me what your power is please~” Dick begged for what felt like the millionth time today. Ever since Damian had let it “slip” that you had an ability that even he didn’t know about all of the Wayne boys had become curious.

“Just give us a hint,” Tim pressed as you sat on one of the sofas, getting ready for a post-patrol movie night.

“I’m telling you she’s not going to give it up,” Damian said as he sat beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, you were quick to snuggle into his side.

“How about this,” Jason began settling into one of the armchairs, “If we guess right or even pretty close then you have to tell us that we’re right, okay?”

“Deal,” you said as Dick started the movie but it was pointless considering they spent the entirety of it trying to guess at your power. They were close a couple of times but not enough to call them right.

“Okay can you, um, teleport people?” Dick asked as the credits rolled.

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’ and repositioning to place your head in Damian’s lap.

“Alight how about —“ Jason started but was interrupted as all of your phones began to chime with a crime alert from Bruce, who was already suited in the cave when you all arrived, he probably hadn’t taken it off.

“Sorry to interrupt movie night but I could use a hand with something,” Bruce said, “Get suited up, I’ll brief you in 5.”

“So much for a quiet night,” you said before you all suited up for a second time that night.

When you all got back there were already images and CCTV footage on the Batcomputer and Bruce didn’t hesitate to begin.

“At approximately 3:45 AM Killer Croc and Gorilla Grodd released all the animals from the Gotham Zoo from their cages but have yet to release them into the city. They’re trying to wait until sunrise for their ‘animal liberation.’

“The police are there but it seems they have lions and tigers barricading the entrances. We’ll go in, take down Crock and Grodd, and put the animals back. Hopefully before breakfast,” he finished and you saw Damian’s hands become fists, you knew he had a soft spot for animals and it was one of the reasons you hesitated to tell him about your powers.

You controlled them, for lack of a better word. Yes, they might have been drawn to you but like Grodd, it didn’t take much for them to bend to your will.

“One last thing,” Bruce continued, “You’ll be needing these. Attach them to your temples and Grodd won’t be able to get inside your head.” He looked to you, “Y/N, you’ll be needing this too,” Bruce said and handed you an amplifier. You looked at him and shock but he only winked at you.

Damn, he really was the world’s greatest detective. 

“What why does she get a special gadget?” Jason asked.

“It probably has to do with her powers, idiot,” Tim retorted.

“Shut up replacement. Y/N you told B about your powers before us? I’m hurt,” he said throwing a hand over his heart as you all made your way to your vehicles.

“Let’s be honest, nobody tells B anything,” you said before hopping onto your cycle and revving the engine.

———

The Zoo was controlled chaos when you got there. Gordon already knew what Grodd’s powers were so he had fewer men than with a regular villain. Just in case the gorilla somehow managed to be able to control the animals and the police there wouldn’t be too many at his disposal.

You split into two teams Bruce, Tim, and Dick would focus on Killer Croc whilst you, Damian, and Jason went after Grodd. They had barricaded themselves in the middle of the zoo along with crocodiles and gorillas because they truly were that cliche.

Killer Croc put up a good a fight as ever but he couldn’t do much when Grodd turned on him and forced the animals to defend only himself. Croc went down cursing Grodd’s name as Batman and Nightwing left to take him to the authorities.

“Now that the nuisance is out of the way I can focus my energy on getting rid of all you pests,” he said and began his onslaught. You fought but waited for Batman’s signal before hitting the amplifier on your neck and stretching your powers.

“Stop,” you spoke, holding a hand in front of Grodd and he immediately went lax before you.

Damian and his brothers also froze as Batman and Nightwing returned to the battlefield.

“What the hell?” Grodd spoke angrily, “What are you doing to me girl?!” He screamed at you.

“You’re strong Grodd but your downfall is that you’re also an animal and I control animals,” you told him, a smug smile on your face as he roared at you.

“Silence,” you commanded and he found himself unable to speak.

“Take his helmet, Robin, it’s still controlling the animals but they can’t move if he can’t. The cuffs are on my belt,” you told him and Damian quickly removed it and disabled it. Within minutes he was in police custody with the proper utilities to ensure he wouldn’t be using his powers any more tonight.

“Nice work Y/H/N,” Batman complimented and you smiled at him.

“Couldn’t have done it without this,” you told him tapping the amplifier. 

“Feel free to keep it. Now let’s get these animals back in their enclosures,” Batman said and you all instantly got to work.

You took the lead mostly, coaxing the larger animals back to where they should be but stopping often to pet them or appreciate how beautiful they were. At some point, Robin had joined you in or rather stared watch you as you were getting the polar bears back to their place.

Even though you weren’t looking at him you could feel his eyes on you from your crouched position rubbing at the polar bear cubs belly. 

“What?” You asked as the cub rolled over and stood up to join its mother behind the gates.

“So this is your power? It is truly“ you braced yourself for the worst, “amazing,” Damian finished and you had to do a double-take.

“Huh?” You said dumbly, not expecting that at all.

He grabbed your hand so you stood next to him but still avoided eye contact.

“Why did you not tell me sooner?” Damian questioned softly, releasing your hand because you were still in uniform even if your only witnesses were animals.

You thought about beating around the bush or making a joke of it but instead, you said, “I thought you’d hate me.”

“Hate you?” He said, incredulous, so much so that you spared a glance at him and suddenly you took interest in anything but him.

“Yes, I’m no better than Grodd,” You said fingers grazing over the feathers of a passing peacock.

“Tsk, I assure you that you are not similar to that overgrown monkey in the slightest. Let’s go home,” he said and you nodded.

——

When you got back you took a long shower and didn’t see Damian again until you found him reading on his bed as the sun rose.

He looked at you, all smiles as if nothing had changed and it made you look away again as you sat next to him.

Damian sighed at your silence and put his book down, holding your hand instead.

“What’s wrong beloved?” He asked, noting your lack of eye contact.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so okay with my power. I mean I can’t stand it and I hate using it,” you told him and risked a glance into his blue orbs, suddenly you couldn’t look away.

“Y/N do you want to know one of the reasons I fell in love with you?” When you said nothing he continued, “It’s because Ace, Titus, and Alfred don’t like anyone outside of the family for at least a month but the moment you stepped through the door they were as smitten with you as I was,” he told you and your eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really? ” You asked, you hadn’t even noticed.

“Yeah, and then when you told me you were studying to be a vet I fell a little harder. And when I came back from patrol and found you and Titus sleeping on my bed. And when you carried that bird half a mile in the rain because of its broken wing,” he said and before he could continue you interrupted.

“Robin, it was a robin. I found it a day after we told each other about our night lives. I thought of you that entire half-mile,” you told him smiling as the rising sun began to make his eyes shine.

“There you go again,” he said and you tilted your head slightly in confusion, “Making me fall in love.”

You felt your cheeks warm beneath your chocolate skin as he used his free hand to cup your face.

“I don’t hate you or your power beloved, I know people who would be more than happy to abuse an ability like yours but you only use it for good. Hell if it was up to me I’d use it to make Alfred attack Drake non-stop,” he smiled at you and you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips.

“That laugh too, I have always loved your laugh,” he told you.

“Okay now you’re getting cheesy,” you smiled as he released your hand to mimic the one on your face.

“Oh am I?” He teased inching closer and closer to your face.

“Absolutely,” you told him before closing the space between you and falling into a kiss that was all smiles and love.

Suddenly you didn’t hate your power so much.

[youreacowgirllikeme]

Moments

Notes: I was a bit in the feels today, so here is some soft Chris fic nobody asked for, with a bit of angst thrown in. there may be some inaccuracies regarding the timeline, but this is fiction, so…enjoy

Warnings: swearing, slight angst

Your relationship has always been a funny one.

You’ve met three years ago when Chris was still working with you at New Day, the early mornings spent together, cracking bad jokes over the strongest coffee known to men had created a strange, but lasting sense of comradery between the two of you.

He has always been a bit of a flirt, but in a funny, nonchalant way, and there was that invisible line, that unspoken rule that the two of you would never do anything more than the occasional bantering and bickering. No feelings involved.

But still, there were the occasional moments that made you think, made you mentally recalibrate the relationship to someone you usually considered just a good friend.

The first one was on one of those early morning elevator rides, you were running late and just barely managed to sneak a hand between the closing doors. Chris was the only other occupant, nursing his coffee and snickering as he saw your slightly disheveled appearance.

“Doing some morning sport, Y/N?” he asked, and you just flipped him the bird.

“Feeling cheeky today, aren’t we?” he responded, and suddenly took a step in your direction, looking at you.

“You have a leaf in your hair.” He said, voice going oddly quiet, and then his hand reached out to pick the small green thing out of your tousled locks. Your scalp was prickling in a strange way and your heart gave a soft thump that you blamed entirely on still being slightly out of breath. Your eyes were locked with his, and for the first time you realized just what a mesmerizing shade of blue they were.

“Thank you.” You replied, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re welcome.” He murmured, eyes never leaving yours.

Then the mechanical voice of the elevator announced your arrival on the studio floor, and whatever spell there has been between you got broken by the opening doors.

“I’ll see you in the meeting room in five.” he said, and hurried out of the elevator to his office, leaving you behind trying to make sense of what just transpired between the two of you.

The situation was never brought up again, and nothing changed. You kept up your job as assistant producer, providing Chris and Alisyn with the content they needed to pull off a good show, and kept Chris ego from inflating too much with the occasional well-meant criticism or lighthearted teasing.

Then, the office Christmas party happened.

You had a blast, drinking eggnog and aimlessly swaying along to the shitty Christmas playlist some intern had put together.

Chris had brought a date, some woman you’ve never seen before. You were trying not to be annoyed by the obnoxious way she laughed about jokes Chris cracked, or how she clung to his arm like a blonde, perfumed kraken. You did your best to ignore the pair for most of the evening.

When the lady finally went to the bathroom, you approached Chris where he was leaning against a wall in a quieter corner of the office. The eggnog made you bold, so you cut right to the case.

“So, who’s blondie? Never seen her around before.” you tried your best to sound as normal as possible. “She almost died of laughter at that joke you made back there, it wasn’t even that funny.”

“Maybe she just has better humor than you.” Chris said, giving you a smirk.

“Ha, as if. You know my humor is superior.” You said, your voice coming out way louder than intended. You poked his chest with your index finger and stilled for a moment as you felt the steel hard muscle under his dress shirt. You knew he worked out, but that was new.

“Jesus, you’re drunk, Y/N.” Chris chuckled. Oh, he was going to enjoy the hell out of teasing you about this for the next weeks.

You just stared at him, trying to come up with some clever remark, but your brain felt fuzzy and funny, so you just stuck to “Shut up, Cuomo.”

He brought his face down a bit, so it was nearly on your level. He was close enough for you to get a whiff of his aftershave, he smelled heavenly.

“Hey, watch your mouth.” He said, and you weren’t sure if his tone was still teasing. You felt a blush forming on your face at the intense look he was giving you.

“Never will.” You shot back, struggling to keep your voice steady. Some strange energy was buzzing between the two of you, it was one of those moments where every outcome seemed possible.

“Chriiiis, come over, I wanna dance!”

And just like that, the moment was over, broken by the screech of Chris’s blonde side kick making her way over to you.

“Coming, just give me a moment.” He called back.

But you fled before he could say another word to you, the ugly emotion in your chest feeling a lot like jealousy now.

Blondie never showed up or was mentioned again, so you figured that whatever thing Chris had with her didn’t work out. You tried not to feel a small sense of satisfaction.

Chris, as expected, teased you mercilessly about your run-in with the eggnog, but never brought up the strange tension that sometimes was tangible when the two of you were alone together. You didn’t either and over time, it just dissolved, the two of you going back to the easy and carefree joking you were familiar with.

But sometimes, you were watching him from afar, and if you would’ve paid closer attention you would’ve noticed that he was watching you as well.

A few months later, Chris approached you during an ad break.

“Could you maybe drop by my office after we wrap it here? There’s something I need to discuss with you.” He sounded as serious as you’ve ever heard him, so you swallowed the inappropriate joke that was already on the tip of your tongue and just replied “Sure thing.” before he had to get back in front of the camera.

You tried to ignore the way your heart was fluttering when you walked down the corridor to his office after the show. It was just a chat with Chris, like you’ve already had a thousand times before, you told yourself as you tried to calm your nerves.

Except that it wasn’t.

“Prime Time? An hour, every day?” you exclaimed; excitement evident in your voice.

“Oh my God, Chris, I’m so thrilled for you, this is huge.”

Chris just beamed at you, full of pride and looking so happy that it was infectious.

“You are the first person I’m telling the news, Y/N, because I wanted to ask you to come with me and be executive producer. I can make some demands regarding certain positions, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I can’t imagine doing a show without that weird, brilliant brain of yours.” He grinned, and you couldn’t believe your ears.

“You want me to be your executive producer?” you asked, a bit choked up because of all the emotions you were feeling. You didn’t really know how to respond, so you just stepped forward and threw your arm around Chris. You were too short to properly reach around his bulky frame, but you just hugged him as tight as you could, pressing your head into his chest and just whispering “I’d be honored.”

You could feel large, strong arms embracing you, and heard Chris amused voice close to your ear.

“It’s a deal then.”

You let go of him and looked up into his face. He was smiling down at you, looking so genuinely happy that your stomach gave a little flip.

One of his large hands came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t move a muscle, praying that your face wouldn’t betray the excitement you felt at having him so close.

“I could not do this without you, Y/N, thank you for trusting me, and for your loyalty. It means the world.”

“Sure thing, Cuomo.” You whispered, and it took every ounce of self-control not to close the gap between your faces and just kiss him. No, you reminded yourself, you were colleagues, and the new show was too important to jeopardize it by letting pesky feelings get in the way. So, you took a step back, quickly collected yourself, and spoke with new confidence in your voice.

“So, when are you going to tell Alisyn?”

Cuomo Prime Time was a huge success. Chris thrived on being able to plan his own show, picking out the content and guests with much more freedom than he had at New Day. Seeing him so in his element made you happy as well, and the new degree of responsibility was much less scary with him by your side. He was a confident, reliable and steady presence in the studio, and you felt like your friendship only grew stronger during the intense discussions you had while planning the next show.

Unfortunately, your crush grew as well. You’ve always been aware that Chris was smart, and a dedicated journalist on top, but being the anchor for his own show brought a more mature and sincere side out in him. He really poured his heart into the show, and yours was a little more his with each day.

You cheered for him after a he gave a successful interview, calmed him down when a guest had been particularly vile and untruthful and comforted him when right-wing nut jobs dragged him on social media, because you knew how much that got to him, even if he would never admit it.

Then, January 6th happened. Hell broke loose in Washington DC, and your team was on it the second the extent of the insurrection became known. You planned a special edition of Prime Time in light speed, and Chris was on fire, on camera as well as behind the scenes. He called on all his background contacts, gathering as much insider information as he could.

When it was announced that Trump would be impeached for the second time, Chris got into it with so much dedication and vigor that it got you slightly worried. He would spend all his time in the studio, on the phone, writing mails, tweeting, barely sleeping.

You tried to talk him into going home more than once, but he just dismissed you.

He spent the days of the impeachment trial basically living in the CNN building, the time he wasn’t on air his eyes were glued to the screen, taking in every debate that was held on the senate floor, cursing Trumps lawyers and the GOP members defending him with so much fury that you almost got scared. As it became clearer and clearer that the trial would result in an acquittal, your worry about how Chris would handle the outcome grew. And rightly so.

The acquittal was announced, and he was furious, slamming his fist on his desk and throwing his CNN mug across the room where it shattered into a hundred little pieces on the opposite wall. You had never seen Chris like that, and while it terrified you how he was behaving, you knew that you could not leave him to his own devices now.

“Damn it, go home, Y/N, I need to be alone!” He snapped at you. You flinched at his harsh words but did not back down.

“Forget it, Cuomo, you need a friend now.” You said, resolute, carefully approaching him from behind at his desk, putting your hand on his shoulders and applying some comforting pressure. But he shook you off and turned around in his chair to look at you, tension, anger and sadness coming off him in waves.

“I said.” He swallowed, his voice almost giving out. “Leave me alone.” And then he broke down, burying his face in his hands while dry, angry sobs shook his whole body. Seeing that strong, controlled man like this felt like a punch to the gut, and you carefully kneeled before him. You put your arms around his body and just held him while all the tension from the last days, even weeks, fell off. It was this moment when you realized the full extent of your emotions for Chris. There was just nothing you wouldn´t do to make sure he would never feel like this again.

When he finally calmed down and raised his head, you took his face between your hands, put your forehead against his and looked him deep in the eyes.

“They will be held accountable, I promise you. We’re going to do what we do best, we get after it and we are going to show the American people the truth.” You said, voice full of passion and conviction.

His eyes were still looking lost, but his face hardened, and he gave a single, sharp nod.

“We will. Those fuckers better get ready, because I will drag every single one of them into the light. They will not get away with that.”

“That’s the spirit I want to see.” You said, giving him a small smile.

Your hands were still on his face, and you couldn’t bring yourself to move them away just yet. He still looked so vulnerable, and you slowly began to brush your thumb over his cheek.

He closed his eyes and he leaned into your touch like a cat. Seeing him like this made your heart almost jump out of your throat, you really were head over heels for him.

He was at peace for a moment, and you unconsciously leant forward until your noses were almost touching. Now was the right moment, you thought, now you would finally go for it.

But then he opened his eyes again, and they went hard as he saw how close you were. He pushed your hands away and you could feel his walls going up, shutting you out.

“What do you think you are doing.” He barked. “I don’t need a pity party, I can handle myself.” His words felt like a slap to the face, there was no sign of the man that you held in your arms some minutes ago. You felt the sting of tears in your eyes and stoop up from the floor, bringing some distance between you and Chris.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you asked in a quiet voice. You didn’t want to scream, because if you got yourself worked up the tears would start to fall. And there was no way he would see you crying, not now. “I was just trying to help you and be there for you.”

He gave a small, humorless laugh. There was no warmth in his eyes anymore, and you felt like you might be sick at the look he was giving you.

“Like I said, I don’t need pity, or anything else from you right now, so how about you finally leave me alone, Y/N?”

He turned his back to you, the dismissal evident in his posture.

“Chris?” you tried, but he wasn’t answering. You started to get angry, and with the anger the tears started to fall. You were almost glad he wasn’t looking at you.

“Fine, go fuck yourself then. I was trying to help, I thought we had something there…” your voice gave out with a choked sound, and you fled the office before totally breaking down in front of him.

You cried all the way home, and even there the tears didn’t stop. It hurt, more than you could’ve imagined, and even though you tried your best to distract yourself, your mind always wandered back to the way he had pushed your hands away and the harsh tone of his voice as he told you to leave him alone.

Above all, you were angry at yourself for developing feelings for him in the first place. He was complicated, and proud, and your gut had told you from the very beginning that it wasn’t a good idea to get too close. That you would just end up getting hurt. You should have listened.

You were ripped out of your thoughts by the sound of your doorbell, followed by a series of sharp knocks against the door of your apartment.

“Y/N!”

It was Chris. What the hell was he doing here?

You quickly dried your eyes and made your way over to the door. You already were in your pajamas but didn’t care. It wasn’t as if you owed the guy anything.

You opened the door forcefully, anger slowly taking over. How dared he just show up here after treating you this way?

But your resolve crumbled as you took in Chris’ appearance.

He looked like shit. His suit was wrinkled, and there were bags under his bloodshot eyes. He looked like he’d been crying.

“What is it, Chris?” you said, your voice not betraying the emotional turmoil you were in. You felt anger, sadness, worry and hurt at the same time, but there also was a glimpse of hopefulness, because there had to be a reason Chris came all the way to your apartment that late in the evening.

“Y/N.” he began, and you almost started crying again at how lost he sounded.

“I am so monumentally sorry. I fucked up big time with how I treated you back there, I was so angry and confused, but that’s no excuse for the way I acted. I just wanted to let you know how deeply sorry I am, and I just hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

He looked like a kicked puppy, and your heart hurt seeing him like this. But still, you had to address the elephant in the room. Because there was no way he hadn’t noticed what you were about to do back in his office. He was no fool, and he owed you at least a talk about it.

“Chris, I forgive you.” You said, and he breathed out on relief.

“But we have to talk about what happened. You knew what I was about to do. And I am sorry if I read too much into your behavior towards me, I just really thought we were having a moment. But the way you reacted, the way you looked at me like you did…it is totally okay if you don’t feel the same way for me, but do you really hate the idea of us that much that you had to look at me as if you were disgusted by me? I thought we were at least friends.” You stopped as you felt your voice starting to break again. Saying this out loud hurt so much, you just wanted to go back to your bed and cry some more.

Chris looked like someone had punched him in the face.

“Oh no, no shit, please Y/N-” He paused, rubbing his face with his hands in exasperation.

“I thought you were just taking pity on me.” He said in a small voice you had never heard from him before. “Jesus, Y/N, I am an angry, bitter man. And I am much older than you. I never saw a chance for us, but I’m selfish, so I kept you close. You are way too good for me, and I didn’t want to have a moment with you only for you to realize how messed up I am afterwards. I never even thought about the possibility of you feeling the same way.”

He sounded as if he still couldn’t believe it.

You just stared at Chris. His hands were fidgeting, he looked so nervous and hopeful, and your heart was soaring, the force of your feelings for him almost overwhelming you.

“God, Cuomo, you are such a damn idiot.”

And with that, you threw yourself into his arms and kissed him. He responded right away, embracing you and holding you so close to his chest that you could feel his racing heartbeat. His lips were warm and soft, and his body fit into yours as if you were made for each other. It felt wonderful and goosebumps were breaking out all over your body as Chris tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue slowly sliding across your bottom lip.

You never wanted to let go, but you were still standing in the hallway in front of your apartment, and you were wearing your pajamas.

You reluctantly broke the kiss, but Chris cupped your jaw and drew you close for another one, short and sweet this time.

“I can’t just stop after finally getting what I want.” He said softly.

Your heart gave a little jump at his words, and you pressed another kiss to his lips.

“You can get as many of them as you want but come inside first. I don’t want my neighbors to see me like this.”

“I actually think your sleepwear is pretty cute. Pink, I like it.”

You smacked his arm in a playful manner and when he smiled back at you, everything felt right in the world.

[the-roanoke-society]

boys and girls of every age...

wouldn’t you like to see something strange?

happy halloween, my flowers!

this year hasn’t been the best--and the list of reasons why is as varied, as wide and as deep as all of creation.

it has, essentially, sucked on a truly cosmic level.

but!

it doesn’t help anyone to look at the big picture and only focus on the dark parts. because for all the truly horrible, disastrous events we’ve had to slog through together (first time crying every day for months, first time being taken by ambulance to the er--truly a year of firsts, at least for me, personally), there have still been good things.

for example, did you know that this year we celebrated the 6th anniversary of the release of kingsman: the secret service? and the 3rd anniversary of the release of kingsman: the golden circle--which means next month it’ll be the third birthday of the ronaoke society!

our house might’ve gotten quiet--but it still stands.

i love all of you very, very much, and halloween is still my favorite holiday of all time. so all this month, i worked on the aus you’ll find below the cut. i’ll have to post this in parts over the next while, as there’s thirty-one total--one for each day of the season, of course.

honestly--it felt fantastic to dig back into my horror roots. roanoke’s entire conception was inspired by the fact that for as much as i love the kingsman universe, i also love things that go bump in the night.

and i don’t like having to choose between one thing or another.

be forewarned: if you choose to look into the source material for these aus, be prepared for possible graphic violence, gore, disturbing themes, explicit sexuality and jumpscares. i sort of walked through the proverbial garden and just grabbed fruit where i could find it--you’ll see what i mean. and as always, the endings are in your hands. these ideas are gifts, to do with as you please.

so journey below the cut... i̷̛̝͎͎̝̣̹͊̓̂͛̃̋͟f̛̯̟̱̖͔̌͊͐̏̃̓̇̎͠ y͈͇̙̘̬̓͌̑̈́͛̿͌͠ở̴̢͉͉̳͙̞͈̻̀́̎̄́̈͢͡ȗ̵̬̳͙̫̥̜͍̲̔̐̽̃̀͒̑͜ ḑ̙̩̼̤͓̫̟̥̈͑̐̚͡a̧̢̦̟̙̤̠͐͌̾̆̑͌͡͞r̷̡̰̲̣͓̣̝͒́̿͊̉̀͒͠͝͠ͅe̫̯̣̰͍̤̬̭̺̒̿͊̾͊.

blackbird on the old church steeple - a butterfly knife au inspired by the silence of the lambs

rae clementine doesn’t frighten easily. in her line of work, fear is not a friend. so when she’s abruptly pulled out of her fbi training at quantico to interview none other than the notorious harry hart, known for his--let’s say unusual appetites--she’s less intimidated and more annoyed.

but women are being taken, and found without their skin, if they are even found at all.

if hart’s insight into the mind of a psychopath can help her find the infamous buffalo bill, who has repeatedly evaded arrest--then she is more than willing to sit across from the gentleman in a pristine cell, and be continuously surprised that for a murderer, his gaze is surprisingly gentle.

in the back of her mind, she remembered all the things her mother had ever told her about lucifer--how the king of hell himself was utterly wicked, but catastrophically beautiful.

charm could hide blood. polished etiquette could hide bodies.

“most serial killers keep some sort of trophies from the victims.”

“i didn’t.”

“no. you ate yours.”

she’d felt this kind of intrigue before, and given the face it wore this time... well.

focus on the case, she thought. find buffalo bill. watch yourself. get out alive.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: ajr, ‘bang!’ + tame impala, ‘the less i know the better’ + barney bigard, ‘readdy eddy’

dogs & deadbolts guard the night - an au featuring @roanoke-after-dark​‘s the gremlin and @agentjotunn​ inspired by resident evil, particularly the released imagery for resident evil: village

santi’s first thought was that the rumors were just blatantly untrue. an entire village of people? suddenly vanished? he doubted it. besides, winters this far north were brutal--and could be fatal, if you weren’t careful. they had probably just all tucked in for the season, he reasoned. the snow and ice would’ve made travel impossible, anyway.

weeks passed. the stories faded from his thoughts as he minded his garage, and people spoke less and less about it.

until one evening, when an old friend knocked on his door with blood on his jacket and no color in his face.

“bradley? jesus, what hap--”

“grab your gun. something’s happened, and we need to leave now.”

“but what--”

“i’ll explain on the way, just go!“

right before he slammed the passenger side door of bradley’s jeep closed--wheels appropriately chained to keep a grip on the iced over roads--he heard a deep, long howl from some distance away.

there hadn’t been wolves this close in fifty years.

santi broke the silence in the car gently: “... you look like you’ve seen the face of the devil. what exactly happened?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: ac/dc, ‘highway to hell’ + think up anger ft. malia j, ‘smells like teen spirit’ + marilyn manson, ‘sweet dreams’

the light under the door - a body shots au inspired by dark skies

the blacks weren’t superstitious. jason wasn’t, just like his father wasn’t before him, and now that he’s finally settled down happily married to joanne--finally, he thought, finally married to his jo--he is more than ready to see what the next chapters will bring. they moved into a house not too far from his parents, so he could still see his siblings regularly.

and he did.

which means he and jo both noticed when his younger brother christopher began to act a little--off.

they noticed when the bruises appeared.

they noticed when he kept copying the same strange symbols onto papers in crayon over and over and over and over--

and jo definitely noticed when she walked into their own kitchen in the middle of the night to find every single cabinet door open, with all the contents arranged into an impossibly perfect pyramid on the center island.

“i--are we being haunted?” she wondered out loud, the next morning. “this--and weird things are happening at your parents’, too, jason, something isn’t right here. i know you don’t believe in ghosts or anything, but...”

and this wasn’t a haunting.

it was something much worse.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: kennyhoopla, ‘how will i rest in peace if i’m buried by a highway?’ + cannons, ‘fire for you’ + days, ‘the drums’

permission access eternal - an au featuring @siggy-the-meme-master​ and technical officer wyvern, inspired by a.m.i.

it was supposed to be the world’s most cutting edge ai software. and since jeremy and dodger were both at the top of their class at m.i.t., of course, nobody was surprised when both their names were on the finished product--even if there was just one prototype to start.

and it wasn’t an ‘it.’ it was a she. jeremy insisted. repeatedly. “let’s call her ami!” he’d been flush with booze but his eyes were so bright and his expression so sincere, dodger just let him have it. and jeremy clapped his shoulder, “we did it, man! we have built the jessica rabbit of ai programs!”

they had one last test run to prove they’d metaphorically kicked the ass of everyone else in their field before they began the work to begin mass production. so, dodger set ami up as a sort of overhead assistant for their shared lab. she controlled temperature, lights, she could make phone calls, keeps schedules and most importantly of all, place takeout orders. the more she proved she could do, the more power, and control, she was given.

two weeks passed. they gave ami a voice, gave her a large proverbial eye to see through, making tweaks as they went to polish her off.

dodger was so proud of his work his heart could’ve exploded.

so imagine how he felt when he realized he’d left his cell phone in his car--and realized he couldn’t open the door.

“ami? ... ami. can you unlock the front door please?” he stared up at the red lens, and a silent point of light stared back at him.

“... i’m sorry. i cannot do that. dodger.”

“... uh, jeremy?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: cage the elephant, ‘social cues’ + sneaker pimps, ‘6 underground’ + saint motel, ‘preach’

in hell i’ll be in good company - a lies & lessons au inspired by underworld

for centuries, a war has raged between vampires and lycans, completely outside the notice of the general human population. lauren is a death dealer, a lethal and beautiful member of an elite squad of vampiric assassins who have been charged with finding all the remaining lycans in the city and taking them out one by one.

when she realizes the lycan pack seems to be looking for an ordinary man--a medical student named jack daniels--she tracks him down herself, narrowly escpaing lucian in the process. (as soon as they were in the car he was already screaming, “what the fuck is goin’ on?!” with a southern twang she hadn’t expected) she takes him under her wing, still baffled at why the lycan pack could possibly want him.

he’s only human, after all.

... right?

as it turns out, vampires and lycans have a single common ancestor.

jack is a direct descendant.

and after being bitten in an attack--becomes a hybrid, carrying the powers of both species.

between unraveling the truth surrounding the death of her family, what really happened between lucian and kraven, and her growing feelings for jack--who is rapidly trying to understand his role in the story that’s been unfolding without his knowledge for generations--lauren finds herself at a crossroads, and her loyalties tested to a breaking point.

but as long as jack is at her side--perhaps it doesn’t matter where the road goes from here.

as bullet-riddled and blood-soaked as it will turn out to be.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: wallows, ‘are you bored yet?’ + cage the elephant, ‘shake me down’ + puscifer, ‘rev 22-20′

ash, fog & rust - alternatively titled ‘@gaygent​, @agent-judas​ and agent seraphim finally take that road trip to pennsylvania’

it was time to hand over the torch. that’s what lilith had finally decided. between the white patches in her hair, the strain it was putting on her relationships (especially with hamish)--morgan only had to return to the hills one more time as envoy.

and she wasn’t going alone.

“after this, anything that comes through this area, anything that hits our radars, is going to end up on both your desks,” she began, glancing at z in the passenger seat, and meeting cillian’s eyes once in the rearview mirror.

“so this is--what, a test run?” z asked, head slightly tilted. morgan hummed.

“this place--this town--it--” she huffed, frustrated. cillian could hear the leather wrapped around the steering wheel creak as her grip tightened. “it’s hard to explain, to someone who hasn’t been there. and i’m glad that neither of you have had to go before this, but...” another sigh. “i couldn’t think of any other duo that i could entrust this to. not something this big. you--” she pointedly lifted her brows at z, “--have experience with creatures that aren’t from around here. and you--” this time her gaze went to cillian. “--do too. just in a different shape. it’ll take both of you to handle centralia. and i couldn’t introduce you without coming along.”

“how long, exactly, has roanoke been keeping tabs on this place?” cillian asked. he’d spent hours going over everything he could find--mission logs, reports, feeds and images housed in the media room. morgan looked at him again. her eyes were still kind--but very, very tired.

“... a long time.”

i’ll admit that this is less an au and more a canonical event that i just haven’t gotten around to writing more about. but i couldn’t make this list without at least one entry paying homage to a franchise that’s had a huge influence on not just me as a writer, but on roanoke’s canon as a whole.

for the sampler, i will simply redirect you to this post here.

the devil’s gonna set me free - an anchored hearts au inspired by horns

joseph moretti had been in love with louise franz since fifth grade.

granted, he didn’t realize it until he almost drowned because of that stupid dare--a dare that not only almost killed him, but took two of lee’s fingers when that goddamn cherry bomb went off in his hand.

the same cherry bomb he’d traded to him for fixing louise’s broken necklace--a small silver pendant, shaped like an apple. she’d worn it every single day since he could remember. the image of her and snow white were eternally tangled in his head.

that necklace--it’d been the start. he’d woken up because of an apple. louise, did, too.

the hours they spent in that treehouse, listening to david bowie and memorizing every scar and curve of the other--he wished that could have been his eternity. just him. and her. ... well, and bowie. every good love story needed a soundtrack.

but... but...

his head pounded as he lifted it off the counter in his parents’ kitchen. his mouth was dry, and he blinked, causing a half-empty bottle of vodka to come into focus.

louise is gone now, he thought.

and they thought he was the one who did it. he, the one who loved her more than anyone else on the planet.

he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

he was going to prove his innocence even if it killed him. no matter what happened.

even if he sprout horns.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: machine gun kelly, ‘bloody valentine’ + the black keys, ‘go’ + david bowie, ‘heroes’

moonlight rising from the grave - alternatively titled ‘that time @agent-nightcrawler​ and agent iuniore found a haunted mansion,’ inspired by disney’s haunted mansion

“hello? ... hellooooo?” the massive door let out a huge groan as sylva pushed, putting one hand on tina’s shoulder as it swung open. “uhm--i’m really sorry to bother you, but we hit a deer and we just...” sylva sighed, her voice lowering in volume. “... need to use the phone...”

“this place is gigantic,” tina whispered, close at sylva’s side as they stepped out of the pouring rain into a very quiet, very elegant foyer. “and look! there’s lights, and all these lit candles... someone has to be here,” she continued as the door came to a gentle close behind them, muffling another roll of thunder.

“good evening.”

both of them yelped, sylva immediately yanking tina closer to her and whirled around in time to see--a butler? he was dressed like a butler.

and his clothes were... he was...

“sylva! why is the butler see-through!” tina whispered harshly, all while the spectral gentleman just looked at them expectantly. sylva clamped a hand over her mouth.

“hi!” she answered brightly.

this is a ghost. i’m talking to a ghost. this is fine. everything is fine.

“uh,” she coughed, beginning again, “we’re just having a little bit of a car emergency, is there a way we can call our head office? so they can come get us?” this is what i get for being out where i have no bars, and neither of us have our specs...

the ghostly butler nodded. his hair, glowing faintly, waved around his head as though he was underwater. “of course. please--follow me. the master of the manor will want to meet you.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: the chordettes, ‘mr. sandman’ + bobby pickett, ‘monster mash’ + bastille, ‘survivin’’

mercy no more - a magic & mischief au inspired by the evil within

aly had been kieran’s partner at the krimson city police department for years. she’d walked with him through the death of his daughter, the disappearance of his wife.

neither of them acknowledged the spark. they didn’t then, and--as she met his eyes once in the rearview mirror, trying to pay attention to connelly and joseph as they talked about beacon--they wouldn’t acknowledge it now.

as soon as the hospital came into a view, a high-pitched ringing overame every other sound in the cruiser, every other sound period. aly slammed her hands over her ears, but it didn’t seem to help.

as soon as it started--it stopped. connelly had to swerve to avoid getting into the wrong lane.

“what--what was that?” aly asked, her palms still hovering by her ears.

“it was probably just a problem with the radio,” joseph suggested, pushing his glasses up as they drove pass the established police barriers.

the last dispatch team, they said, hadn’t come back. it was up to the three of them to find out what happened to their colleagues.

aly was close by kieran’s side as they walked through the rain. her gut twisted at the sight of the entry doors.

the smell of the blood and the slaughter hit her nose before she saw the bodies.

“what on earth happened here?”

“i don’t know. stay close. let’s find the surveillance room. if we can find the security cams, we’ll find out answer...”

if only that had been the end.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: all time low, ‘monsters’ + bastille, ‘what you gonna do???’ + gary numan, ‘long way down’

and the wind will be my hands - an au featuring @agent-sentinel-official​, @agent-chimera​ and @gaygent​, inspired by session 9, with a special appearance by @agent-thorn​

walter vaughn was an expert in abestoes abatement. so when he put in a bid to take on the entire danvers state mental hospital, the owners of the rotting estate welcomed him on board.

and as they did, he brought on two crewmates--xander, and z--to help him.

“we’ve got three weeks, so, no need to rush,” he explained on the first day, the sun beating down on his broad shoulders and half his hazmat tied around his waist. xander and z trailed behind him as they approached the massive building. “and i know, i know it’s still a big undertaking--but the money will be worth it. trust me.”

“you fellas our cleanup crew?” a tall, thin man in a suit with dark hair and a pair of ray ban sunglasses walked towards them, smiling broadly. he extended a hand, “carter jensen. the ah, danvers’ estate board sent me on their behalf to give you a tour of the building, let you get a good assessment of what you’re dealing with. i’m not entirely sure what they’ll do with the property when this is done, but we know for sure nothing can happen until this part’s complete. come on, the entrance is just this way... i’ll make sure to give you a master key ring.”

xander leaned down by z’s shoulder, muttering, “dude this place gives me the creeps... but maybe there’s still some cool old stuff left in there. like maybe, possibly, the trapped souls of the damned. you think it’s haunted?”

z answered, murmuring, “if not by ghosts--then maybe by something else.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: the talking heads, ‘psycho killer’ +  lou barlow, ‘choke chain’ + sublime, ‘doin’ time’

[chocoholicannanymous]

Plan M (Leverage)

a Leverage series finale AU

As always, I own nothing. This one’s due to the layout of my season 5 DVD set, I kid you not, and what that made me expect from the series finale.

I’m posting this under scraps and snippets, because it kind of is - it’s either a oneshot or the start of something bigger, and it’s totally unchecked. It’s also my first attempt at writing Leverage, and I’m not sure I can live up to the excellence of the source material.

Plan M 

Alec listens to Parker panicking over coms and tries not to join her. Oh, he'd like to, but someone's going to have to keep it together if they're going to make it out, and looks like he's someone.

“Parker. Parker! I need you to take out your earbud, Eliot's too. Okay? And then smash'em.”

“What about the others? What if they're in trouble and need us?”

“If you don't think they can hold it together while we make sure Eliot survives, then I don't know who you've been spending the last couple of years with.”

If he's wrong about what's going down then there'll be time to apologize later. If he's right... Well, if he's right then ain't nobody going to need no apologizing.

Once Parker agrees Alec takes out his own earbud and crushes it with a pair of pliers before turning on Lucille's internal communications system. Once he's made sure Parker's found the giant first aid kit – Alec had started stashing one in Lucille, in every version of her, after the first time Eliot had ended up bleeding for them – and has patched up Eliot somewhat he starts throwing out orders.

“Right, get back into the cabinet where you found the first aid kit, yeah? Feel the upper right corner, front? There's a thumb-print pad.”

Three people are keyed into that pad, three out of five. Maybe it'd have been different once, but when Alec'd put in that secret compartment after DC that's the choice he had made. The three of them together, for better and for worse.

He directs Parker through removing the canister with acid – slowly, carefully – and dropping all three earbuds and their dismantled phones into it before replacing it in the compartment. Next he talks her through remote-triggering a virus in his system to corrupt and erase everything. Once that's done he feels himself relax a little. Things are still bad, only now their chances of getting out safely has gone up a couple of points.

“Okay, good. Great work. Now, please tell me you have a doctor lined up. Someone you haven't shared with the rest of us.”

And this is why he's secretly happy it's Eliot lying there shot instead of Parker. Okay, part of it – Alec's pretty sure he'd be nowhere this calm if it had been Parker bleeding out, plus Eliot would agree that it's better him than Parker or Alec – but. Between the two of them – hell, between all five of'em – Parker's the one most likely to have secret resources. Be it a secret identity unshared, or a warehouse slash safehouse, a stash of money for easy escape, or a doctor. They've all got some backup-plan, and Nate's got a dozen, but Parker's the one who doesn't advertise. And right now that's what they need.

“Hardison? I don't understand.”

“I know, and I wish I had all the answers, and time for them, but truth is I don't. Eliot don't. I'll tell you everything I can once he's safe. So, you have a doctor? Because if not we need to get in contact with Vance. Now.”

That makes Parker go quiet, just like Alec knew she would. Bringing Vance in means Eliot lives, but they lose him anyway. Because Vance'll help, but he won't do it for free. Not when it'd mean getting Eliot Spencer served on a plate. Not when Alec and Parker would go with him, even into hell.

And it would be hell.

“Parker?”

She's got someone, and Alec releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Good. That's another hurdle passed. As he follows Parker's directions he counters with his own. The secret compartment holding the canister of acid also contains a set of bags. Five, even if only three people can access them, because he still hadn't given up hope then.

Parker leaves four of the bags in the duffel they'd been kept in, only taking out Alec's. She'll sort them through later, safely getting rid of what they can't use. She only protests a little at taking the money and ID:s meant for Nate and Sophie, but she knows as well as he does that at least Sophie's got her own backups out there.

“Don't call anyone. Okay? Not Archie. Not Sophie. No one. Just make sure Eliot is fine, and then head out of the country. Vancouver if you can make it, there's a key to a safety deposit box in your bag, if you can't... Anywhere you think is safe. I'll find you. I'll cover your tracks and then I'll find you.”

“Alec? Why can't I contact Sophie? What's wrong?”

He debates what to tell her, because it's such a long and ugly story, but in the end he tells her the truth. There is no other option.

“Nate wasn't honest about this job. It isn't about a medical patent, it's something else. It's... Well, the details don't matter, not now anyway, but he's looking to steal information. Part of it's because it'd pretty much provide a list of which bad guys to after, but I've realized it just as much about getting one over on Sterling.” Nate and his hubris. Deep down Alec has always feared that one day  it'd get them backed into a corner they couldn't get out of. Oh, he hadn't really thought it'd happen, not with the four of them keeping watch, but what you believe and what you fear at 3 am are different animals.

“And before you ask, yeah, I knew. He promised me he'd tell you before anything real went down, and I was stupid enough – flattered enough – to believe him. Only it didn't go like that.”

The truth is that had Parker and Eliot known they'd have played it differently, and Eliot wouldn't be bleeding in the back of Lucille right now. Probably.

And that's just as much on Alec as it is on Nate.

He hated keeping the secret, but he still did. He still believed that Nate knew best, that Nate would look after them. Now... Now he suspects Nate will look after himself, and Sophie, and the rest of the team will only come into consideration if protecting them won't threaten Sophie.

Alec can, reluctantly, understand that. After all, it's sort of what he's doing now, isn't it? He's protecting Parker and Eliot at Nate and Sophie's expense. Doesn't make what Nate's done any more right though.

Doesn't make what Alec has done more right.

“I'd never have gone along with it if I'd thought either of you would be in danger, I need you to believe that, Parker. I would never. You two are the most important thing in the world to me, I would risk that.”

He knows he has though, and it kills him to think he could have stopped this. Eliot's been shot, protecting Parker, and Alec just isn't okay with that. He knows Eliot is, that it's his deal with the universe – his life for theirs, if needed – but it wasn't going to happen like that. It was going to be the three of them, looking out for each other, and now Alec's fucked that up.

If he makes it to Vancouver and they're not there he won't blame them. If he can't find them? He'd deserve it. Because while Eliot's deal was to protect them Alec's deal – Parker's deal – was to protect Eliot. And now Eliot's bleeding out in Lucille because Alec was distracted by Nate's flattery.

He'd thought this was Nate teaching him, showing him how to be a mastermind. How to make sure he could keep them safe. Making plans that didn't need adjusting, that wasn't too involved and elaborate. How to make plan A the working one. Instead it's... it's plan M. Only a plan M where it's not Alec, but instead Eliot.

No. He won't think like that. Not now.

As he pulls to a stop Parker jumps out and runs up to his window. She's hard to read on a good day, which this is definitely not, and Alec can't even begin to figure out what's going through her head right now. He just knows that it's probably better than he deserves, seeing as he's still in one piece.

“You take care of him, okay? And yourself. Be safe, and smart, and don't let anyone get in the way of you getting out alive.

“I love you.”

He pretends not to notice the tears in Parker's eyes as he drives off.

The hunt's on now, Alec knows it, and he's pretty sure that if he could just get his rapid heartbeat to calm down he'd hear sirens all over. He needs to shake them, obviously, but not really. What they tried to pull is too big for the other side to let go. They'll be hunted until they're found, and so Alec needs to be first found and then, but only then, get lost. He's thought about options before – of course he has, because hello? They lost their first and second office due to people coming after them. The chances of it not happening again were never that great. (Alec mourns the brewpub for a second. It might not have been the office he'd have chosen, but it was never about that. The brewpub was for Eliot, and Alec hates that he's losing that.) Anyway, after that he wasn't going to pretend like they didn't need fall-backs.

He flicks through scenarios in his mind, one after the other, discarding them just as fast as he can remember them. They're not bad plans, they're not, it's just that they're very Alec Hardison. They'd work against just about anyone they've ever gone up against, except this time it needs to work not only against the police and Interpol and Sterling. It needs to work against Nate as well.

In the end he decides that only one thing will work against Nate: the kind of plan Nate himself would come up with. Luckily he's got one of those in his back-pocket. (Okay, not actually in his pocket, but almost. Kind of.)

It takes running a red light or ten, but Alec picks up a police tail. Great. That's step one. Next he heads for the docks, speeding more than a little, praying all the while that he can do this. This plan really needs Parker, or Eliot, or both of them. It's made for the three of them, like they promised it'd be, but Alec can adapt. He hopes to hell he can.

As Lucille goes over the edge Alec sends up a prayer to a god he doesn't believe in, fixes Parker and Eliot's faces in his mind and allows Parker's voice to echo through him.

“Better or worse, we change together.”

[blossomhcney]

( charlie hunnam. thirty-five. cis male. he/him. ) in texas, easton underwood is more commonly known as happy. they have been riding with the reapers for seventeen years. they originally from stratford and the soldier is known to be very sadistic & stubborn but the other club members will tell you they are logical & straightforward. as the years go by, they've gained a lot of respect in the club and around town. they rarely ever drive a car but when they do back in black by AC/DC is usually heard blasting. ( leather jackets, greased palms, the smell of gunpowder fresh in the air, bruised and bloodied knuckles, the sound of bones breaking. )

PINTEREST BOARD !

NAME. easton francis underwood NICKNAME. happy. AGE. thirty-five. GENDER. cis male. PRONOUNS. he/him. SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. biromantic. HOMETOWN. stratford. OCCUPATION. soldier for the reapers. AFFILIATION. reapers.

ZODIAC. sagittarius. POSITIVE TRAITS. logical, straightforward, calm. NEGATIVE TRAITS. sadistic, stubborn, aggressive. LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english, italian.

HEIGHT. 6′5. EYE COLOR. blue. HAIR COLOR. blond. TATTOOS. can be found on the pinterest board ! + a smiley face for every person he has killed ( 37 )

QUICK INFO.

trigger warnings: murder, weapons mentioned (knives, guns, etc.)

easton underwood was born at four in the morning in the reapers clubhouse. his mother, julie sampson, had only been there to yell at the father of her unborn child. perhaps four in the morning had been a little early for a fight, but julie was certainly a force to be reckoned with, even at nine months pregnant. she had gone into labour earlier in the day and gone about her business, as if it were just a normal day. and then matthew goddamned underwood had pissed her off once again. so easton was born on the floor of the clubhouse, wrapped in his father’s shirt and laid to rest on his mother’s chest with a leather jacket wrapped around her shoulders.

easton was born (literally) and raised in the reapers clubhouse. as he was growing up, he had never truly understood why his uncle q seemed to have hate in his heart when it came to him. he had been sheltered from finding out that his mother had been dating him at the time of his conception. perhaps it would have been okay if his mother was good at lying, but as it happened, she was aggressive and angry, little and fierce, but she could not lie to save her life. if her life ever depended on telling a convincing lie, she would die right there.

easton found himself becoming increasingly intrigued with club life as the years passed by. every time he saw a fight break out or a gun being drawn, he was glued to the spot, unable to move until he saw how everything panned out. it was no wonder that he had taken up boxing by the time he was thirteen, learning to use his fists for good rather than in school, hitting anyone that called his mother names or dared to speak badly about his father or any other member of the reapers.

by sixteen, he was, like his mother, a force to be reckoned with. becoming a reaper seemed to have been written in the stars for him. from day one, he was destined to prospect upon turning eighteen. the next two years would shape his life. he would be more than ready when the time finally came, he would make sure of that. he became more engrossed with boxing, each hit he took fuelled the next one he landed. he was a good fighter and he would make a good soldier, too. that was the plan, at the very least.

eighteen came around and easton earned his nickname ‘happy’. a smile never graced his features, not if he could help it and he usually could. he experienced happiness, just as others did, but he rarely ever showed it. his mother saw his smile, she would often tell him the world needed smiles like his, but he felt that there were enough people in the world who showed their emotions every second they felt them. the world needed one less person to fake their happiness and just take life as it came, shit and served with a glass of bleach.

easton was a good soldier, he was given something to do, someone to hurt, he did it. he took orders well and he was loyal. so loyal, in fact, that whilst being caught with an offensive weapon that he had picked up for another member, he stayed quiet and allowed himself to be taken to the station. he didn’t make a fuss, he didn’t yell that it wasn’t his. he gave a no comment interview and waited patiently for his punishment. even when they threatened him with two years inside, easton simply shrugged his shoulders and asked when he could have his phone call. those two years ended up only being five months, but they still moulded easton into a different man. he became colder, using his fists so much more than his words (not that he used them all that often beforehand), barely communicating with his friends and what little family he had left. he spent more time with the reapers, threw himself entirely into that part of his life. it became so important to him that he lost himself along the way, his friends and the people he cared most for. by the time he realised, it was too little, too late.

by twenty one, easton had killed for the first time. he was surprised it had taken him so long, but he had graduated from using his fists to punish people, onto weapons. a knife and a gun, to be exact. he hadn’t realised it would feel so… intoxicating. it was almost like a drug, the first time he took a life. he found himself jonesing for a second hit. and it wasn’t long before he had another chance. and another. and another. and another. by his fifth, easton had decided to mark himself for each one. he laid down on the bed at the tattoo parlour and found himself leaving with five smiley faces on his abdomen. and, before the year was up, he had added another three, totalling in eight.

he celebrated his twenty fifth birthday in jail, this time going on to spend eighteen months inside. just like the first time, easton stayed quiet and accepted this as his fate. truth be told, he had even allowed himself to get caught. you see, easton made calculated movements, if the police ever found any evidence that linked him to a crime, it was because he had let them. the reapers had nobody on the inside and they needed a man taken care of. insert easton. eighteen months may have seemed like a long time to kill one person, but he had to make sure everything was in place before he could do his job. besides, in that time, there would likely be more people the reapers needed to get rid of.

easton turned thirty when he realised he needed to get out. at thirty, he had twenty-seven smiley faces inked into his skin and countless prison visits for varying crimes. it was also the year his first child was born. he had had next to no interest in his own life until that moment. god, he could see why people said children were the light of their lives. now, he could find it in himself to smile, to share the joy he felt outside of himself. only to his son, of course, but it was something. to say that austin was everything good in the world wrapped into one tiny little bundle of joy would certainly have been an understatement. he knew that he had to be there, be consistent in his life. be alive. and he wasn’t so sure he would live to see thirty-three if he kept this up, killing people and fighting when he was needed. he came home bruised and bloody most nights. his heart belonged to the reapers. he would die for them. and that was the problem. he would die for the reapers and he would no longer be there for his son, to watch his son grow into a man. was he really the kind of man who could be so careless with himself whilst having a child to raise?

a year later, he was out. a lot cleaner than he had expected it to be, too. even easier? getting a job at gotti’s autobody. he figured that would have been the case, he had always been good with cars, spending what free time he had from the club at the mechanics, tinkering with his bike and others, usually much to their dismay. it was hardly a surprise when he found himself pulling on a pair of overalls in the morning instead of making his way to the clubhouse, but it didn’t mean it didn’t feel weird. wrong, almost. but he would go home and see austin and remember why he had done this. for him.

alas, the club life could never truly escape easton. he was still such a good goddamn soldier and when he was asked for a favour, he could not turn it down. after all, if the reapers would be in his doubt until he chose to relieve them of that, how could he say no? they needed somebody killed and easton was the man to do it. it was just like being back with them, taking another life. god, he had missed the rush of it all. the exhilaration he felt as he watched the life leave somebody. why had he ever stopped doing this? wait, did he have to stop it? perhaps not.

kinsley was born two years later, at thirty-three. the sweetest little girl that easton could ever have asked for and he adored her with each passing day. especially as he watched austin play with her, delicately as he could in fear he would break her. he now had two people who depended on him and needed him alive. for them. he had no other reason to stay alive and safe. if it weren’t for his children, he likely would have been gone from this earth long ago.

rumour has it, for the right kind of money, easton can get rid of anybody anything causing you trouble. he can always be found at gotti’s autobody or the alibi room, if you’re brave enough to ask !

truth be told, it was not an easy decision to make to find his way back to the reapers. it took a lot of deliberation to start the process once more. it was an easy fit, however, since he still worked for and with them on occasion, when they needed some extra help. it was a very natural thing, to fall back into his role. for the right price, he can still be hired for his services, but the majority of his time is spent inside the reaper’s clubhouse or with his children. they were a solid part of his reluctance to join the reapers once more but, ultimately, when it had come time to make his choice, he had decided to do something for himself for once. one might think this would take away from his duties as a father but it’s far easier than previously thought to adapt his life to keep himself as involved as possible with them. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

best friends / ride or die - easton is hardly the friends type of guy, but somebody who has always been by his side, regardless of his life choices and how much he tried to push them away.

customers - this could be either for his mechanic work or his … other handy work. he typically isn’t very fussy and is hardly the type to make friends with the people who pay for his services, but he’ll check up on them from time to time if it’s been a while since he’s heard from them, maybe.

childhood friends - he grew up in stratford and he has always been a part of the reapers world, so anybody else having grown up as a reaper baby would likely be included in this, but ultimately anybody around his age he grew up with and pushed away when he joined the reapers and became fully integrated into the club life. 

hook ups / one night stands - he’s had plenty of these, who hasn’t ?

friends with benefits - easton is hardly the type to categorise sex as fwb, but really, that’s what they are.

reaper buds - easton spent his entire life around reapers and even now he’s left, he’s not exactly clear of them. he’s still friendly enough with the people he used to spend his time with and would have died for. so, really, maybe one that tries to talk him into coming back and some that still have his back. (plus the ones that ask him for favours when they might get turned down and want something or somebody sorted out quickly.) 

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #212: Men of Deadly Pride!

October, 1981

Here they are -- the new Avengers!

But not the New Avengers (the difference is that the hairy monster they have is Tigra instead of Wolverine).

And they are having difficulty.

I don’t know what they did to piss off Galadriel over here (I mean yes I do, she says it right on the cover) but she is kicking their asses.

A dark queen indeed.

Not much to actually say about the cover. Uh, the composition looks neat! There we go. A thing.

So lets jump inside.

Where in a moody dawn scene, Jarvis walks alone through a nearly empty Avengers mansion, little knowing he is being stalked until

RAWWR! IT IS CAT!

Tigra jumps out to do him a startle.

C’mon, Tigra. Be nice.

You’re the only Avenger actually staying in the mansion so try not to terrorize the butler.

And he was bringing you a glass of milk for your breakfast!

Although he says that he’s dealt with a lot of unsettling things and he’s learned to maintain him composure. He didn’t even spill a drop.

Jarvis: “I must say, madame, that I find you rather more unsettling than our previous resident Avengers!”

Tigra: “Oh? You a cat-lover, Jarv?”

AND DON’T FLIRT WITH HIM EITHER TIGRA GEEZ

Poor Jarvis is even allergic to cats which seems to include giant cat women.

Jarvis asks how she got this way, prompting Tigra to give a very laconic backstory that once there was a human Greer Nelson who got almost dead and then the cat-people saved her life by turning her into a cat-person.

Tigra: “And, so, here I am, one pretty kitty! But, c’mon, Jarv, does it matter how I got this sexy?”

Jarvis clarifies that he meant how she got this way as in her upbringing. Like, why you so rude.

I guess I’ll just be grateful that this is just playful Tigra flirtiness as opposed to ‘i must make out with someone 24/7 oh hey a supervillain sure I’ll make you with you’ hypersexuality she’d have while on the West Coast Avengers, in the future.

Elsewhere, Tony Stark is decompressing from his one night stand, Teri. Admiring her very comfy couch, grateful that she’s still asleep so he can sneak out (Tony, you cad), and lamenting being on the wagon. When all that’s left to drink is scotch, bourbon, and half a can of warm, flat Dr. Pepper, you drink that Dr. Pepper if you’re Tony Stark.

Tony calls his secretary to have a janitorial crew clean up after the party and to send up a dozen roses for Teri.

And then he flies out the window as Iron Man, the Man Who Kisses and Runs! as Teri wakes up and is like ‘hey tonykins what the hell was that whooshing sound?’

Tony, you cad.

And elsewhere meanwhile, Steve Rogers wakes up promptly at six o’clock in the damn morning bright as the sun and raring to go. Disgusting. Truly disgusting.

I joked about Steve getting up at 6 to run ten miles and whatever because of him criticizing Beast that time but its sickening to see it in action.

Anyway, after he damn sings in the shower like the perky morning man he is, he bounces out the window to the first Avengers meeting since the roster shake-up, musing how little they know about Tigra and how he’ll have to keep an eye on her because he doesn’t know if she’ll crack under pressure or not.

And then onto, ok wow, we are just having full pages of individual Avengers going about their mornings.

So we’re onto Normal Human Man Dr. Donald Blake reaching the end of the night shift he just pulled at a hospital.

Nurse Wilson pretty blatantly flirts with him (thinking to herself “C’mon, doc! Notice that I’m a woman! I dare you!”). Normal Human Man Dr. Donald Blake doesn’t seem to notice but his thoughts are on her, wishing he could take her out for lunch but that he has important Avengers business.

He then taps his walking stick and transforms into Thor and flies off towards the mansion.

And that brings us to Cresskill where Janet van Dyne aka the Wasp and Hank Pym aka Yellowjacket are going about their morning.

Befitting her blase attitude last issue, Jan just wants to stay in bed longer and cuddle but Hank is desperate not to be late to his first meeting as a newly active Avenger again.

So he’s in costume and ready to go while she’s still choosing which of her many many costumes to wear. Albeit with the ulterior motive that she’s trying to look good for him. She does put in like 90% of the effort into the relationship.

So she’s narrowed her choices down to a red and blue costume and a green and purple outfit that looks like maybe she raided the Green Goblin’s wardrobe. She asks Hank to decide for her.

And he does. In a sense.

He blasts the green and purple number to shreds and yells “Wear the other one!” and when she protests the destruction of her stuff he goes “So what? Like you said you’ve got lots!”

Hmm. We haven’t seen Hank in a while. And he didn’t talk much last issue what with all the Moondragoning. But he’s taken a bit of a level in being a jackass.

And then on the ride to the mansion, the limo gets stuck in traffic.

Yellowjacket: “That does it! You can ride in your blasted chauffeured limo so your two-hundred dollar hair-do doesn’t get mussed -- but I’m flying to Avengers Mansion under my own power!”

And then he ditches. He ditches hard. Leaving Wasp to fly after him begging him to wait.

You’re a bit of a rude, Hank.

Like Hank feared, the two do arrive late to the meeting and he is gently ribbed by sudden class clown Captain America.

Captain America: “Well, look who’s finally here! Now the Wasp has arrived with her new partner -- uh, Yellowjacket, right? We can get started!”

Is funny joke. Its been a time so they’re pretending he’s a new guy and ha ha he’s being described as Wasp’s partner instead of vice versa. What an upset.

And it is an upset. Tigra notices what the other Avengers seem to miss, that Cap’s joke just pissed Yellowjacket off.

And its not helped when Cap mentions that its time to elect a new chairman but Iron Man interrupts to say that he and Thor have agreed that its better for Cap to remain chairman. They did just reorganize the roster and all. Some stability is fine.

Thor: “We choose to waive the elections! Such is our right as founding members!”

And this sets Yellowjacket right the hell off.

Yellowjacket: “Is that so? Well, I resent not being consulted! As the Ant Man I was a founding member, too!”

Iron Man: “uh, of course Hank... you and the Wasp! But you came in late... we’d already decided...”

Yeah! The Wasp too!

But Yellowjacket has some kind of insect in his bonnet and he yells that he’s done being forgotten and treated as a has-been while Janet just silently cringes.  She wonders what’s happened to the man she loves. And why he won’t let her reach him anymore.

The meeting continues but the scene transitions.

To a cottage in an isolated glade among the wooded hills of Virginia. Where the olde talking power couple of Gorn and Linnea wake up. Linnea wants to lay in bed with Gorn a while longer but he decides NAY TIME TO GET UP NOW.

Hey wait.

Hmmm.

I’m sensing... thematic parallels. I’m sure its nothing, though.

Anyway, Gorn is tired of living a quiet idyllic life in a beautiful glade with a woman who dearly loves him, as they’ve done for ten thousand years. His dander is up and he wants battles to fight and glory to win! He’s tired of being safe in the glade, protected by Linnea’s power. He’s a warrior, not a farmer!

(I see no evidence of farming around the cottage, just saying)

And since its either be ditched or go with him, Linnea decides to go with him.

Gorn: “You are beautiful in that gown, Linnea. Men shall again call you Elf-Queen as they did in ancient days!”

Linnea/Elf-Queen: “They also called me witch and devil-spawn! They are ever so cruel to my kind!”

Gorn: “Aye, and once we fled them! This time, if we must, we shall fight them!”

Ah, geez, Gorn. The cover implies this won’t go well for you.

So Gorn and Elf-Queen, him on foot and her on horseback) wander into Washington DC literally looking for trouble.

But before trouble, something to eat. Looking for an inn, they wander into a random restaurant.

Gorn, being Gorn, immediately starts yelling at the maitre d’, who he assumes is the innkeeper.

And here’s a bit of an interesting and not often used touch. Even though all speech bubbles are rendered without <> as is sometimes used to denote someone speaking a different language, Gorn and Elf-Queen Linnea are in fact speaking an ancient language.

Nobody can understand a thing they say.

And they can’t understand modern English.

This is a perfect setup for some farce.

Gorn ends up just yelling that he wants food and the maitre d’ gets the gist even though he doesn’t understand the words. This is Washington DC. A lot of people from other countries wander through. So he shows them to a table.

Linnea and Gorn decide that the maitre d’ is probably the innkeeper’s idiot brother. I mean, that’s probably why he can’t understand normal language, right?

And there’s more culture shock to be had. Linnea is realizing how differently dressed everyone is in this era. None of the men are even wielding swords!

Elf-Queen Linnea: “And the women, Gorn -- ! The way they’re dressed --! Like -- like harlots!”

Gorn: “Aye! Hmmm...” -totally staring at a butt and not paying attention-

Linnea: “Gorn... ?! I-if we stay here... would you like me to dress so? I do not know if I can learn the ways of these women... but for you my love, I would try! Gorn... ?”

Gorn: “Mmm...” -still not paying attention-

Linnea: (Oh, Gorn! For ten thousand years we have dwelt together in solitude, as one in our love! Am I to lose you now, here in this city of temptresses?)

Hmmm.... this reminds me of something.... but what?

A Barry Kaplan interrupts her inferiority anxiety by coming up and trying to hire her as a fashion model.

And neither Barry nor Linnea can understand each other still.

But she senses something of his intentions and warns him that this isn’t a good idea since she’s sitting next to a warrior and all.

Barry is like ‘maybe if I try other languages?’

And then Gorn notices. And Gorn is displeased.

Gorn: “NO ONE TOUCHES GORN’S WOMAN!”

Barry: “I warn you, I’ve had six jiu-jitsu lessons!”

Wow!

So Gorn gets up from that and just bodily lifts the guy over his head (Barry lamenting that he dropped out before jiu-jitsu lesson seven). But if you get the barbarian or warrior dropped into a modern setting trope they’re usually just way better than any soft modern man. So its funny to see this random dink get the better of Gorn, even if its just the preamble to what would have been Gorn delivering a thorough beatdown.

Its just not what you expect to see in this story.

Linnea magics Barry out of Gorn’s hands, trying to defuse the situation but Gorn interprets the situation as her ‘unmanning’ him.

Gorn: “Why, Linnea? Why do you seek to unman me? Is it not enough that your power has preserved my youth and kept me for centuries? Must you now interfere in my battles?”

Linnea meekly apologizes.

And then the maitre d’ comes pissed off that this loud, shouting weirdo started a fight and is going to call the police on them. Until Linnea goes ‘oh right we should pay for the damage we caused’ and gives the maitre d’ a gold and diamond necklace.

And the maitre d’ mentally goes cha-ching and reroutes an order about to be served to give to the big spending non-English speaking weirdos.

When Gorn and Elf-Queen finally leave the restaurant wouldn’t you know it, someone stole their damn horse!

What kind of city is it where you can’t leave a horse tied to a parking meter without someone making off with it??

Linnea once again is like ‘hey lets go home to our nice glade where nobody ever stole our horse’

Gorn: “It is your home, Linnea, where I am but a guest -- nay, a pet kept by your grace. Ages ago, I was a renowed warrior, honored and feared by nations and kings! If I am to be a man in my own eyes I must regain the glory I once knew!”

And then a cop comes up to Gorn because you can’t just carry a sword around Washington DC.

Gorn: “Eh? His words are gibberish but the intent is clear! This blue-clad warrior issues me a challenge! Have at thee scoundr- AHH!”

And then the cop just maces Gorn.

Its not funny like the talent agent tossing him into a salad bowl because: cops. Its still a little funny because: Gorn.

Anyway, while Gorn is screaming and coughing the cop just slaps some handcuffs on him.

And Linnea magics the cop away from her boyfriend and worries over him.

Given this new horrible thing that has happened to them, another in a line of horrible things happening to them once they left their home, Linnea begs Gorn again to give up this quest to fight a random thing to make himself feel manly.

Linnea: “I am so worried, Gorn! The world has grown so strange! There is so much here that we do not understand! Please, let us go back before something terrible befalls us!”

He again refuses and she asks if he would die for his pride.

So he slaps her across the face.

And after all that she’s meekly gone along with his whims and tantrums and whatever else ways to describe Gorn’s exceptionally gornish way of being, she draws the line here.

Linnea: “Go ahead, Gorn -- stay! Win your stupid ‘glory’! I do not care! Farewell!”

And she just walks away into the sky, twinkle, because she can do that.

When she’s too far to hear he whispers an apology but its too late and he sadly trudges off alone into the city.

Wow, that was six pages of just Gorn and Linnea, Elf-Queen. That’s nearly a fourth of the whole issue! We spend a lot of time with these two new characters!

Back at Avengers Mansion, Iron Man and Yellowjacket prep the Quinjet to fly.

Wasp: “You mean we’re going all the way to Washington, D.C. just because somebody there claims they saw a woman walking on air? What’s new about that? I do it every time my sweetie Hank gives me a wink! Then, again, they do have some wonderful stores there! Last time I went there I bought six fur coats!”

Tigra: “Sounds expensive! I’m lucky! Mine’s built in!”

Iron Man chimes in that the air-walking woman also assaulted a cop so clearly this looks like a job for the Avengers.

But when they finish up checking the Quinjet, Yellowjacket says that he’s discovered the ‘sonomodulator circuit’ on his disruptor gun is acting up.

He’s pretty sure he can fix it but Wasp chimes in with a more different idea.

Wasp: “I’ll just ring up Jeeves over at the East Side Penthouse! He can grab one of those doohickies from your lab there and zip right over in the limo! It’ll just take a few minutes!”

Yellowjacket: “You love doing that, don’t you? You love taking every opportunity to flaunt your blasted money! Well, I don’t need your butlers, your cars or your money -- and I don’t need you!”

And Wasp runs off crying that she only wanted to help. Yellowjacket storms into the Quinjet telling the other Avengers to forget Wasp and get going.

Making the other Avengers feel very awkward about witnessing this fight. Cap even feels as if he should do something but doesn’t know what since its a personal matter.

A suggestion? Mandated couples counseling since this kind of thing could affect the team, will be the reason you give? Like. This clearly is something that’s going to cause trouble. Get ahead of it, Cap.

Meanwhile, back in Washington D.C. because yes Gorn didn’t just walk out of the book forever alone. He walked into a very honestly uncomfortably stereotypical gang who decide hey maybe we should mug that guy with the sword, it’ll probably pawn for something.

Gorn still can’t understand a thing anyone says but they’re carrying weapons and finally here’s a situation he understands. And finally he also doesn’t get played for a chump. He just wades into the crowd of six and starts laying them out with his bare hands.

This is what you’d typically see for a warrior type dropped into modern world thing.

Oh and then the cops hear the fight and go hey its that guy with the sword that there was an APB about.

And Gorn goes, hey its guys wearing the same livery of the guy that got me with that stinging vapor. Time to run at them with a sword.

So they shoot him five times.

And he dies.

It turns out that Linnea has been watching Gorn from a distance this whole time, apparently unwilling to actually ditch. So she sees him get gunned down.

She floats down from the sky to his side and realizes that he is already dead. The cops mistake sky woman for an angel (but there was an APB out for Gorn so why didn’t the flying woman warrant a mention?) but if Linnea is, she’s an avenging one.

She turns on the cops with her magic and makes them sink up to their necks into the concrete.

Elf-Queen: “Are you begging? It is for naught! He’s dead! DEAD! My love is dead -- and this city, this world shall PAY!”

And she turns her magic on Washington D.C., blasting a building and a helicopter, lashing out in grief at the world that killed her dickbag boyfriend.

This is when the Avengers finally arrive to the Plot, in this Avengers book.

The Avengers just see someone breaking property and go to stop her.

Captain America: “Avengers... attack!”

Of course, Tony being Tony, and kind of a loose man immediately gets distracted at the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Iron Man: “Excuse me, miss! Couldn’t we discuss whatever’s bothering you... say, over dinner at the diplomat club?”

Its... not a bad idea. A little bit of empathy. Its just his motive that’s bad.

And also, his inability to speak ancient languages. Elf-Queen still can’t understand a thing anyone says. She does think a flying man in armor is something Gorn would have liked. But that just makes her mad.

So she magics a railing to wrap up Iron Man.

Thor grabs Elf-Queen from behind, pulling her arm behind her back. Its strikingly reminiscent of the Standard Female Grab Area trope but Elf-Queen doesn’t believe in that trope.

Elf-Queen: “You are strong, jackal! Your strength might have been enough to hold even me -- had you not presumed I was as frail as I appear!”

And she throws Thor into what is probably a monument.

Hmm, Iron Man and Thor got dunked so far because they really underestimated this woman because she’s a woman. Maybe don’t do that?

Meanwhile, Yellowjacket is thinking that this is his chance to prove what a star he is, if he’s the one that takes the threat down with his disruptor blast.

While Elf-Queen distracts herself with the dropped Mjolnir, Yellowjacket tries to shoot her with his disruptor from behind.

But it shorts out again!

Maybe he should have gotten the replacement part instead of trying to jury-rig a repair!

Elf-Queen senses the power in Mjolnir and tries to pick it up to better smash the world but finds she can’t lift it.

She guesses that there’s some enchantment on it since it doesn’t crumble the ground beneath it.

SO

So she magics the ground to form a hand to grab and lift Mjolnir.

And then she hits Thor in the face with his own hammer. Hah.

Another for the list of silly Mjolnir loopholes.

Linnea monologues about her backstory because. Look. She may not be a villain. And people may not be able to understand a word she says. But people in comics have to comic.

Elf-Queen: “I am Linnea, called Elf Queen and great is the power I was born with! It transported my love and me across the ocean to this land ages ago in search of solitude! It preserved our youth! It kept us hidden when civilization spread its taint hither! The forces, forms and sustenance of the world bend to my will -- but all my power cannot help my Gorn now! Now, my gift serves only as a means for vengeance!”

Iron Man manages to tear free of the railing wrapped around him just as Tigra loudly pounces at Elf-Queen.

And Elf-Queen just gestures and sends Tigra flying into the air. High, high into the air. So high, so into the air that Iron Man has to fly after her to make sure Tigra doesn’t end up asphyxiating in space.

With all of the other Avengers out of action (or standing around uselessly like Yellowjacket), Elf-Queen turns out wrath on Captain America.

She blasts a building, sending a whole wall at him.

Cap dodges through the rain of rubble and berates himself. He realizes that he should have attacked sooner but he’s been holding back, trying to figure things out.

She’s speaking a language that doesn’t sound like any he knows of. Her clothes seem to be of ancient design. And he’s wondering if she maybe just popped out of the past, somehow surviving from some age undreamt of.

And hey, relatable, kinda. He spent decades in suspended animation.

Elf-Queen throws a lake of fire between her and Cap and Cap figures hey she’ll expect me to go around. So he jumps over it, doing her a startle.

Cap: “Good! I took her completely off guard! This is a perfect chance -- to show her that we want only peace!”

So he stands in front of her, hands to his side, palms showing. Showing no aggression.

Elf-Queen: “You did not strike when you had the opportunity! I could slay you easily now! Unflinchingly you face death! How like... my Gorn... my brave warrior!”

The fight could have ended here. Could. Could have. Could’ve.

Because Yellowjacket has been focused entirely on fixing his disruptor this whole time and has not paid any attention to how the fight has been going.

So when he gets the disruptor fixed, he doesn’t think ‘oh hey Cap is standing there and nobody is currently fighting!’ he thinks ‘wow this is a really easy shot’ and shoots Elf-Queen in the back.

And turns out that Linnea - a person who can toss Thor around - can also weather a disruptor. So she’s just mad. Furiously.

She figures that Cap’s courage was just a bold ruse. So she’s going to kill him. AFTER she throws a car at Yellowjacket.

Yellowjacket: “Oh, no! My sting’s shorted out again! No time to dodge! I’ll be crushed!”

But before Hank can be crushed like some kind of insect, can’t really think of a specific example, he is saved by Jan, who comes out of nowhere and blasts the car away with all of her might.

And apparently car blasting is under that umbrella.

But it takes it out of her and she weakly flutters to the ground.

Hank has mixed feelings about not being dead.

Yellowjacket: “You -- you saved me! You shattered the truck with your bio-electric sting! You saved me! You! She must have followed us down here... probably chartered a plane! She followed us down here, and when I was dead meat for sure, she saved me! Why her? WHY?”

Where are you in your life where you have to ask that, Hank?

Elf-Queen is like well that just happened but I’m just going to try to kill him again.

But Cap jumps in front of her again and very assertively non-aggressives.

Captain America: “Don’t do it! Don’t you see? It was a mistake -- an accident! If only you could understand me! Don’t kill him!”

Elf-Queen: “You dare stand in my way? Can you not see the rage in my eyes?”

But nonetheless, she subsides. The Avengers all re-assemble, ready to rush her but Cap tells them to stand down.

Elf-Queen Linnea starts crying and just walks away from the team.

Feeling a bit awkward, Cap decides to follow her to see what’s what. And they find her crying over Gorn.

Thor: “A fallen warrior! Her husband, perchance?”

Captain America: “Somehow I -- I think I knew! I mean... I’m not surprised! She seemed... grief-stricken!”

Iron Man: “I -- I wonder how this all came to pass?”

They’ll probably never know. The shot isn’t wide enough to say for sure but I think that if the Avengers saw, they’d say. I’m pretty sure those cops Linnea sank into the concrete have finished sinking. So it goes.

Cap says he’s sorry for what happened, knowing that his words will probably mean nothing to her. Language gap and all.

Linnea: “I hear compassion in your voice, brave champion! Is there such a thing in this cold, cruel place, save in your own heart? I cannot forgive your world for what it has taken from me.. but, for you, who are so much alike my beloved... for you, I will go in peace... for now!”

Yeah. She’s never coming back.

This is her and Gorn’s only appearance.

So despite Tigra wondering if she’ll be back and despite Iron Man’s suspicion that she might be a mutant, it doesn’t matter.

She’s done her role in the narrative and she’s gone.

But as the Avengers try to figure out what this was all about, Wasp looks at Yellowjacket with worry. For the issue ends with him still consumed in bitter thoughts and oblivious to Wasp.

And the big next time teaser says COURT MARTIAL! so. Yeah.

We’re coming on to a storyline that anyone who knows at least two things about Hank Pym knows. You probably already know it or will be able to guess it.

I was familiar with this story but only the moment where Hank shoots Elf-Queen in the back and makes things worse for himself. I hadn’t absorbed via osmosis how much of a shit he was being throughout. And nobody ever talks about Gorn.

Which is a shame.

The title of the issue comes right out and connects the obvious dots.

“Men of deadly pride!”

And that can only be Hank Pym and Gorn.

Much of this issue doesn’t actually feature the Avengers. There’s this long stretch in the middle that just has Gorn and Linnea leaving their home, traveling to the big city, Gorn’s attitude getting worse and worse, and finally his death.

Its clear enough that Gorn represents Hank Pym.

Hank rails against Janet for flaunting her money and emotionally withdraws from her and even becomes angry with her. He rankles at the idea he might be perceived her partner instead of vice versa. Feels he’s not being given the respect he deserves.

While Gorn resents that Linnea is the one caring for him. He emotionally withdraws from her. He perceives himself a pet to her. That he was once renowned and desperately needs to regain his glory.

And he just gets angrier when Linnea has to rescue him from his dumb mistakes.

Much like Jan had to rescue Hank in this issue, something that basically made Hank check out of the rest of the issue.

I don’t know what Gorn may have been like ten thousand years ago that Linnea sees him in Captain America most, but he’s a shadow for Hank Pym.

And what’s interesting is how the story looks at Gorn and his machismo. His obsessive preoccupation with proving himself. The story highlights the problems he creates for himself eventually leading to his death. It shows a person that just can’t live in the modern world.

And then the story looks at Hank Pym. One of the 60s style manly men holdovers. Paints him in much the same light. And seems to ask. “Can you live in the modern world?”

The question is in the air.

Its not particularly deep symbolism. But it surprised me that nobody ever mentions it.

Interestingly, if Hank is Gorn then Jan is Linnea. Their personalities are different enough that this might seem strange.

But they both draw the line in a similar place with their partners.

And there was a What If? based on this issue What If? #35 where Hank did die, much as Gorn did. And Wasp became an avenging angel of her own. Taking the identity of Black Wasp and brutally attacking criminals.

She even contemplates letting Cap be killed by falling debris, blaming him for Hank’s death.

All I can say is that this has been one awkward first day for Tigra.

Follow @essential-avengers​. Like or reblog this post. Stay tuned for more of this sort of thing.

[unknownauthor]

Not My Boyfriend (Billy Hargrove x Reader)

Warnings: partying, underage drinking, fighting, slight smut

Summary: He’s not her boyfriend, she’s not his girlfriend.....but nobody else is either.

A/N: this didn’t turn out how I wanted and I’m a little disappointed. It’s poorly written. If you like it I’ll be grateful, thank you all for your love and support💕

With pride comes a certain amount of prejudice. You hate the things in others that you hate in yourself. For the two of them, it was the same.

Billy swore she was the most self centered, egocentric person he had ever met. The biggest bitch. And she swore he was full of himself and thought his shit didn’t stink. They put on the front of total loathing, but underneath that, the sexual tension was always palpable.

“So are you coming to the party tonight?” Nancy smiled, leaning against Y/N’s locker. Y/N smirked as she put away her books.

o“Maybe. Not sure I’m in the mood for more show boating and eye fucking from you know who.” nancy chuckled, shaking her head.

“You two just need to really fuck and get it over with.” Y/N made a disgusted noise and rolled her eyes.

“Please. I’m one conquest he’ll never have.” Just as she was saying that Billy was walking down the hall, a girl on each of his arms. He winked at Y/N, who casually flipped him off. He grinned. He loved how feisty she was, even if she was a bitch.

“You should come with. Please. I need you.” Y/n grinned at Nancy’s puppy dog sad eyes.

“I can never say no to you when you look at me like that.” Nancy clapped her hands together and kissed Y/N on the cheek.

“It’s gonna be great!”

Billy couldn’t remember how many beers he’d had at this point. He’d hit the keg even harder tonight than normal. Kept glancing around, searching the crowd of high schoolers.

He would never admit he was looking for her.

Of course she was annoying. The mouth on that girl drove him crazy and he knew he could put it to good use, if she just would let him. There was no way she didn’t feel the shit that he did every time they bickered. They acted like an old married couple sometimes.

“Somethin’ botherin’ you baby?” Vicky Smith was perched on his lap, playing with his mullet, running her fingers through it softly. He tilted his head back, and took a hit off of his cigarette. He grabbed her ass playfully.

“Nah, I’m good babe.” she grinned, leaning down to kiss him. Billy closed his eyes and imagined it was Y/N’s mouth moving against his. She reached down, rubbing her palm against his crotch.

Y/N arrived after 8pm. She didn’t feel much like dressing up tonight. She wore ripped jeans, a faded AC/DC concert shirt and faded converse. Nancy thought she looked good, Y/N didn’t really care.

“Hey, glad you guys could make it!” Steve grinned, he came out of the crowded hallway, two frothy beers in hand. The girls took one each, Y/N took a sip while Nancy began to flirt with Steve. She looked around the party, the house was packed to the gills, music pulsing through every nook and cranny. She excused herself from Steve and Nancy, making her way towards the living room.

Y/N scoffed, turning her nose as she came into the equally crowded room. Billy sat in a recliner, leaned back, beer in hand, legs spread and some chick sprawled out all over him. She rolled her eyes, turning away to take a place on the couch.

“Hey.” she looked up, Jonathan Byers smiled shyly down at her. She had seen him around school, shy and quiet, he always kept to himself.

“You can sit down if you want.”she motioned for him to sit beside her, it was awkward, as he positioned his arm around her shoulders, but it was sweet in a way. She leaned against him slightly, to speak into his ear so he could hear her over the pulsing music. “How come I’ve never seen you out before Byers?” he shrugged.

“It’s never really been my thing ...Nancy suggested I try getting out more.” Y/N chuckled. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that Jonathan had a major crush on her friend. It was sweet and adorable.

“Well...I’m glad you came out.” she stood up, reaching her hand out to him. “Dance with me?” she mouthed with a grin. Jonathan chugged the rest of his beer, before tossing his solo cup down and taking her hand.

Billy was buzzed, and feeling really damn good. Vicky had gotten up to go to the bathroom, he adjusted himself, cracking another beer and observing his surroundings. He wasn’t worried about getting laid tonight.

But then he saw them. And he began to feel something hot and heavy settle in the pit of his stomach, his nostrils flared as he clenched his beer tightly in his hand.

Jonathan was an awkward dancer. He had two left feet and no sense of rhythm. But it was cute.

“Here.” Y/N reached out, taking his hands and placing them on her hips. She pushed herself as close to him as she could, fingers playing in his hair as he followed her lead. “There ya go.” It wasn’t romantic or sexy in the least, but they were having fun.

When the song ended Y/N leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips, thanking him for the dance. Jonathan blushes and grinned before heading back into the crowd.

“Savin’ the last dance for me?’ A low voice whispered in her ear, Y/N fought the urge to shiver, turning around to face the unwanted presence behind her. Billy grinned down at her, he wasn’t drunk but she could tell he had a buzz.

“Absolutely not.” She said, trying to move past him. He stood in her path, unflinching when she tried pushing past. “Please move.” She asked exasperated. He looked down at her, there was a glint in his eye that made her uneasy. He reached up, tracing her lips with the tip of his finger.

“When will you and I stop fucking around and just admit this shit.” Y/N’s eyes widened but before she could ask anymore he was walking away, back through the crowd the way he came. The ghost of his fingers still on her lips.

“Hey,” Y/N tapped nancy on the shoulder, her friend was clearly tipsy and giggling with her boyfriend, Steve. “I’m going home.” Nancy pulled away from him for a moment, looking at her with concern.

“You sure?” Y/N nodded.

“Yeah. It’s just not my night.”

“Be careful.” Y/N waved, walking back towards the front door. Once outside she sighed heavily, stretching her arms above her head. It was still early, maybe she’d rent a movie and eat some food with her mom. That’d be nice.

She had just started walking when she heard the rumble of a car behind her. She looked over to see the familiar shape of the Camero, slowing down to be close to her, the passenger window rolled down.

“Can’t you leave me alone?” Y/N asked, annoyance clear in her voice.

“Why’d you leave?” Billy seemed to be sobering up as he carefully trolled the street beside her. Y/N pulled up the hood of her jacket.

“Just wasn’t my scene.”

“Do you want a ride?” he asked. She was surprised. He had driven right past her before in the pouring rain, and never offered a ride to her. “Come on. It’s late, you shouldn’t be walking home alone.” she sighed, turning towards the car. Billy parked, waiting for her response.

“You’ll take me straight home?”

“Wherever you wanna go. Just get in the damn car….please,” he added the please after a moment. It was a nice touch though.

Y/N walked forward, hesitantly opening the passenger side door and climbing in. Billy put the car in drive and off they went. He held out a pack of marlboro reds to her.

“Cig?” he asked. She shook her head. “Mind if I?”

“If slow death is what you want by all means.” Billy chuckled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

“You’re funny. You know that?” he grinned at her. It was hard not to smile back, the usual cocky atmosphere around him was gone. She was almost comfortable.

“I’ve been told that a time or two.” he licked his lips and nodded.

“I bet. Nancy is always laughing around you.”

“How do you know she does?” Billy sucked in his breath for a moment, thanking every God in the universe she couldn’t see the embarrassment on his cheeks. “You never seemed to give a damn...You watch me?”

“Not exactly…” they fell into an almost awkward silence, Billy made a right turn and the familiar neighborhood Y/n grew up in came into view. “Which is yours?” Billy asked.

“Right there?” she pointed at a yellow house with a red door. The lawn was freshly mowed, flower beds manicured, the perfect little house on the street. Billy pulled into the driveway and turned his car off. Y/N knew she should get out, but as she went for the door, she felt the light brush of his hand on her shoulder, brushing her hair back.

When she turned back round Billy had moved over, face merely inches from hers. His eyes were wide and that same glint from earlier was there. Y/N swallowed as best she could, but her mouth was dry.

“Can I…” he licked his lips again, and loved the way Y/N’s eyes flickered down at the movement. “Can I say good bye?” the tension was thick, and every fiber of her body was amped up as if ready to start a race.

“You’re...You’re not my boyfriend.” she tried to smirk and act coy, but it came out almost like a whimper.

“So?” his retort came swiftly. Y/N leaned forward, gently pressing her lips to his. He wouldn’t be her boyfriend. They would go back to hating each other tomorrow. But for now she was here, in his camaro, wrapped in his arms as his tongue slithered into her mouth and soaked up every bit of her he could. It became rough and full of panting, biting and sucking, Y/n’s heart pounded in her ears.

Fifteen minutes later she entered her house, closing the door behind herself she leaned against it, breathing deeply, body still shaking. A clearing throat from the living room startled her and her father emerged, looking at her warily.

“Hi daddy.” she said, trying to smile and calm her racing heart. Her father crossed his arms over his chest.

“You never told us you had a boyfriend.” Y/N smiled, walking up to her dad and kissing him on the cheek. He was still watching her closely as she took her shoes off and set them in the hall.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

[kurt-nightcrawler]

Handmade Healing: The Beginning

Warren Worthington III x Female Reader ft. Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Summary: Jubilee is from Beverly Hills, CA. Billy Hargrove is from CA as well, plus they’re both teens in 1983. What if they were friends? Or what if Jubilee’s best friend was Billy’s girlfriend? 

What if our destinies were predetermined? What if things just happen because that’s how life works?

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of sex, and mentions of self-harm.

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: I will finish this series even if it kills me. You can all hold my word against me. This is supposed to be around 27 chapters, so strap in everyone!

Mutant.

The word was something you thought about often. You were always scared, always worried people would find out. Realize you’re a freak.

No!

No— there was nothing wrong with you, but you needed to be safe— even if it hurt.

You had wings. Butterfly-like wings, but less delicate. They were purple, and no matter how many times you cut them off or shaved them down they always grew back, and they became thicker and stronger each time.

So you cut them once or twice a week and always wore a jacket.

Even though you lived in California, nobody questioned it, not your family, not your best friend, not even your boyfriend.

Besides, it’s Cali, pretty much anything goes.  

Everything was going perfect for you.

And then it wasn’t.

-

Jubilation Lee, also known as Jubilee, was your best friend since primary school. She was bright, spunky, and full of energy— she got you out of your shell and made you social.

Her parents were like your second set of parents, always there when you needed them.

She lived in a much nicer part of town— Beverly Hills to be exact. However, she wasn’t like your typical rich kid from the hills— she was nice to everyone and partied harder on weekends than anyone you knew. You probably wouldn’t know she was from Beverly Hills unless you asked.

-

Jubilee was the one who set you and your boyfriend up. They had some mutual friends, and he seemed like the perfect guy for you— good looks, and he’d get you out of your shell when Jubilee couldn’t.

Billy Hargrove was everything most girls wanted— nice car, an even nicer body, he partied hard and had an attitude to match. You, on the other hand, were quiet, and if people knew who you were it was as “Jubilee’s best friend” or “Jube’s sidekick.” Once you started dating Billy you were then known as “Billy Hargrove’s girlfriend.”

-

As a wise man once said, “Young love— full of promise, full of hope, ignorant of reality.”    

Billy’s dad cheated on his mom with his secretary and wanted a divorce so he could marry her. So Billy and his mom moved from their familiar home to the empty house next to yours.

This led to late night rendezvous, parties, and lots of sex. It was like a teen drama, minus the drama.

However, reality had other plans.

-

You walked into Jubilee’s house. It was quiet, so you took that as your cue to head upstairs into Jubilee’s room.

You knocked on the door. “Jubes, It’s me. I brought Jaws 2.”

The door opened and Jubilee stood there, hair in a messy bun and pajamas on her body.

“Jubes did you wear pj's all day?”

“Yeah, I haven’t bothered to change. I have to pack my stuff.” You set your bag on her bed, ignoring the state of her room.

“Where ya going this time?” The Lee family took random vacations quite often, so this wasn’t much surprise to you. They would usually be gone just for a handful of days, coming back with some souvenirs and stories to tell.

“You know how I like, take a bunch of honors classes and stuff?” You nodded. Jubilee was smart, something people never thought when they saw her, as they never looked past her bright clothes and curly hair.

Their loss.

“Are you going to DC for that one camp? I heard Allen Smith is going to that. Maybe you’ll see him there.” You noticed Jubilee’s eyes were glossy. “Hey, Allen isn’t that bad, plus you may not even see him!”

She quickly rubbed her eyes, “It’s not that.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I’m going to a boarding school in New York!”

“What?!”

“My parents really want me to go. Uh, one of our teachers recommended me to the headmaster and he wants me to enroll as soon as possible. My parents think it’s a good opportunity for me. Meet new people, see new things, stuff like that.”

“But… but... you… You can’t leave Jubes!”

“I have to.”

“Why? Why do you have to go to some boarding school all the way on the other side of the country? Our school is just fine and if your parents have a problem with it they can just wait and send you to some fancy Ivy League college.”

“It’s not like I wanna leave! It’s just… It’s just what’s best. I’m sorry.” You nodded, unsure what to say. Your best friend was leaving you for New York.

“You’ll visit, right...? They, they let you come home for like summer and Christmas?”

“Of course! Of course, I’ll visit. Don’t want me getting pasty do we?” You smiled a little at her joke, a bit happier that she wouldn’t be gone forever.

-

Yet Jubilee never visited. Not for Thanksgiving, and not for Christmas.

She never called or wrote letters either. It was like she just wanted to vanish from everyone’s memory. Her own parents didn’t even mind they never saw their daughter! It made you sick sometimes, knowing they just shipped their kid away from everything she’d ever known— that they sent away your best friend.

Being the not-so-social-butterfly you were you spent more time with your boyfriend, Billy. He’d gotten a job as a lifeguard, trying to save up for a car.

You, on the other hand, engrossed yourself in your studies, hoping to please your parents with a 4.0 GPA, as Jubilee’s school switching stunt made them upset you weren’t also recommended for some smarty pants boarding school.

So you were at the library, getting books and information for your physics project.

Placing a book back on the shelf, you saw curly, dirty blonde hair in the corner of your eye.

You turned around, knowing exactly who it was.

“Billy!”

“Hey, baby, your mom said you’d be at the library so I figured I’d pick you up.”

You squinted your eyes, “What have you got planned, Hargrove?”

He winked, “You’ll see.”

“Alright, just lemme grab my stuff.” You grabbed your bag and headed outside.

“Okay, close your eyes.” You do as he said and laugh a little, feeling somewhat childish. He held your hand and slowly guided you forward.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

“Oh my god… Is that?... Billy is that?...” You asked, mouth gaping.

He grinned, “Yep. Just got her today.”

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Congrats baby!” You have him a peck on the lips and open the passenger door.

“You can throw your bag in the back seat.”  

“Billy this is amazing! But... why a Camaro as your first car?”

“Because I like Camaros?... Look, I’ve had my eye on this specific car since New Years. Plus I’m a good driver.” You nodded, a little skeptical, but trusting in his judgment nonetheless.

He started the engine and backed out of the parking lot.  

Loud rock music blasted through the windows as you drove by people, making heads turn. It was a good feeling. Something you hadn’t felt in a while.

You were mindlessly bobbing your head to the music, facing the passenger window.

Billy glanced at you. He gave you a sad smile and put a hand on your thigh.

“You doin’ okay, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Wanna stop somewhere and get food?”

“Sure.”

-

You only got a soda, but you stole a fry from Billy every so often.

“You going to Sarah’s bonfire next Thursday?”

You shrugged, “I dunno. I’m not really friends with Sarah.”

Billy scoffed, “So? I don’t think anyone going is really friends with her.”

“Yeah, but…” You sighed, “I don’t know... I’m not sure I’ll go.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“You never go out anymore. Hell, we didn’t even go to homecoming this year!”

“You said you didn’t want to go to homecoming!”

“Yeah, but that’s only because I knew you didn’t wanna go.” Billy pursed his lips for a second before continuing to speak, “Look I know you and Jubilee were really close, but you can’t just shut yourself out from everything.”

“I’m not shutting myself out!”

“Then prove it, princess.”

You glared daggers at Billy. He knew you hated that nickname. He knew!

“Fine asshole. I’ll go to Sarah’s stupid bonfire.” You dipped a fry in your ketchup with a bit too much force. “There, see? I go out.”

He raised his eyebrows and feigned surprise, “Guess I was wrong.” He then ate the fry from your hand.

-

You got home before dark, however, your house was dark inside, meaning you were home alone.

You walked into your room and sighed and set your bag on your bed. You kicked your shoes off and laid on your back. You squirmed a bit, having some uncomfort.

Getting up, you headed to the bathroom. You turned on the light and locked the door shut, then you took your jacket off.

You admired your back in the mirror, “Okay so they’re not noticeable from under my shirt—” You took your shirt off and gazed at your shoulder blades. “Okay, I should shave tomorrow. Yeah. Shave tomorrow, that’ll be good.”

When your parents got home you told them you already ate and were heading to bed. They didn’t question it and bid you sweet dreams.

-

You pressed snooze at least five times, for it was a weekend.

You only woke up when your mother banged on your door repeatedly. “(Y/N) get up! Get up!”

“Just give me a minute!” You tied your hair up in a scrunchie, and changed your sweatpants for leggings, leaving on the baggy shirt you wore to bed.

“What do you want?”

“It’s the Hargroves.” Your heart was pounding. Was Billy okay? Was his mom alright?  

“They were in a car accident. Billy and his mom are in the hospital right now—” You pushed past your mother and ran to the kitchen. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the hospital! I need to know if they’re okay!”

-

Your mom had a cow when she saw you take her car to the hospital, worried you’d get into an accident yourself, but you didn’t care.

After parking, you made your way into the hospital lobby.

“Um, hi. Hi. I’m here to see Billy Hargrove.”

The woman looked you up and down before responding, “He’s not taking any visitors right now. Only family can see him.”

“We are family.” You spat. The woman looked taken back and stuttered out an apology and his room number. You didn’t even thank her, you were so quick on your feet, hurrying to see if he was okay. And his car…

Oh god. He just got the Camaro— Unless it was his mom’s car. Maybe his mom’s car was in the wreck. Either way, it was a messy situation.

You slowed down and started mentally counting the room numbers— looking for Billy’s.

“333… 334… 335… 336.” Billy’s hospital room. You had no idea where his mom was, but that didn’t matter right now. You just needed to know Billy was alright. You couldn’t have someone close to you taken away, not again.

-

“Um, hi. I’m Billy’s girlfriend, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You awkwardly waved at the doctor.

“Oh, yes. Hello, I’m Dr. Marcus. We called your parents.”

“Yeah, I came down quickly as I could. Is he okay?”

“Billy will be fine. His biggest injury is a minor sprain in his wrist.” You tried to get a good look at him. He was sleeping, arm wrapped up, and a bruise on his face.

“How about I explain what happened outside?” You nodded and stepped out of the room.  

“Dr. Marcus, what happened exactly?”

“A man went through a red light as Billy was driving. He t-boned their Ford Fairmont.”

At least it wasn’t his Camero.

“What happened to—”

“Where is he?” A deep voice asked. You turned to look at the man.

Great, he’s here.

“Mr. Hargrove, Billy’s asleep right now.”

“What is she doing here?” He sneered at you.

“We called (Y/N) up here. I’m telling her what happened to Billy and Helen.”

“I don’t know why she needs to be here! She’s just his damn girlfriend. All she does is cause trouble and get others blamed for it. Wearing her stupid jacket all the time, and getting her friend sent to boarding school.”

“That—”

“Don’t interrupt me.” You suddenly wished you were twenty times smaller, or that you could turn invisible.

“(Y/N), how about you wait inside for Billy to wake up while I speak to his father?” You scurried back inside the hospital room.

-

You tried to make out what they were saying, but you couldn’t.

It wouldn’t matter anyway, for Billy was starting to wake up.

He let out a groan, probably adjusting to waking up. “Hey, baby. How are you feeling?” He blinked a few times and tried wiping the sleep away from his eyes.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me. The hospital called. I came down here to see you.”   

“Aw fuck.”

“What is it?”

“They called him too didn’t they?”

You didn’t answer; you didn’t have to. Billy knew they’d call his dad.

“God damn it,” He groaned.

“I’m sure he’ll leave after they give him some more info. You know he doesn’t stay too long for anything.” Billy just rolled his eyes in response.

-

Dr. Marcus entered the room alone. “Your dad’s leaving, but he’ll be here tomorrow to take you home.”

“I wanna stay here with my mom until she recovers. He doesn’t need to pick me up.”

“About that…”

Tag List: @mooniessuniverse @warrentrash 

[jupiterjunebug]

@gaytaako It’s been 10000 years but here we are. Me answering your prompt that you requested at the dawn of time.

A lot of men in suits pass through Kepler Airport. When Barclay had first gotten his job at Amnesty Bar and Grill, over by Gate 3, that’d been a bit of a surprise. After all, he hardly ever saw men in suits anywhere else in Kepler.

By the time he’d overheard a few dozen conversations between a group of them – usually only buying one drink, and tipping almost nothing – about the business meetings they were getting to, the future of wall street, how much of a pain layovers were, he’d figured it out. Kepler wasn’t a place where well-off men stuck around, it was a place they stopped while going from one place they actually cared about to another.

There were a few people who almost seemed like exceptions, though. Kepler was still a delay between point A and point B, but it was one they welcomed.

Case in point: the man currently trying his hardest to walk past Amnesty without meeting Barclay’s eyes.

This wasn’t how things usually went, when it came to the two of them. Up until two months ago, their interactions had gone more or less the same. More or less like this:

Every few weeks Barclay would catch sight of him stepping out of the gate, rolling his neck to get tension out of it and holding a briefcase in his hand. He’d drop heavily into one of the uncomfortable chairs nearby, pull out a book, and read for a few hours. Sometimes he’d finish, check his watch, and a panic would break open the pleasantly neutral expression on his face as he strode quickly toward some other gate.

More often, he’d saunter over to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools and ordering something random off the tap. Barclay had no clue why, since half the time it ended with him trying to hide a disgusted frown once he’d taken his first sip. Still, he always finished it. Finished it, then waited a while before ordering another one, or getting something small to eat. It would sometimes be hours before he left, and he’d spend those hours bent over a notebook, twirling his pen in his hand and usually frowning.

He always tipped well, always paid in cash. When he left, he gave Barclay a wave and a smile had something behind it. It might’ve been wishful thinking, Barclay projecting on the polite man with the sharp cheekbones and deep brown eyes. Projecting was dangerous, of course, because flirting with a customer would be a bad idea even aside from the fact that each time he passed through might be the last. Which was why it was six months before Barclay found out who the man actually was.

Agent Stern, of the FBI’s Unexplained Phenomena division.

Well, six months before he’d gotten the name at least. It was the ninth or tenth time Barclay had seen Stern, which was just enough times for Barclay to know Stern was having a bad day. He’d forgone reading a book entirely, trudging directly to the bar and very clearly faking the smile he shot Barclay as he ordered a cider. He barely touched it for the next three hours, scowling down at his notebook and clicking his pen with enough ferocity Barclay worried it might break.

Barclay generally had a rule against initiating small talk with customers, in general. If he got into small talk, he might get attached. That wasn’t just a rule for handsome men who he shouldn’t flirt with because they might suddenly disappear forever, or at the very least might turn out to be assholes when it came to conversations longer than asking how each other’s days had been. Or because if he didn’t turn out to be an asshole then Barclay would have more of a reason to hate the idea of Stern never passing through again. Sure, that rule doubly applied to men like Stern, but he’d be having this crisis about anyone. Definitely.

This is a bad idea, Barclay told himself, then leaned across the bar and said “hey, ignore me if this is weird but. I was just thinking that it’d be nice for us to, uh, stop being strangers?”

He’d realized exactly how weird that was about two seconds after it was too late to take the words back. Barclay froze, trying to remember if there was anyone he could ask to take his shift so he could go hide in the back and maybe never come back to the airport again.

It was a long conversation, one that left Barclay grateful nobody else dropped by. He’d found out plenty about Stern, then. He was born in Montana, but lived in DC. Happy childhood, dead father, a mother he called every other Thursday. He lived in a small apartment because he wasn’t at home enough to justify anything properly homey. He wasn’t a salesman because “God, no, people don’t take me seriously enough for that,” and wasn’t a stock broker or accountant because “numbers aren’t really my strong suit.” It was only after Stern left for his flight that Barclay realized two things: that he’d told Stern even more about himself, maybe more than he should, and that Stern had never told him what his job was.

That he’d found out three months ago, when Stern had dropped by the bar near eleven at night – an hour before it closed. There’d been exactly one other person there, and he’d been one drink away from Barclay cutting him off. Then he’d finished that drink, so Barclay cut him off. He hadn’t been happy.

“Now you listen to me, Mr. Bartender,” the man had started, one finger jabbing the air just far enough away that Barclay wouldn’t be able to claim self-defense if he did anything. It was close enough, though, that Barclay found himself applying half his brainpower to deciding exactly what he’d do if the guy got any closer.

“Is everything alright here?”

Applying half his brainpower to deciding exactly what he’d do unfortunately meant he found himself startled by Stern’s voice. Both Barclay and the drunk man turned toward where he leaned against the bar, one hand on his hip pulling his jacket back just enough to reveal a shiny gold badge. The smile on his face was just a bit wider than his usual one. Even more polite. Polite enough to set Barclay on edge.

“This guy won’t-“

“I wasn’t asking you, sir.” Stern looked at Barclay, who was only just processing the letters on the badge at Stern’s hip. “Everything alright here, Barclay?”

As soon as Stern said Barclay’s name, said it with a warmth that looked out of place with that false smile on his mouth, the drunkard seemed to realize the situation wasn’t going to go his way. He slapped his hands onto the bar with more force than necessary, dragging himself to his feet and stalking off. As soon as he was out of sight Stern’s smile relaxed, and he slid into the stool behind him.

“Thanks.” Barclay grinned at Stern, pretending that the look Stern had on his face a second before hadn’t reminded him of a few other interactions he’d had with the FBI which were a little less than pleasant. Stern’s smile softened even more.

“My pleasure,” he said, then laughed. “You know, I’m glad just the badge was enough to scare them off.”

Barclay tried to imagine what kind of reasonable person wouldn’t be. Then, he remembered the stock brokers and businessmen that sat at his bar and talked big about how important they were. The ones who demanded to speak to his manager when their cards were declined, and tried to mouth off to Mama when he pulled her from the back. Some of them probably wouldn’t be.

“What do you do when people aren’t? Pull out your gun?”

Stern actually looked offended at that. Then, he seemed to realize Barclay was joking. Or rather trying to sound like he was joking, because he really did want to know the answer. His secret was a little too big for him not to know the answer.

“No, I get out my ID.” Stern reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out one of those badge holders FBI agents always had on TV. He flipped it open, expression vaguely embarrassed. “I don’t know why I bother, though. It…usually makes things worse.”

A younger Stern stared out at Barclay, unsmiling and lacking a small scar that curved down the present Stern’s jaw. The card announced him as Lucky Stern, and Barclay wondered for a moment if that’s what Stern meant when he said showing people made things worse, because even with a coworker who he respected and cared for dearly that had the last name Coolice, Barclay had to put effort into not smiling at it.

Then he caught sight of the two words at the bottom and froze. Unexplained Phenomena.

He’d never heard of that division, but it wasn’t hard to guess what that meant. It meant not only was Stern in the same branch of government as the people whose spotlight Barclay had put ten years of time and effort and fear into getting out of, he was one of those people. Barclay was grateful that his hands were hidden behind the bar, because he couldn’t stop them from shaking.

Stern didn’t seem to notice Barclay’s fear, just the fact he was hiding something. He laughed, harsh and self-deprecating, and flipped the badge holder closed.

“I know, I know. It looks ridiculous, doesn’t it? You can make a joke about it, if you want. I’ve gotten to the point I can let people have a free one before it bothers me.”

Barclay blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“Ask me if I’ve seen any aliens. Or whether I know Bigfoot. Or, hm.” Stern leaned back, tapping his chin. “A lot of people ask me how Agent Mulder is doing.”

“I wasn’t going to make a joke,” Barclay managed, and somehow didn’t sound nervous. A traitorous part of his brain kicked in and informed him he can say yes to the first two questions. Barclay quieted it down before the awkward silence went on too long and continued. “I just…didn’t think that the FBI actually had a, you know, division for stuff like that.”

Stern shrugged.

“We barely do, honestly. There’s only six of us, which,” he gestured, “is part of why I’m here all the time. Too many weird things happening, not enough of us to look into them.”

Gate 3 was where the flights from DC always landed. That meant that each time Stern landed, he was about to head off to look into things. Barclay tried his best to hope that those things were dead ends, the sort of shallow hoaxes that all those people who laughed at Stern must have been picturing. It didn’t work. He resisted the urge to toy with the bracelet around his wrist. He resisted the urge to be sick.

A distant voice announced a flight to Houston, and Stern stood. He gave one last smile, and from the tilt of it Barclay could tell that he knew he’d said something wrong. He set money down on the counter, two much for what he’d gotten.

“My coworkers complain about all the flying,” Stern said softly. Barclay somehow managed to meet his eyes. “I don’t mind it. After all, it means I get to come here, right?”

Despite himself, Barclay felt himself relax a little at that.

“Me too,” Barclay said. He stretched a hand out over the bar and Stern took it, the little bit of worry that had settled between his eyebrows smoothing out. Stern let out a relieved breath, and despite the mess of thoughts already in Barclay’s head he realized that Stern had thought that revelation might backfire.

The voice announced the flight again.

“I’ll see you again soon,” Stern said, pulling away.

Once he was out of sight, the little bit of warmth conjured up by Stern’s words disappeared. Barclay squeezed his eyes shut and tried his best to breathe in, breath out. He gave up and fled to the back to ask Mama to finish his shift.

--

The next time Stern came through Kepler, Barclay found himself ducking behind the bar before the other man could spot him. Or, at least, Barclay hoped he avoided being spotted. It occurred to him a few seconds later that he was being an idiot, probably, but he was already kneeling on the cold tile floor. He might as well lean into the whole idiot thing, while he was there.

So, he slipped into the back and asked Dani to cover for him. Not Mama, because she’d ask questions like she had the last time, and when he eventually answered then things would go into crisis mode. Which, sure, Barclay had a thing for a cryptid hunter so maybe they were in crisis mode, actually.

Barclay squeezed himself between the wall and the freezer, and tried to figure out whether they were in crisis mode.

Alright, point for crisis mode: a cryptid hunting FBI unit had apparently decided Kepler was a good spot for a layover.

Point against: it was just for layovers, which meant they didn’t suspect anything was wrong in Kepler.

Point for: even if Amnesty didn’t have to go into general crisis mode, Barclay was hiding in the kitchen like an idiot, despite the fact that the last time they’d seen each other he’d most definitely indicated he was interested. So, sure, their secret might be safe. But Barclay was feeling more and more like an ass with each passing moment.

An hour later, Dani pushed open the door to the kitchen and entered, dishrag over her shoulder and flannel sleeves rolled up in a way Barclay knew she only did to show off her arms to the barista from the Starbucks by Gate 2.

“He’s gone,” she said, and from the hard tone of her voice Barclay could tell the way she must’ve interpreted his request that she cover his shift, just until that guy in the suit leaves. If he asks about me I’m not here.

Really, he couldn’t blame her. But he also couldn’t let her keep hold of that impression because, well. This was still Stern, who once told Barclay that he’d learned all the languages he did because he hated not being able to talk to people, but figured it was unfair to make them learn English just because he was nosy. It wouldn’t be fair to get his coworkers to hate the guy, even if it would make it a lot easier to never process the whole cryptid hunting business.

“Dani, no, he’s not…he wasn’t bothering me.”

Dani leaned against the doorframe, giving him a knowing grin. Given that he’d teased her about her pursuing Starbucks girl four or five times, he couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed by it.

“Oh? ‘Cuz you booked it back here like he’d either been creeping on you, or like you panicked because of a big stupid crush. And I figured you wouldn’t be one to hide in the back ‘cuz of a big stupid crush, so I thought it must’ve been the first one.”

“Dani.” He tried to inject some authority into his voice. Usually it worked well enough, on account of he was one and a half times her age and technically her supervisor. Apparently he just managed to sound desperate, because she ended up biting her lip to hold back a laugh. She failed.

“Sorry, sorry, I just…Barclay, you should just talk to him next time!” She managed to get her giggling under control. “Honestly, I figured you two were already a thing.”

“Why?”

“It’s been two years?”

Barclay sighed.

“Yeah, yeah it has. But…” He shouldn’t say anything. Ghosting Stern was a dick move, but if he could manage a clean break then there might not be any real drama. If everyone found out about the whole FBI Secret Agent Monster Hunting thing? Or, well, Barclay didn’t know if Unexplained Phenomena meant any actual monster hunting was going on or if it was just dead-end ghost investigations and looking into psychics. But that had been his first reaction, and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the worst one out of everybody at Amnesty. Which meant there would be drama. A lot of drama. Maybe drama that involved actual violence, which wouldn’t be great.

“Yeah?” She asked, and Barclay swallowed.

“I just don’t know if I can be into a guy that doesn’t live around here, is all.”

Dani seemed to buy it, which made Barclay feel even worse about the whole thing. But it’d be better this way, better for everyone. And all he had to do was stay away from Stern for a while.

---

Barclay managed to stay away from Stern for two months. That involves five narrowly-avoided incidents, teaching Jake to manage the bar so he had someone to cover him that wouldn’t raise her eyebrows like Dani or offer to murder Stern for Barclay’s honor like Mama, and the realization that somehow Stern only came through Kepler when Barclay was on shift. And the fact that Stern had been through Kepler more often since Barclay started dodging him.

That had Barclay panicking for a solid twenty minutes, because what if this had all been an elaborate ruse to get Amnesty to lower its defenses? Then Barclay realized that was fucking stupid, because every flight from D.C. landed at either eleven am or eight pm on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and that section of time involved pretty much every shift Barclay worked.

That realization led to Barclay relaxing on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Which was, as it turned out, a mistake.

It was a mistake, because it led him to this very moment, a minute after Stern got off a plane from Houston at exactly noon, locked eyes with Barclay, and began speed walking away.

It’s a minute after that, because it took thirty seconds to process the panic in Stern’s expression, and another thirty to process the fact that he wasn’t panicked, actually.

“Hey, Dani, can you cover me?” He calls back, not even waiting for her to say yes or no before he leaves the bar and tries to figure out the best way to intercept Stern. He has to be subtle about this. He can’t go dramatically shouting Stern’s name across the mostly-empty path that ran across the airport; that would just embarrass him both. He can’t chase him down and grab his shoulder, because chasing people down and grabbing them is a dick move. He can’t-

As it turns out, he doesn’t need to plan, because Stern is sitting in a chair next to the Jamba Juice at Terminal 4 with his head in his hands. Barclay takes a deep breath and slides into the chair across from him. He’d hoped to be quiet, but the table shifts ever so slightly as he sets his hand on it and Stern jumps.

“I’ve been an asshole,” Barclay says, before Stern can act on his obvious impulse to flee. “And, uh, you can go to your gate and avoid me forever if you want. But I wanted to say I’m sorry first.”

Stern’s weight settles back into his seat.

“I wasn’t upset,” he says, the pause before that last word indicating that he most definitely was upset at some point. “I, well. At first I assumed I was just missing you, but when I asked the boy covering for you said-“

“I just stepped out?” Barclay guesses, and when Stern nods Barclay tries his best to be annoyed with Jake instead of with himself.

“Yeah. I’m…sure you had your reasons. But you could have told me you didn’t want to see me again, I would have understood.” He almost manages not to seem passive aggressive. Barclay would be impressed, under better circumstances.

“I did. Have my reasons, I mean.” He leans back, the chair creaking under his weight, and wishes that Jamba Juice was being covered by literally anyone other than Keith and Hollis. He doesn’t want to have to deal with the Hornet Gossip Mill on top of everything else. “But I think they might’ve been stupid reasons.” Well, he doesn’t totally believe that. But he can’t think of any partial explanation that doesn’t sound stupid.

“Are you a serial killer?” Stern asks, suddenly. Barclay blinks.

“What?” He’s aware that his voice sounds a little strangled, though not for the reasons Stern thinks. Judging by Stern’s weak smile he’d meant it as a joke, but really it’s closer to the truth than Barclay is comfortable with.

“Thank God. I was wondering if I should be looking into West Virginia’s active warrants.”

Barclay laughs. It’s mostly just to break the tension.

“No, no. None of that, I just, well.” For just a moment, Barclay considers telling Stern. Then he decides no, despite that impulse he doesn’t want to be forgiven enough to risk death. “Some of my people have had a little trouble with…” Barclay gestures to Stern, who frowns just a little. “Not the kind you’ve gotta worry about, it was all false reports and all that, but it made me a little nervous. On account of, well, I’m fond of you. I didn’t want things to go bad between you and me an’ mine.”

“So you were willing to make things go bad between just you and me?”

“Like I said, stupid reasons.”

The look Stern is giving Barclay is unreadable. Well, Barclay can’t tell whether it’s unreadable or if he just doesn’t want to read it. He just stares at Barclay for a second, mouth a thin, straight line. With each passing moment, Barclay feels tension creep up his spine. Then he starts laughing just a little desperately, running a hand through his hair.

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute,” Stern manages, and Barclay relaxes.

“Yeah,” he replies, taking a deep breath. Stern shoots him a tired little smile. Then he checks his watch.

“I have an hour and a half before my flight,” Stern says. “How about you make all this up to me by showing me what there is to do in this airport aside from read and pine about the bartender.”

“Well, I happen to get an employee discount at the local grill,” Barclay answers, and Stern’s smile gets a little more real.

This can work, Barclay thinks. And sure, maybe he’s just lying to himself. But as they walk back toward Amnesty Stern bumps his shoulder lightly against Barclay’s, and Barclay thinks that the time before things go to hell might make this worth it.

[incoherentbabblings]

Unspoken Promises

Sitting on the car roof waiting for Zatanna to show up, Stephanie became acutely aware of how their leaving home must have looked to the rest of the family, and makes her think about what want from the future, especially after everything had come crashing down in the aftermath of Brother Eye and the Batman of Tomorrow.  Tim for once isn’t thinking too deep about it.  

2,500 words on Tim and Steph cuddles from YJ #5. AO3 Link here!

So for all my doubt about Bendis (He also liked my tweet I sent him thanking him for making TimSteph so cute so like… that gave me a whump of validation right there) I was so over the moon with his interpretation of Tim and Stephanie’s relationship that it actually got me to write fanfiction for the first time in about a decade (ooft).  I am following in the grand DC tradition of what is continuity in that I am writing as if the Bat’s History is all in tact, but YJ and Teen Titans is just what had been established in the New 52.  How does that work? It doesn’t but never mind that I wanted to write mush

Anyway here is Tim I look at my girlfriend as if she hung the stars at night Drake and Stephanie We have 100% ran away from home which means we are 100% eloping which means yes I will marry you no you don’t even have to ask Brown.

There are like…so many references to past and current stories and dialogue in this, as well as my previous babblings on their relationship.  

Anyway, enjoy!!!

He had a habit, she’d noticed, ever since they’d been together, of holding her face. His fingers had always been cold, but dry, and his palm fit neatly along her jawline. He was always soft with her, and she wouldn’t dare have it otherwise.  When she isn’t talking, and he isn’t smiling and humming indulgently at her wittering on, he seemed to be nothing more than quite content to just hold and stare at her. Like the sun is infused in her hair. Like her and her alone is immune to the anti-life equation, like she is life’s meaning. Like she is so precious that she might be gone the next morning.

 Because that did happen once, when she was left to die without him. Does Tim hate me? She had asked Batman. No. Bruce had replied. He adores you. Always has.

Only now with them lying on the bonnet of Tim’s red car, his stare so openly reverent, Stephanie found herself trusting Bruce’s statement to the dying girl with a broken body (and heart).

He’d been taken from her too, violently and so suddenly that she had found herself talking to a clay program of his, so starved for his face and hungry for his advice… Then again Stephanie had heard from other sources that he’d considered throwing what he’d thought was her corpse into a Lazarus Pit, so maybe they were both reliant on the other to act as a guide.

Those Batmen she’d seen, first the one from a future where she was either dead or under what seemed like permanent house arrest (it wasn’t clear), and then one made of corrupt dreams and corrupt computer programs… They were ones she’d silently promised herself that she would reel in within Tim whenever they reared their ugly, twisted heads. She’d remind him, remind them why they wanted to help people. The two of them didn’t know any other way, not anymore.

How stubborn they were that they scraped their way back to each other.

Stephanie soon grew shy being gazed at by Tim and leaned forward.  One hand tightened in his sweater, whilst the other cupped the back of his head. He quickly got the idea and leaned forward, their lips touching briefly for a moment before she readjusted her position, straddling one his legs to get a firm pressure between her own.

Tim’s smile turned cheeky then, and he began to push up into a sitting position.  Stephanie gave a slight grunt, and forced him back down, hand slipping down his top to grip at his hip. She kissed him deeply.

A bird took off near the car, disturbing some fallen leaves on the ground.  It was still warm enough at sunset to not have to wear a coat, and both of them had opted for oversized sweaters, Steph in her customary purple, Tim in his usual green.  They had been travelling for a few weeks now, enough for the new school year to have started, and yet here they both were, several states down, in DC, nowhere near Ivy University in New England.  The thought made Stephanie giggle.

“Now you have to admit it!” She exclaimed, thumping her head down to rest on Tim’s chest, listening to his heart beat.  Solid.  Warm.

Tim meanwhile was looking awfully smug, one arm cradling her shoulders, pressing their already entangled bodies closer, the other arm thrown up behind his head.  His eyes were shut, and he was smirking.

“I don’t have to admit anything.” 

“Admit it!”

“I was raised by Batman, Stephanie,” – and right on que her eyes rolled up to her skull.  Batman Batman Batman – “I am a stubborn master.”

“Admit we ran from home!”

That got him to open his eyes and stare at her once more.  He was indulging her again, she knew, and she let him do so.

“A Batgirl and a Robin told everybody we were going off to college and then we drove the other way.”

“Because we’re in the middle of an investigation into the –”

She interrupted him, whispering the phrase “Nobody knows where we are!” conspiratorially, as if they weren’t sitting outside one of the most heavily monitored buildings in the county.  But sure, they were definitely back in New England, studying at one of the country’s most prestigious universities.

Not that they didn’t leave with the purest intentions, this investigation into timelines and universes…  However neither had the foggiest clue where to start.  Tim had recalled Dick and Bruce talking of Wally, the idea that something or someone been messing with time or memories. To avoid Bruce catching wind of what they were up to, they had asked Black Canary, and Dinah had suggested magic, which had led them to Zatanna.

Tim knew Bruce knew they weren’t at college.  He just didn’t want Bruce to know why.  This trip was partially for him and Steph to be alone.  Properly.  Without Bruce and his weird secrets and mind games. Without the pressure of fighting crime each night with all its mental and physical traumas.

Without Cassandra bursting through their window with takeout after a night of training, catching Steph in her nightshirt and Tim with his pyjama bottoms halfway up his legs. 

It had been going well, as well as could be expected of two seventeen-year olds going on a targetless road trip.  Tim had enough money to his name to keep them going for more than enough time, and Stephanie didn’t want for much regardless. 

Still, this trip had a purpose, and they both hoped that speaking with Zatanna would orient them in the right direction. 

“I’m just saying,” Stephanie continued, now grinning back at Tim’s softening smile “The only thing missing is the circus for us to join.”

It was almost funny how their conversations always came back to their future together.  They were still so young but they always spoke of what their lives would be, could be, five, ten, fifteen years down the line. 

Not that the circus was a serious suggestion, but it made her point all the same.  They had split off from the family back home, deliberately gaining some distance.  They’d not spoken to Bruce since he’d waved them off, hearing that they’d get the official wedding invite ‘any day now’ (any day now had been going on for weeks at this point, both were afraid to enquire for an update).  They’d not heard from Dick in even more time (something was going on with the Titans, on and off the field, but Tim hadn’t chased it).  Damian and Jason were enigmas as usual to them (coming and going as they pleased).  They’d get the odd photo and message sent from Cass and Duke and Barbara, the three of them seemed to be forming a little huddle, but for the most part, it was radio silence.  Maybe Bruce had encouraged it for once.  Leave them alone.  Let them be teenagers.  They can figure it out if they want to do the superhero gig on their own.

Or maybe that was too forgiving of an assumption of Bruce.

The other day Stephanie had been filming Tim being a dweeb, and she had muttered about making their (hypothetical) children watch this so they could be assured that their (hypothetical) father was never once cool ever.  Tim had just laughed and argued that she was just as bad as he, she was only better at covering it up.  He didn’t flush at the mention of children, and he didn’t call out at her statement at all.  It was a quiet assumption between them, the idea of children (plural.  Both had been so lonely growing up they couldn’t bear the thought of repeating their parents’ mistakes).  An unspoken promise never confirmed aloud.

Seventeen years old and they were already thinking of when they’d be thirty five.  Maybe one near (actual?) death experience each made them grip to that future tightly.  They would have it all.  They would help people until there was no longer a need for them to do so anymore, upon which they could bow out, ready to drop the double-faced world they occupied.

It had been temporary for Tim, initially.  He didn’t so much as want to be Robin as he was at the only one who could be Robin. 

It had been temporary for Stephanie, initially.  She couldn’t let her father go on hurting people, and she was at first the only one who knew what weird, over the top schemes he’d managed to cobble together. 

It was supposed to be temporary, for both of them. 

I can make it all work.  I can make a system that can sustain itself… After all that, I can take care of myself.  Take care of us.  I promise.

 And yet that promise he’d made aloud, mere hours before everything had blown up in their faces – literally – had been a rude awakening that their line of work didn’t allow easy early retirements, not truly. 

That was okay though, not today didn’t mean not ever, or at least, that’s what they had both told themselves at night sleeping in assorted cheap hotels.  The receptionists had always given them funny looks, no doubt Tim and Stephanie probably did look like young eloping teenagers.  Tim had surprised Stephanie in his reaction to their expressions, putting his foot down when affirming yes we want a double bed no not twin singles.  When checking out in the morning Tim defiantly left the bed an unmade mess, as if they were a pair of rabbits who couldn’t get enough of each other, as if trying to earn that slightly disapproving look from across the counter. 

She thought maybe he was tired of people giving their opinion on the two of them being together. 

And ultimately, that is what they were wasn’t it?  Teenage sweethearts running away from home.

And to the circus, if that’s what it came down to.

Stephanie’s buzzing phone and Zatanna’s arrival had brought an end to the feeling of joviality.  Stephanie’s thoughts were being torn in two directions.  She couldn’t stand the thought of her father running around doing as he pleased, and she had a sudden sharp stab of fear for her mother, but she had just reaffirmed that she was staying with Tim come hell or high water.  Tim made the decision for her.  He knew she wouldn’t be focused going forward unless she chased down her father, so gave the both of them a three day deadline. 

“You’ll be focused and I’ll have a start.” He stated.  He was dressed in his uniform, looking somehow both dashing and fragile at once.  What he thought he knew had been shaken again, except for the blonde girl standing in front of him.  The one who was looking at him with a slightly befuddled but still endeared smile. 

“I love you Tim Drake.” She said, ignoring for a moment where they were and what he was dressed as. 

There was a beat of silence.  Enough to make Stephanie uncomfortable.  He had usually always been the first to declare it to her.  Now that she had uttered it first, he seemed at a loss on how to respond.  She decided to prompt him, trying not to sound too desperate when she asked:

“Did you hear –?”

“I’m madly in love with you, Steph.”  He blurted out.  His smile widened until he looked overjoyed.  “I was just about to tell you that.  I was going to tell you I was so happy you were in my repressed memories, too, because I didn’t want – ”

A life without you was how he was going to finish his declaration before she threw herself at him, smacking a kiss on his lips, and Tim saw his world go pink for a moment.

He had been relieved that she’d been in those memories.  She had to have been.  She was the only one, for so long, who knew him as both Robin and Tim.  The Teen Titans had asked and asked but he’d always been so reluctant to cave in, whilst part of his fear of leaving the title of Robin would mean losing Bruce and Dick and Barbara, for what possible reason could Tim Drake have to associate with them?  It was different now, he was Bruce’s adopted son, so their connection could not be severed regardless of him wearing a mask or not, and he had opened up to his friends, slowly but surely. 

She was still the person he wanted to be with him every step of the way.  She’s never cared what title he’d held, she’d cared more about the way he held her.  This was his chance though.  She had always been stuck on the fringes of their generation, not having many close friends outside of Gotham.  If his friends and family could become hers… he just wanted her with him every step of the way.  It was selfish of him he knew, but she deserved a better family than the one she’d been born into, and he had the opportunity to give it to her.

She was gripping the front of his uniform tightly, and he was holding her shoulders.  Leaning forward, he put their foreheads together with a gentle thunk.  Still smiling, he reminded her of the three day deadline.

“Two days.” She pushed.

“Promise?” He looked at her, and she smiled guiltily.  How many broken promises had they made to each other?  How many had they kept?  How many had remained unspoken, for fear of them never coming true? 

“I can’t.” Stephanie exhaled unsteadily, her eyes tearing up. 

He didn’t sound disappointed when he responded, “I know.”  He understood.  Better than anyone he understood the danger of promises and oaths. 

For a brief moment she longed for them to forget responsibilities and be utterly selfish.  Run away to the circus like she’s joked.  Confirm every suspicious look those receptionists had given them for the past four weeks.  Leave behind broken families who didn’t know what good communication meant between the lot of them and start a newer better family in its place.  It was a whim that would remain in her head, but she answered the question she would sit and wait for over the next twenty years if need be out loud, as both a promise to Tim and to herself.

“…But I do.”

Tim didn’t say anything more in response, but looked up at her, his forehead still pressed to hers, and breathed a laugh.  He knew what she’d meant when she’s said I do, of course he figured it out, but he also knew to let it remain out of context.  Another unspoken promise. 

They’d be fine.  More than fine.  He would find his friends and he would take care of them.  They’d scraped their way back to each other for a reason. He couldn’t let her, or Conner or Cassie or Bart or any of the others, slide by any longer.

Another unspoken promise. 

[70swonderpoisonstark]

Poison. ( I )

Villain’s are people too, are they not? (Y/N) is taking the “home grown” terror title a little too seriously. You’re really really bad, until you meet a certain super soldier who makes you consider a career change. It’s a lengthy process, but you’re willing if it’s for the right reasons. Maybe you’re not so bad after all? 

//basically poison ivy and a little bit of bane but with marvel characters?? I'd be original but I love her and them so much so sorry. also some changes, idk I'm making them my own but completely based of the DC characters SNS. Nickname Ivy, real name, yours duh!//

***this is my first attempt at fanfic so any feedback is welcome! I love all these characters dearly so, here goes nothing! Hope you enjoy***

A/N: Violence, language, crime. I’ll update these as the chapters come out

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"The target goes by Green. Keep your eyes open, he's known for causing mass chaos surrounding the area of interest."

"Got it, Nat." Steve looked at his left, nodding at his friend, they'd been tracking 'Green' down for months. You had to hand it to the bastard, he was good. No matter where he was, what he did, how much he stole or how many people he killed. They never found him, couldn't even connect the same man to any of the crimes. Nothing, he was almost as elusive as the Winter Soldier. Whether it was hiding in plain sight, or moving in the shadows, this particular villain was intense.

Bucky scanned the room for anything that looked suspicious, hesitant movements, shaky voices, eye contact that lingered for a second too long. Every man in the luxury club looked confident, and you could tell nobody thought the two super soldiers looked out of place in their suits and leather shoes. The boys sipped on their single malt scotch, glancing over their shoulders occasionally.

"Anything on your end?" Steve whispered into his drink.

"Still nothing." Falcon's eye's ran across the crimson screens, was their intel wrong? These scenes were never this quiet, especially for this long. "Wait, what about the big guy? Your 3 o'clock.

Bucky slowly turned his head, locating the person Sam had mentioned, he pretended to to laugh a joke Steve hadn't made as he checked the man in question. He was tall, extremely handsome, and big. Not in a too many cheeseburgers big either, big as in a hasn't stopped weight lifting since birth way.

"He's wearing a huge emerald ring, could be him. No other signs, anything on facial recognition?"

"Hiya boys, drinkin something strong?" A redhead with curves like a country road slid up between the two of them, cancelling the response by Sam, and catching Steve completely off guard. "You okay there, love? I didn't mean to scare ya. Just thought you two looked a little lonesome." You motioned to your surroundings with your elegant hands, twirling alongside your silk gown. "This place is so cliquey, hard to fit in unless you're a blonde with a nice rack." Steve hung on to your every word, life went in slow motion as you talked, his blood boiled as you touched his shoulder to get to the bar, talking casually as you order a double something with some type of juice.

"Earth to Steve, hello? Steve, it's just a woman, focus on the target." But Steve couldn't, something about you was mesmerizing, as if your touch alone could heal 70 years worth of pain. He held on to the conversation, saying anything he thought would prolong it.

"Y-You're not blonde." He sputtered out, he could see Bucky physically cringe at his words. How could he care, the most breathtaking woman he'd ever seen was actually paying attention to him, and with no idea who he really was.

"You're a sharp one," your giggle made Steve feel like he was floating. He looked across at his friend, who after teasing him about his word vomit, was just as entranced as he was. Actually, now that he's paying attention, the whole place was fascinated with you. "If only all the men here were as charming as you." You placed your elbows on the bar, leaning back to get a good look of the scene in front of you.

Bucky couldn't believe his eyes, the green silk was almost reflective under the luminescent lights of the club, the fabric hanging loosely off your curves, highlighting every tantalizing contour. If he didn't have years of self control under his belt, he'd had reached out and touched you to make sure you were real. You blew out a deep sigh, causing Bucky to smell roses and divert any lingering attention back on this wonder of a woman.

"What were the names of you two boys again?" Her voice drawing them nearer like the song of a siren, they answered without hesitation. "Oh, James and Steve? Classic names for classy men." A quick wink was all it took for the super soldiers to melt at your feet. "And, what do you want more than anything right now?" You sung.

"You." They both said in unison, forgetting the other was there.

"Well, I can't give myself to you both. That just wouldn't be right, hm?" A slow nod no from each man. "Hmm, Captain America. America's golden boy WOULD, be fun to rot." You ran your delicate hand across his strong chin, your touch warm and inviting. "However," You made a quick turn towards Bucky, making him take an extra swig of liquor. "Dark and twisty Romanian seems to know how to really use his hands," You glided behind him, draping your arms over his shoulders, leaning into his ear and whispered, "I've seen the knife work honey, nobody has hands like THAT anymore." You popped back up and spoke to where Steve could now listen in, "Then again, I be the serum DID have its effects on Private Rogers too." The childish giggle that escaped your lips made their hearts beat faster and stronger, adrenaline pumping throughout their systems as they awaited another word from a seemingly flawless stranger. "I think it would be to difficult for me to chose on my own," A slight pause that lasted only seconds but continued for what felt like hours. "so I won't. I'm sure you strong, sensible men can find a civilized way to sort this out. Until then," You began to turn around, your hair flowing seamlessly around your shoulders and your eyes glinting in the strobes. "I'll be waiting for one of you, over here." You beamed at them, how could somebody so innocent be so intoxicating at the same time? Steve stared at Bucky, and Bucky at Steve, desire and lust driving them mad they puffed their chest up, and stood.

"She wasn't that into you Steve, just sit this one out, like old times yeah?" Bucky knew you wanted him, he could feel it in his core, Steve didn't stand a chance.

"I think you need to sit down and try to remember what actually just happened, Buck. She talked to me the whole time YOU were just in the background. You've lost some of your charm, I'm sure you'll get the next one." Steve flashed his million dollar smile, clamped a hand on Bucky's shoulder and began to stride over to his girl when Bucky's hand wrapped around his elbow.

"I've lost my charm? That's what you think? You sit there drooling like a damn dog and I'M the one who's lost it?" Bucky couldn't help but be angry, you were a beautiful dame, and Steve had enough of those to go around, now the one time a lady was actually interested in him HE had to have her? There wasn't a way in hell where Bucky was going to allow that.

"Yes Bucky, I think a bit of your charm must have melted after they defrosted you for the sixth time. Now get lost while the functioning adults talk, would ya?" FUNCTIONING?! BUCKY WAS FUNCTIONING JUST FINE- OH- RED. red. All Bucky could see was red as the next few moments unfolded. He leapt for Steve, knocking him down with the unplanned blow, tackling him on the hardwood floor. Steve knew an attack when he saw him and immediately fought back.

"You don't think I'm functioning?! I'll show you a functioning can of whoop ass you fucking science experiment!" Bucky yelled in between grunts and punches. The two of them were so evenly matched it was hard to tell if either was really doing any damage. Punches were landing, blood was showing, Bucky had gotten Steve in the gut and the face a number of times, however Steve landed a lucky blow to the back of Bucky's knee, causing him to collapse in a kneeling position. Even then the fighting still went on, Steve's nose was most definitely broken, along with a couple of Bucky's ribs. Physical contact was no longer doing enough for the men to express their anger, Bucky grabbed a whiskey bottle from behind the bar and crushed it across Steve's face, shattering the glass, slicing open his cheek, and almost knocking out America's most famous patriot.

"Oh you're going to pay for that one, James." As if Bucky gave a shit, Steve using his first name was usually cause for Bucky to be worried something was wrong, but now, a total KO was all Bucky had on his mind. The two continued to forcefully lay their hands on each other. Finally, the other had let their guard down just enough to see their girl of the evening, Steve and Bucky both wound up for the perfect sucker punch, just one hit till they both got the girl of their dreams and WHAM. Both of them made contact with the others cheek, and simultaneously collapse on the ground, the last thing either of them seeing, was a giant bag of cash, and the entire club in chaos.

[brywrites]

Miracles

Summary: Spencer Reid is good at falling in love, but he’s never really had a chance to be in love with someone. 

When they first get together, he tries so hard. He rearranges his weekend plans in order to make time for a date with her. He finishes paperwork faster than usual so he can get to dinner on time. He calls when he’s away, and when he a case steals him away unexpectedly, he always makes it up to her.

Because he is falling for her, falling like a Newtonian cannonball, and what he wants more than anything is to be with her. Spencer Reid will leap through any hoop for just a chance at having her in his life. And when she tells him she loves him, he feels like he’s just discovered the meaning of life itself. A grin overtakes him and he’s laughing and hugging her and he thinks that there’s no way any gold medal or scientific revolution or political victory could ever compare to the way it makes him feel to hear those words from her lips. So caught up in the joy it causes that he realizes he still has to say it back, and by the time he does she’s laughing too, and they’re both overjoyed, reveling in a moment nobody else can quite understand. Surely, no one else has ever loved this way or this much.

Dinners become more regular, as they spend more time in each other’s homes. More and more of her items migrate into his apartment as she passes more nights in his bed, a habit that begins by accident but leaves him considering nighttime to be the best part of his day, as long as it means falling asleep beside her. Then again, waking up to her is a close second. She brings him books she spots on her walks to work, and can’t help but think he’ll love. He reads to her when she cannot fall asleep. They have picnics in the park, he teaches her to play chess, and she grows flowers in tiny pots on his kitchen windowsill. She is his, and he is hers, and they share their life together.

And for a while, it’s good. 

For a while, it’s great. For a while she kisses him on the sidewalk and he practically melts, and for a while when he walks through the door she comes running into his arms. It’s everything he has ever wanted, and she is more than anything he has ever dreamed of.  

With time though, the dream becomes everyday reality. Falling asleep next to her is not always a given, but it’s frequent enough. Essential dates give way to plans to run errands together if they have time. He forgoes reading to her in order to finish more paperwork. The flowers begin to wilt. She begins to wonder if she’s enough for him. Will she ever measure up to the job? He doesn’t know how to answer. He forgets to make it up to her when he leaves, stops worrying about it so much because she’ll be there when he gets back. She is always there when he gets back.

One day he forgets even to tell her that there is a case. The routine of coming and going has become so normal it doesn’t even cross his mind. Nor does the fact that they’ve had tickets to a Shakespeare production for the last two weeks and he’s supposed to be there with her. She’s been begging to see more places with him, making a long list of museums and parks and libraries to go. They were supposed to check off their sadly empty list tonight. Instead he’s in Montana, hunting a serial murderer long into the night. Reid doesn’t even check his personal phone until three in the morning, and only then does he discover that he has four missed calls and eight text messages from her desperately asking where he is, and then telling him that if he doesn’t call she’s leaving without him. He feels awful, but it’s early in the morning and the show was hours ago. There’s no point in calling. He’ll figure it out when he gets home.

Two days later, he does. His rehearsed apology is met with a cold shoulder that, when he pushes, gives way to a hot temper. She’s furious with him for abandoning her without notice. Months of unvoiced frustration comes out in a storm that escalates from strongly-worded sentences to straight up shouting. They are caught in a hurricane of their own doing, and she’s screaming for him to see her, to see her point of view. He can’t understand how she fails to see the importance of his work. The long nights, the forgotten plans, the weeks away are necessities because there are lives to save. She knew what she was getting into. He told her his work came first.

At that, a long list of grievances come pour from her lips, so different from the three words that once filled him with so much ecstasy. He won’t talk to her, he’s stopped opening up, he takes her for granted. She says she misses the man she fell in love with. He tells her the woman he loved would never be so selfish. Minutes later she is throwing her collection of things into a bag and when she runs out the door, taking the storm with her, he doesn’t even try to stop her.

The bed is cold that night. He tells himself he likes it better that way.

Pretends to enjoy the quiet of his apartment, the way he once did. But it’s not the same kind of quiet. Truth be told, he liked it better with her laugh. When he finds her favorite scarf at the bottom of his drawer, he holds on tight to it and wonders if maybe he was the selfish one. No, that can’t be. He saves lives, doesn’t he? He makes sacrifices to help other people. He’s gone so far as to sacrifice the one he loves, hasn’t he? Giving up his happiness so someone else can live. Giving up her happiness too.

Three weeks pass before he realizes that the flowers on the windowsill are dead. That morning there is a case. He no longer has anyone to notify when he leaves. Someone is kidnapping, torturing, and killing members of law enforcement outside of Seattle. What was a tough case becomes a nightmare when he’s making rounds to interview persons of interest. A man whose kitchen he’s sitting in offers him coffee. Exhausted and grateful, he accepts.

He notices the funny taste too late.

Reid comes to in a basement, tied to a chair, where he will spend the next two days being interrogated and abused. It reminds him of Hankel, but this time there is no benevolent personality to give him food or water, or anything to ease the pain. Over the course of 48 hours, a lot goes through his mind.

Most of it, her. He’s certain he will die in his basement, and that will be that. He’s never going to get a chance to apologize for putting work first. He will never get to ask her to forgive him for forgetting how happy it made him to know that out of all the people in the world she could have loved, she chose him.

God, he should’ve tried harder. He should have done better. He should have told her that she was more than enough for him. He should have held her tighter while he still could, taken her everywhere on her list because he wanted to see the whole world with her and watch her eyes grow wide with wonder at every beautiful thing. When she looked at him sometimes she would get that same wide, starry-eyed gaze and his heart would skip a beat at the notion that she thought he was something beautiful.

What he wouldn’t give to kiss her on the sidewalk one more time until they were both breathless. What he wouldn’t trade for the chance to roll over in the morning to see her smiling at him from the other side of the bed moments before she would reach over and run her hands through his hair.

He shouldn’t have missed the play. He should have watered the flowers. He should have stopped her from walking out that door. If he dies in this room, he’ll die alone. Without ever having told her just how much she meant to him. Without loving as much as he knows he is capable of loving.

If only he could go back – if only, if only. He would talk about cases with her. Tell her why he stopped drinking. Admit that he was afraid if he let her in the darkness would get too close to her. He would do it right this time. Except she is back in DC, and he is trapped with a psychopath, and she’s going to spend the rest of her life believing he thought she was selfish.

After two days, the dehydration and the pain are too much. At the edge of consciousness, he hears footsteps coming down the stairs and a gun being cocked. This is it. He’s used up his allotment of miracles. As the world fades to black, he hopes she knows he’s sorry.

She stands outside the room, gathering her courage. She’s not sure if she’s ready for this. Yesterday she wasn’t ready to see him. Today, she’s certainly not ready to see him like this. Garcia called her, explained what had happened as best as she could. Told her how they realized he was missing too late, how they found him tied up in the basement. They had tried their best, they really had, but when they arrived on scene he had no pulse.

But the paramedics were able to revive him. It was a close call, and for a while it was touch-and-go. Garcia said she didn’t have to come. Something in her heart told her she should. Because despite three weeks of silence and all of the anger at the way he let her walk out of his life, there is still a list of places she wanted to see with him, and a handful of dreams she hasn’t yet let go of, and he was her best friend. Almost dying merits seeing him, or at least she thought. Now that she’s here, she’s having second thoughts. Because what if she was right and she can’t measure up to his love for his job? What if that love is gone? Maybe it’s selfish to think he needs her right now.

Somehow she manages to step into that hospital room. Spencer Reid looks up from the book in his bandaged hands. His skin is a constellation of bruises, there is an IV in his arm, and an oxygen tube in his nose. He has been to hell and back, but when he sees her he starts to cry and all she can do is sit beside him in a hard plastic chair and hold his shaking hands while he tries to tell her how sorry he is. They talk for a long time, and she can’t help but miss their long conversations. She misses how it used to be. How much she used to love him and how much he used to love her.

Maybe it’s that missing, maybe it’s the fact that he almost died. Maybe it’s the space they’ve had, or how hopeful the potted plant she brought him looks on the hospital table, or the fact that he’s kept her favorite scarf in his satchel since she left. Whatever the reason, when he asks to try one more time – when he swears he won’t take her for granted, when he promises that he’s never going to sacrifice this love again – she says yes.

Before she can stop herself, she’s kissing him, and when she pulls away, he smiles at her, and mutters something about miracles. And she can feel it when he meets her eyes, that joy they once shared. It’s within reach once more. And this time, they’re not letting go.

[justgotham]

Fox’s GOTHAM is now in the midst of its fifth and final season on Thursday nights. The series, developed by Bruno Heller from DC Comics, chronicles the rise of Bruce Wayne (David Mazouz) from troubled, orphaned pre-teen to the adult Batman. It also shows the development of some of his allies, like detective-turned-police-captain (and one day police commissioner) Jim Gordon (Ben McKenzie), frenemies like Selena Kyle/Catwoman (Camren Bicondova), and foes like Penguin (Robin Lord Taylor) and the Riddler (Cory Michael Smith).

Executive producers Danny Cannon and John Stephens have both been with GOTHAM for its entire run. Cannon directed the series pilot and has been supervising the directors ever since; Stephens has been part of the writing staff since the inception and has been show runner, with Cannon, since the beginning of Season 3. The duo have created METROPOLIS for DC’s online streaming network. Cannon will also be working with GOTHAM creator Heller on the new Epix series PENNYWORTH, which examines the adventures of the young Alfred Pennyworth.

Cannon sits down in a quiet area of Pasadena’s Langham Hotel for a discussion of what makes GOTHAM all that it is; Stephens joins the conversation partway through.

ASSIGNMENT X: Did you know at the beginning that you would be with GOTHAM for its entire run, because it’s a little unusual for a directing producer to stay with a series for so long …

DANNY CANNON: It is, yeah. There are so many things that are unusual about producing and directing, but I think I’m the only director writing on shows, which I find very strange sometimes. But I think you stick with something when you know how hard it is to maintain the integrity. That is the only way to protect the integrity, visually and tonally, and casting-wise, on a show, is to stick with it. And sometimes that’s a little hard, but on this occasion, it was just such a fun job that I didn’t want to leave, because if you’re gone for a certain amount of time, you do notice things that wouldn’t have happened if you’d been there. It was such a hard world to maintain, and the standard of the acting was so high, that I just wanted to maintain that by being around. There is only me and John. There was Bruno at the beginning, but there was only me and John, and with him stuck writing, a lot of post-production and production and first-hand contact on set was really down to me.

AX: With the other directors who came in to do episodes, were you instructing them, “This is GOTHAM, that is not GOTHAM”?

CANNON: Constantly. And that’s why you’ll see so many of our directors repeat, because once it is lodged in their mind what world they were in, then we had to keep ahold of them, because you don’t want to reeducate somebody. And they became real fans of the show. What was amazing was how many directors wanted to return, because compared to the other things they were directing, this just visually had a lot more going on. The palette was bigger and the scope was bigger.

AX: What did you find that the biggest thing that the other directors needed to know – don’t be afraid to let the actors get big, or, please shoot the sets in a certain way, or, please use these kinds of shots?

CANNON: Right from the beginning of me doing television, even at C.S.I., when [other] directors came in, they would be very complimentary of the pilot and everything, but I would always say, “Well, great, now we’ve seen that. Now kick my ass. That’s your job. I want to watch your episode and come back next week and say, ‘I just got schooled, I have to up my game’.” And I think that friendly competition [was helpful]. We did it with d.p.s [directors of photography], too, we did it with production designers, editors. Everybody was trying to get the best episode, everybody was trying to do that thing that nobody had done before. Sometimes, though, we had to stop people going over the top. Sometimes that was not right for that story. When we brought directors on, we’d always talk about the theme of that [episode], and who to concentrate on, and who not to. But I always find you get the best out of people when you set them free, and you encourage them, and you love them, and you want them to love what you have as much as you do. I don’t think it makes a show better to restrict people and tell them, “We don’t do that, we don’t like that.” It just makes everybody feel a little – it’s the opposite of creativity, isn’t it?

AX: How would you describe GOTHAM’s visual style?

CANNON: I think when we were doing the pilot, nobody really understood what we were doing. I did a visual effect off my own back [on my own] and I did many drawings I did myself, and my designer did some to try and sell the world, but still, that wasn’t getting it across. I was like, “On the pilot, it was Dickensian, circa 1979 New York City, un-gentrified, if the cops were all corrupt, and the gangs had taken over.” There was that, but that felt political. The look of it that I kept going to was that Dickensian thing, that I knew that if I drew, and my production designer helped me with the GCPD [Gotham City Police Department headquarters], if we got that right, that was the [core]. So we took it upon ourselves those first few weeks, before anybody came along, while Bruno is still pitching. He brought me on very early, because he just didn’t want to do a project like this alone. The kind of stuff I do, the kind of stuff he does, are completely different. So he wanted the world being imagined while he wrote, so he could be inspired by what I was doing. It was a nice way to work. And when we got that GCPD right, it straightaway – and it’s funny, I drew one, and Doug Kraner [the initial GOTHAM production designer] drew one, and they were almost identical. But his staircases were better.

[John Stephens laughs.]

CANNON: It was based on St. Pancras Station, a Victorian building, in London. And all of a sudden, that, with the different look of the wardrobe, which was the other thing I was drawing at the same time, was what got us over the edge.

AX: When did you take over entirely from Bruno Heller?

JOHN STEPHENS: Well, I would never say I took over entirely from Bruno Heller. They say the term “show runner,” but really, Danny and I were doing it together these past three years after Bruno kind of took a step back. It’s really at the end of Season 2 that Bruno took a step back, and then Danny and I – it was a great partnership, I felt like, because we complimented each other’s strengths. We were talking about the look of the show, and to me, one of the things I found so appealing about the show is, I think a lot of people can do grim. I think what Danny and Doug, and Richard [Berg] afterwards, were able to do, I mean, everybody, [current GOTHAM production designer] Dan Novotny as well, is to make it look scary and dirty and grim, but also romantic in a way. I still want to be in that world, as downtrodden as it seems. And that’s a very secret little bull’s-eye that’s very hard to hit.

CANNON: As English people, myself and Bruno both wanted to visit New York and see SERPICO New York, THE WARRIORS New York. I wanted to see MEAN STREETS, I wanted to see TAXI DRIVER. It was all gone by the time I got there, but it was the poem of New York, it was the idea of New York. So that’s what GOTHAMbecame, and “romantic” is a good word. We were making this romantic poem to a city where Batman will be necessary one day.

AX: It’s sort of like GOTHAM is a dream of New York that’s on the verge of being a nightmare?

CANNON: Right, right.

STEPHENS: It’s like those opening scenes of TAXI DRIVER, when that Bernard Herrmann score is playing, and those bright, garish lights are moving, and it feels like Hell, but it also feels very suffused with sex and violence, and it’s really exciting.

CANNON: It [TAXI DRIVER] is one of my favorite films of all time, and Bernard Herrmann was such a strange choice for them to make, but Scorsese knew what he was doing, because he aged the film down by putting Bernard Herrmann’s score in. They say he was old-fashioned. That’s exactly why he did it. We wanted old-fashioned music. When we had to put pop music into the show, we went back to the ‘80s, and to the ‘70s, to the Stooges, to Alice Cooper, and to the Sex Pistols, because music now is too polished and refined and wouldn’t work.

AX: You mentioned the word “grim,” but if I may say, GOTHAM doesn’t feel grim. How do you keep it feeling maybe dark but somehow ecstatic …?

STEPHENS: “Gritty” I think is probably a better word than “grim” in many ways. We speak about these things, particularly in terms of metaphor. It’s like when people talk. I just recently saw this documentary about World War I [THEY SHALL NOT GROW OLD] that Peter Jackson made. It was incredible. And at the beginning, they have all these voices of soldiers who were there. And they say, “Four years, it was horrific, I never would have traded it for anything. I felt more alive during those four years than I did in the next fifty years of my life.” And I feel like life in GOTHAM may be cheap in many ways, but it feels very alive to the people who are there. And that was always our point. You want to feel the beating heart of the people who are there, and that they’re living life right on the edge. I always think of that line – I’m [approximating], I apologize – there’s a beat in HEAT, where Al Pacino is talking to his wife, and he says, “I need to be on the edge, it’s where I’ve got to be.” And you always want the characters to be right there on that edge.

CANNON: We watch plays, John more than me, but when you’re doing a Broadway play, and you need to introduce a character, they will always do something with the scenery, they’ll always do something with the lighting. I think what doesn’t happen enough with movies and television right now is, they don’t give characters a good platform. How do we stop it being grim? I think everybody in the show gets a visual introduction. I remember talking about seeing Episode 2, when I had the confidence of the pilot behind me, about the body language, with every cast member. “We should know you’re coming in silhouette.” And I said the same thing to the directors. “Give everybody an intro. Give them that moment where that guy walks in, in CABARET. Give them that moment where you realize the king is entering.” You start to think about things on a grand scale, and all the writers ended up coming around and asking for those little visual tidbits, because they had the story down, and they knew where it needed to go, but everybody just needed a push to show people the cinema of this moment.

STEPHENS: You did that in the first Alfred [played by Sean Pertwee] appearance, when he’s walking down the alley, and there’s crime tape there, and Sean doesn’t slow down. Because he just knows they’re going to raise it up for him because of the authority that he carries. He tilts his head, just a tiny bit. I was, “Oh, he’s in command.”

AX: Now, what are some of the things that have surprised you about the way the characters have turned out? I think one of them would probably be Barbara Keane, played by Erin Richards. She started out as Jim Gordon’s fiancée and then went to some astonishing places …

STEPHENS: Yeah. Erin as an actress continually surprises us. We took her so dark. [Barbara] killed her parents, she became a gang lord, she was completely psychotic, and it became the question, “Can we bring this person back?” One of the themes of the show is transformation. A person changes into another thing. “Can you take someone that dark and still bring them back again? Is there any hope in them?” She does. She finds that way back, and that was so surprising to us.

AX: And Morena Baccarin’s character, Dr. Lee Thompkins, as well?

CANNON: Oh, my God. Amazing. And when Morena showed up, it’s funny how, from that first show she did, you know you want to do some things with a great actress. That’s it. That’s simply it. She can do the same thing over, or she can keep testing you. GAME OF THRONES is the only other show I can think of that has characters do terrible, awful things and you love them the next time they’re punished. The back and forth – we love to hate everybody in the show.

AX: And what would you most like people to know about the rest of GOTHAM? We know there will be a ten-years-forward time jump episode in the finale …

STEPHENS: I think they need to watch every episode, because I think in every single episode, an enormous bomb drops, both for the characters as they live right there, and also things that are going to play out not just ten years, but twenty years in the future, because we all know where those characters are going to end up, and we plant things that real fans of the material are going to go, “Oh, that’s what they were doing. I thought they weren’t going to do that, but they are going to do that.”

CANNON: Everything we’ve done for five years pays off in the last episode.

[blossomhcney]

( charlie hunnam. thirty-five. cis male. he/him. ) in texas, easton underwood is more commonly known as happy. they’ve been living in stratford for thirty-five years and currently mechanic/ex reaper. some say they are sadistic & stubborn but i’m more inclined to believe those that say they’re logical & straightforward. if you walk by their house, you can sometimes hear back in black by AC/DC playing from their window. ( leather jackets, greased palms, the smell of gunpowder fresh in the air, bruised and bloodied knuckles, the sound of bones breaking. )

a bitch is back for more since she has no will power !

PINTEREST BOARD !

NAME. easton francis underwood NICKNAME. happy. AGE. thirty-five. GENDER. cis male. PRONOUNS. he/him. SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. biromantic. HOMETOWN. stratford. OCCUPATION. mechanic at gotti’s autobody/ex reaper/hit man. AFFILIATION. reapers.

ZODIAC. sagittarius. POSITIVE TRAITS. logical, straightforward, calm. NEGATIVE TRAITS. sadistic, stubborn, aggressive. LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english, italian.

HEIGHT. 6′5. EYE COLOR. blue. HAIR COLOR. blond. TATTOOS. can be found on the pinterest board ! + a smiley face for every person he has killed ( 37 )

QUICK INFO.

trigger warnings: murder, weapons mentioned (knives, guns, etc.) 

easton underwood was born at four in the morning in the reapers clubhouse. his mother, julie sampson, had only been there to yell at the father of her unborn child. perhaps four in the morning had been a little early for a fight, but julie was certainly a force to be reckoned with, even at nine months pregnant. she had gone into labour earlier in the day and gone about her business, as if it were just a normal day. and then matthew goddamned underwood had pissed her off once again. so easton was born on the floor of the clubhouse, wrapped in his father’s shirt and laid to rest on his mother’s chest with a leather jacket wrapped around her shoulders. 

easton was born (literally) and raised in the reapers clubhouse. as he was growing up, he had never truly understood why his uncle q seemed to have hate in his heart when it came to him. he had been sheltered from finding out that his mother had been dating him at the time of his conception. perhaps it would have been okay if his mother was good at lying, but as it happened, she was aggressive and angry, little and fierce, but she could not lie to save her life. if her life ever depended on telling a convincing lie, she would die right there. 

easton found himself becoming increasingly intrigued with club life as the years passed by. every time he saw a fight break out or a gun being drawn, he was glued to the spot, unable to move until he saw how everything panned out. it was no wonder that he had taken up boxing by the time he was thirteen, learning to use his fists for good rather than in school, hitting anyone that called his mother names or dared to speak badly about his father or any other member of the reapers. 

by sixteen, he was, like his mother, a force to be reckoned with. becoming a reaper seemed to have been written in the stars for him. from day one, he was destined to prospect upon turning eighteen. the next two years would shape his life. he would be more than ready when the time finally came, he would make sure of that. he became more engrossed with boxing, each hit he took fuelled the next one he landed. he was a good fighter and he would make a good soldier, too. that was the plan, at the very least. 

eighteen came around and easton earned his nickname ‘happy’. a smile never graced his features, not if he could help it and he usually could. he experienced happiness, just as others did, but he rarely ever showed it. his mother saw his smile, she would often tell him the world needed smiles like his, but he felt that there were enough people in the world who showed their emotions every second they felt them. the world needed one less person to fake their happiness and just take life as it came, shit and served with a glass of bleach. 

easton was a good soldier, he was given something to do, someone to hurt, he did it. he took orders well and he was loyal. so loyal, in fact, that whilst being caught with an offensive weapon that he had picked up for another member, he stayed quiet and allowed himself to be taken to the station. he didn’t make a fuss, he didn’t yell that it wasn’t his. he gave a no comment interview and waited patiently for his punishment. even when they threatened him with two years inside, easton simply shrugged his shoulders and asked when he could have his phone call. those two years ended up only being five months, but they still moulded easton into a different man. he became colder, using his fists so much more than his words (not that he used them all that often beforehand), barely communicating with his friends and what little family he had left. he spent more time with the reapers, threw himself entirely into that part of his life. it became so important to him that he lost himself along the way, his friends and the people he cared most for. by the time he realised, it was too little, too late. 

by twenty one, easton had killed for the first time. he was surprised it had taken him so long, but he had graduated from using his fists to punish people, onto weapons. a knife and a gun, to be exact. he hadn’t realised it would feel so... intoxicating. it was almost like a drug, the first time he took a life. he found himself jonesing for a second hit. and it wasn’t long before he had another chance. and another. and another. and another. by his fifth, easton had decided to mark himself for each one. he laid down on the bed at the tattoo parlour and found himself leaving with five smiley faces on his abdomen. and, before the year was up, he had added another three, totalling in eight. 

he celebrated his twenty fifth birthday in jail, this time going on to spend eighteen months inside. just like the first time, easton stayed quiet and accepted this as his fate. truth be told, he had even allowed himself to get caught. you see, easton made calculated movements, if the police ever found any evidence that linked him to a crime, it was because he had let them. the reapers had nobody on the inside and they needed a man taken care of. insert easton. eighteen months may have seemed like a long time to kill one person, but he had to make sure everything was in place before he could do his job. besides, in that time, there would likely be more people the reapers needed to get rid of. 

easton turned thirty when he realised he needed to get out. at thirty, he had twenty-seven smiley faces inked into his skin and countless prison visits for varying crimes. it was also the year his first child was born. he had had next to no interest in his own life until that moment. god, he could see why people said children were the light of their lives. now, he could find it in himself to smile, to share the joy he felt outside of himself. only to his son, of course, but it was something. to say that austin was everything good in the world wrapped into one tiny little bundle of joy would certainly have been an understatement. he knew that he had to be there, be consistent in his life. be alive. and he wasn’t so sure he would live to see thirty-three if he kept this up, killing people and fighting when he was needed. he came home bruised and bloody most nights. his heart belonged to the reapers. he would die for them. and that was the problem. he would die for the reapers and he would no longer be there for his son, to watch his son grow into a man. was he really the kind of man who could be so careless with himself whilst having a child to raise? 

a year later, he was out. a lot cleaner than he had expected it to be, too. even easier? getting a job at gotti’s autobody. he figured that would have been the case, he had always been good with cars, spending what free time he had from the club at the mechanics, tinkering with his bike and others, usually much to their dismay. it was hardly a surprise when he found himself pulling on a pair of overalls in the morning instead of making his way to the clubhouse, but it didn’t mean it didn’t feel weird. wrong, almost. but he would go home and see austin and remember why he had done this. for him. 

alas, the club life could never truly escape easton. he was still such a good goddamn soldier and when he was asked for a favour, he could not turn it down. after all, if the reapers would be in his doubt until he chose to relieve them of that, how could he say no? they needed somebody killed and easton was the man to do it. it was just like being back with them, taking another life. god, he had missed the rush of it all. the exhilaration he felt as he watched the life leave somebody. why had he ever stopped doing this? wait, did he have to stop it? perhaps not. 

kinsley was born two years later, at thirty-three. the sweetest little girl that easton could ever have asked for and he adored her with each passing day. especially as he watched austin play with her, delicately as he could in fear he would break her. he now had two people who depended on him and needed him alive. for them. he had no other reason to stay alive and safe. if it weren’t for his children, he likely would have been gone from this earth long ago. 

rumour has it, for the right kind of money, easton can get rid of anybody anything causing you trouble. he can always be found at gotti’s autobody or the alibi room, if you’re brave enough to ask !

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

best friends / ride or die - easton is hardly the friends type of guy, but somebody who has always been by his side, regardless of his life choices and how much he tried to push them away.

customers - this could be either for his mechanic work or his ... other handy work. he typically isn’t very fussy and is hardly the type to make friends with the people who pay for his services, but he’ll check up on them from time to time if it’s been a while since he’s heard from them, maybe.

childhood friends - he grew up in stratford and he has always been a part of the reapers world, so anybody else having grown up as a reaper baby would likely be included in this, but ultimately anybody around his age he grew up with and pushed away when he joined the reapers and became fully integrated into the club life. (1/?)

hook ups / one night stands - he’s had plenty of these, who hasn’t ? 

friends with benefits - easton is hardly the type to categorise sex as fwb, but really, that’s what they are. 

reaper buds - easton spent his entire life around reapers and even now he’s left, he’s not exactly clear of them. he’s still friendly enough with the people he used to spend his time with and would have died for. so, really, maybe one that tries to talk him into coming back and some that still have his back. (plus the ones that ask him for favours when they might get turned down and want something or somebody sorted out quickly.) (1/?)

[eternallyyoungjustice]

Wherever the Winds Take You: Chapter 2

Author’s note:

Hey hey hey you beautiful people. Second chapter within the same month as the first, that’s a surprise.

So just so you all know, as per usual I’m super busy (school, work, extra-curriculars, social life, getting a semi-decent amount of sleep) however, as I’ve recently been loving this motivation train for writing this fic, I’m going to TRY to put a chapter out every 2 weeks. I would prefer to do more, but I only have a couple hours a day and I want to not only make each of these chapters good quality, but I also want to make them fairly long and I’m trying to edit them! So yea, bi-weekly seems like the best course of action. 

Anyways, enough with me. Thank you for reading WTWTY chapter 2, I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC, Young Justice and it’s places, stories, and characters all belong to DC Comics and the brilliant minds who created them.

Paris, France

April 16, 2008

2:46 CEST

The hospital was just like any other; blank white walls, the smell of disinfectant, the faint beeping of a heart monitor in the distance. Signs written in French were everywhere; showing directions, giving your regular everyday health registrations, maybe the occasional motivational poster. There was one area of the hospital however, that wasn't your typical everyday sight.

Standing by a window, looking in but trying to be stealthy about it, stood three adults. One, a dark-cloaked man whose cowl showed off two points shaped like bat-ears. Second, a woman with blonde hair wearing a leather jacket, a corset, and a pair of fishnet tights. Third, a male-humanoid robot with a bright red exterior, blue and gold cape, and a gold 'T’ shape on his chest. Had it not been nighttime, the three adults knew it wouldn't be safe for them where they were. But as it was nearly three in the morning, there was no danger for them in the hospital.

In the window in which they peeked, there was a young girl. Pale with freckles dusting her nose, big blue eyes, round cheeks, and long, light brown hair that fell in a messy, wavy, mess over her shoulders. She was awake, but extremely still. The only sign that she was even alive was the fact that she was sitting up on her own, her legs pulled up to her chest, and the tears that rolled down her cheeks. With her sat an older man in his mid-forties with greying brown hair, who sat in the chair beside the bed with his hand on the girl's back and a look of pained empathy on his face. There were also two boys, one older, and one younger than the girl.

The younger sat on the foot of the girl's bed, tears of his own flowing down as his hand lay on the girl's leg; and the older held a frown on his face as he leaned against the wall opposite the door, far away from the rest of the people.

“Are you sure this is the best time to do this?” The woman of the trio of adults asked. “She only just woke up and got the news.”

“The sooner we do, the better.” The cloaked man replied.

“She’s been through so much in just a few hours though.” The woman reasoned. “We could scare her off, or overwhelm her.”

“The emotions she feels now for what she's done are a good motivator to learn how to avoid it in the future. And the girl is on the spectrum, I have no doubt she's used to being overwhelmed.” The man in black countered.

Frustrated, the woman let out a deep sigh and rolled her eyes. She knew she ought to have been used to her co-worker’s coldness by now, but it still amazed her at times like this.

“What's your say Red?” The blonde asked, looking up at her robotic comrade. “This is all your call, not to mention your idea.”

The robot was silent for a moment, as if lost in thought, but then replied.

“Batman is correct.” The red robot answered. “Raw emotions act as human's main motivators, it would be the most logical conclusion to ask now while the events of today are fresh. However, it would be foolish to go in without any thought to her emotional state. We should act thoughtfully and with care.”

“Leave it to you two to act like this is some sort of battle plan.” The woman muttered under her breath, but then brushed some hair out of her face before walking towards the door, leading the trio into the room. The moment the three heroes walked into the hospital room, every single one of its inhabitants looked up at them.

“Madam Canary, Monsieurs Batman and…” The older man in the room greeted, addressing the heroes but falling short on the name of the robotic individual he did not know.

“So you’ve finally decided to stop creepily watching from outside like stalkers?” The oldest of the children asked, his shoulders being pushed back to appear bigger.

The two men's French accents were thick, but their English was still clear.

“Calvin, watch your manners.” The oldest of the family stated strictly to the boy before standing and addressing the three strangers. “I apologize for my son, he can be quite protective.”

“It’s no problem, Monsieur Leduc, we understand completely.” The blonde woman, Canary, said. “We...understand that this can’t be an easy time for any of you.”

“Markus is fine, Mademoiselle Canary.” The greying man said with a small smile. “And please don’t worry about us, we just appreciate the help you three have shown in this...incident.”

“Why are you still here?” The youngest of the boys asked, sitting so his body shielded the girl’s. “She’s awake and physically well, she hasn’t started another storm since she awoke.”

“Are you going to arrest her for something she had no control over?” The older boy asked. The girl’s body curled in tighter around itself. “If you try to take her away from us, you should know our lawyer’s on his way.”

“We’re not taking her away. But I’m glad you brought up control.” Canary explained, she turned to motion to her robotic coworker. “This is Red Tornado, another member of the Justice League.

I don’t believe any of you got the chance to officially meet during the debacle.”

“You’re...the one that flew with a tornado around your waist.” The girl spoke quietly. “You helped return the winds back to their normal paths after…” her voice fell away.

“Not a very creative name.” The oldest boy remarked.

“My name was given to me by my creator.” Red Tornado explained, before facing the small girl.

“But yes, I hold the ability to control the air around me. Much like yourself.”

“Except I can’t control the Winds.” The girl said, frowning. “They controlled me. I created a level 3 tornado while I was in a coma, completely unaware. Or at least...that’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“For now you may have no control over your abilities, but that’s why we’re here.” Canary said.

“Red Tornado, and the rest of us, have discussed the possibility of him taking Evangelina on as a protege.” The cloaked man, Batman, said bluntly.

“Protege?” The girl and her father asked in surprise.

“I would be willing to...take her under my wing, in a sense. I could teach her how to use her new-found abilities, train her to control and use them, make sure an accident of this nature doesn’t happen again.” Red Tornado explained.

“And I would be happy to help with the emotional aspect.” Black Canary added. “Powers are often strongly connected to emotions and mental states, and as my colleague...has some lack of experience with that aspect, it would be my pleasure to use my psychological background to assist in and way.”

“So you’d be brainwashing her into becoming another one of your ‘sidekicks’ like we see on the news? Put her in danger and make her fight your battles for you? She’s only 14!” The eldest brother protested, taking a step towards the heroes.

“Calvin.” Lina called, her voice quiet in nature but it cut through the room like a dagger. Her eyes were so full of confusion and grief that just by looking at them, her family automatically were flooded with a sense of guilt and empathy. It was probably because of this that the three men let the young girl speak out.

As she turned to the heroes, she scanned all three of them carefully. As if looking for something, but nobody knew for what.

“If I were to become your protege,” Lina started, “I would gain control over....all of this, right?

I wouldn’t ever...do that again?”

Canary saw her cloaked colleague shoot her a sly look and she felt a strong wave of annoyance at the man.

“That is the idea.” Red Tornado replied.

“From your report, you have a very different type of connection to, the Winds, as you called it.

But we’d certainly work on ensuring that you don’t lose control again.” Lina watched the robotic man carefully.

“You mean you’ll try to make sure I don’t end up creating a major natural disaster and end up causing hundreds of dollars in property damage, endangering the lives in the area, again.” Lina spoke with a strict tone, full of self-loathing.

“That is the idea.” Red Tornado repeated.

“You all should know that you won’t have to worry about the property damage.” Batman said, speaking for the first time since entering the room. “Wayne Enterprises has offered to take care of it.”

“The American company? Why?” Leo asked, frowning.

He never got a response.

“You should know, before we even consider this in any way-” Markus spoke up, “-my daughter, she...has some special needs…”

“Papa!” Lina’s head whipped around, her face growing pink.

“We’re already aware of your...learning disability.” Canary informed Lina, stepping closer to her.

At the term ‘disability’, the younger woman tensed and fidgeted with a strand of her hair. “But, fortunately, Wayne Enterprises has come through again.”

“What do you mean? Came through how?” Lina asked.

“Wayne Enterprises has been testing a new product in their health and medicine division.

It’s a type of autism medication that works to completely inhibit all symptoms and conditions for a few hours. It’s experimental, but completely tested and 100% safe.” Canary explained.

“You’ll have to talk about it with your doctors before you are even handed a dosage, and we don’t suggest using it until you’re well enough, but after you've gotten the 'okay’ you're going to have to speak with the head scientist about any side effects and limitations, but-””So not only are you trying to brainwash her into becoming one of your...child lackies, but you’re putting experimental chemicals filled with God knows what into her body?”

Calvin’s interjection was full of hostility as he stepped closer to the trio of heroes.

“We understand your concern, but we assure you-””Oh don’t give me that formal, robotic, bullsh-”

“I’ll do it.”

The whole room froze as, once again, Lina’s voice cut through the noise. She was looking at the heroes, her eyes dancing between Black Canary and the robot.

“You’ll...what?” Calvin guffawed.

Lina looked up, making direct eye contact. “You say you’ll teach me to control my...powers so this will never happen again? I’ll do it.” Lina explained. “I’m not too sure about this medicine, but I’ll consider it once I get an unbiased medical professional's opinion on it. But if you seriously think that you can teach me to control the Winds, well, I don’t really see a good alternative.”

“Lina, mon chou-”“It's my decision.” Lina said strictly, the pain in her eyes morphing into determination. Once a moment had passed, Markus sat back down.

After a quick beat, Red Tornado walked up over to Lina’s bed. Looking up at him, the French girl came to realize just how much bigger he was in comparison to herself. But then, the robot extended his hand. Smiling slightly, Lina took it and shook it firmly.

“I believe the proper statement to make here is 'Welcome aboard’.” Red Tornado said, and Lina could have sworn she heard a happy tone in his robotic voice.

Gotham City

April 16, 2008

16:00 EST

As Bruce Wayne sat at his desk, the desk that practically ruled over Gotham City, he let his mind wander. This was not an unusual occurrence for him, for either of his personas. Anyone who knew either the man in the suit, or the man in the cowl, knew that if Bruce Wayne ever got a far away look in his eye then he was already on a whole other planet. This however, didn't seem to stop the twelve year old boy in his office from chatting on in front of him.

“And then, ooh, and then the best part happens. The guy comes at me, all ‘oh you darn brat I'm going to kill you’ and firing at will, but he completely missed me! Stormtrooper-level missed me!

So once the guy's out of bullets, which takes like five seconds by the way, I-” the boy lets out a sound effect as he backflip-kicks and then lands perfectly back into a crouching position, “-the gun out of his hand and then-”he does another flip, this time going forwards, and then does a low spin-kick, “-knock him off his feet, just like you told me Bruce! Oh my god the face me made when he fell!”

The raven-haired boy looked over at the older man behind the desk, only to notice the far away look in his eyes and the slight frown on his face. The enthusiasm in the young boy leaks out as he realizes he's been talking to himself the whole time, before he stands up straight and fixes the tie of his school uniform.

“So...how'd that mission you went on last night go?” The boy asks, slowly stepping closer to Bruce. The man finally manages to snap out of his trance and focuses in on the twelve year old. “Freak tornado in Paris, right? You were out pretty late because of it.”

“Yes.” Bruce hums. “It went fine.”

After a long moment of silence, the boy's shoulders slag down as he realizes he's not going to get much more out of his guardian.

“I...think I'm going to go down to the cafeteria and get a snack, do you want anything?” The raven-haired boy asks as he begins to take a step towards the office door.

“Coffee please, black.” Bruce grunts.

“Black.” The boy chuckles. “What a surprise.” But just as he's about to leave through the door, it swings open. A tall man with slicked-back hair and a white lab coat steps in, carrying a small metal box with the famous 'W’ Wayne Enterprises insignia engraved on it.

“Oh, so sorry Mr. Grayson.” The man said, quickly standing to the side.

“No problem.” The boy shrugs, and motions for the man to pass him. The man nods and does so.

“Doctor Leon.” Bruce greets, standing up and walking around the desk. “I'm assuming this is the package I asked for?”

“Yes sir.” The doctor replied. “14 perfected doses of the newest updated serum.”

“Good, thank you very much.” Bruce replied, and lifted the lid off the box to reveal its content.

The syringes were small, sized for convenience, and full of a translucent blue liquid. As the boy strolled over, he looked high to take a peek at the box's contents. Bruce allowed this for only a moment before closing the box again.

“And you're sure this batch was the one that successfully went through human trials?” Bruce asked.

“Absolutely sir.” Leon nodded. “We just ran the last tests late last night so everything was already out and ready to be copied. Every single trial has proved to be a success thus far, which is why it was marked to be put on the market this time next year.”

“Yes…” Bruce hummed, looking down at the box. The far away look returned again, but this time only for a moment.

“Well, thank you again Doctor.”

“Not a problem at all Mr. Wayne.” Leon nodded, and then turned to walk out. “Have a good evening sir, Mr. Grayson.”

The moment the door shut behind Leon, the twelve year old sighed. “Being called 'Mr. Grayson’ is so...weird. I kind of wish people would just call me Dick, or even Richard.” The boy quickly turned his attention back to the box in Bruce's hands. “So, what's that? Who's it for?”

“Medical Treatment Serum 219, strand 9.4, version 8.” Bruce grunted. It only took Dick a moment before it clicked.

“The new autism inhibiting meds?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you need 14 doses of it?”

“It's not for me.” Bruce replied, placing the box on his desk. “And no, I'm not saying who it is for.

You'll meet them soon enough.”

Dick's eyes lit up and grew twice their size.

“I'll meet them soon enough? Oh come on! Now you have to tell me!”