#pillars of the world? GARBAGE

[lifesizejosuke]

reading anne bishop literally reaches inside my chest cavity and rrrrrips the feminism out of my body. like yeah i get why sjm plagiarizes her work so much lol

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

It's really funny writing a fantasy series because everyone else has maps that I will go absolutely batshit insane over because they're so gorgeous and detailed-

And this is my baby. Courtesy of Paint. Feast your eyes on my VERY DETAILED WIP map for my Seven Sanctuaries series:

[headspace-hotel]

Got to try out embroidery and weaving on a loom today and not only is it soooooo much fun but i got hit with powerful informations about what a strong pillar of human wisdom, artistry, and daily existence the making of textiles formed for most of history.

Clothes are so worthless and made mostly of polyester and nylon type material now. They are ill-fitting, shoddily made, meant to fall apart and become utterly useless rags within a few years.

Not only wasteful, but repulsive affront to the thoughtful and highly advanced craftsmanship of thousands of years of our past, the careful procurement and refining of natural dyes and fibers, the hundreds of hours of labor and skill absorbed into a cherished, sturdy, well-made and beautiful item.

The high advancement and sophisticated techniques have been sadly degraded because the artists were often women.

But! Imagine! Imagine! Imagine! Clothes made from sustainably harvested materials that come from the natural world around you, sturdy and meant to endure, fitted to your body exactly, dyed, decorated and made beautiful through the creative skill of a thoughtful artist, in small numbers in your wardrobe rather than having dozens of dirt-cheap, shoddily made clothes that will be garbage within 3 years

[shadesoflsk]

DRUNK WORDS ARE SOBER THOUGHTS

pairing: arthur morgan x fem reader

summary: arthur didn't believe he was worthy at all. however, you made it your duty to turn harsh words into self love.

warnings: reader is drunk, mentions of death, a bit suggestive at the end.

word count: 1.7k

Arthur was a man of few words. Blunt and straightforward statements were his way to go. He was well-spoken, don't get it wrong. But it seemed that his knowledge in words shone the brightest when a plethora of adjectives slipped from his lips at the sight of him in the mirror.

Staring back at him, was a madman. A garbage at most. Dull, horrible, and not worthy of a penny even though a bounty was placed on him.

However, life worked in mysterious ways when someone appeared in his life. He was no longer a cloud on a sunny day but a star in a clear sky. His eyes, at least for now, had a glint that has been lost ever since…—he doesn't know when or which was the ultimate instance in which happiness left his life.

You were a sight for sore eyes, a bandaid for a wound. A one and only in a world of forever ‘ifs.’ A constant where finite was the sole possibility. And lastly, a sweet fragrance mixed with the smell of gunpowder and death. 

However, he seldom thought about a calm life. He was not deserving of silence since it meant replaying his life through his eyes. Maybe that’s why his own mind was sabotaging his happiness. Life as an outlaw at least gave him a purpose, trying not to get killed left him with no time to dwell on his own low self-esteem. 

“You ugly bastard…” Sour as always but not less honest. In his mind, it was a payback. An attempt to not be in debt with life or whatever entity above him. He didn’t deserve a good life, so a few insults at himself would make things even.

Despite the harsh words he shared with himself, there was a chirping but endearing voice that told him otherwise. Ugly would be replaced by beautiful and old with young. 

But words weren’t enough if his shell was hard to crack. Therefore, the change had to come from him and not from a third person. 

"Arthur….” An intoxicated voice called him and brought him back to reality, to his reality. Both of you have shared some drinks that led to being somewhat drunk. Alcoholic beverages affected you a tad more than him, but that didn’t mean you were unconscious.

You were indeed very conscious.

“You know I love you, right?” And perhaps his own demons subtly pull him to believe your words are just drunk rambles. Lies mixed with a hint of just neediness and stupidity. No wonder, he doesn’t let you drink. Because he now has to deal with the slow poison of not being actually loved.

Damn you.

You share a cabin, you share a room and you definitely share days in which boredom was the pillar of your new life. A boredom not less welcomed but still so foreign to the rough man. But of course, in his messed up mind that didn’t mean you loved him.

“You’re drunk…”

His insecurities drowned out any joy he could feel. Dismissing your words was easier than accepting a reality he had never experienced.

Loving himself.

“I am drunk. You’re completely right sir.” The little show you were giving him was rather amusing. He had dealt with a drunk you many times before, but now it seemed there was a sense of purpose behind your actions. 

“But I’m simply telling the truth.” A waterfall of I love you’s escaped your lips. As if every one of them tried to make its way deeper into his system and plant a seed of self-worth.  

Clumsily, your body fell on top of him. However, you were conscious enough not to knock him towards the bed but rather straddle his lap. A poor attempt at caging him and stopping him from evading your words.

A faint of irritation coursed through Arthur as your voice rose slightly. But not at you but at his own incompetence of believing your words as beautiful as they sounded. Nonetheless, he was weak when feeling the warmth of your body embracing his. A reminder of you being alive and well next to him.

“Quit your rambling and sleep, you drunken fool lady.” His words may have sounded harsh but deep down, a tender tone hid behind his call out. Especially with how his hands protected you from falling. 

A smile formed on your face as you felt Arthur’s hands on your lower back. A few months ago, you had told him you felt safe with him, his reply was no more than a scoff but that moment wouldn’t leave his mind. And although he could only see the hands of a killer, he ought to protect you no matter what.

That was the least he could do.

“You may say that but…” Your hand caressed his stubbled cheek. “Drunk words are…” A hiccup escaped your lips. “Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

And they damn were. Even when alcohol wasn’t running through your veins as it does now. I love you’s were more common than greetings at this point.

“You ain’t makin’ any sense, woman.” He whispered, brushing back some hair that was sticking to your forehead.

“You don’t make any sense either, Arthur Morgan.” You replied, this time a bit more serious than all of your previous ‘yapping’.

He groans, knowing you were right. There were days in which his existence didn’t make any sense, at least for him. 

You knew that this simple talk wouldn’t do anything to the so-wounded Arthur. His heart has built an armor so strong that not even truthful words could destroy it. You shifted in his lap and slowly moved closer to him.

“Let’s do something else.” A glint appeared in your eyes as you came up with an idea to sort out the root of the problem.

However, Arthur completely misunderstood your intentions.

“I ain’t doin’ nothing with you. Look at the state you’re in.” He stated firmly. 

“You fool of a man. It ain’t nothing to do with that sort of thing.” You softly punched him in his chest, not really aiming to hurt him but rather reprimand him. 

“Just… hear me out, okay?” Your eyes locked with his blue-ish ones. Amidst the drunken state you were in, your intentions were as clear as if you were sober. “You’re gonna repeat after me, got it?”

“I don’t like this.” Arthur muttered, his nose scrunching up a bit.

You paid no mind, already getting your plan to work. “Listen closely.” 

A hint of curiosity flashed through his eyes as he couldn’t really make out what you wanted him to do. 

“I love you.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at your words. Words he had heard (and said) so much. But there was not a day he did not yearn to hear it from your lips. 

He couldn’t help but sigh, a facade to hide how much he was starting to let himself drown in the feeling.

“I love you.” He finally obliged, his eyes squinting when he saw you grinning.

“Oh honey… I know.” You cooed but your chuckles were obvious to a confused Arthur. You were light-heartedly teasing him.  “But you were supposed to change the ‘I’ for ‘You’ and the ‘you’ for ‘me,’ silly”

“That’s not what the word ‘repeat’ means.” His words are accompanied by his own self of teasing. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Shut up Arthur….” 

“A little demanding for someone who can’t even sit straight on my lap.” And finally, a feeble smile adorned his face. 

“Go on.” You frowned, already waiting to continue with the little game or experiment you were both taking part in.

“You love me?” He repeated questioningly, expecting some kind of correction on your part.

“Very much.” You emphasized, letting your words linger in the air for a bit before coming up with another phrase, another affirmation he had to repeat. “Now… ‘I’m worthy’.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, he hadn’t even said the word yet and it already felt so foreign to him. Worthy of what?

“Say what?” He feigned ignorance, knowing damn well what your little plan was. A playful smile was on his face.

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” You persisted, not allowing him to escape from the inevitable. “Repeat it.”

You gently held his face, your noses brushing in an endearing display of affection. And for a few seconds, both of you just stayed there, embracing the warmth of shared love and unspoken intimacy. 

Maybe he was indeed worthy. Worthy of having someone next to him every time he wakes up. Worthy of having a warm meal every day, and having someone he could so easily love.

Both of you are grinning like idiots, you were drunk on alcohol and he was in the love you were—or rather always provided. 

Reluctantly, slowly, and carefully. He thought about those two words and let them set in his brain before saying them. 

“I’m worthy.” He finally repeated… or confessed? His mind was still adamant to believe it. But acceptance is the first step for a change and you have taught him about the art of betterment.

A lump formed in his throat as he looked into your loving eyes. A feeling of purpose suddenly rushed back to him. After all these years, this was the first time he actually felt worthy. 

“So worthy…” A loving kiss was pressed against his lips. Your words were a silent prayer and the dim room was your sacred place. If God existed he surely did an amazing job forgiving him. 

Arthur’s eyes fluttered closed as your lips locked with his. He was no stranger to your affection but damn he would never say no to them. A strange sense of hope washed over him, maybe this was the beginning of a new era.

He had everything, it was time to enjoy it.

“So worthy…” He repeated even though he wasn’t mean to. Those were your words, but now he managed to sing them as if they were a song he was learning. 

And the phrase was repeated over and over that night. When your eyes got tired of being opened and when the alcohol finally took its toll on you. It was repeated when you finally fell asleep and he admired the face of his life partner. And it was repeated over the course of days, when he found his home inside of you, letting his body show how much he adored you.

Arthur was a man of few words. But now, his mental dictionary was completed and the insults were soon replaced with only words of affection.

Worthy of life and love.

[cipher-fresh]

Video essays about Superman that I like:

Satirizing Superman & Superman: Collateral Damage by Overly Sarcastic Productions

Superman Isn’t Jesus 1, 2 and 3 by Pillar of Garbage

World of Cardboard and Holy Cow. by Implicitly Pretentious (and a bunch of other videos on the channel!)

I Spent the Night with Superman and Superman is a Love Story by HiTop Films

Superman 1978 retrospective by Rowan J Coleman and retrospectives for movies after that

[littlebitofrue]

Just made a post on Twitter about this but I'll say it again on here. Spoilers for Mouthwashing incoming...

So I have a theory as to why Mega Rayquaza was chosen to be Jimmy's favorite. We all know Jimmy is a huge douchebag asshole piece of garbage (of course not to say everyone who has an OP pokemon as their favorite is as such. It's just given the context of the game that is one of the reasons.)

But how about diving into Rayquaza itself? Rayquaza was first introduced in the third generation of Pokémon in the games Ruby, Sapphire, and Emerald. Now, in Ruby and Sapphire, Rayquaza didn't do much they were just vibing. But in Emerald, they were given a bigger role.

We all know that Ray was the only one who could stop Groudon and Kyogre because of its Air Locke ability, which neutralizes the effects of weather, rendering Kyogre and Groudon powerless so they retreated back into hiding.

But for some reason, despite the whole of the Hoenn region experiencing the biggest 180 in climate change and impending disaster, Ray still had yet to arise from its slumber. Why?

It was never made clear in Emerald as to why we had to go to Sky Pillar ourselves. We were just told by the champion of the region to go there. No fanfare. But I think it's because of how we have proven ourselves worthy after beating both teams time and time again. Rayquaza could sense our drive to save the world. Pure and unadulterated feeling of justice and hardship radiating within us that awoken the green dragon. Moved by our passion and love for Pokémon and our home, it, too, was driven to stop the weather beasts once again.

Now onto our second story where Rayquaza plays a huge role: PMD Red and Blue Rescue team (DX too).

When the 1st part of the main story is beginning its climax, Xatu warns the Pokémon of Pokémon Square that a falling star, the true cause of their world's climate change, is heading towards them. This star could only be stopped by Rayquaza, who is name dropped for the first time in this game. Hyping them up to be a super secret and all powerful being that can only be confronted by a select few.

This one sentence alone shows how rare of an encounter this is. Rayquaza, protector of the skies, immediately attacks any and all who interact with them should they be deemed unnatural to their domain.

However, this was a special occasion. And certain Pokémon were deemed worthy by their peers to be the ones to be sent up to the skies. They have proven themselves time and time again that they're capable.

Only they could fix it.

Of course, those Pokémon were us, the player and our partner.

[Screenshots taken from Chuggaaconroy's playthrough of Rescue Team DX]

The player is made aware at the start that this is a suicide mission. But they made a vow to see it to the end, even at the cost of their life. Even though they were destined to leave the Pokémon world behind from the start. They still persisted.

And they did it. They defeated Rayquaza after proving they were worthy of its presence. Worthy of their help. Worthy.

Of course this brings me to the Delta episode in ORAS.

I have unfortunately used my limit of media to provide for this post so I will condense this part.

From the beginning of the game we are followed by a character named Zinnia who is the remaining descendant of her draconian family. They for centuries relied on Rayquaza for help and even have been able to harness its power. Zinnia however could not.

After a certain point we're at Sky Pillar together. She summons Rayquaza but could not awaken its full power. It isn't until it consumes the meteorite in our possession and decides to join our team that it awakened its full potential.

After being proven worthy we head to space to destroy the meteor.

"Okay, Rue. But what the hell does this have to do with Jimmy having Mega Rayquaza as his favorite?"

Simple.

Jimmy is someone who we can assume has NPD. He also has a huge ego.

Throughout the game Jimmy constantly remarks on how because he's in charge he's the one who needs to fix things. He's always trying to portray himself as a selfless hero to his coworkers when in reality, he's trying to cover up the fact that he tried to kill them all in a murder-suicide plot due to how he SA'd Anya. Who, by the way, is expecting his child who was to be due by the end of the voyage. He did not want to face the consequences. It didn't help having due to be fired after the voyage that resentment grew within him towards Curly.

So, behind Curly's back, he crashes the ship into an asteroid in hopes of killing everyone including himself on board.

It fails.

So he puts the blame on Curly, who couldn't even defend himself. Makes himself the Captain and tries to paint himself as the good guy with lies and manipulation. Making false promises to take responsibility and fix things.

Try to be the hero.

Perhaps Jimmy resonates with Rayquaza in a sense that he wants to be it? Like how he "became" Curly, in a sense. He took charge. Even faced a meteor.

Or he simply wanted to feel like he was worthy of it given his bloated ego? He felt like he could make it mega evolve as in pokemon lore, a pokemon can't mega evolve unless its trainer possessed the power to do so. Jimmy felt like he was powerful in his delusional high. He truly thought he could harness the power of a god. But in reality, he could never hope to even get a glimpse of the mythical creature. All he can do is dream.

Anyway that's my theory brought to you by my overthinking ass.

Do you guys think there's something with Anya having an ice type as her favorite? Not thinking about Glaceon just in general? Y'know...being that ice is quad effective against a dragon and flying type like Rayquaza?

But like I said I overthink. Don't take me seriously. (Seriously please I'm fragile)

[blindmagdalena]

a prayer in perfect piety (homelander x plus-size reader)

originally written as this prompt here. 18+. 5.2k, f!reader, body image, smut. see AO3 Link for detailed tags.

Homelander invites you, his girlfriend, to your first public event as a couple. He's over the moon to show you off to the world, dressed to the nines and utterly smitten with one another. At some point, he loses track of you in the crowd. Confused, he goes looking for you, only to find you crying your eyes out in a bathroom on an entirely different floor. Someone hurt you, and he's going to put them in their place.

Tonight's gala is a significant one. Not only does Homelander have about a dozen deals to grease with a firm handshake and some oily promises, it's your first time attending one of these events at his side.

He couldn't be prouder.

You took his breath away in your formal wear; a sight to behold that had him clapping his delight. "You're gonna knock them dead," he whispered in your ear, savoring the flustered, breathy way you laughed. Strange now that when he looks for you, Homelander doesn't see you on the event floor. You had gone to get drinks while he spoke with this senator—who has officially lost any and all of his interest in the wake of your disappearance—but you've been gone too long. Like an itch at the back of his neck, something doesn't feel right.

"Ah, apologies, senator, I seem to have misplaced my date," he says, flashing his best award winning smile. "Gimme a minute to find her. Make sure she hasn't gotten herself into any trouble," he says, throwing in a wink for good measure. His pleasant expression falls off as soon as his back is turned to the boring little man. When Homelander doesn't find you on the event floor, he steps out. He listens for you, filtering out the music, the chatter, the noise of the world. He seeks what is familiar to him, what he would know from a meter or a mile away, and what he hears puts a lump of ice into his gut. You're crying . Homelander moves swiftly down the hall, finding the women's bathroom in a heartbeat. You've gone far from the  event floor, bypassing the nearer bathroom to use one further away. You're hiding, he realizes, but he can't fathom what from. He moves faster, imagining that you're hurt, that someone has you, that— "Babe?!" Homelander calls sharply, slamming open the door. He doesn't mean to scare you, but he can see in your expression that he did. Your eyes are wide and red, tears trailing black mascara down your cheeks. You stand with your hand lingering on the bathroom sink, and as the shock fades, your expression falters. He's never seen you look so... sad. It twists in him like a hot knife, the discomfort he feels at it turning immediately into rage. Anger comes quickly and easily to him. His voice is low when he demands, "Tell me what happened." "It's nothing," you try to dismiss, picking up the tissues you dropped on the floor to toss them into the garbage. "I just got overwhelmed at the party." "You're crying in a bathroom a floor down from the event, it is categorically not nothing," he argues, taking hold of your arms once he's near enough. He pulls you into him, lifting a hand to cup the side of your face. Thanks to plenty of experience with makeup in film and television, he knows better than to smear the blackened tears on your cheeks, though the impulse to wipe them away is there. "C'mon. Tell me." You lean into him as you always do. He is a pillar, just as you have been for him. He can't stand seeing you like this. "I don't belong here. I don't... talk, or dress, or look like these people. They're all..." You lift your hands, gesturing vaguely. Your voice sounds hoarse. He can't bear the sadness in it. "Perfect." "You have to be kidding me," Homelander says, his disbelief genuine. "The gaggle of sycophants and suits back there? They're insipid. Boring as all hell. I can't even tolerate being in the same room as them without you anymore," he says, huffing a laugh in an attempt to ease your mood. Anything to bring back your smile. "Seriously, what brought this on? You've never given a shit about all that pomp before." Your gaze drops. He knows you're hiding something from him. "Hey, c'mon," he coos, using the knuckle of his index finger to tilt your chin back up. "Tell me, and I will make it better." One way or another. With visible reluctance, you take a breath. "I... went to get a drink, like I said," you begin, fidgeting with the zipper on his glove. "When a group of people kind of cornered me at the bar. They seemed nice at first, they were asking questions about me, about us, which I know you said to expect, but then..."

Your eyes prickle, he can see fresh tears well up as you speak. Homelander slips a hand to your back, rubbing it, his brow furrowed. Sounds like someone's going to die. "One of them commented on my dress, she said that... Vought must not be used to dressing women my size," you say, voice falling quieter with every word. New tears fall. Homelander's jaw tenses. He looks away from you, blinking back that familiar crimson burn.

"They all started laughing, and I just wanted to disappear," you say, a tight little sob escaping your throat as Homelander pulls you in against his chest, rubbing your back. "I'm sorry I didn't-"

"No," Homelander interrupts, his anger making the word sound harsher than he intended. "No," he says again, correcting himself to be gentler. This rage isn't for you, after all. "No apologies. Let's get you cleaned up, alright? Get back out there."

Someone is definitely going to die.

You tense up, pushing back from his arms to look up at him. "Please, I'd really like to just go home."

"We will," he assures you, smoothing his hands up and down your arms. "Soon. I want you to show me the group who spoke to you."

"I don't want to cause a scene," you plead, flattening your hands to his chest. "They're not worth it."

"No, they're not. But you are," he says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. He holds you firm until he feels you begin to melt, yielding to the warmth of him. “Let me make this better.”

By the time he draws back, you look sufficiently pliant. "Okay," you say quietly. He bites back a predatory smirk. "Nothing too dramatic, please?" You plea, leveling him with an attempt at a firm look, despite your big watery eyes. He’s never been less intimidated in his life, and never more endeared.

"Me? Dramatic?" He asks, feigning outrage.

"I mean it," you stress, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

There it is, Homelander thinks. There is not a single heinous thing he would not do to see you smile. "Relax," he purrs. "I'll handle this."

When the two of you return to the event floor, it only takes you a moment to point out the offending group. With an arm wrapped securely around your waist, Homelander brazenly guides you to them. He feels you squeeze his hand  anxiously, but he isn't the least bit deterred. "Heyyy, what's up!" Homelander greets boisterously, bulldozing into their conversation with the friendliest of tone. Only you are wise enough to recognize the venom dripping from the corners of his mouth. His canines glint sharply in the light, eager for a bloody meal. The air is strange, a mixture of drunken excitement and surprised nervousness. It's not every day Homelander himself steps into your conversation. A few of them look at you before they exchange  glances, but clearly enough alcohol has been imbibed that they're feeling brave. They don't see the danger they're in.

Homelander runs his tongue along his teeth. Clueless fucking idiots."Homelander, oh my god! I was hoping to run into you," one of the women announces. He can smell the liquor on her breath when she leans in, putting a bold hand on his arm opposite to the one he holds you with. "I'm such a fan, you have no idea. I've seen every one of your movies," she says, flushed giddy. "Always great to meet such a dedicated fan," he says, lying through his teeth. A glance through the material of her bag gives him exactly what he needs; her Vought security badge. She works in communications. "Kathleen, right? In Communications," he says, pointing a finger at her, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he's just now recalling this information.

"Oh, I-wow, yes! I can't believe you know who I am," she says, glancing back at her companions. "I try to know everyone I work with," he lies smoothly, subtly shrugging her hand off of his shoulder, placing his hand on his hip. Not all of them work for Vought, but all of them have their ID on them. A quick flit of his super powered vision between them is all it takes for him to know each and every one of their names. Homelander cocks his head to the side, giving her a once over. Her dress is richly patterned, a myriad of black, white and red. The belt bears a familiar double C logo.

“Wow, Kathleen, look at you. Chanel, huh? Oh, wait…,” he stops himself, leaning forward to take a better look at the details of the dress. He clicks his tongue, standing straight. “Nooope, I misspoke. Chanel doesn’t bleed. Not a bad knock-off, though,” he says with a brief downturn of his lips, shrugging. Immediately, all eyes fall on Kathleen. There are a couple of stifled giggles and some childish oohh's . The man to her left, seeming eager to play along with Homelander’s little game of Mean Girls, readily chimes in, “Busted.” “I’d be quiet if I were you, Chuck,” Homelander says, rounding on the man so sharply, his laughter falls immediately silent. The shock on his face is understandable. He doesn't work for Vought. Homelander has no right to know his name.  “I can smell the red paint on the bottom of those misshapen Johnston & Murphy’s you’re trying to pass off as Louis Vuitton. Now that’s embarrassing.” This time, no one’s laughing. There’s no mirth left in Homelander’s voice, and they've all finally realized it. His gaze is drifting from one potential prey to the next, his mouth set in an unyielding line. He lifts his brows, waiting for them to continue their jeering. “What? No one has anything to say to that? How about you, Jason?” He asks, startling one of the other men. “Why don’t we talk about those fucking ugly veneers of yours? I mean, god damn . I’ve never seen a more square smile in my life. It’s like staring at white slatwall every time you open your mouth.” Homelander begins to laugh. The sound of it is thorned, vicious to behold. “Aww, c’mon, don’t be so fucking sensitive . You wanted to have a laugh at my girl, right? Let’s laugh, then,” he says, lifting a gloved hand to snap his fingers impatiently, demanding, “Laugh!” Like a bark from an obedient dog, a single man amidst the group forces a stilted laugh.

Homelander hones in on him with the precision of a heat seeking missile, dropping his hand. Deadpan, he asks, “Something funny, Jim?”

Jim audibly gulps. “Y-you said-”

"Y'see, that's your problem. You're all just a bunch of fucking sheep, so desperate to be seen as somebody, you end up being no one at all. If you put half the effort you put into kissing ass into a personality, you might be a fraction as interesting as she is," he says, gesturing to you with the hand he doesn't have holding you close. "But instead you prop yourselves up on all this..." Homelander spins his hand loosely through the air before sighing, "Bullshit. It's boring. You're all so fucking boring and miserable with yourselves. You reek of it," he says, lip twitching in a near snarl. "Go. Get the fuck out of my tower,” he rumbles, voice set low. “All of you. Before I throw you off the balcony myself.” There's a pregnant pause before Homelander snaps, "Now!" Like roaches, all of them scatter. Homelander watches them with a sneer. He would have preferred literally tearing them apart, but it's neither the time nor the place.

"Holy shit," you whisper.

Homelander hums quietly, turning to look down at you. Before he can say a word, you grab hold of the back of his neck and kiss him senseless. He grins against your lips, turning to pull you properly into his arms. His ego swells immediately, the kiss speaking volumes. You're pleased. Pleased with him. He greedily soaks up the feeling of your body against his, lips moving against yours, eager to chase away the salty smell of your tears with something a little more salacious.

The two of you break apart before the kiss becomes any more scandalous than it already is, the buzz of the crowd around you dulled by the fervency pulsing between your bodies. "That was... the hottest thing anyone has ever done for me," you whisper, your heart beating heavily in your chest. "Hottest thing so far ,” he says, smiling wolfishly. He gives your plush hips a squeeze, licking his lips. ”Because this dress on your body has been driving me wild . All. Night. Long," he says, punctuating each word with a kiss. “And I cannot wait to tear it off you.” You bite your lip, inhaling a sharp, flustered little breath. "Can we get out of here yet?"

"You're damn right we can," he says, kissing you again.

Homelander slips away from the venue without an ounce of fanfare, half because you’re so eager to be home, and half because he knows Stan Edgar will be pissed that he took off without shaking the hand of every single political figure the man wants a finger in the pie of.

Fuck Stan Edgar, and especially fuck every one of the brownnosing nobodies invited to that sycophantic cesspit.

The only person in the world he cares about right now is you. ~~~ He wasn’t kidding about the dress. The second he has you back in his room, he’s pushing it off your shoulders, trailing kisses from your neck to your chest. He drags the fabric down until it’s pooling around your waist. You gasp so sweetly in his ear when he snaps your bra apart in a single tug, leaving your upper half bare. 

Your breasts hang heavy and flawless, soft in his gloved hands as he fondles them. “Love your tits,” he says, sucking your nipple into his mouth, coaxing it with his tongue until it’s hard, and you’re squirming in his arms, panting and pulling at his hair. He comes off of it with a wet pop. He cups your ass in both hands, grinds against your thigh so that you can feel how hard he is. “You’re so fucking soft. Wanna fuck ‘em, wanna fuck your tits.”

Those idiots at the gala had no goddamn clue what they were talking about. They were jealous of you, jealous knowing that it wouldn’t be any of their sorry asses he was going to worship inside and out tonight. They wanted to be you, or they wanted to be him, and they were stained an ugly green in their envy. He should have punched their hearts clean out of their chests for making you feel anything less than perfect. 

You–the divine creature you are–nod your assent, breathless and flushed. You’re staring up at him with reverence that runs deeper than the insipid glee he sees in the hoards of livestock he tends to every day: the American populace. You aren’t just awestruck by him, you love him. He wants to devour you for it.

“Okay,” you say, eager and sweet. He lets you take a step back from him. “Do it. I want you to.”

Homelander watches you drop down onto the bed, intently tracks every bounce of your body. He steps towards you, and takes in the sight of you while you work on unbuckling his pants. He touches your hair, cups your cheek. He likes the way your skin looks against the crimson of his gloves, wants to see you stripped down bare and ruined by your hero, your god. Tipping his head back, he stares up at the mirrored ceiling above his bed, lets out a soft groan at the sight of you both.

The suit is carved into the shape of an adonis, rippling muscles that jut and curve. It creates the illusion of the body people expect from a man who can bend steel with his bare hands. It’s everything he should be. He sucks in a sharp breath when you free his cock, but he stops you when you go to push his pants down, grabbing hold of your wrists. “Not yet. Leave ‘em,” he says, distracting you by bringing your hands to your chest. 

“Hold ‘em up for me, alright? That’s it, there you go, just like that,” he says, licking his lips. He takes hold of his cock, and takes a step closer, nudging the leaking head of it under your breasts. There’s not enough slip to be comfortable for either of you, so he leans over to the bedside table and pops open the drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. With a brief flash from his laser vision, he warms the bottle.

“Lean your head back,” he says, and you do. You look like a work of art, your breasts heavy in your hands, spilling between your fingers where you’re holding them up, pressed together nice and tight. He drizzles the warm lube all across your chest, watches with perverse hunger as it rolls down the slopes of your body. Admittedly, he goes a little overboard, taken in by the image it paints.

“Too much,” you say, but he gives the bottle an additional cheeky little squeeze anyways.

“Can’t help it,” he says, tossing the bottle back into the drawer. “Y’look like a goddamn porn star.”

He can feel the heat of your flush. Somehow, you look demure, even as you sit naked from the waist up, holding your breasts for him to fuck. “Will you fuck me like one?” You ask, and Christ, he feels your words like punches to the gut.

“Is that what you want?” He puts his hands on yours, and slips his cock between your slick breasts, rocking his hips slowly. They feel unreal, enveloping him, impossibly supple and warm. “Want me to fuck you like the whole world’s watching?”

Your blush deepens, crawls all the way down from your cheeks to your chest, where he can feel the heat of it all around his cock. Holding his gaze, you nod, too flustered to respond verbally, which only drives him wilder.

All the while, he can smell your building arousal. The wetter you get, the more his head spins, focusing on the nuances of it: the damp smell of those pretty silky panties he bought you, the way you’re subtly rocking your hips like he won’t notice, seeking any friction at all to feed your own mounting desire.

He’ll have to resist ripping those panties off you. He wants to keep them as a trophy. The smooth slip of your breasts is sweeter than words, but as he thrusts faster, he aches for more. More tension, more friction, more everything. Homelander groans roughly, and pushes you down onto the bed sharply enough that you yelp, falling back harmlessly onto the plush bedding. He wastes no time in tearing the dress from your body, to which you make a noise of protest.

“But–you got that for me, I-” “I’ll get you another,” he dismisses. “I’ll get you ten of them, twenty. You’ll have everything. You understand me?” He drags his hands down your sides, hooks his fingers on the hips of your panties to slide them off. Those? Those he tucks into his pocket. “You’ll have everything.” He dips his hand between your legs, gloves slick with residual lube, and rubs your wet entrance with the leather clad tip of his middle finger. He pushes it in deep.

“I already do,” you gasp, reaching for him. He leans over you, lets you take hold of his hair, his cheek, obliges you when you pull him in to kiss. His hunger is barely contained, leaving him in sharp little nips to your bottom lip, and the ravenous press of his tongue into your mouth. He slips another finger into you, crooks them wickedly as he rocks them in and out, turning your voice thin and breathy. “You are everything to me.”

“Keep talking,” Homelander tells you, drawing out of your hold. He kneels at the edge of the bed and hikes your legs up over his shoulders, mindful of his pauldrons. He never stops pumping his fingers, keeps his pace steady while he leans in and sucks your clit between his lips. You jerk up, but you’re powerless against his hold. 

“You’re so good to me,” you breathe, tangling your fingers in his hair. He’s never fingered you with his gloves on before, but you’re certainly not complaining. You’re moving with him now, pushing into every thrust, moaning. “You’re so beautiful. O-oh, god, I could watch you forever.” Homelander’s gaze flickers up. He realizes you’re not looking at him, but at the mirror above you. He smirks, nuzzling in against you, enjoying that you’re watching him ruin you. You used to hide from that mirror, stay under the covers as much as you could. Now look at you, splayed out beneath it, enraptured by the vision of him swallowing you down. He preens with your words, shakes his head against you. Drags his tongue through the wet mess and fucks you deeper, firmer. He keeps going until your litany of praise and prayer falls off into sharp gasps and wordless euphoria.

He can taste your orgasm when it hits, smell it in the chemistry of your body. Your clit throbs wildly against his tongue, and he sucks it greedily. He doesn’t stop until you’re nearly sobbing from whe overwhelm of sensation, pushing him back with frail, exquisitely delicate efforts. He could hold you down if he wanted to, it would be easy to wring another bursting climax from you, but he relents.

This time.

 Standing up, Homelander drags his gloved hand over his mouth, wiping away the majority of the mess. He unzips both gloves, and tosses them to the side. He wants to feel what he’s about to do next.

You look heavenly, sprawled out loose-limbed and spent, but there is such fire in your eyes when he meets your gaze. “I didn’t forget,” you say, to which he quirks a brow. “Like a pornstar,” you remind him, and he grins.

Effortlessly, Homelander flips you onto your stomach. He loves the way you giggle when he manhandles you, moving you as though you weigh nothing at all. To him, you don’t. You’re light as a feather, and he uses that to his every advantage. He lifts you up onto your knees, brings you right to the edge of the bed, and presses in close behind you. He grabs two helping handfuls of your ass, kneads it while he grinds his cock along the line of it. He gives an appreciative little slap.

You moan, resting your head atop your folded arms. Despite your release, there is neediness etched into your every movement: the anticipation in how you spread your legs, impatiently rocking back into his hands, your nails clawing at the bedding. He’s more aware of your body than you ever will be. He drags it out a while longer, finds your clit with the head of his cock and grinds against it. 

“Stop teasing me,” you whine, trying to push back against him, but he holds you easily in place. He licks his lips, his own cock achingly hard. “Tell me then, sweetheart,” he says, his voice reduced to a low rasp. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you say without hesitation, twisting your grip in the bedding.

“Specifics,” he pushes, his ego nearly as demanding as his cock.

“Put your cock inside me and pound me until your name is the only one I know,” you say, voice wrung tight and impatient. “Please, please, I want you in me. I need to feel you. You make me feel so good , please–”

Fuck, your voice drives him insane. He’s maddened by the eagerness with which you appeal to him, the sincerity in it even when he’s edging you, toying with you, riling you up to see if you’ll crack, to see if you’ll lose this perfect sweetness in the way you profess your love and your need, but you never do. He aches for it, he never wants to stop digging it out of you.

Your string of adulation is cut short when he finally lines himself up and pulls you back onto his cock, wringing a keening moan from you, a noise of relief and pleasure and agony all at once. He’s only barely breached you with the head of his cock. It isn’t nearly enough to satisfy you. You want more. You want all of him. You want to be fucked by Homelander’s fat cock.

Tipping his head back, he stares up at himself, dressed still in red, white and blue while you’re stripped naked, wearing worship and vulnerability more beautifully than he’s ever seen it. He grabs hold of your hips and steadies you, sinks you back onto his cock in one smooth pull. You make a noise that goes straight to the heat at the core of him, feeding it like kindling to the flames.

“Look at you,” he moans, watching both of your reflections. He alternates between the curves of your body, and meeting his own eye. “So fucking perfect .”

Sliding his hands up your sides, he drops his head to kiss a trail up your spine. He cups your breasts, fondles your nipples with his thumbs. They feel so much better in his bare hands, soft and still slightly slick. He gives a shuddering moan and picks up a steady pace, kneading them against your chest while he starts to fuck you in earnest. 

You asked him to make you forget everything but his name. That’s exactly his intent as he pounds into you. Holding you steady against the sharp slap of his hips, he’s moving so relentlessly that you can’t get in enough air to string together any of those pretty words. He doesn’t care anymore, the gasps and half-sobs of pleasure each thrust knocks out of you are music to his ears. He’s already walking the wire’s edge, so hard and sensitive that it almost hurts. Dropping one hand from your chest, he takes those slick fingers and presses the middle to your clit, cradling your belly against his arm, sinking again and again into the sweet, wet softness of you, wanting only to ever be closer, deeper. He moans when the contact makes your pussy tighten up. He barely has to move his finger when he’s fucking you fast and hard enough to jostle you against it. You come again, and this time, you pull him over the edge with you.

Homelander slams in deep, practically growling against you as load after load spills into you in wet pumps. He comes so hard his vision tunnels for a split second. It takes him a full minute to recover, to feel as though his soul has tethered itself back to his body.

Carefully, suspecting you will be tender, he withdraws from you, gentle in the way he helps you sink back down onto the bed. He lets out a long, slow exhale. Christ.

While he had expected you to immediately melt into a pile of goo on the bed, you surprise him by sitting up, adjusting until you’re sitting in front of him. He begins to usher you back, get you comfortable down on the pillows, but as weak and lovely as you are, you refuse it. “Let me undress you now,” you say, unbuttoning the lapel of his suit top. Reflexively, he stops you, hand exceedingly delicate on your wrist.

“Yeah,” he says, still coming down from the high. With it, those complicated feelings from earlier come bubbling back to the surface. “Yeah, in a minute. Lay down.”

Still, you do not.

“You love my body so well,” you say, tone supplicating. He nearly flinches, a part of him hating that you know him well enough to know to speak so tenderly in this moment. “Let me love yours, too. Please.”

Disarmed, Homelander slowly drops his hands to his sides. With a kind smile, you unfasten his top, working it off of his shoulders until it falls to the ground. Up on your knees, you rest your hands on his shoulders, and he begins his hands to your waist. He watches the top of your head as you kiss the center of his chest, then the left side, then the right. You pepper these saccharine touches all over his torso, murmuring sweet nothings against his skin all the while.

Eventually, without his permission, his vision begins to blur. He blinks it back stubbornly, caught off guard by the sudden threat of tears. Why is this happening? He’s happy.

You work his pants off as well, sweeping your hands down his slender thighs. They’re nothing like the carved musculature of his suit. He pets your hair, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck as you kiss your way back up to his chest. Your hands glide down his shoulders, his arms, and you squeeze. He flexes subconsciously, though it does little to make up for the bulk missing from his suit. His heart falls into his stomach when you meet his gaze, and he sees your expression falter.

“I’m fine,” he says reflexively.

“I know,” you say, ever so persistently gentle. “I love you so much. Every part of you–” you say, tracing your hands down his sides, to the sharp jut of his hips. “–is so unbelievably beautiful. Sometimes I can’t believe that it’s mine,” you say wistfully, leaning in to kiss his throat, his jaw.

Closing his eyes, Homelander wraps his arms around you, cradling your head in the crook of his neck. “I love you,” he echoes, voice little more than a low rasp. You coax him under the blankets with you, your body a relief to sink in against. You wrap your arms around his waist, and he tucks your head in under his chin, your legs easily tangling together. There is an ease in the way your bodies slot against one another, as if they were always meant to.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“What for?” He asks, absently stroking your hair.

“Everything. For defending me. For loving me. For seeing me. Just… For all of it. Thank you,” you say, squeezing him as tight as you can. Somehow, despite the disparity in your strength, it’s the most securely held he’s ever felt.

Homelander is rendered speechless by it. He squeezes you in turn, nuzzling in against the top of your head. He feels warm and heavy all over, lost to the steady beat of your heart. Your heart, this precious, bleeding thing that you’ve given him so wholly and freely. He would think it foolish if he was not so painfully aware that you, too, hold his heart in your hands. It is a mangled, ugly thing, battered and discolored from years of misuse, but it is yours nonetheless.

Now more than ever, he thinks that it’s never been safer.

[passivenovember]

wait until you taste me

--

Max says the dumbest shit in the world. 

Billy forces himself, tooth and nail, to give the grace he never got to touch with his own two hands. She’s a teenager. She’s dumb and her nature is rose-colored. Heart-shaped fillers slipped covertly in that delicate space behind a splash of blue.

Her head is filled with hot air. Good intentions. Speckled with delusions that are charming when she’s not so reckless, and.

Billy doesn’t want to smash her hopes on ground in front of her.

Life will, eventually. 

Life always does, but. Billy figures he could try and be the storm wall that protects her garden of wonder.

He gets over that real quick when she can’t do the same in return.

When she bats her eyelashes and says, “I’m glad you and Steve are friends, now,” at Sunday dinner the week before Spring Break.

In front of everyone.

Billy thinks her head is the size of the Hindenburg. She’s full of helium and she’s flying too close to the sun.

Neil tucks a wad of flavorless peas into his mouth. “Who’s Steve?” He asks.

And immediately, Billy’s walls shoot like salt pillars from the ground. 

He weighs his options. What would happen if he got up from this table and ran? If he tucked Steve Harrington and his name and his reputation and his memory into a plastic bag and disappeared.

Billy’s got delusions of his own. 

He’s full of quilted daydreams, stitched from every moment Steve has ever looked, smiled, laughed at one of Billy’s jokes. The thread is golden, the color of every late-night promise  to drive Billy across county lines. 

Billy’s delusions are plushy-soft comfort he’s not ready to bring out of the closet.

So he takes a sip of water. “Steve,” Billy says. “He’s. Steve Harrington.”

Neil leans forward. “Harrington?”

“Yes sir,” Billy wills his voice not to crack. 

He’s reluctant to spoil this part of his exile. To call the hounds in, bloodthirsty, to trample and tear the thing he’s clutching like a spot of gold to his chest. He digs his heel into Max’s foot under the table and wishes he wasn’t in his Saturday lounge-around clothes. He yearns for his boots, to break a bone. Eye for an eye, to somehow cancel the marrow that’ll splinter in his face when Neil finds out the truth.

“Good family,” Neil says. Every syllable lands like crystalized hail. They clink and roll and clatter all around the dining room. “Might be a good influence.”

“He is good,” Max says happily. She kicks back. It stings. “Billy and him–”

“He and Billy,” Susan chimes, and Billy thinks how ironic that Susan would choose now to become a real person when she’s usually set dressing. 

Reanimation, just to fire a canon and contribute to the sinking of Billy’s battleship. 

Billy dabs his mouth with a wadded-up paper towel. “May I be excused?”

Neil’s eyes snap to, and for a single, terrifying moment, Billy thinks he remembers. Carlos. The Pier. California. He wasn’t too drunk, he wasn’t irate, he remembers–

But Neil. He nods, brows knitted with faux worry. “Everything alright, son?”

He only lives up to Billy’s expectation of him when it’s deserved. When Billy’s done something besides breathe, one inhale after the next. 

“Just tired,” Billy says. Wonders what would happen if he ran.

–

Max says the dumbest shit in the world. 

She’s a chick. She’s a girl with an attitude the size of Missouri and a tongue that can pierce the skin, and that’s where their similarities end, careening over the mouth of a cliff into nothingness.

Billy learns early on that if he wants any peace at all he’d better tune her out just short of plugging his ears with cotton and bloody fingertips and dynamite, so when the wailing reaches a fever pitch he can blow his head off and float far away from here. 

Sometimes, though, Max’s scowl will clear and it’s like the Oracle is speaking through her.

You know, this garbage disposal noise you call music actually rocks. Or, I’ve been thinking about piercing one of my ears. It looks cool on you, I guess. And, when Billy needs to hear it most, your dad’s such an asshole. 

She’s a wrecking-ball with no awareness of her swing.

And when she speaks, it’s not the same as I understand. 

It’s not, I look at Neil, I see the way he wishes you were dead and I get it, now. Why you’ve always got a lit match in your palm, ready to burn the world to the ground. 

When Billy least expects it, Max’s words are daybreak. Filled with light so blinding Billy's a bug under a microscope, slowly catching fire. 

Two days before spring, Max slams out of her bedroom while Billy’s working on his bench press.

He hardly notices.

He’s floating, a little. Like a balloon. He’s listening to the new Tears for Fears album because Steve’s obsessed with it, and he’s pretty when he’s excited, and Billy’s a sucker for the plush, wide-lipped smiles that drip like gold from Steve’s face. “They’re good, Bills. They’re like if Halloween and Valentine's day had a baby.”

Billy’s stuck in a ground-hog day memory of the way Steve’s hair flopped into his eyes when he promised, “They’re like us.”

And. 

Billy’s not paying attention. He’s at least twenty shoulder-presses in, he’s smiling, he doesn’t really notice when Max’s heavy, sock-feet steps don’t carry on through the living room, and that’s his first mistake.

Before Billy knows what’s happening, Max looms over him.

He feels, like the distant brush of a spiderweb on his back, Max glaring. Searching his face. 

But Billy’s a ship lost in a sea of brown eyes.

He almost can’t find it within himself to be pissed that he can smell the peanut butter on her breath, almost, but then Max says, “You know Steve wants to kiss you, right?” 

And Billy sits up so fast that he almost knocks himself out on the barbell. 

“Woah, you’re bleeding,” Max steadies him, brows pinched with concern. “Are you–”

“You can’t say shit like that.” 

“I’m just pointing out the obvious.” 

Immediately, something warm starts to trickle over the right side of his face. “Shit,” He says, at the same time Max howls, “Oh, god, you’re bleeding–”

“What the fuck did you think would happen?” Billy tries not to move his head too much. He grips the edge of the bench until the leather splits like canyons until he’s sure the pads of his fingers will separate, too. 

“I’m sorry,” Max babbles, “I didn’t mean to–”

The house is silent. 

Beyond the throbbing in his skull and past the strangled, nervous way Max is breathing while she waits for him to strangle her to death, there’s nothing. 

All of Hawkins might as well be gone. Deleted from the page like a bad line of poetry. Billy wonders what would happen if the drapes parted from the window. Would anything stare back at him? Streets and mailboxes and cloud-covered skies. Would the black cosmos would press hard against the glass, would their refuge of plaster and slate would crumble under the weight of the universe–

“They’re not home,” Max says. Every space monster to his roost.

Billy nods, wincing at the pain that fries and curdles behind his right eyebrow. 

Max steadies him. “Shit, do you need some ice?”

“Don’t need ice, I need a rag,” Billy says, “And a beer.”

“You don’t need a beer.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m serious,” Max tells him, arms crossed. “If you have a concussion the last thing you want to do is get drunk–”

“I’m not gonna get drunk off one beer, shitstain.”

“Billy.”

“Max,” Billy snarls, working to push his voice fifteen octaves higher until they sound exactly the same. 

Max lopes furiously down the hall, returning a second later with crisp, beaded PBR in one hand and a wet rag in the other. Billy dabs his brow with the scratchy fabric, knowing Neil will reem him later for getting blood all over Susan’s good cloth. 

Billy can’t think about that, now. 

He reaches for the PBR and Max tugs it out of reach.

“Max–”

“I’m just. In biology, we’ve been reading about fetal alcohol syndrome.”

Billy feels like he got pushed in front of a train and whacked his temple on a railroad spike. “I’m not a fetus.”

“No, but our bodies are still developing,” Max says, like Billy’s an idiot. He’s thick and dumb and ridiculous for not paying attention in eighth-grade science class and knowing that the legal drinking age is twenty-one for a reason.

Billy doesn’t give a damn about that. “You made me split my brow, dipshit.”

“That’s not really my fault,” Max bargains. “I was just saying that Steve–”

Billy yanks the beer from Max’s hands. “Shut up,” He insists, nails burrowing under the pop-top, but just as Billy’s about to crack the seal and give himself over to the only thing in the world that would soothe his agony, Max is on him. 

“I’m worried about your brain,” She says, just short of tackling him off the bench, and.

Well.

She hollers. When she’s keeping secrets. When she’s trying to get her way. And Billy squints his eyes, ready to reiterate she has nothing to worry her stupid redhead over and it’s not really her place to worry about him, anyhow–

“You might have a concussion.”

“And you might have a death wish.”

“What’s it taste like, anyway,” Max wonders. “If it’s so good. It looks like root beer.”

“It tastes like piss.”

“Why do you drink it so mu–” When Billy glares, sharper than a new glade, Max bristles like a porcupine, “Look, I’m sorry I scared you–”

“You didn’t scare me,” Billy snaps. Spiders scare him, locked jaws and missed curfews and slashed tires scare him. Not little red-headed stepsisters who can’t mind their fucking business. 

Billy wants to throw the PBR at her.

Steve scares him. Steve–

Billy presses the can to his eyebrow, instead, hissing through his teeth at the feeling. 

Max’s shoulders drop, “Thanks for not drinking it,” She mutters, and it’s so sincere, so steeped in the sisterly worry Neil’s always preaching about, that Billy can’t swallow the question that bubbles up his throat like strawberry perfume. 

He has to know, “Why do you think Steve wants–”

“Whenever he watches you talk he always gets that look on his face.”

“What face?”

Max’s sneakers sing on the hardwood, dragging like nails against the chalkboard in Billy’s mind that’s been scrubbed clean and scribbled with Steve’s name, over and over and over again. “The blank one. You know, like when boys are about to kiss you and every thought flies out of their head like–” 

“How do you know what that face looks like,” Billy demands, stomach turning over on itself when her freckles burn away in shades of red. 

“Lucas–”

“God, that’s sick.”

“Don’t be an asshole. Just because Steve’s a loser and you’re a raging dickhole with a face only a mother could love–”

Billy winces, his molars grinding. It has nothing to do with the pain. Nothing to do with split brows and annoying sisters. “You’re one to talk, I can’t even look at you without wanting to Ralph.”

Max rolls her eyes. Deflates. “Sorry,” She says, soft and small, and.

She’s eyeing the PBR. Neil would kill Billy if he ever found out, but.

Billy cracks the beer and hands it to her. “Get lost before my head stops swimming.”

–

Steve’s fridge has the warmest light Billy’s ever seen, but maybe Billy’s just high. 

The glow cuts him from marble. He’s the work of artists long dead, the picture of beauty. Billy sways against the kitchen sink, feeling very much like he could fall asleep to the soft harmony of ketchup bottles and pickle jars making a grab for the fairytale prince.

It’s Friday. Just before spring break. They’re staring down a two-week barrel of nothing but lazy mornings and hazy midnights and each other. 

Miles and miles of nothing but this.

Billy’s excited. He could live forever in this moment, and the thought bubbles laughter out of him, surprised and happy. 

Steve looks at him, startled out of thought. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

Steve smirks, and. His nose is perfect in the refrigerator light. Billy never noticed before. He re-shelves a jar of olives, the fancy cheese-stuffed kind, and tugs a hand through his hair. “What are you even hungry for?” 

“Whatever you want,” Billy chews on his thumbnail, stomach churning. 

“Nothing sounds good. I don’t think I’ve got food in here, anyway.”

Billy watches him open a bag of sliced cheese. Is so warm and content he could fall asleep next to the bread box. “What do you call that?”

“Not food.”

“It’s food.”

“It’s ingredients, that’s not the same thing,” Steve pulls a slice from the bag, folding it a million times until it splits evenly down the middle. 

“It’s food, Harrington, it’s a whole meal,” Billy smiles in spite of himself when Steve nibbles on one half and holds the other, grinning, out in front of him. “No, I’m not–”

“Don’t even try it, Hargrove, I know you get the munchies when you’re stoned,” Steve wiggles the cheese at him, eyes big and brown and as expectant as they are beautiful, so.

Billy pops the cheese slice and eats it without tasting anything. 

Steve watches him, unblinking, “Well, what do you think?”

“It’s cheese.”

“Yeah, but you’re not full, right? Because there’s only more of that if we stay here.”

“Where else would we go?” Billy frowns, not getting it. The cheese is better than the single-packaged shit Susan gets from Melvalds. It’s smoky, and aged, and Billy could polish the whole bag if he wasn’t worried about the cheese farts. 

Steve fiddles with the corner of the bag, avoiding Billy’s eyes, “We could go out–”

“Close the fridge. You’re letting all the cool air out and now our dinner is gonna spoil.”

“Our dinner is not a bag of cheese,” Steve grumbles, but he hip-checks the door, collapsing onto his elbows in front of the paper towel dispenser. He tugs at his hair until it looks like it hurts, until his sprouting laugh lines disappear, and Billy hates it.

He wants them back.

He swims through the fog, trying to think of something funny to make Steve smile, but Harrington’s already pushing away from the counter, frown deep-set. “Why don’t you ever wanna eat anything when you’re here?” He demands.

And Billy can’t say that it’s the fault of his kid sister. That her insane, paranoid ramblings about love and blank expressions have gotten under his skin, and now everything Steve does feels like the start of something else.

Billy can’t admit that he wants it to be something else, so. “I eat popcorn sometimes.”

“I’m not talking about snacks, I mean real food,” Steve says. He studies Billy’s face, “Do you get your energy through photosynthesis or something?”

Billy laughs, loud and sudden. “No, I just–”

“I could cook for you.” Billy almost brains it on the spotlessly tiled floor because Steve’s eyes get bigger, somehow. Sparkling with earnestness. Steve shuffles, hands on his hips. “I want to cook for you,” He says, like it means something else entirely.

And whatever it is. Billy can’t handle that. 

He bristles, says, “I don’t feel comfortable eating anything that costs more than the house Max and I live in,” Hoping it’ll sink the lifeline Steve’s trying to throw him.

“It’s just organic shopping,” Steve shoots back.

Which. “Huh?”

“It’s got like, less sugar. And preservatives, or something,” Steve shrugs, tongue darting pink and swift across his cupid’s bow. “My mom does the shopping when she’s home.”

Billy frowns. “Well, I’m not eating half of your mom’s paycheck. What will you eat?”

“You know, making dinner for you means I’ll get some, too,” Steve says. A smile tugs lazily at the corners of his perfect, clever mouth, and Billy is swallowed by anticipation. 

There’s nothing he loves more in the entire world, probably, than seeing the subtle birth of each smile. The way Steve paints them on as if he were writing secret letters addressed to Billy, slipping them between the folds of conversation so Billy is surprised whenever they unfurl and bloom like tulips in the springtime. 

Steve’s eyes hunt over his face, “You’re sure you’re not a plant? A sunflower?” Steve asks. He scoots close, fingers reaching to tilt Billy’s head toward the kitchen light, “Look like one to me,” He says, and.

Out of nowhere, his face goes carefully blank. His eyes land somewhere and stick, like the spindly legs of a fly to trapping paper.

Steve is watching Billy’s mouth.

He’s leaning forward, he’s–

Somewhere, in the back of Billy’s mind, Maxine bangs on a door labeled No Admittance, hollering about the way boys look when they want to kiss you.

It scares Billy, how much he wants it.

How much it would kill him if it never happens. 

“I’m not a fucking plant,” Billy says, shrugging away. He stares wildly around the kitchen, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. “This kitchen is disgusting.”

Steve watches him, quietly amused as Billy pretends to find something on the counter to scrub. 

Billy works a damp paper towel over every inch of the counter, putting an island between them so Steve doesn’t have the chance to swoop close. Get his hands on Billy’s face. 

Those fingertips would send sparks flying.

Billy would char and burn and bubble over, so.

Steve watches him for a quiet moment and Billy avoids his eyes, terrified of what he’ll find when he has to stop scrubbing the counter. “What are you doing?”

Eventually, the marble will come away on the paper towel. “Cleaning,” Billy says. “If we’re going to eat a bag of cheese in here, it’s gotta be spotless.”

“Wanna go to Benny’s?” Steve asks.

Billy stares at him, then, stomach growling on command. 

Steve’s answering smile is brighter than the harvest sun. Billy could sprout into fields of marigolds, he could be picked and kept forever in a vase on the fireplace mantle. “I don’t want you to feel like you’ve gotta clean up after me,” Steve tells him.

Guilt, sharp and swift, pangs in Billy’s stomach. He wants to insist that it’s no bother. That he’s used to cleaning up after Max and sweeping away the delicate bits of himself that clatter to the ground. And even if there were fruit punch stains all over the marble, the remnants of Steve living everyday in this house, Billy wouldn’t mind cleaning up after him.

Billy wouldn’t mind taking care of him.

Steve shuffles around the island, smile sheepish and cute. “C’mon, we can have pancakes.”

“I want chicken strips.”

“Alright.”

“And a double chocolate rootbeer float with ranch–”

“For your ice cream?” Steve teases, “That’s disgusting.”

“For my fries, asshole,” Billy shoves him playfully, “Do you want to feed me dinner or not?”

Steve rocks away and lands closer, cheeks red like strawberry ice cream, “I want to do a lot of things for you,” He admits quietly, and.

That face is back again. 

Billy wants to pull away, but he’s caught. Steve catches him, hook and line, says, “Billy–”

And Steve kisses like he’s never done it before, but has always wanted to try. Like he’s been waiting his whole life and every one before that for Billy. For this moment. High spring nights and empty stomachs and yearning, soft as fresh soil.

His fingers thread into the curls at the base of Billy’s skull.

Their knees bump together, Billy grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders to stop from falling back against the trash can.

The kiss opens up.

Gets sloppy and good and Billy could live here forever. His lips could swell and melt into Steve’s and it would be perfect.

Steve pulls away, but he stays close. Their lips brush on every desperate breath. “Sorry my kitchen is disusting,” He says.

Billy can’t think straight. “I’ll clean it for you.”

“Let’s stay in,” Steve says. He kisses Billy’s jaw and both eyelids, licking slowing into his mouth.

Billy throws the paper towel in the garbage can.

For the first time in his life, he’s full.

--

For an anonymous donor! I hope you enjoyed this drabble :)

[manicplank]

can we have hc on witnessing a robbery, burglary, assault etc

Witnessing a crime

Peppino: Uh oh... Someone's trying to rob that guy over there! He runs over in Mach 3 and body slams the robber! The guy tries to thank him and reward him with cash, but Peppino turns it down. Doing a good deed is all he needs in payment. He goes home with a smug smirk on his face. Is that robber gonna be ok? Probably not. Oh well! So shines a good deed in a weary world.

Gustavo: Oh no! Someone's robbing the convenience store! Let's go, Brick! They bust through the door and chase the robbers out! It's hard not to run from a giant rat! The owner is thankful. They did break the door, though... He offers to pay, but the owner of the store is simply grateful that he no longer has a gun to his head. Okay, then! He oats Brick on the head. "Well done, buddy! Now let's go home and watch a movie. Maybe we can stop somewhere and get you a treat!"

Mr. Stick: Two people are fist fighting! He runs over and blends into the crowd. He's got 50 bucks on that guy! Who's in the bet? He ends up losing the bet. Wait... The guy who won, is that... The Noise?! Hey, wait, no, don't leave! Mr. Stick has a bone to pick with you!

Pepperman: Someone is vandalizing that wall with graffiti! Here comes Pepperman to save the day! Ok, so what you want to do is use less of the red and more of the blue, it gives it a more realistic touch. You're doing great! Okay, now try using some of the purple next to the blue. [sirens] SHIT, IT'S THE COPS! RUN!!!

The Vigilante: A gang of ne'erdowells is robbing the Pig City Bank! Thankfully, The Vigilante is here to save the day! He kicks open the doors, which takes out the watchmen. His gun clicks as he points at the thieves. There's three of them but only one of him. He pulls the trigger and slams the hammer back so he can fire again and again. All three criminals are taken down! Hooray for The Vigilante!!! The Pig City Police arrive to take the criminals to jail.

The Noise: He's in a fight with someone. They're probably fighting over something stupid. His nose is bleeding, but the other guy is black and blue all over. One more punch to the jaw, and the other dude is knocked out! The crowd around them cheers. Noise! Noise! Noise! He runs out of there before the cops arrive! The other guy can't seem to remember what happened, and The Noise never gets caught.

Noisette: Oh gosh! Someone's assaulting that poor old lady! Noisette runs over in a panic, flailing her arms. "HELP! HELP! THERE'S A BOMB STRAPPED TO MY CHEST (sobs) OH MY GOD, SOMEONE HELP!" The robber scatters off, but so does the old lady. However, the robber was unsuccessful. She wipes off her shoulders. She learned that trick from The Noise. It works every time!

Fake Peppino: A gang of bad shrimp try to break into Bruno's despite the signs on the door. He hears the boards being broken... Intruders! He walks over in his usual form to see the gang, and they laugh at him. "What're you gonna do, weirdo?" They brandish their knives. Suddenly, Fakey warps into a giant, horrific deity. He wails demonically and charges at them. They run out screaming, but Fakey manages to grab one. He throws him in his mouth and chews him up. Mm, yummy! Wait, come back, you guys are tasty!

Pizzaface: A gang of bad pigs try to break into the fourth floor. Not on his watch! He slams face down and squashes them like flies. Well, that was easy. "Hey, Faker! I've got some ham for ya!"

Pizzahead: Someone broke into Pizzaboy's PizzPizza, and they're avoiding all the alarms, so the bots aren't engaged. They're trying to loot the place. Hell no! He rushes down there and sneaks up on the guy. He gets behind them and stabs their neck repeatedly with a Pizzaboy Official Merch Knife! Available today at your local Pizzamart! (Not suitable for children under 3.) Another body to feed to the garbage disposal- er, I mean, Fakey.

Pillar John: Someone broke into the tower. Hmmm... If he can knock himself over, he can activate Pizza Time, which will alarm Pizzaface. How would he do that, though? Maybe if he, URG! Twists and, EGH, wiggles enough he can- (THUD!) IT'S PIZZA TIME! Whoo, that was tough, but he did the right thing.

Gerome: Several times have gang members tried to rob him in The Pig City. He tries to explain to them that he's broke and doesn't necessarily get paid. They don't care. Little do they know, he has a mop, and he knows how to weaponize it! Slam! He hits one of them in the face with the wet side of the mop, and they're knocked out. "Now... Who wants some?!" The rest of the gang runs away, leaving their buddy behind.

This one was fun to write.

[maddys-nerd-blog]

Hello again!!

Things have been… not so great lately, but I’m slowly picking myself up again, and writing my silly AU has been a great comfort! I’m actually happy with this one!!

For context, this is how the second story to the trilogy ends— after Fugitoid sacrifices himself and after the death of Zeno, Grace is captured by Baron Draxum and he makes his move to harness the power of the dimensional portals, at the risk of using Grace as a battery.

WARNING! Katie swears A TON in this one, just be aware 🤣🤣 also A LOT OF ANGST AND WHUMP. AND this is a pretty long read 🤣

Hope you enjoy!!! 😁

Familia: Through Space and Time

“You should have reconsidered my offer when you had the chance… human.” Draxum’s hand extended towards her, bringing forth more vines that shook the ground beneath their feet. Before anyone could truly react to this unexpected turnaround Katie’s eyes snapped back up towards the empty chamber pods, lacking occupants for their sinister purpose.

Her heart dropped into her stomach upon putting the pieces together.

“DON’T TOUCH MY KIDS, YOU B—“ Katie was struck from behind by a tendril, launching her through the air as if she were a baseball. She barely had the chance to use the prosthetic arm to take the brunt of her crash landing into the nearby pillar.

“MOM!” Mondo shouted in alarm, going to rush to her aid, darts drawn into his fingers. But the gecko never had the chance to reach her as the floor split under his feet to widen significantly to create a massive gap between them, separating him from the detective entirely. “NO!” He went to attempt the leap but Raph grabbed his arm, holding him back and preventing him from what would have been a swift plunge to his untimely demise. “Mom, jump! We gotta go!”

“Run…!” Katie slurred, pushing herself up to stand on unsteady feet. “Jason, run!”

“Not without you!” Mondo cried.

“You have to!” Katie pleaded— she could feel her arm crack under the shoulder blade, the balljoint of her elbow pivoting to click back into place from being dislodged. “You gotta go home! The crystal will shatter if you don’t get a move on now! Forget about me and restart your life! Get out of here!”

Mondo’s eyes widened, orbs turning glossy. His hands clenched the darts tighter, trembling fists unwilling to relax, looking ready to break. “Not without you,” he croaked.

“You gotta,” Katie begged. Tears pricked her gaze. “Jason. Mijo. Please… think of me as a bad memory. I only brought pain into your life. Find your own path. Show the world how great you are. Live your life and be happy for me.” A grin filled with remorse took root, her resolve falling apart. “Do what I couldn’t, and prove them wrong.”

Mondo shook his head pleadingly. He repeated in a hoarse voice, “Not without you.”

“Oh, how touching,” Draxum crooned, a malicious chuckle shaking his shoulders. “Family loyalty. You’re too predictable!” With a flick of his hand more vines rose around him, thick tendrils of violet swarming within the gap that kept Katie from her boys. “I thought you wanted to go back home to see your dear friends?”

Mondo teeth his grit, incensed. Turning to face the yōkai he drew himself to stand straight, readying his darts in his hands to throw them. For one so small the fierce expression he wore now spoke volumes to how far he’d come. “I’m not leaving without my mom,” he snarled.

Draxum, relishing the way the poor boy’s hands began to quake subtlety in silent terror, merely scoffed. “She isn’t even your real mother! You’d really lay yourself down for this,” he motioned to Katie as if she were garbage. “Human?!”

“She’s more of a mom to me than my actual mom was!” Mondo shot back furiously. “And if any bozo thinks he can push my family around,” he pointed a dart at Draxum threateningly. “You got another thing coming!”

Katie’s mouth dropped open, words lost to her. Her hand started shaking, the useless robotic limb hanging at her side twitching as it fought to regain function. It was as though she were staring through a mirror; three years ago where she’d been put in a similarly defenseless position, cornered, outmanned, only for the equally unprepared Mondo to step in, so much smaller than he was now, brandishing a broken skateboard as his means of defense… he’d nearly been beaten to a pulp that night.

But the gecko wasn’t thirteen anymore. He had grown. He’d learned. He’d fought hard. And here he stood— unafraid and refusing to cower before this behemoth of a yōkai even if it meant certain death.

Pride bloomed within her chest, but alongside it a clawing panic set in. She stared at him with teary eyes, unable to help from afar, knowing if he so chose Draxum could easily rip her boy apart without an ounce of remorse.

“Oh?” The mad scientist hummed in bemusement. “You, a mere leopard gecko, are going to stand up to me?”

“Not just him,” Raph’s gruff voice broke through against the strain, stepping beside the shorter of the group with his sai drawn, twirling them in his hands before taking a defensive stance. Brown eyes were razor sharp, his canines bared as though he were going to bite back. “Yer gonna have t’ go through me too.”

“What am I, chopped turtle?” Drawing his twin katana, Leo proudly took a spot at Raph’s side, blades glinting brilliantly in the light, electric blue magic dancing up and down his fingertips. “I wanna take a swing at this guy. I’ve been dying to get some payback.”

Draxum frowned with disapproval. “I thought you feared me?”

“Here’s the thing, Drax-Dumbass,” Leo’s eyes flashed dangerously with hatred. “I’m not scared of you anymore.”

“Neither am I!” Donnie fired back, pushing his glasses further up his snout. “You may be bigger and stronger than us, but you’re just like Cynthia and Superfly! You’re a bully who punches down on people who can’t fight back!”

“And nothing scares Casey Jones!” The vigilante added with a cocky smirk, grabbing his hockey stick and pointing it at the taller being standing before them. “I’ve fought alien dinosaurs, bro! What do you got that makes you so special?”

Draxum— eerily— shook his head, a thin set of lips crawling upwards to curve into this strange, sinister smirk that held hidden intent. Tilting his head towards the teens he raised one hand, fingers curled. “This.”

Snap.

The ground tumbled violently below their feet; without a word of warning thicker, bulkier vines exploded out of the ground to swarm the five. Katie’s heart stopped as they grew in size, swiping the kids off their feet in mere moments to catch them by surprise. Gravity took hold of the vigilantes for a few seconds before the vines ensnared their limbs, tearing weapons from struggling hands, choking the thin throats of their captives momentarily as they were all thrown into a newly formed cage made of the same grotesque vines.

“BOYS!” Katie screamed. Arm be damned she unclipped her pistol from her holster and started racing forward, gun raised, her adrenaline pounding so hard and heavy she could hear her frantic heartbeat. Her fury overthrew the fear as she fired a few shots, the sounds piercing her eardrums. “PUT MY KIDS DOWN YOU MOTHERF—“

SHINK!

Katie’s body lurched backward. A powerful force seized her by the throat. Something got her prosthetic, and suddenly the right side of her body was ripped into an awkward angle.

The titanium screeched. Metal scraped on top of metal. The wires snapped and blood sprayed. She went flying.

All Katie could see in that instant was violet. Red. White.

WHAM! Her back struck the wall with a telltale crackling of her spine— her arm was suddenly holding up all her body weight, keeping her from outright fainting and buckling. The arm ceased to function.

Katie’s hearing went spotty— bits and pieces of her boys screaming, someone throwing death threats. The room tilted on its axis, making her nauseated. There was a creaking groan next to her ear as the tension in her shoulder tightened around the muscle tissue it had been fused with. The skin began to tear.

It only took a minute for her to realize that Draxum had skewered her arm into the wall, pinning her in place as though she were a butterfly within a display case. The robotic appendage fizzled and short circuited, three bolts missing from her wrist, some panels torn wide open to expose the sensitive wiring to the elements, her ring finger missing.

Fuck…

“Not so bold without your toy to help you,” Draxum lowered himself to the ground as if he were a godly entity; higher than thou, wickedly elegant in his body mannerisms. “Humans are so quick to use petty weapons in a last ditch effort to prevent the inevitable.”

The cage rattled with a violent clang as Raph began to wail on the bars, throwing his entire body weight against its walls, shaking it from floor to ceiling. “STEP AWAY FROM OUR MA, YA CREEP!”

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” Donnie shook the bars in his hands to pry them apart, unfortunately he was too weak to attempt such a powerful feat, straining his arms, groaning under the pressure he put them through.

Casey and Leo were ramming and beating the walls with a fiery vengeance; neither one of them would be able to break their prison apart, but they fought like hellfire to escape. “Pick on someone your own size!” The punk cried out.

“Case, he IS Katie’s size.” Leo bluntly retorted through gritted teeth, throwing his shoulder into the bars.

“NOT helping, dude!”

No one fought harder than Mondo. The shorter of the bunch scaled the bars and ceiling, punching and kicking, slashing with short nails at the veins in an effort to do damage. When that failed he leapt from one side to the next, clawing and biting, screaming in such a tone that left Katie astounded to hear such anger coming from such a small creature. “GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY MOTHER YOU OVERGROWN SACK OF GARBAGE!”

Despite their cries Draxum pretended they weren’t there. He approached Katie, slow and methodical, a creepy aura to his frame. “And here I thought you would fight harder than this to try and get my mutagen. Or the formula.” He snatched her by the chin and yanked her head up to meet the eyes of the psychotic scientist. “Are you really this worthless, or am I catching you on a bad day?”

“Fuck yourself, you cuck!” Katie spat blood in his face, writhing against him. “You’re a cheater! You don’t fight fair! Why don’t you take me down and I’ll show you how New Yorkers deal with bastards who try and fuck with this city!”

The yōkai madman shook his head, unmoved by the fury that claimed the woman, swiping the crimson off of his cheek with a claw. “And just how do you intend to stop me now? You don’t seem to understand the gravity of your situation!”

“I understand it plenty.” Katie ripped her face out of his hand, leveling a deadly glare at the man. “And I’ll do anything it takes to get my kids back home… even if I gotta sell my soul to the Devil himself.”

“You’re so sure of that.”

“I am.”

“Do you fear losing your chance at seeing your loved ones?”

“I don’t give a damn! The portals to my dimension were broken! I know I’m not going back!”

“What would you do if I broke the portals that would allow your dear ‘sons’ to go home?”

That threat caught deep in her chest, her heart stopping. Her face twisted into a blank stare of rage, fire burning in her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“I could. It will be so easy! One little swing of my vines and they’ll be destroyed.”

Katie’s body tremored, furious, breaths heaving through bared teeth. “You wouldn’t dare you ugly fuck.”

“Oh, but I COULD.” Draxum’s voice dipped deep into malice. “I’d relish in watching your mutants despair over losing their loved ones.” He sank his claws into her cheeks, punching through skin to draw droplets of blood. “And it would be glorious.”

“So you’re a sicko who likes watching people suffer? Make kids cry? Turning children into orphans?” Katie hissed. “You’re a pathetic piece of shit.”

“No. I’m a scientist. And my observations over you and your family is… telling.”

“AND you’re a stalker? Woooooow, you ARE unhinged!”

“You’re a classic case of depression. An alcoholic waste who hides behind a badge in the face of her constant failures. And your sons? They’re all mistakes! Take a gander at your ‘children’!” He dramatically gestured to her trapped sons with a flourish of his arm. “A mentally unstable hothead with an unstoppable temper, who can’t protect anyone even though he’s the most capable fighter! A weakling human who pretends he’s Robin Hood but in reality he’s compensating for the fact he’s nothing but a burden! A four eyed imbecile that needs to be protected because he knows he’s not special! My own creation; a traitor to my cause, a waste of valuable mutagen, a narcissist with a bigger ego than his father who doesn’t pay him the time of day, so he thinks comedy will allow him to stand out and be unique! And the gecko? He’s the worst of them! He can’t fight! Can’t battle! Can’t match up to his comrades in terms of dexterity, strength, speed or intellect! An unwanted runaway whose own parents threw him out because they knew their child would amount to nothing, even after he was mutated! Face it, ‘Officer’; you’ve collected a family of worthless vermin!”

CRACK!

For a brief moment there was a rush of movement.

Draxum yelled in astonishment. The wall holding Katie groaned. There was a sickly tearing noise before it stopped.

The yōkai staggered back, looking back at the woman, realizing he’d been unmasked. And he stared down at the human woman with bewilderment, noticing she’d almost torn her prosthetic arm off just to take a swing at him.

The shoulder’s balljoint popped halfway out of Katie’s socket. Katie’s body surged partially against the vines staking her limb to the wall, her one free hand slashing her fingernails across Draxum’s face hard enough to rip his mask off, the accessory clattering to the ground. Draxum blinked, a hand coming to touch his face— she’d actually cut the bridge of his nose and the bottom of his cheek.

Katie’s face was painted with bloodlust and murder. “DON’T TALK ABOUT MY KIDS LIKE THAT, YOU DEPLORABLE FUCKING CUNT!” She bellowed. If someone didn’t know any better they’d think she was half dragon— she looked as if she were breathing flames, ready to burn him alive for the sickening words that came from him. Red in the face she continued, “YOU DON’T KNOW A DAMN THING ABOUT MY KIDS! MY LIFE! OR ME! YEAH I FUCK UP A LOT, BUT AT LEAST I’M WOMAN ENOUGH TO ADMIT IT! YOU THINK THAT JUST CUZ YOU’RE A YŌKAI THAT IMMEDIATELY PUTS YOU ON A HIGHER PEDESTAL THAN THE REST OF US, BUT IN REALITY YOU’RE STILL PISSY THAT THE GUY YOU KIDNAPPED WON’T HELP YOU MAKE MORE KILLING MACHINES! DON’T GO MOCKING MY BOYS WHEN YOU’RE TOO MUCH OF A PANSY BITCH TO MAKE COMMENTS, YOU DUMB FUCK!”

In the cage the boy’s went dead silent with shock, jaws hitting the floor. “Whooooooa,” Casey and Leo awed.

“Did Mom just—“

“She totally tore him a new one.”

“Holy SHIT, I didn’t think she could swear so much.”

“SILENCE!” Draxum finally exclaimed. He conjured a vine from the earth, pointed end aimed right for her jugular, leaning in close for his breath to brush against her skin. Katie nearly retched. “I should slaughter you all right now, but I have use of you. Where did you put the Goro Crystal?!”

So that’s what this is about, Katie thought. “Like I would tell you.”

“Tell me or I will spear your esophagus!”

“Guess you’ll have to kill me, cuz I’m not saying shit.”

The tip of the vine gingerly pressed against her throat. Overhead the boys started creating more of an urgent ruckus, crashing and clanging the cage. “Tell me. Or you’ll experience a new kind of pain that you’ve never suffered.”

Katie’s death-like glare held firm. She wasn’t bending.

Draxum remained there, hovering, the vine perched and ready to strike if she so much as blinked. His fingers twisted— it pushed deeper, this time drawing blood, but not far enough to puncture the skin all the way. She was unfazed.

“Go ahead.” She challenged. “My boys will be safe if you never get that crystal.”

Draxum’s eyes flickered. It was as if he remembered something.

And an insidious expression crossed his face. Stepping back, the vine at her throat fell limp at her feet. The yōkai swiped his mask from the floor, straightening his posture as he put it back on. “Oh, wait!” He said. “I nearly forgot! We have a guest!”

Drawing his arm outward, one of his violet plant growths slithered towards him, toting the boys’ weapons. Deft fingers plucked one of Leo’s katana from the pile and he slashed at the air, creating a portal that sparked and whizzed with potent mystic energy. Tossing the sword aside he stuck an arm inside, latching on to something as he dragged it out into the open for all to see—

…

Katie’s heart exploded in her chest.

“DANNY!”

Draxum hauled the rat yōkai out of wherever he’d stashed him, hoisting him aloft by the back of his collar like a scolded dog. He looked like hell; patches of fur stained in dark red spots from where slashes had been inflicted. He had a black right eye, swollen halfway shut. His nose was gushing with blood. His mostly-black attire was in tatters and shredded, stained in dirt and grime. His feet were scraped and gashed at the heels— as if he’d been dragged across concrete. He was bound in vines, trussed up like a worm on a hook struggling just as fiercely. Danny’s arms were pinned against his chest, wrists ensnared just beneath his chin. His snout was covered with a thicker vine to muzzle him— but it didn’t stop the hustler from screaming muffled obscenities, wriggling and fighting like a madman.

But their eyes met through the initial crazed confusion. His voice grew louder, his struggles turning violent, almost rabid, as he screamed out what Katie could vaguely translate under the gag as ‘You fucking swine.’

“I found this,” Draxum snatched Danny by the face, claws squishing his cheeks, tilting his head towards her to force him to meet Katie’s gaze. “Vermin, trying to dismantle my mutation chambers. He nearly ignited the dynamite to set my research in flames! I guess the old saying is true— cornered mice are so much easier to trap.”

“YOU FUCK—“ Katie started wailing on her arm, smashing a fist into the severing wires and broken bits and chunks of metal intertwined with the wall, desperate to break free. Skin around her fingers and knuckles spliced from the exposed tears in the replacement appendage. “GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OF HIM!”

“Why should I?” Draxum scoffed, jerking Danny’s head forward to better get a grasp on his face. “He’s nothing but a criminal! I’ve seen his wanted posters. I know that his former employer will be eager to tear her fangs into him for making a fool out of her,” he smirked. “Or better yet, why waste his potential when I could transform him into a superior yōkai?”

“NO!” Katie cried, growing increasingly erratic. “YOU CAN’T!”

“I can,” Draxum snatched Danny by his hair, moving his head up and down to make the rat ‘nod.’ “See? Even the rodent is enthused!”

Katie fought harder to pry herself free— the prosthetic still stubbornly clung to her body like a leech draining her veins of blood. “I’LL RIP YOUR FUCKIN FACE OFF, YOU EVIL WRETCH—!”

“Or better yet!” Draxum let Danny’s hair go— without a second glance he swept his hand over his shoulder that sent his vines flying, taking Danny with them as they tossed the rat into a previously empty mutation pod that slammed shut, causing Danny to use his bound fists to beat at the glass door that kept him separated from Katie, muffled screams turning rampant and urgent. “How about I use one of your sons?”

The cage suddenly came to life once more; the floor and ceiling morphed and swayed the prison, vines seizing one of the five as the bars opened briefly to allow the tendrils to carry out their load. All at once the boys started screaming once that gap snapped shut.

“MONDO!” “JASON!” Came the cries of the others in unison, their struggles in the cage turning feverish.

The leopard gecko was helplessly carried through the air, completely wrapped in dark purple vines that held him in a death grip that seemed to tighten around his small frame just to spite Katie. He wheezed, trying to free his arms, but found it impossible.

“What do you think, ‘Kathrine’?” Draxum asked aloud for all present to hear. “Should I mutate your petty lover? Or your weakest link?”

Katie’s heart felt ready to burst. “Please stop…”

“I will if you give me the Goro Crystal!”

“Please stop…!”

“Mom, don’t give him anything! He’s bluffing!”

“I could turn this useless lizard into a grand, bloodthirsty killer who could lay waste to your precious city in hours! It’s your choice!”

“Please STOP!”

“Mom I’ll be okay—!”

“Silence, child.”

“DON’T!”

“What’s your choice?! Your son?! Your lover?! Or your city?!”

“TAKE ME INSTEAD!”

The roar that deafened those in the laboratory was staggering.

Katie’s face was wrought with pleading. Tears had finally pierced her gaze, her body language deflated. But there was concern radiating from her being, eyes darting everywhere from the trapped Danny, to Mondo, to the cage. It was clear as day she was doing anything in her power to keep them out of harms way.

Draxum easily towered over her, eyeing the woman with an arched brow. “You? You would take their place?”

“Yes!” Out of breath from the mounting terror, Katie nodded. “Yes, please, I’ll take whatever experiment you throw at me! I’ll be the test hamster! Just let them go!”

“Why?” Draxum tilted his head. “Why risk your life for the sake of these failures? For this felon?”

“Stop calling them that!” Katie shouted. “They’re not failures! They’re not useless! They’re not wasted potential!”

“Then what are they to you?”

“They’re my SONS!” Katie exclaimed. “They’re my babies! I don’t care what people try to tell me, those boys are my entire reason to be! You think they’re useless and failures but that’s not true! They’re brilliant! They’re clever and adventurous and wild and crazy and everything that a parent would be proud of!”

“You’re foolish! They’re mere creatures! The human is pathetic! They’re nothing!”

“THE ONLY CREATURE I SEE IS YOU!” Katie bellowed. “You, Bishop, Mozar, Karai, you’re all the same kind of bigoted bastards. My boys just wanted to be normal. They never hurt anyone, never bothered anybody. They only wanted to do the right thing when nobody else would. Have you even taken the time to realize you were trying to kill children?! Do you know what they’re like?!”

“Leonardo is a gifted comedian! He’ll go out of his way to make his brothers laugh! He’s a prankster but he’s also so kind. Considerate. He takes care of Donnie. He’s a loudmouth, he’s crazy, he’s a sports fanatic and comic book fan, he’s all that in a blue mask and a hellish sense of humor! He’s a brilliant thinker and quick on his feet in bad situations! I’m so proud of him for overcoming his demons and being the best version of himself despite everything he’s seen!”

“Donatello is a wizard in tech and games! He can make so many amazing gadgets in seconds, he’s a sweetheart, his brain is bigger than Tesla’s! He can kick ass with his bō and in Mario Kart! No matter what he’s doing he takes the time to pitch in and lend a hand to people because the only other thing bigger than his intelligence is his heart and capacity to help! He gets straight A’s, he loves Nintendo and anime and the Kpop stuff! He’s such a kind soul who just wants to be normal!”

“Raphael might look fierce but under all that he’s a giant teddy bear! He can knock someone out faster than lightening! He’s a massive pushover if you get under his shell! He’s so so supportive, he’s so brilliant and smart and he’ll do anything to protect us! He’s not unstable— he’s just got a really big heart and loves his brothers!” The more she rambled the faster she became hysterical.

“Casey’s a fantastic hockey jock! He might look like an ordinary punk but he’s just a kid looking for someone to understand him and take him in! He’s brave, he’s fearless, he’s got enough endurance to make Hercules jealous! But above all else that boy is a Jack of all trades who will do anything to be there for his family!”

“Mondo’s the sweetest kid you’ll ever know! He’s only sixteen but he just wants friends so fuckin’ badly! That boy is literally the embodiment of sunshine! All he wants to do is skateboard and go to Florida someday! He’s so friendly, he’s so giving! He might be wasted potential to you but he’s my boy and he makes me proud every single day!” She looked to Mondo— who had started sobbing in silence— and she smiled weakly. “I’m honored you’re my son.”

“Mmm…” he whimpered around the vines covering his face.

“And Danny…” tears started spilling down her face, going unnoticed by the callous mad scientist. “He’s charming. Debonair. A smart aleck. Generous. Forgiving.” She swallowed a sob, teeth chattering as her barriers broke down to a boiling point. “There’s nobody else I wanna take this crazy ride of life with. I am eternally grateful that fate put him in my path. I’d do anything for him. I…” she breathed slowly, steadying herself, eyes falling to find him through the glass of the chamber pod. “Él es mi corazón y mi alma.” With a quivering lip, Katie confessed. “Me encanta.”

Danny’s face was unreadable. His eyes widened, understanding what she’d said. His hands, pressed against the glass door, clenched into fists. Tears moistened his golden orbs, his expression turning resolved. Raising one fist, his fingers uncurled, moving, twisting around. It took a moment for Katie to realize he was signing:

‘I love you too.’

Katie’s heart swelled, her determination returning. “In your eyes these kids are nothing. You couldn’t be more wrong! They’re all unique and amazing in their own ways! I’m a washed out detective who gave up on herself years ago… but these kids, that man, they see past all of it and made me realize what I really wanted out of life. I wanted a family, and I found it in them.” She cracked a genuine smile, speaking with true conviction. “They’re my family from now until the day I die.”

Above in the cage neither one of the others were left unaffected by the woman’s words. Donnie dropped to his knees still gripping the bars, weeping so badly he found it difficult to take a breath. Raph turned his face away, hiding his eyes in his hand as he, for the first time, started weeping, strong shoulders shaking to conceal his sobs. Leo’s cheeks were slick with thin tears that stained his mask, expression filled with grief. Not even the boisterous Casey could stop crying, clutching his chest as though he were fighting a heart attack.

“I don’t care what kind of monster you turn me into… I don’t care what you do to me. Just leave my kids and Danny out of it.” Katie wept. “They’ve been through enough. I just want them to go home.”

It took eons for Draxum to move, let alone respond. The yōkai held his stoic expression of cruel neutrality, uncaring for the woman or the people he was harming. Methodically, he reached his hand into the depths of his robes, fishing free a slim, glowing vile of bright neon green ooze. Unconsciously behind him the glass door holding Danny swished open, causing the rat yōkai to drop onto the ground with a hard thud, unsupported by the standing chamber.

“All these years I thought you were better than this,” Draxum mocked. “The rumors certainly don’t precede you. What a farce you are! So naive! So stupid! I’m still baffled that you pushed this far ahead just for the sake of these pests! Pests who will learn to outgrow you and leave you in the dust the first chance they get! When it comes to gathering ‘family members’, you chose the runts of their litter.” Picking her head up by the chin with his thumb and index finger he hissed, “Now: Where is the Goro Crystal?”

“D-Don’t… give it to him!” A new voice burst into the room. It caused Katie to jump slightly, taken by surprise.

Her eyes fell to the floor just a little ways off, to where Danny lay. Danny, who had managed to wrench the muzzle of vines off his mouth. Danny, who had managed to pull himself to his knees. Danny, who was out of breath, gasping, trying to control his breathing but still remained upright as his chest heaved with thick gulps of air.

Danny, who still had that same vengeful look in his eye despite being bound. “Don’t… give him anything!” He panted. “He ain’t gonna keep his word! If ya play into his hand you’re as good as dead!”

“She’ll be dead anyway!” Draxum scoffed. “As if you’re in any position to argue!”

Danny’s eyes went narrowed, ferocious. “Untie me, ya shit-faced prick. I’ll show ya how a real man fights.”

For a moment, Draxum just chuckled. “You?” He toyed with the vial in his hand, flipping it up and down in the air, catching it easily like this was a trick he did often. “Please. You’re worth none of my time, and you’ve already tested my patience. Your blood isn’t enough to stain the bottom of my heel.”

“And ya ain’t worth spitting on, but at least I ruined yer stupid cape.” Danny smugly retorted, a twisted grin taking shape. “How quick that bold facade went down when I did.”

“And how bold will you be…” Draxum flicked the vial into his palm, clutching it firm. Until he reared his arm back. “WHEN I TURN YOU INTO A BEAST?!”

Time slowed.

Her heart exploded.

All noise fell into a clear ringing.

The vial and it’s contents— ominous and evil— flew straight towards Danny, who shut his eyes and head his breath as if to prepare himself for his impending doom.

An awful truth set into her gut.

He wasn’t going to spare the kids no matter what she chose. He wasn’t going to let Danny go— he was a witness.

He was willing to do whatever he wanted to ruin her.

And that tiny voice in the back of her mind screamed:

Move

Move

Move

Move move move move move move move move

MOVE!

A second wind surged throughout her body.

The prosthetic was ripped from her arm entirely as an inhuman strength allowed her to free herself.

She sprinted.

She pushed her body over the limit.

There was no time to think.

No time to hesitate.

No time for failure.

Only a moment to react.

Throwing herself forward Katie covered Danny with her body, back facing the incoming vial, shielding the yōkai with her entire being, ignoring his urgent screams, shutting her eyes tight as she prayed this death would be swift—

CRASH!

“KATHRINE!”

Glass shattered into her spine.

Sickly ooze splashed against vulnerable skin.

…

…

…

One moment the form of Katie McAndrews was standing like a solid wall in front of Danny, creating a barrier.

The next, ooze was seeping into her flesh. And it wasn’t long before she began to shriek.

The laboratory was filled with the anguished noises of the woman as her body jerked and shook, staggering away from Danny to steer the worst of the mutagen out of his vicinity, falling to her hands and knees, when her body started to change.

Unholy sounds echoed throughout the chamber. Bones snapping. Tendons popping. Ligaments twisting. Muscle tissue morphing. Body bending unnaturally to fit the new shape. Her spinal cord stretched. Her skin sprouted more hair— thicker, finer… like fur.

Her fingernails screeched into the floor and sang a song of misery, extending and growing to turn into claws.

Her jaw, still open as terrible screams dragged themselves out, dislocated. It stretched. It unhinged itself to form into a stronger, square shape. Her teeth grew. Her canines became bigger. Sharper. Blood pooled into her mouth and flowed to the floor.

Her face rearranged itself. A maw formed. A black nose followed. Hair grew shaggier. It hung low in a messy curtain, hiding her head.

Arm and legs popped and clicked as though she were a toy being put back together. Her limbs were forced to grow an extra few inches. Round ears popped out on the top of her skull. Her chest heaved, ribcage expanding, making room for more organs that rooted within the inside and grew like weeds.

But the worse of the change came when a new appendage— a brand new limb— grew out of her missing arm.

She would never know how, when her body took on a mind of its own, those watching would never get the sight out of their minds.

In the cage, Donnie’s hands clapped over his mouth, eyes bigger than cereal bowls. Immediately Leo seized the younger, clutching the turtle close to prevent him from watching the grotesque display, although the slider looked ready to faint. Raph turned the latter to look the other way, gritting through clenched teeth, “Ya don’t wanna see this.” Casey promptly expelled the contents of his stomach in the corner.

Danny was as still as the dead. There was nothing he could do but watch on helplessly as the woman he loved suffered a fate worse than death. Mondo screamed until his throat turned raw. He kicked the air and thrashed wildly, voice cracking under the strain.

An entirely new arm grew out of the shoulder joint like a lizard regrowing its tail. The skin knitted itself back together. Muscles, veins, they regained blood. Bone reattached to her socket piece by piece. Soon an upper arm… then a forearm… a wrist… a hand. She writhed and jerked, convulsed, choked on blood and screams as her body turned against her to transform into something it wasn’t meant to be. Unfamiliar bone structure reshaped the woman into an abomination. Curling in on herself as though she were a bomb ready to explode, Katie gave one final bellowing screech that rattled the walls, vibrated the cage, made the fur on Danny’s neck stand straight up.

Then… silence.

Silence.

A pregnant pause…

Boots clicked across the floor as Draxum approached. He studied the woman, curled tight into a ball to hide herself, blood and claw marks ravishing the ground around her body. A coy smile. His teeth showing with sadistic pride. He poked her in the side with the toe of his boot. “There,” he spoke with the faux comfort that he’d used previously. “Now… you’re perfect.”

Without the watchful eye of the scientist, the vines holding Mondo loosened enough for the boy to wriggle himself free. He dropped to the floor, staring at the form of his mother, unable to fully comprehend what had been done. The gecko, wide eyed, pushing himself up to stand, couldn’t stop trembling.

Mom…?

Mondo’s heart couldn’t stop pounding. He found it hard to breathe.

He was partially aware of his friends overhead screaming.

Mom…!

He was very aware of Danny’s horror-stricken face. Of the daunting scene he’d just bore witness to.

Like watching such a thing had broken a part of him he couldn’t get back.

Momma…!

He tried to think of happier memories— ones where his mother wasn’t in constant agony, where she was beaming warm and welcoming, holding him tight to comfort him during rain storms. Where they were at the beach, everyone chasing the shoreline, waves lapping at their feet, throwing caution to the wind. Where everyone was gathered on the couch watching movies, trading jokes and laughter with each other.

But all he could see was his mom, twitching and convulsing on the floor surrounded in left over neon green muck and dark crimson blood.

The man responsible simply loomed over his mother with prideful glory. He stooped low enough to start reaching for her— like he was about to pet her back—

And Mondo’s anger finally overwhelmed him.

“GET AWAY FROM MY MOTHER!” He drew his darts. He sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him. Throwing his arm out into an arch he chucked the deadly weapons at the yōkai, trying to run for his parent—

A vine seized him by the throat. He scrambled, clutching at it with frantic hands to pry it off, fighting for air.

Snapping out of his horrified stupor Danny started roaring, writhing in his bonds. “DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE HURT HIM YOU SONOVA—“ before another tendril grabbed him by the throat as well, cutting him off.

Properly incensed by this transgression, Draxum glared at the two as they choked and wheezed. “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about,” he hissed. “The both of you aren’t even good enough candidates for my experiments. At least I’ll be able to salvage the rest of your lot,” he leveled a pointed spear-like arrowhead at the tip of Danny’s forehead. “You’ve outlived your usefulness, rodent.”

A jolt.

A flash of motion, too fast for either party to see.

A swipe of an arm, fast and deadly, striking Draxum across the neck, catching him off guard. He was sent flying backwards, skidding across the linoleum tiles, leaving a slippery trail of bright crimson in his path.

Hand clutching at his neck— grazed, not sliced, missing the corroded artery but hard enough to finally draw a sizable amount of blood— Draxum lifted his head towards the ball that used to be the human detective…

A fiery set of dark emerald irises stared back at him with thin slits where pupils used to be.

But instead of fury… there was more.

Hunger.

Rising to kneel, she slashed the vines still gripping the throats of Mondo and Danny— feeling the rat man in the process of his bindings. As he pushed himself off the floor, Danny stared at the woman before him, his heart dropping. “Kathrine…?”

No longer the woman he knew, this creature lowered herself into a crouch, the fur on her spine rising with the rage, growling so loud it caused Danny’s ears to fall flat against his skull. Spotted with raven black accents to her mangy hair that hung in wisps around her snout and brow. What was left of her clothes hung in tatters around a sturdier physique. Muscles were more rigid, wound too tight like a spring coil ready to leap into the air, toned thicker beneath a thick mane of grungy mustard colored fur.

Mondo gasped, his mouth dropping open in despair. “Mom…!”

Sharp ears shot up. The fur raised on her body, spots almost traveling up the curves of her back, the ridges of her spine. But no motion to acknowledge him was made. Instead, the jaguar mutant opened her mouth and with a graveling voice unlike the detective, she roared.

And like lightening striking from the heavens, Katie leapt; claws outstretched towards Draxum, mouth gaping open mid flight. Just before she could land on him, Draxum rolled out of the way to the side, blood dripping in messy splotches across the floor in his stead.

She hit the ground heavy— claws sinking deep into the tile, digging deep, ripping through granite and grout and cement. Drawing her arm back she threw punched a hole the size of a basketball into the space where he’d been. Emerald eyes darted around, mania enveloping every fiber of her face until she spotted him.

She tore her newly grown fist out of the hole she’d buried it into. A guttural snarl hissed through bared fangs. The jaguar woman roared again, shoulder muscles tensing from the strain of her swinging arms. Grabbing broken chunks of tile she started hurling them at Draxum with the powerful strength of a baseball pitcher, the tiles flying too fast for anyone to see with a naked eye. The moment the debris went flying Danny sprinted towards Mondo, scooping him up and ducking out of range. “Get down!”

Draxum brought a barrier up between himself and the debris, bristling as fragmented pieces rained over his head. He thrust an arm out, sending a flurry of violet tendrils towards the mutated woman to pin her down. But even then, her claws spliced and cut through the toughened exterior of the vines, some of their sharp edges ripping through her hands in the process. She twisted herself out of the tangled mess of concentrated chaos to start running on all fours atop them, as if riding the wave straight back to its source.

Draxum’s eyes widened. Gritting his teeth he cast another set of vines upwards, trying to push her away, but she cut them down. Ever the cunning manipulator he grabbed the forgotten katana, cutting the air at his open side. Just as Katie neared and jumped over the top of the barrier he’d created, reaching a hand towards his face as if to rip it off—

A petrified Casey was suddenly in Draxum’s place, a blue vortex having spit him out to act as a living shield— cowardice behind this tactic. Her claws were centimeters from his skin.

Cat-like eyes turned horrified. At the last moment, she threw her arms around the stocky teen, taking the both of them to the ground with a hard slam. The portal still hummed with life as Draxum reached within again to find another one of the boys to use as a hostage—

Which was his mistake as Raph came barreling out with a shout, wrapping his arms around the bigger man’s chest and tackled him, throwing all his weight into a series of deadly punches. Leo and Donnie came running out next, the slider effortlessly snatching his fallen sword to brandish it and race after Raph to aid him.

The jaguar didn’t move from where she lay on the floor in the middle of the chaos, body stiff with tension, but the teen she had enveloped in a protective hold started to tremble in her arms. Casey started shivering to the point where his teeth chattered aloud. “K-Kat…!”

Her eyes snapped open. She looked at him, too sharp fangs brought together to a painful grit. Sitting the boy upright, the woman whimpered, frantic orbs scamming him for any visible sign of injury or lethal wounds. Casey’s form was littered with dark greenish-purple blotches that scattered haphazardly across his face, his knuckles were shredded open— from bashing his fists into the cage to break free. He looked…

Frightened.

“Momma…?”

Katie’s head shot up, claws raised defensively. Her gaze landed onto the newly scared Mondo— who had approached unnoticed, holding something tight in his fist. Bulbous eyes were thick with glossy tears, though he was holding his fear at bay for the sake of those he held dear. Slowly he took a cautious step forward. “Mom?”

Katie glared. Uncertain. Blinded by anger to fully recognize him.

Mondo swallowed. Shuffling the slightest inch he dared to come closer. “Mom?”

Danny tried to stop the teen, putting a hand on his shoulder, murmuring with urgency, “What th’ hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Helping my mom!” Mondo snapped back. “She needs us!”

“Ya don’t think I don’t know that?” Danny’s voice cracked— remorse hung thick in his words. “I dunno what Draxum put in his new ooze batches but she ain’t all there. She don’t recognize any of us. If she lashes out on ya and hurts you…”

“She won’t!”

“How can you be sure?!”

“… I don’t.” Mondo pulled himself free. “But I gotta try.”

She snarled in warning. In the background Raph didn’t sound any different from the jaguar in terms of the visceral rage in his tone while he screamed.

The gecko gulped, wilting under her intense gaze. “Mom…!” He pleaded. “It’s me! Jason! Your son!”

Again she dropped her stance into a crouch, snarling louder. Her fur raised high upon her arms and neck, bristling with a festering anger.

“Mom please! Look at me!” Mondo held up the item clutched in his fist. The golden metal of her police badge glistened under the faded fluorescent bulbs of the massive underground laboratory. Untouched by the brutality around them, the insidious reflection of the monster looked back…

But those eyes weren’t the same.

“This isn’t you!” Mondo cried. “You’re still in there! I know you are! You aren’t a beast or a failure! You’re a detective! You help people! You’ve saved us a dozen times and you never gave up on us!” Lips quivering he choked on words. “You never… gave up on me either… even when I dragged you down all the time. I can’t lose you… I don’t wanna be alone anymore! I don’t wanna go back home knowing you won’t be there! I can’t give up on you when you need us now more than ever!”

Katie started creeping towards him. Casey gasped with distress, eyeing both her and Mondo rapidly, hands slowly creeping towards a fallen taser glove… just in case.

Backing up, Mondo continued. “Remember what you said to me?! Back when you first took me in?! No matter what happens, even if there’s nothing left in the universe, I’ll still be around to look out for you! Cuz that’s what family is for! I’ll never go away! I won’t go home without you! You don’t deserve to be alone!” His back hit the forsaken mutation pods; trapped with nowhere else to escape. “And… if it takes forever… even if I never go home again… I’ll stay. There’s nothing for me back there if you’re not around to see it. I-I wanna win skateboarding contests and show you my awards. I wanna go to school and bring you my test grades so you can be proud of me…” tears freely fell down his cheeks this time. “I wanna graduate high school and see you in the crowd when I get my diploma! I wanna watch cowboy movies with you on the couch and throw popcorn at the TV when commercials come on! I wanna keep learning Spanish even though I’m not good at it!”

Katie’s ferocious eyes sharpened in anticipation, claws raking into the tile to screech, causing Mondo to cringe at the sound. The jaguar hissed, airy and devilish, waiting got any chance to strike.

“I never had that with my folks before you took care of me! I never had a chance to be a kid after I got mutated! I never got to be happy! I only wanted friends! I just…” Mondo’s sobs turned sorrowful. Eyes turned upward to meet hers despite the terror that wrapped around his heart. “I want my Mom.”

Then, without hesitation…

He threw himself into her, hugging the jaguar woman.

Danny hopped to his feet, ready to intervene should things escalate. Casey’s taser glove buzzed with electricity, his arm shaking with worry. In the background, Raph was thrown ten feet in the air. Leo dashed after him to catch the turtle. Donnie was shouting something but it was muffled from the chaos.

Katie’s body nearly recoiled from the embrace, her snarls turning to growls, claws poised and ready to start tearing into the fragile flesh of the gecko as primal instincts kicked into gear—

“H… hu…”

Claws fought for control. They seemed to battle themselves, retracting, releasing, over and over again. Her eye twitched. Her muscles tensed. The veins in her neck stuck out from beneath strained skin, her jaw snapping shut to prevent herself from doing anything to Mondo. One hand grabbed her face, clawing her head as she writhed and kicked, fighting for dominance over what little of her sanity was left. Even straining through the pain the woman punched her head with powerful blows, like she was attempting to knock whatever it was inside her brain out. “N-NOOOOOO…! H-HURT!”

“Mom!” Mondo cried. “Mom, you can fight through this! Come back to us!”

“Stay back!” Danny pulled the gecko away, his eyes worried as he observed the terrible scene. “Casey! Take yer pal and keep your distance!”

Without hesitation the teen leapt to his feet, grabbing Mondo by the arm to pull him back. “What’re you gonna do?!”

Danny frowned. “… I honestly don’t have a clue.” He lowered himself to her level, narrowly ducking out of the way of Katie’s incoming fist. Spastic, she cracked her fist into the floor with a crash. A guttural scream came through as she tossed and turned, clawing her head desperately.

Danny moved seamlessly; his hands latched around her wrists, prying them away from her head to stop the beating she gave herself, lest it lead to a concussion. As he fought to maintain his hold on her, the yōkai cried out. “I dunno if you can hear me in there or if you can understand what I’m about t’ tell ya, but you’re worth every broken bone I got in my ribs. I wouldn’t trade ya for nothing.” When she tried to pull away again, he tugged her body close, pressing his brow to her own and whispering.

“Yer sister needs you. These kids need you. I need you. Please… just come back to me.”

***********

EEEEEE SUSPENSE 🤣

Hope you like this one!

@queen-with-the-quill @tending-the-hearth @wasted-and-ready @figuringitoutasigoalong

[maxwell-grant]

Reverse Unpopular Opinion: Necalli

I like his moveset, I enjoy wild man characters and I liked the idea of a character who could bring back some of the face-biting inscrutable beastman mystique that Blanka had to shed (not that Blanka doesn't bite faces or does vicious attacks anymore, but it's different than when you first meet him). I still think he had one of the more well-done incorporations of the V-Trigger mechanic via the transformation. I also like his design, not one of my favorites, but I do like it. I feel like it was really hampered by really wonky hair physics and the game's artstyle, but I could see it working gangbusters if he was introduced in SF6.

Necalli's one of the few fighters unanimously considered a dud (and might be the only mainline character who wasn't even a little retroactively embraced? Even Rufus, Falke and Ingrid have their shooters) but I honestly think the problem wasn't with him as much as it was the writing for SFV being garbage and them being unwilling to commit to the hype they built for him. I think Necalli had plenty of individually cool components that could have amounted to something cool, maybe even great, if he actually even remotely mattered outside of being a boss fight for Ryu.

I love G, infinitely better than Necalli, but I call bullshit on him being supposed to be the Final Boss, they hyped up Necalli as someone who could devour Bison and gave him a Saiyan form and stamped V all over his body. He was clearly meant to be the guy, and if G was being hyped up to play a role in A Shadow Falls, I guarantee he would not be so fondly remembered. The same thing happened with Necalli, everybody was onboard with the Pillar Man mystery box until it was time to open it.

His Story Mode, and the version of him that exists in the Story Mode, honestly should have been what they went with for the guy, it's part of why him being dissappointing soured people.

I think he could have worked pretty well as the resident Weird Monster of the setting, and that's not exactly a niche anyone else is filling.

He is an "Emissary of the Gods" who shows up every few hundred years to seek out and consume the strongest warriors, and frankly you could get a lot out of unpacking just that, that not only does are the gods of the Street Fighter universe just as obsessed with battles as everyone else in this world, but they created a horrible monster to be summoned by combat and fight the worthiest warriors for, why? To honor them? Prune them? Punish them for excessive fighting? Cut monsters like Bison down before they get too strong, or push them towards new heighs as he did with Ryu? What is he for?

He can possess animals, and enter dreams. He can expand and balloon his flesh into gross fleshy Tetsuo/Majin Buu mutations in order to absorb people, and that never shows up in his gameplay, in fact none of his weird powers do except for that V-Skill where he barfs on the floor. He is summoned by conflict and his drive is to kill and devour the source of said conflict. He seems barely sentient but apparently has a "hidden genius". He can inflict a literally paralyzing fear and is surrounded by a noxious gas that "pollutes" the souls and turns the infected into beings like him that seek other souls, and that literally never shows up in-game, ever, apparently that was just for a blog post.

Is it too much? Probably, yeah, but it's something. It's a lot of somethings instead of a literal nothing. He doesn't do anything much for Ryu's story arc, he doesn't even do anything for Akuma's currently abysmal kill record, because by the time Akuma kills him, defeating Necalli is the least impressive thing to do. If you're gonna pull the trigger on having a guy this full of strange powers and prophecies and mystery boxes as the villain you put front and center on the advertisement, the least you can do is try to deliver on them. It's kind of confusing that they didn't even try.

I feel like you could even maybe salvage the dude if you just leaned on the weirdness. Apparently one of the Udon comics established he is "a conceptual being who is tied to the aspect of conflict, and cannot be destroyed by normal means as long as there is a universe where conflict exist"? Okay, lean into that. Make it so that he is Necalli, plural. As in, there's multiple of him, maybe one's not that strong on his own, but nobody's ever had to fight several at once and all of them trying to kill and absorb you into the collective. Maybe he is a viral sickness that comes up again and again all over the world, that was supposed to only happen every few hundreds of years but has been happening more and more frequently ever since Bison darkened the world, or maybe ever since Street Fighter tournaments became the thing the world revolves around, maybe ever since Ryu got a taste of the dark side and mauled Sagat for it.

He is not the answer, but a cancer at the heart of battle, waiting for the next warrior who falls victim to their own strength, the next person to be corrupted by the Satsui no Hadou or Psycho Power, a persistence predator biding his time until the warriors are too weak to fight him off, and then he'll take the souls that belong to him, or maybe even come from him, if he's to be believed. Because really, WHY is there a Necalli? Why would the gods sign off on this existing? Could it even be they were right to do so, given the role he played in awakening Ryu's potential so he could stop Bison? Is he a sickness or a cure, and what does it say about our beloved World Warriors if the fabric of the universe deemed it necessary to sick such a horrible thing on them?

This guy could even allow for a Street Fighter equivalent to a zombie apocalypse, if they even incorporated that toxic soul gas thing into anything we see in game. It might not the best idea, but it's something? Anything? Anything better than what he did for sure.

Idk man, even if he was never going to be a particularly interesting Final Boss, you can't dissappoint on such a scale if you never promise, and for a hot second, Necalli WAS promising. There was an excitement around him and around the things built up for him. That's more than I can say for a lot of other characters. I'd like to think a Mortal Kombat character who somehow found his way into Street Fighter is an idea even a little worth salvaging.

But then again I definitely don't think we need to have MORE fuckers surviving encounters with Akuma so, RIP bozo.

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Banner by @keltii-tea​

Chapter 26: A Lost Cause

Heisenberg's boots slammed into stone. The impact rang through him, echoing into the snowy darkness. He heard Mia's too-fast breathing, felt her warmth against him, her arms hooked around his neck, her face pressed to his scruffy cheek.

After a beat, her arms slid free, and she stood on her own, by his side in the darkness.

Around them spread the pit. They stood on a chunk of broken fortress, red brick seared black from the force of the bomb. Past its edge rang empty air, the depths of the crater. Where they stood, moonlight illuminated well enough to see, but in those depths there was nothing, no trace of light. Just the echoes of lycan snarls, the occasional clatter of falling stones, a deep, subsonic rumble that might have been rock shifting, might have been something else.

Water rushed close by, a gout pouring from a gap between two fallen pillars. It spackled Heisenberg's face with cold mist as he strode to the edge of the platform to shine his hip flashlight down into the dark.

It yawned below, endless and absolute. Mist and fog and a kind of grimy haze unfurled around him; each inhale stung with cold, and mold, and the smell of a place long-since removed from the sun. Usually, a big pit full of garbage was Heisenberg's idea of a perfect vacation. Less so right now. Chalk that one up to circumstance.

"I guess that's where we're headed," Mia muttered.

"Guess so."

She sniffed. "In sickness and in health, right?" she said, with a hiccuping little laugh. Then, in a kind of rush- "God, I miss him."

"Yeah?"

"Everything," she pressed. "Everything about him. You know- when I first met Ethan we were just a couple dumb college kids and I..."

Her laugh softened. "I thought he was unbelievably boring."

"Heh. No kidding."

"It was at this house party I didn't even want to be at, and he was in the corner with a red solo cup, and he was dancing to the music in the straightest way possible, I mean-" She demonstrated, holding herself stiffly while she bobbed her head and tapped her thigh in time. "But I didn't know anyone, and I ended up in the corner of shame with him."

"Let me guess. Love at first sight?"

"No!" she snorted. "It took like...three more accidental meetings before he awkwardly asked me to go get coffee, and he turned the brightest shade of red I've ever seen. And it was easy from there. Being with him. It was good. It was so, so good."

Her expression was lethal, like the sun was shining on her face. Hard not to notice her beauty, now, even through the hard days of grime and bruises and exhaustion.

"It crept up on me," she said. "Love. Little by little. That's how he was. You don't think about it, and then you realize what he's done. What he's been doing, all along. What he'd do for the people he cared about."

Her brief look of joy, lost in memories, faded.

"It was the big stuff I missed most, at first," she went on. "But now...it's the little stuff, really, you know? Redfield shuttled me from safe house to safe house after you took Rose, and I thought at first it would be a relief. Nothing to remind me of them, changing scenery, all that. But it's funny how losing someone works. You don't run away from it. The world remakes itself into the shape of that person."

She lifted her face, her profile limned with the red moonlight.

"He'd play piano, sometimes," she said. "Late at night. He always said he wasn't any good. But I'd stay up and listen without him knowing. I'd listen until he was done. Every time."

"He probably knew," Heisenberg said.

A faint smile touched Mia's face as her eyes turned, slowly, to rest on him. Heisenberg felt the weight of her gaze, its soft intensity, like she'd reached up to take his face in her hands.

"How long until dawn?" she asked.

"Hour, maybe."

"Then we're burning time." She cocked her rifle, checked its sights, gave a short nod. "Into the dark."

"And let's hope it doesn't fuck us."

The first few lycans jumped them as they skidded down the scree of broken masonry on the far side of the platform. Classic lycans, hairy wolf-men with makeshift weapons. Mia's rifle spat; Heisenberg crushed a couple skulls with his hammer. His Cadou wriggled inside him, sluggish as it struggled to metabolize the suppressant drug he'd been shot with. He kept his awareness engaged, but metal didn't sing; no hum or crackle of electricity. For the time being, he'd have to do this thing without the use of his power.

Fucking touche. Miranda had given him his powers, had twisted his body into a vessel for them. Typical that now he'd have to fight her without their help. He imagined her face, coldly beautiful. Her smile of calculated triumph.

Show me what you can do now, Little Karl.

Go on. I'm waiting.

One of the lycans lunged for him; he smashed it aside with particular force, splatting it against a block of cracked stone that still bore the paintings of dolorous, long-faced saints, rendered in faded blues and reds. Lots more red, now.

He twisted as gunfire cracked over his shoulder: Mia. The next lycan crumbled apart, its head and chest blown into chunks.

"I had it covered," Heisenberg drawled, shouldering his hammer as he flicked a fragment of crystal off his lapel.

"Uh-huh." Mia scanned the darkness, rifle trained outside their circle of light; howls echoed through the fog, but nothing leaped out at them immediately. "Anything here look familiar to you?"

"Nothing looks familiar to me, sweetheart, this place got put through a meat-grinder."

"That's not what I mean." She huffed a sigh. "I saw the explosion from the chopper. It...it went off in midair, not on the ground. The megamycete had lifted itself free of the cave system. If it blew aboveground, not below, the, uh- the-"

"Chunks?"

"...Sure. The chunks would have rained down on this place. Crushed it."

And Ethan below, Heisenberg thought. Mia must have come to the same conclusion, judging by the haunted look in her eyes.

"Your point?" Heisenberg prompted.

She gave her head a little, annoyed shake. "My point is that maybe there's something intact. Down below."

She pointed further into the pit. "Part of the old fortress, part of the old ceremony site...a cave system...I don't know."

"Could be."

Mia cocked her gun. The snap rang through the fog. "Let's find out."

The haunted look was gone as soon as it had come; now, Heisenberg saw the fever light of determination fill her gaze. That determination must have been what had allowed her to survive all these years, even with Miranda's ghost rattling around in her skull.

Had she known what it was at first? Or had she chalked it up to trauma, PTSD, what the fuck ever?

Of course, she was no stranger to voices in her head. She'd survived Dulvey, too. Three years under Eveline's control, three years of fighting the horrors inflicted on her by the child she'd helped mold into a monster. You had to emerge from that unfathomably strong, or completely insane. As Heisenberg followed her down the crumbling, makeshift pathway, spiraling deeper and deeper into the darkness, he wondered if she hadn't emerged as both.

More lycans. From all directions. They hit fast, hit strong. The smell of rot thickened in the air as Heisenberg and Mia descended, and between the bursts of claws and fangs and gunfire pound, Heisenberg caught sight of the various makeshift dwellings the lycans had fashioned from bits of the village, stacked stones, animal skins, antlers and gnawed bones. Even crude ornaments, dangling from entryways, crow feathers and pebbles, vertebrae and chunks of crystal.

What god did the lycans worship? Their memory of Miranda, and the Black God? Or some eldritch thing birthed from the dregs of their hive-mind, the kind of god only a feral predator could dream up?

Eyes glimmered from caves formed from collapsed pillars; one lycan, massive and musclebound, wore scraps of what looked like scavenged Soldat Panzer exoskeleton, a walking biomechanical wonder.

What an enterprising lad. Shame he had to die.

That was a group effort- Heisenberg swept forward and with a colossal swing of his hammer, smashed the front plate of its helmet off, exposing a scarred-up face twisted with rage. Mia sprang under his arm and delivered the coup de grace in the form of a bullet to the gob. As it slumped to the side, raining in shards into the darkness below, Mia paused, breathing hard, scanning their surroundings. Heisenberg did the same, but there was nothing. More lycan dens, more broken masonry, more blocks of cracked stone wreathed in mist.

A chorus of growls and snarls, the screech of claws in stone, scrabbled somewhere behind them. Mia pushed off; Heisenberg followed her. She was in charge, now, a woman on a mission. Her head down, she ducked under a gateway formed of blocks of fallen stone and into a narrow channel beyond, a ravine formed of rubble. Lycans advanced. She sprayed an arc of bullets, her lips drawn back from her teeth. When one collapsed at her feet, wounded, still crawling toward her, she drove her boot onto its head, crushing it to the dirt.

"Come on!" she yelled at Heisenberg, a few meters behind her, and headed into the fog again. "There has to be something- we just need to keep looking!"

"Mia," Heisenberg muttered.

"Don't you dare say my name like that," Mia snapped, glancing back at him. "He would do this for me. He...he already did this for me. I have to keep looking." "I know-"

"Then keep up!"

She rounded a corner and almost ran head-first into a knot of lycans. She stumbled back; her rifle came up, muzzle flash illuminating the fog in one, two, three bursts. Crystal shattered, bone reduced to hissing pulp under the anti-mutant rounds. Mia's scream filled the air as the lycans fell, as she demolished the next wave, and the next.

They were coming, and in force; Heisenberg glanced up at the ring of glimmering green eyes, the bared fangs, the rusty metal and pieces of broken antler clutched in clawed hands. With a little shake of his shoulders, he waded in. His hammer swung through the flashes of gunfire, through Mia's howl of rage as she fought them back, on and on until the air was as thick with gore as it was with fog, a bloody mist that clung in a pinkish sheen to Heisenberg's coat and dripped down from his hat brim.

The last of the lycans crumbled apart, ribs gaping to the sky. Mia stared at it, panting, eyes white-ringed and bright. She slumped against a block of ancient brick, closing her eyes.

"Mia," Heisenberg said, approaching her. He reached out for her arm. A gash had sliced through her sweater- a lycan's claw swipe- and bled freely down the thick material.

She rounded on him with a gasp, lifting her rifle. Its barrel knocked him in the middle of the chest; he didn't flinch.

"Do you understand?" Mia said. "I have to keep looking."

"I know."

"He...he's dead because...because I didn't tell him, because I...lured him there..." Her rifle barrel dipped. She shook her head back and forth, glazed and manic. "If...if I hadn't, he would still be alive. He would still be-"

"Eveline did that. Right? Not you."

A sob choked her. "You don't get it. It doesn't matter." She shoved back from him, stumbling through the rubble. "It doesn't matter. I-"

She drew a short breath. "I..."

She blinked.

"You what?" Heisenberg said.

"I recognize that," Mia said, staring over his shoulder.

Heisenberg turned. It reared through the devastation: part of a gateway, attached to a short, broken flight of steps. Heavy, blocky, chiseled from red-brown rock. The same bedrock the village had been built atop; the same stone he'd stared at for countless hours while Miranda indoctrinated him, or sliced into him, or rummaged around in his insides, trying to perfect him. He remembered the flicker of flame-shadows off its surface, the play of flashlight beams on its distant walls.

"Shit," Mia breathed.

She moved past Heisenberg and toward the gateway. It listed to one side, half-sunk into the earth, but it was still connected to something. Mia vaulted onto the steps and climbed up, pulling herself onto the lip of the gateway and balancing atop it to peer inside. Heisenberg followed, setting the head of his hammer against the frame, staring in after her.

Beyond-

A narrow cleft of darkness breathed frigid air across them.

"This was the entrance to the lab," Mia murmured. "I remember from when she brought me here. I remember thinking...it looked beautiful. Like an ancient temple. Something from a dream..."

"Yeah, well, bet she broke you of that opinion real fuckin' fast."

Mia sniffed, scrubbing her bloodied palm over her face. Heisenberg could hear her heartbeat, fast as a hare in a trap's. He knew what she was thinking, as much as if they shared a hive mind themselves. Miranda's lab had been built right below the ceremony site. The caves, too. The hallowed cathedral in the earth, the inner sanctum of the Black God.

Ethan had died right above the caves, and if they were still, in some way, intact, and the whole place had fallen in...

Well.

Mia was silent. No big surprise. Few words sufficed when staring down at the tomb of a loved one.

Heisenberg glanced at her.

"You gonna stand there all night?" he said.

She gave a small shudder, as if bracing herself, then shook her head. "No." And without another pause, she stepped over the edge and dropped into the darkness below.

Heisenberg was right behind her, clambering down the three-meter incline and into the passageway beyond. The cavern stretched beyond, a hallway chiseled of that same bedrock stone, torch brackets set into the walls, the floor scattered with chips of stone and a decade's worth of dust. Great cracks seamed the walls, but the place was intact, relatively speaking, the entire hallway tilted downward at a sharp angle.

In the explosion the entire cavern system must have just fallen into the earth, the tons of rock above it burying, yet also preserving, it. Like a mausoleum. As Heisenberg took a deep breath of the still, damp air, he smelled a familiar trace of incense, rich spices and musk winding its way deep into his skull, illuminating the century of memories locked within.

How many times had he walked this hallway? How many times had he strode between enshrined saints, hammer dripping with their devotees' blood? A traitor in their midst, an impostor saint, a false prophet's mongrel. They stared down at him now, statues of long-dead holy men anointed with dust, with the crystallized remains of their dead god.

He thought of Ouroboros' files on him, the rote, dry facts of his unnatural life that Mia had offered to him, and that he had refused. If the devout were right, these saints had seen those years, too, had whispered the litany of his life to the Black God itself, so it might dream of him forever. Did they remember him now, all the things he'd done, who he truly was, even if he didn't?

Didn't matter. Fuck them. Their god had demanded death, and if Heisenberg knew one thing, it was that everyone got what was coming round to them.

Mia's breathing quickened as the caves sloped down, and down, as they climbed over a stream gushing from a crack in the cave wall, as her boots crunched on broken glass, and crystal, and the remnants of a shattered gilt icon.

And when Heisenberg's flashlight beam struck the bolt-studded wood of a door, her gasp was painful, a blade-edge rasp on the edge of a sob.

It was warped in the broken frame, but as Heisenberg and Mia alike set their weight against it, it juddered open, spilling a cloud of dust and light into the broken space beyond.

Miranda's lab, Heisenberg thought.

The remains of her lab, anyway, the vaulted chambers where she'd conducted her personal experiments well-away from the eyes of the villagers. Couldn't have them believing she was capable of anything less than sorcery, after all. A column of ruddy moonlight filtered down from a rift in the cavern roof somewhere high above, filling the ruins with a bloody pall. A shelf of shattered specimen jars, each filled with a lump of crystal that had once been a Cadou, leaned drunkenly against a collapsed heap of brick wall. Shreds of decomposed papers and files were scattered like leaves; Heisenberg scuffed aside a damp-spotted photograph of Moreau without his overcoat. Crushed tables, and broken glass, and cell bars bent and warped from the bomb's heat. Everywhere, calcified roots burst from walls and floor, crushing the lab into a nearly-unrecognizable mess.

Above all loomed the broken remains of a statue. One of the Four Kings that had once ringed the ceremony site. His melancholy face was blackened on one side, a point of his crown snapped off at the root.

This was the ceremony site, Heisenberg realized, collapsed inward, crushed into this cavern space. He sent his awareness, all his enhanced senses, into the darkness. Searching for a trace, a flicker of hibernating essence, of a mutant in stasis.

Silence.

"Ethan?" Mia called. She pushed forward, stumbling over the calcified roots. "Ethan? Are you there?"

She bent and began to dig through the rubble with her bare hands. Stone clattered; dust billowed, thick and choking. "He's...he's got to be here...could he have regenerated? Like the others? Ethan!"

Her voice rang over the distant rush of water, the sound of crumbling stone, echoing from deeper inside the ruins. Heisenberg picked his way after her as she dug her way on, as she clawed at the broken masonry, her eyes wild, her entire body shaking.

"I know he's here," she said. "Heisenberg, you've got to...you've..." She took a sharp breath, jagged and choked. "He'll be so glad to see you. You saved Rose, after all- you're gonna..."

She cut off as she bent to drag aside a slab of flagstone floor. "We're all going to be a family again. Just like I planned. You'll see. You'll see..."

She trailed off. The echoes of her voice rang away and away, fading into dusty silence. Heisenberg caught up to her, watching the back of her head, the rise and fall of her shoulders.

Before her, the column of moonlight glimmered off milky crystal.

Ethan's body lay at her feet.

He was broken. One arm missing, shattered off at the shoulder. His face had cracked down the middle, his single remaining eye closed. He knelt there, head lowered, his body half-buried, his hand clasped to his heart.

The crystal there had warped in strange, intricate patterns. In this light, they almost looked like roses.

Mia made a small sound. She edged forward, one step, another.

"Is he..." she whispered. "Is...is there..."

"No, Mia," Heisenberg said. Weary, weary. "There's...nothing. Nothing left. He's gone."

She reached out with a trembling hand. "It's okay, baby." She smoothed it over his cheek, thumb tracing his lips. "It's okay. I found you, didn't I?"

All at once, she fell to her knees, holding his face, holding him. Her shoulders curled in; she shook under the weight of her tears. Terrible, wracking, like they'd been torn from deep inside her. She buried her face in the broken crook of Ethan's neck and sobbed, her hands in white-knuckled fists, clinging onto his body as if that would prove enough to bring him back.

***

Mia's sobs wound down into silence, and the hush crept in. Still she held him. Heisenberg leaned on his hammer, eyes lowered, watching the dust dance in the moonlight.

Saints and gods, sacred words whispered in the dark. There was nothing holy here anymore. Nothing sacred. All of it had died with Ethan, with his last kiss pressed to little Rose's head. All of it was gone with him.

At last, Mia let Ethan's body go. She crawled away, into a corner of the rubble, where she sat, slumped over her knees, staring into nothingness.

"I think part of me always knew," she said after a while. "All this time. All these wasted years." She gave her head a little shake. "I was so stupid to think I could save him. To think I could make this all better, make all this go away. I already got my chance for that."

Heisenberg made himself speak. "Yeah, you did."

She closed her eyes, bowing her head.

"Doesn't mean he loved you any less." Heisenberg approached her. "Doesn't mean you get to give up now."

She laughed, emotionless. "Too late."

"No. No." He swooped to one knee at her side, grabbing her face in his hand. He turned her head, away from Ethan's body, toward him. "No, Mia. You don't get to. Because if you do then so do I. You understand?"

He gave her a shake. He felt her tremble under his glove, her face so close to his he could see the tears clinging to her lashes, the blood spackling her mouth.

"You don't give up, Mia," he said. He ran his thumb over her lips, taking the bloodstains with it. "I'm not gonna let you."

Slowly, he released her face. His fingertips left red welts against her skin. "We might have failed Ethan," he said. "But Rose is still out there. And we. Won't. Fail. Her."

She blinked. A flutter of lashes. Then something seemed to leave her. Mia's head slumped forward, against his chest, one hand curling into his shirt, pulling herself closer, against him. The other brushed the scar crossing his throat, the scruff at his jaw, a lock of dirty gray hair.

Heisenberg hesitated. She was so warm against him. He felt the pressure of her breathing on his skin. The gentle pulse of her heartbeat.

Another long moment of silence, of dust and ruin around them. Just two horrible people, kneeling together in the dark.

Then he lifted his hand and ran it, slowly, over her hair. It was just as filthy as his. Something kind of sweet about that.

"I think I already failed her enough," Mia murmured, as he stroked her head. "Ethan...Ethan would want me to live. To keep fighting."

"Yeah, probably."

"Are you gonna be any more comforting than that?"

"Sweetheart. We've spent the past few days in each other's fine company. Surely you know better by now."

"Right, right, fine."

"Besides. We still have enemies, even once the other Lords deal with Ouroboros," Heisenberg went on. A snarl entered his voice. "Don't you want the chance to destroy that bitch Miranda for good after what she did to you?"

"You're such a bad influence," Mia told him. "Ruining all my aspirations toward achieving a moral high ground."

"Cool your jets, Winters. You managed that all by yourself." He pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, then pulled her to her feet. "Any bright ideas on how we can deal with that big, bad artillery unit topside?"

A dark light entered Mia's eyes. "I'm sure I can think of something."

She pulled from his hands and went to Ethan's remains, kneeling once again at his side. The moonlight filled its facets, made it seem to glow softly from within. Mia brushed her hand over his crystallized hair, as if to straighten it. She clasped his hand, stroking her thumb over the ridge of his knuckles.

"Goodbye, my love," she whispered to him, and leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I promise I'll come back for you."

***

Another burst of flames lit the sky as Heisenberg and Mia emerged from the crater depths. Even down here, the air smelled like ashes, cutting over even the overwhelming reek of lycan and rotting flesh.

"What's your power situation?" Mia asked.

Heisenberg splayed a hand, then shrugged, the movement accentuated by the hammer propped on his shoulder. "Still suffering from projectile dysfunction."

"Of course you are. Ugh..." She was checking over her weapons, taking stock. "Shit. I'm almost out of ammo."

"Then make what you've got count."

She glanced up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, dark circles so pronounced her face had a faintly cadaverous appearance, a new sharpness. Something inside her had set, and hardened. He heard it in her voice, too. "If I can get to that lab with the lycans, there's gonna be an antidote. It should get your Cadou metabolizing fast enough to work through the suppressant."

"Uh-huh." He'd barely heard her after she said the words lab with the lycans. "Now there's an idea."

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Are you, though?" He grinned at her. "I'll explain on the climb up."

Another artillery shot blasted the skies as they reached the lip of the crater, Mia sporting a couple new scratches courtesy of the lycans. If she was in pain, she didn't show it. She scrambled to a rock shelf behind a copse of trees and crouched down, rifle at the ready like some kind of black ops guy from one of the shitty action movies Heisenberg had binged with Rose.

He ambled behind her, squinting over his glasses at the camp. With Regan and company gone, the amount of soldiers was cut down significantly. Still, he could see the black-armored figures ringing the artillery, moving in and out of the prefabs, keeping the lycans back from the fence as, above, the Rose monster dived and strafed through the clouds, the pressure of its wingbeats driving spikes of pain through his head.

Well, fuck me, he thought, a little impressed despite himself. Somehow, the artillery fire was keeping her back.

And maybe something else was, too.

Keep fighting, kid. I'm coming for you. I told you I would, didn't I?

Still, Ouroboros knew what they were doing when it came to holding off giant flying bioweapons. And he had little doubt Regan had left orders to shoot them both in the head if they showed their faces in camp without Ethan in tow. And he wasn't about to suggest Mia bring his corpse back up to use as protective coloration.

Well. He might have. Her face if he did would be something to behold. But right now, it would only waste time.

"There," Mia whispered, pointing. One of the lycans had wriggled partway through a gnawed gap in the fence; a bullet drove it back, and it hightailed, but the loose scrap of fence lingered. "Through there, and to the lab."

"After you."

Mia gave herself a little nod- then darted. She streaked through the shadows, little more than a flicker of movement, a scatter of snow, ducking and rolling through the fence before the artillery unit's searchlight swept the area. Heisenberg shook his head in approval and followed, somewhat less gracefully, shoving his shoulders through the fence and into the camp in a clatter of metal. Fuck this, he thought, grinding his teeth. The second he got his powers back, he was taking this whole goddamn camp and crushing it like a car compacter.

Pressing into the shadows cast by an old house, he and Mia watched the flurry of movement in camp. Soldiers trooped by; a temporary munitions stand had been set up alongside the Maiden of War, gunmetal and carbon-fiber at odds with the crystal growths and painted wood surrounding them. The heat from the artillery unit shimmered in the air, melting the snow into a glassy sheen over the ground below.

Heisenberg eyed the artillery, assessing it with a flick of his eyes. Simple enough. A lot like the ones he'd spent decades playing with back at his factory, mounting them on anything stout enough to hold them purely for the fun of seeing how the vehicle in question held up under fire. Pop a couple wires here and there, and the whole weapon would be dead in the water.

First things first. He jerked his head toward the lab with brows raised.

"Hang on," Mia whispered. She stared toward the group of Moreau-aficionados still huddled on one side of the square. They had all joined hands and were singing in old-tongue, some ancient prayer to the Black God for protection. "We need to get them out."

"Seriously?"

"Yes!" she hissed. "Moral high ground, remember? Shut up and follow me."

They ducked through the ruined house itself and came up behind the prisoners. A punch from Heisenberg launched their guard straight into unconsciousness; he yanked him backward into the house, leaving him in a heap on the kitchen floor.

The girl with the shaved head gasped as Mia shook her shoulder, then blinked, her pale eyes widening so far they looked as if a good slap might knock them right out of her head.

She flung herself to her hands and knees as best she could in her shackles. "Lord Heisen-"

"Shut it," Heisenberg growled. "And listen."

"We're gonna get you out of here. This place is about to turn into a shitshow," Mia said. "You need to get as far away as you can before-"

"-Before I release all the lycans in that lab over there on the poor, unsuspecting fools you see before you," Heisenberg cut in.

The girl's mouth opened in a perfect O. "The lycans?" she echoed.

"That's what I said. Now how do these cuffs-"

The girl babbled over him. "Lord...Lord Moreau prophesied this. He in his infinite wisdom...he saw that this day would pass, that there would come a time when I, and his other loyal followers, would need to walk through the ranks of the monster wolves themselves, and emerge unscathed from the other side!"

She launched into rummaging through the mess of amulets and charms she wore slung about her neck, her skinny fingers trembling. At last she came up with a phial attached to a long piece of cord. It was made of old, yellowed glass, sealed with a gob of wax. Inside swirled a thick black substance.

"This holy relic will protect us against the lycans," the girl said.

"What is that?" Mia squinted at the stuff.

But Heisenberg grinned, with as many teeth as a lycan itself.

"It's spores," he said. "From the Black God. Take too long to get into the science, but this shit's what the megamycete seeded its hosts with to maintain control, stop them from slaughtering one another. Anything with this stuff on them will read as one of the lycans. They'll smell it on us and ignore us."

He chuckled. "Well, well. Moreau, you clever bastard. There's hope for you yet."

"It won't last long, so you must hurry," the girl said. She had already popped the wax and was busy smearing the other cultists with the black spores.

"Nag, nag, nag, buttercup," Heisenberg said. The girl pressed the vial into his hand, holding on for a moment. He tugged his hand away before she might start kissing it or whatever. "Get ready to run along to the reservoir. Your- uh, Lord Moreau's down there."

Elation lit the girl's eyes. "Black God bless you, Lord Heisenberg."

He didn't bother pointing out the Black God would probably rather eat him than bless him. He rubbed a streak of spores on his wrist, then did the same for Mia.

The monster strafed by; it swept through the clouds, the backdraft from its wings blasting through the camp. The timbre of its roars had changed- they now were an enraged, thunderous bellow, each strafe growing lower, lower, shaking the ground like the aftershocks of an earthquake.

Was Miranda winning?

Hang on, Rose.

Shouts filled the air as Heisenberg and Mia burst from the ruined house, Mia peppering the snow with suppressing fire, keeping back the few soldiers who weren't focused on the black-feathered monstrosity circling ever-closer. One of its tentacles lashed down, tearing a gash from the roof of a dilapidated house, then furling back into the clouds. Heisenberg's hammer cracked skulls, shattered firing hands, sent the door guard sprawling aside as they ducked into the lab.

The sterile air hit him like a punch to the teeth, light burning his eyes. The researchers within all sprang to their feet, scrabbling for the peashooters at their belts. Mia stuck her rifle under the first guy's chin.

"Get out of here," she growled.

The gun would have been enough, Heisenberg figured. But Mia's whole look- ragged and bruised and splattered with lycan gore- sure as hell didn't hurt. The scientists scattered. Mia pushed a rolling chair aside and tapped at a computer, its pale light illuminating the lines on her face. Behind them, the rows of lycans clawed at their cages, desperate to get out.

"You got the accelerant?" Heisenberg said.

Her eyes flickered back and forth. "I...I don't see it-"

Shouts echoed outside the lab. Heisenberg leaned alongside Mia. "Come on, it's gotta be there somewhere-"

"I-"

Gunfire pounded the air. Heisenberg ducked over Mia, bringing them both down against the console as the air filled with sparks and the rattle of bullets against metal; the lab door hung crooked, half-torn-away by gunfire. They were coming in.

Heisenberg saw it, now. There was no time. They'd run out of options.

All except one.

Fuck it, he decided. "Mia."

"What?"

"Release the lycans. Then get to the big gun."

"Huh?"

"I'm going after Rose. Fend her off with the artillery so I can draw her away."

"Without your power?"

"I don't need my power for this. I know Rose. And Miranda." He pressed his finger to his temple. "I can fuck with her head just like she fucked with mine. Now you get your ass out the door and into that gun or we're all screwed."

She rounded on him, the small of her back pressed to the console. For a moment he thought she would protest. For a moment he thought she'd try to stop him, spare him, like she'd fought so hard to spare Ethan. Her face was hard, the look in her eyes bright enough to burn him alive.

He heard the hiss of her breathing through her parted lips, made out the tremble of her lashes as her eyes held his.

Slowly, Mia slipped his glasses off his nose. She lifted her face, her knuckles to his chest as she gripped his shirt in both hands, as she pulled him down, as her mouth canted, desperate, devastating, to his.

A hesitation-

A brush of her mouth, a lilt of her lips over his-

And then she was kissing him, and her fingers were tangled in his hair; his hands found Mia's face, her waist, the soft press of her hips into his. Her lips were chapped, were bitter with blood. For a moment he was lost, adrift, nothing in the world but the feeling of her mouth on his, of her grip on him, her knuckles pressed hard to his chest, just over his living, beating heart.

Her face fell from his, her mouth from his, her face brushing his cheek with a rasp of scruff to skin. The cold twined between them again. Heisenberg's heart pounded, his Cadou pulsing in time; pressed to him the way she was, Mia probably felt that as much as she felt everything else. He didn't care. He traced her cheek with his thumb, not wanting to pull away, not wanting to let her go.

"We can still cut and run," he murmured. He cocked an eyebrow. "Last chance."

Mia snorted. She nudged her forehead to his, kissed the delicate skin just under his jaw. All too soon, she pulled back.

"Go," she told him. She returned his shades to his face. "Find Rose. Get her back."

She stood from him, gripping the cage control on the console- a big, red handle surrounded by warning signs. "For Ethan."

Heisenberg gave her a single nod, his hat brim dipping. "See you around," he said. "Winters."

Her small returning smile would stick with him a long, long time. "You, too," she told him. "Karl."

He swung his hammer back onto his shoulder with a clang.

Mia turned the handle.

With the screech of hinges, every cage in the lab swung open at once. The lycans lunged out, a seething tide of matted gray hair and savage, starving eyes, claws and twisted muscle and teeth asnarl. Moreau's spores did the trick- none of them paid any attention to Heisenberg or Mia. As the creatures leaped for the exits, tearing great holes in the prefab walls with tooth and nail, as they hit the Ouroboros soldiers outside hard and fast as a lightning strike, Heisenberg strode out after them, rummaging in his coat for a cigar.

Just like old times, he thought. Practically nostalgic.

By the time he ducked back into the camp, it was in chaos. Gunfire lit the skies, muffled under screams, snarls, feral howls as the lycans clambered atop buildings and vehicles, as they took down commandos three to one. A couple of the beasts tore through the fence, collapsing it under their weight. More lycans surged in from outside, tangling and tumbling over one another in their greed to get in at the fresh meat.

The screams began to die, began to be replaced with the sound of tearing flesh, of bones snapping and crackling from their joints.

Heisenberg lit the cigar with what appeared to be the last of his matches as he left the camp, as he ascended the rise beyond. If he was gonna die today, might as well do so feeling like himself. The cigar tasted a little stale, a little moldy, but it was better than nothing.

Besides. A good Cuban was a good Cuban, and- even better- it looked like it was gonna be a nice morning.

At the edge of the horizon, past the mountains, a faint trace of gold lit the blizzard. Dawn. It illuminated the monster, illuminated the impossible span of its eight wings, the rain of mold sheeting down from them as the artillery fire ceased- gunner dead or tossed out on their ass, courtesy of Mia. As the monster wheeled round, coming back in his direction.

Heisenberg took a deep drag off his cigar, let the smoke twine through his lungs- one last time, heh- then flicked it to the snow and crushed it under his boot.

He lifted his arms to the monster.

"Miranda!" he yelled. "Remember me?"

And in a rush of darkness, the beast that was Miranda, that was Rose, fell from the skies, wings spread, talons open and aimed straight for him.

[olderthannetfic]

I’m probably more forgiving than I should be, but I would say most people understand there are perfectly reasonable and compassionate people who have their personal reasons for continuing to enjoy mainstream or other media with massive issues. We all have our own opinions and baggage and that doesn’t make us enemies. But “its just too hard to find indie stuff!” isn’t that. If someone has enough internet access to send a defensive anon ask they can use Google or just ask for recs.

--

It's more than that.

Fandom is a subculture, or a set of subcultures, even with how mainstream fic is now. Supernatural was on for years, so yes, it clearly had a lot of people viewing compared to some novel. However, SPN had garbage viewership compared to lots of hit shows, and most randos at one's job likely did not watch it. It was an inescapable pillar of fandom culture for a while.

Film Bros have such distinct taste someone made that hilarious fanvid to Pretty Fly for a White Guy that used all of those movies they love. Sure, everyone's heard of most of them, but have we seen them?

Film noir nerds have festivals where they go watch increasingly obscure films noir, and there are "classics" all of them have seen that other people haven't.

I know no one who cares about The Secret History... aside from literally every dark academia social media account ever.

Everyone is the protagonist of their own story if they'd just act like it.

People come to my tumblr as a sort of central location, so when I'm melting down about Beyond Evil or even some indie novel, a certain number of people will go consume it too. I'm always picking up tastes from costubers or whatever internet micro-celebrity I like this month.

If you are excited about the stuff you like, other people will consume it so they can talk to you about it. You do not have to passively jump on every bandwagon. Even the supposed normies don't all watch the same shows. (And the idea of normies is a mirage anyway.)

There are whole facebook groups and social circles around indie original m/m novels these days. There are tastemaker super fans who seem to mostly engage in that sphere, and people who hang out in those spaces have all read the big names... big names absolutely nobody outside of the m/m world has heard of.

Go look up the website for GRL, the industry conference, and see how many of the attending authors you've heard of. Probably five of sixty or something unless you follow m/m very closely.

Last time I bothered with After Ellen, they were breathlessly following that Spanish historical soap's f/f subplot. Who else outside of Spain even heard of that show?

I get not wanting to be 100% alone forever, but there is no such thing as universally popular media. We make little pods of taste, some of which amount to full on subcultures.

Those taste groups form when we take a stand for our particular Thing, whatever it is. It requires a tiny bit of proactiveness, but honestly, not that much. People who are already un-normie enough to spend their time on AO3 and Tumblr instead of Instagram or whatever are already making choices about what kinds of tastes to prioritize and what circles to join.

We could make a minimal effort for our favorite types of content and build indie versions into small but viable industries.

Or we could be lazy, spineless cowards.

[ultraericthered]

Why am I encountering Akito Sohma discourse in 2024, soon to be exactly 5 years since the premiere of the second anime adaptation?

Not naming names, only commenting on the garbage takes here.

No duh on "being abused doesn't justify abusing others", but you might want to tell that to all the stans and simps for (usually male) villains who were abused and took their inexcusable actions towards others even further than Akito would've ever dared to yet they get their crimes downplayed or even defended and rationalized with "the abuse they suffered made them into people who act this way, don't judge the way any abuse victim internalizes and externalizes their trauma from the abuse they experienced, there is no 'perfect victim' y'know?", and are said to "deserve better" or "deserve" redemption.

The idea that Akito "got away with everything Scot-free" seems like a really poor reading of the story based on only the notion that if Akito is not dead, locked up in a penitentiary or asylum, or left completely alone and miserable forever by the end of the story, she faced zero consequences for her actions. Totally disregarding how almost the entirety of what the 2019 anime has as its final season was reality coming in to smack Akito around repeatedly and make her face all the natural consequences of her actions, of how she'd lived her life and ruled over her family as an abusive tyrant. See this? All of this?:

This is all Akito's karma. It's from the punishment she wrought for herself. The misery she passed around through her family came back around in full, and she had to watch her entire world, the world of the "eternal banquet" she was promised and believed herself entitled to, gradually unravel along with her own mental and emotional state.

In the anime at least, it hits a crescendo that's regretably so brief and silent that it's easy to miss, but when Akito has mentally shut down and is just sitting there moping beside Shigure, we're shown a bit where she suddenly gets up, like she just hit a breaking point and without any thought, just on pure instinct and emotional impulse, she walks to the screen door and hits her head against it. Given her frail, shaky body language, and the mix of alarm and pity that lurks beneath Shigure's still calm facade, I'm to assume that Akito is wailing and screaming. She's having a full psychotic breakdown.

"She never apologized, never made amends, never did anything to deserve anyone's love and forgiveness". ...I'm sorry, this person really stopped watching after Tohru got put in the hospital, huh? In the last couple of episodes, Akito did nothing BUT be apologetic and set out to make whatever amends she could, including undoing all remaining bonds and breaking the Zodiac curse! She did nothing to "deserve" anyone's love and forgiveness even at this point because now she at last understood she was undeserving of such things and was entitled to nothing, especially nothing from her victims, after the way she'd behaved and the many sins she'd committed. Forgiveness is earned and granted, never "deserved", and it's always a choice whether or not to grant it, so anyone who'd never forgive Akito for as long as they lived would be entirely within their right to do so, and so would be those who did make the choice to forgive her. Neither is invalid. And love is never a matter of "earned", "deserved", or "owed", and to think that it IS is ironically adopting a very Akito mentality.

Also have to go back to that "she never apologized" thing. Really?

Really?

And if "that Tohru, of all people, befriended her despite the horrific things she did to her (not yet and in fact he'd just rejected her) husband" disgusts anyone, than Fruits Basket was never the story for them and Tohru was never a character they were going to love. That moment, and that gesture from Tohru, was one of THE core pillars of the entire narrative, something everything had been building up to from the very beginning. Tohru looked deep inside the cruel, childish, deranged, abusive, controlling, possessive, selfish, cowardly, downright evil pseudo-god that she, and the entire Sohma family, knew as Akito Sohma and she found who Akito Sohma truly was: a sad, abused, broken, twisted, pathetic, wretched, needy and terrified child who'd suffered through an upbringing in which she'd never been allowed to forge a single human connection with anyone else that was not dependent upon her status as the family head and the bonds with the Zodiacs that was her promised birthright, and was thus left with so much vulnerability, so much mental and emotional instability, such fear of living her life in the world as the woman she should be, as the human being she should be, that she kept concealed beneath the armor of a wrathful god who she felt could be comfortably in control of everything in her life and keep it all from slipping away from her and leaving her all alone with all her internal anguish and misery. It's that Akito Sohma who Tohru reached out to and extended the offer of friendship, to become her first ever true human friend in her life, no string attached and no bonds or godhood required. Because that's what Fruits Basket was always all about: the existence and value of love. family, and friendships as forged, mutual, equally consensual connections between humans rather than as some divine mandate upon animals or some commodity to be horded by a god.

Already took shots at "she gets away with everying and does nothing to deserve anyone's love or forgiveness". On the belief that Akito needed to be jailed for her crimes, that is actually something I can agree with and see as a weakness in the series' ending. Once the Zodiac curse was broken and Akito was no longer "God", there'd now be nothing standing in the way of some of the Sohmas, the family members and servants alike, pushing charges against Akito for all the worst things she'd committed against them. We should've been told that such legal action was taken and that Akito knew it was coming and accepted it, being fully ready to accept accountability and justice for her crimes. When last we'd see her and Shigure, they could be doing a round of community service together! That would've been perfect! But Takaya didn't go that route, and I think what we did got was also satisfactory: Akito had lived her life with power, privileges, and freedom with which to do whatever she wanted but was also a prisoner of her own damaged psyche and of the broken family system she was born into and had to play such a large role in perpetuating, so by the end, it's now flipped so that Akito has been internally set free, is healing and finding inner peace, but without the Zodiac curse, the family headship in a lonelier, harder, constraining position but she voluntarily endures with it so that she may live the rest of her life atoning for the sins she'd committed when she was "God", all at a distance from family members who mostly will never forgive her, never think any better of her, and are glad to be free of her. So the idea that Akito's fate not being punitive enough being akin to a slap on the wrist is misguided. It's a lifelong committment to restorative justice and not getting all she desired that Akito's made, and she has to endure it while being romantically involved with Shigure, which honestly feels like a punishment worse than prison!

Piss the fuck off with the "blatant abuse apologist" claim, too. This is the same bullcrap spewed towards Kohei Horikoshi when he gave Endeavor a self improvement/atonement arc. WIth both Endeavor and Akito, the narrative is never at any point remotely pretending that their actions are anything but monstrously abusive, toxic, cruel, harmful and wrong. They're bad and so the abuser is made to feel bad about having ever done them and must face up to all the natural karmic consequences that will inconvenience their lives. An anti-abuse narrative that does not keep it as simple and black-and-white as "the abuser is 100% Bad Person, it's a problem that they exist and hurt people, the solution is to remove them from life entirely" yet still condemns the abuser for their actions and champions their victims ability to move beyond them, find healing, peace, love, and happiness in lives better than what the abuser could ever hope for, is not in the slightest bit "abuse apologism": no apologies or excuses for the abuse are being made.

Not Akito-related, just showing how this same person truly feels about Fruits Basket on the whole due to how "problematic" it is. If it's not for you, fine, and this is actually 100% correct regarding Katsuya Honda being a sociopathic predator who fucked a child student of his yet it get beyond inappropriately framed as a beautiful, romantic, loving thing within the narrative. But when it reaches this hyperbolic "the entire series has no value, it's irredeemable media and deserves to be trashed" level of vitriol for the work...nah. That's not agreeable.

And then there's this anon who called in to say:

Seeing you rightfully call out the utter bullshit of Akito's "redemption" has me heated. The story becomes irredeemably bad the moment the forgiveness shit is pushed.

Let me say this much: there was no "redemption" or "redemption arc" for Akito. She had her big epiphany and recieved personal salvation from Tohru's approach to her, and from then on she turned herself towards self-improvement and atonement for her many sins while finally living a true human life of her own. Atonement /=/ redemption, as all avenues for her to redeem herself for her abusive acts directly to those effected by said abusive acts got closed off a long time ago.

And forgiveness is entirely another matter from redemption and atonement. Tohru, Kureno, Shigure, Momiji, Arisa, and Saki chose to forgive Akito. Literally no one else was shown to do so. Rin even said outright she could never forgive Akito after everything she did, and in the anime at least, she was positioned as not in the wrong for that.

Takaya is on my shit list for life for how she handled Tohru's character, she is my favourite I love her compassion for people and her determination to never give up despite how difficult things can be plus her learning to move on from her crippling grief resonates with me. The ending Takaya gives her is fucking vile Tohru forgiving and befriending Akito is bullshit and my mind is never going to change on that.

"I love her compassion for people." "Tohru forgiving and befriending Akito is bullshit!" Do...you not see how these are conflicting ideas? "Tohru is wonderful for how much empathy and compassion she has for people...wait no, not THAT people!" How do you miss that big?

The sole reason Tohru wants to break the curse is because she sees how much her friends are suffering under Akito's abuse both mentally and physically. She would never be so inconsiderate of their feelings as to befriend the person who hurt them so much.

And she also saw how much Akito herself was suffering under the curse and the role that was forced upon her from birth. Also, how is choosing to befriend her friends abuser inconsiderate when they don't need to factor into it at all? Tohru doesn't try to force Yuki, Kyo, Rin, Momiji, Hiro, Kisa and the rest to also be friends with Akito. She at no point even considers that possibility. What's between Tohru and Akito is kept purely between them, away from Akito's victims. Tohru understands that they'd never be comfortable around Akito due to having a history with her that Tohru herself does not have, and while she wants to help Akito move past her pain and put in the good work to make reparations for her sins, she's not going to ever downplay how vile those sins were and how badly they hurt people, nor would she put up even the pretense of giving absolution of them to Akito.

That's not even getting to my other major problem with this storyline Tohru never even learns about half of the horrific shit Akito does to her friends, Takaya intentionally has her character be left in the dark. Not to mention how abusive akito is to HER!

Why does it need to be Tohru's business to know absolutely every horrible deed Akito ever did to every person she was ever horrible to? Akito did that shit, it happened, there's nothing Tohru can do that could possibly change that or make any of it better. And oh dear, are we getting into the "antagonistic behavior = abuse" bullshit again?

She manipulates her the first time they meet and then at the beach house she threatens her and scratches up her face. Tohru outright admits she is scared of her. Then towards the end of the story akito then has the audacity to blame her for the zodiacs not loving her despite that being the consequences of her own disgusting actions. She shows up at the house to hurt and potentially kill Tohru, she slaps her multiple times, stabs her and pushes her close to the cliffs end directly putting her in danger. Akito almost gets the poor girl killed. Akito spends the entire story being an abusive monster to Tohru and the people she loves. And nearly leads to multiple characters dying, Takaya really wants us to think a friendship Between the two of them is cute because they both relate to being lonely????

Ah yes. Yes we are. Most of what's described above is Akito being a cruel villain and acting as a threatening adversary to Tohru, with actions that are clearly reprehensible and uncalled for but are not inherently "abusive", as Akito is treating a stranger badly and making enemies with her rather than being in any relationship in which she can treat her abusively. The hardest into abuse it ever swings is when Akito is holding a knife to Tohru and physically strikes her, and that's when Akito is in the midst of a full-blown psychotic episode.

And that the characters apparently aren't that different to each other??? When they clearly are. Tohru is a kind and compassionate person who helps those around her while Akito is a manipulative snake who treats those around her like they are her possessions. Tohru grows up being bullied and alone. Akito is a child abuser and commits multiple attempted murders. Trust me Takaya these characters aside from them having tragic backstories and fears of abandonment are as far away from each other as you can get.

Tohru was brought up to be kind and selfless, to the point of seeing her own self as lesser in value than others. Akito's upbringing shaped her into becoming cruel and selfish, to the point of seeing others as possessions for her to keep hold of, to pleasure her with a sense of superiorty as a cover for her own poor self image and lack of self-worth. Tohru was left alone without her mother and was ostracized by her peers. Akito was left alone without her father (as her own mother would never give her the time of day) and was "othered" by literally every person around her. They're foils. Akito is a broken reflection of what Tohru might've become if Kyoko had not put in that effort to be such a kind, loving, nurturing parent, and Akito always envied Tohru because she reflects the girl she might've been had she been allowed to be, and not internalized everything wrong with the Sohma family nor adopted her mother's own internalized misogyny.

The friendship is disgusting, Akito is an evil bitch period she is not Tohru's problem or her responsibility. Also Uo and Hana being friends with her after they find out she nearly killed their best friend and Kureno was also so gross. The characters do some of the most OOC shit in order to give Akito one of the least deserving redemption arcs i have ever seen. It is truly some of the most atrocious, insulting writing, Takaya should be embarrassed for thinking this was an acceptable way to end the story.

If you want to get technical, none of the Sohmas are Tohru's problem or responsibility. It's not on her to "fix" them or be their therapist and savior, she doesn't owe them anything. She chooses to help them out of compassion, empathy, and a desire to do right by others, to see true justice done and freedom, peace, and happiness assured for the people she cares about in their lives going forward, With Akito too, she did not impose or make her into her responsibility; she extended her hand. She offered Akito a choice. The friendship would not happen if Akito decided she was unwilling to put in the effort to do her part and accept the care, help, comfort and understanding offered to her by Tohru. So yeah, you can blame Akito for that too, even though it's not a wrong thing of her to do whatsoever! Uotani also did not become Akito's friend, more like a friendly acquaintance. Hanajima did follow Tohru's lead and befriend her, and considering she knows how it feels to internally tear yourself apart with self-loathing over guilt from having hurt people to the point of cursing your very identity and existence, I'd say her decision makes sense.

I haven't read the spin off but Akito having a child just reinforces that she is still the same selfish person she has always been. Her wanting to have children but deciding not to because of how they would suffer due to her terrible actions would actually mean she has to live with the consequences of what she has done. but of course we can't have that.

Meh. Not much a fan of that spin off and I'm kind of hoping we don't get it adapted into an anime. Some things are best left open-ended.

[icespyders]

i honestly really really hate being so negative. dragon age is my very favorite video game series; KotOR was my first bioware game, and i had a lot of fun in mass effect, but i fell in love with dragon age, warts and all. my favorite of the three is DA2 for god's sake, clearly i'm a very forgiving soul when it comes to these fucking games; i've always been so taken by the character writing and the lore that i don't mind all the jank. the gameplay never got in the way of my exploring and romancing and codex-hunting. and some part of me was truly desperately hoping i could find it in my heart to get excited about Veilguard after the first trailer like ruined my entire sunday but i watched this gameplay video twice and i just hate it. the second time i watched i kept notes and i didn't realize how long it ended up, like, it's just this infinite depressing list of things that i didn't like. so i'll try to organize my word vomit. let's start positive.

STUFF I LIKED:

Minrathous looks cool, though i'm pissed we seem to spend so little time there. but it looks totally different from everywhere else we've been in the series and that's cool! the neon-y magic lighting, the big ominous circular floating tower, the narrow streets - some of the layout reminds me of kirkwall which is apropos since kirkwall was originally a tevinter city. so that's nice

Neve is hot! her design is cool and very tevinter and I like that. but the dialogue is so generic high fantasy garbage that I feel like I only got a sliver of her personality (confident + sense of humor which is honestly not much to go on for personality but i'm searching for crumbs here). i'll definitely be interested in getting to know her better, once i inevitably get brain damage and trick myself into playing this shit when it's on sale for like $3 in a year and a half

We only got a little bit of it but I like the reactivity/mention of backstory, anything that acknowledges player choice! Like neve's response to rook's stoic/direct dialogue line, and all the mentions of rook's faction in dialogue, that's all very nice

I don't mind the map markers/waypoints broadly but they're not necessary for this railroaded gameplay segment we see in the trailer. it'll be useful for other quests i guess

I also don't care that we're back to the DA2/DAI-style dialogue wheel with tone tags. i'm glad it's the same icons from DAI so i don't have to learn new hieroglyphics. i know a lot of people bitch about it but it's the neatest way to express the options imo

LORE????

i know a lot of these plot points are set up in supplemental novels and whatever and i personally feel like bioware needs to be banned from putting plot-critical information in novels and comics that nobody in the world wants to read. i've been playing and re-playing dragon age games regularly since 2018. i have never ONCE wanted to read any of this material. but apparently neve and one or two of the other companions are featured in Tevinter Nights and The Missing and whatever and i'm just fed up. no. i play the games. include the information there

so the shadow dragons faction is linked to tevinter/based in tevinter, but broadly, not just in minrathous, based on rook's dialogue about how he's unfamiliar with the city when the others expect him to know more. probably they're also linked to dorian? maybe shadow dragons is dorian's faction of non-horrible magisters?

bioware said in the developer Q&A that it's been 8 years since trespasser. that is absurd. wtf took solas so long to do whatever he's doing, what was he waiting for. the end of trespasser made it seem like disaster was imminent, but apparently solas needed 8 more years to find his little plot knife and set up all those incredibly unstable pillars

Where is the Inquisitor/inquisition??? Why is varric in charge of this???? Esp talking to solas, the end of trespasser makes it very personal between the inquisitor & solas and now they're just AWOL. the fact that inquisition isn't even a faction you can pick according to the developer Q&A is such a mistake, them saying inquisition isn't a major faction in the game is shocking to me. why does nothing matter

The venatori?? The venatori????? they're back but not the inquisitor?????? i thought i killed you losers

so who's that at the end, two of the other evanuris. Solas accidentally freed them from their prison bc rook fucked up the ritual. that's a fine hook but i hate the entire retcon of the evanuris lore but that's a longer rant

ART STYLE/UI

oh boy

the rain effect/puddle effect looks like it's from another game + why is it raining everywhere??? the huge ghibli rain droplets on everyone's clothes look weird, they're ginormous and so prominent. why is everyone is wearing hydrophobic clothes lmao

the interact button is ew. the approval/disapproval UI looks weird and it's in a weird place on the screen. the demon designs are bad. the hair textures are suspect. again, what's up with the hydrophobic clothes. but i lost it with neve's snowflake spell effects hahaha oh my god it looks so cartoony and weird, it's so unserious. those snowflakes are SO BIG!!! and SO PROMINENT!! everything has its moments of looking weirdly cartoony; the walls in minrathous stuck out to me as just looking odd in a way i can't quite put my finger on, the walking through the eluvian effect looked SO bad that my immediate thought was "oh wow that can't be the final version"

the lip-sync is...weird sometimes. I can't quite put my finger on why that's bugging me either but it's disturbing my eye

they got rid of so much of varric's chest hair, it's a felony. i also don't like harding's re-design, i feel like they tried too hard to make her pretty and i barely recognized her at first glance

it looks better than the reveal trailer but i don't love it

it's so funny how rook changes armor mid-cutscene. they clearly cut out a menu of the player setting equipment but the first time I watched the thing, I blinked and rook had fully changed clothes and it made me bust out laughing

finally: lol you can see texture pop-ins even in the gameplay reveal video (rook's armor around 8:00) they still can't optimize a game for shit

DIALOGUE

how did they fuck up the dialogue sweet god

right off the bat: the exposition is really clunky, enough so it made me wonder whose benefit it's for. do they really think people will pick up this game without playing at least DAI first? varric is explaining shit that no one in their right mind in-universe wouldn't already know, like "solas bad! breaking the veil bad!" i know that. bioware hates making games for people who already like their games

the dialogue overall is just...boring mostly. super predictable and utilitarian. i get like zero personality out of anybody, like i noted with neve in her intro. i get the SENSE of a personality but it's like. drinking la croix. just a hint. harding is particularly boring (and, side note & apparent hot take: everyone is acting like harding was a big fan favorite and i'm like. she's fine. it was nice to chat with her in DAI in every new region, just to see a familiar face, but narratively she brings very little to the table for me, she's not that interesting. and I don't get how everyone's acting like she was an obvious choice for a returning NPC who gets the promotion to companion. I'd rather have like. Josephine or somebody who had an actual character arc in DAI. Krem from the chargers (i know he can die so it can't be him but i'm dreaming here, sue me). Briala from WEWH. fuck, I'd be more interested in maryden the minstrel honestly, then we have half an excuse to bring cole back too, I feel like he probably has some reaction to all this veil-destroying shit. cole is better friends with solas than varric ever was, why isn't he here talking to solas. isn't varric still the viscount of kirkwall. why is he here at all). the delivery of the dialogue is really bland too, it's like all the actors are reading their lines for the first time and whatever idiot at bioware's in the booth with them was like "ya that's a wrap" bc they wanted to go to lunch sooner

DISHONORABLE MENTION: the entire dialogue exchange in arlathan forest btwn neve and harding is egregiously bad. "I've never seen anything like it!" "The tremors are getting worse!" "We've got demons!" it sucks

COMBAT

i'm just so pissed off

it uh. i hate it. it's my least favorite thing by far and it dashed my hopes the hardest. i can tolerate ugly UI and questionable art and a dumbass story, it's dragon age, that's what i'm here for. but it simply doesn't look like a game i'd enjoy playing. it reminded me of God of War 2018, like the leakers said way back when, and also like the Batman Arkham games with that little alert effect around rook's head and the dodging/parrying and the combos. but it's not what i come to dragon age for and i'm really bummed out. the additional details from the developer Q&A didn't make me feel any better (3 abilities??? i thought DAI was stingy with just 8, to say nothing of DAO and DA2 which, by endgame, grant you so many abilities that you can't even use them all in one fight. i like playing mages, i only get 3 spells? fuck that). it looks like a fixed camera focused on rook in combat, so you're getting attacked from offscreen and there's nothing you can do about it. the little lines showing you how projectiles will move is lame. the pop-ups about picking up gold are silly. i can't control companions??? what the fuck game even is this

I hate the action wheel. I hate that it takes up the whole screen, and it seems you can only pause when you're doing the action wheel. gross

so I see the little line with the dots on the bottom during combat that indicates when you can use special attacks. question: does each companion get their own bar for their own abilities, or does the whole squad draw on that one pool of points/resources/whatever. bc I have a bad feeling it's the latter

lol @ fighting those venatori goons on the edge of a cliff and you can only knock them off once their health bars are empty, you can't shove them off to kill them quicker. you wish you were bg3

it's like they made it to be played on consoles/controllers not PC

10 xp for killing like 8 demons?????

VARRIC & SOLAS??? STORYLINE?????

seriously, can anyone explain to me why talking solas down is varric's job. for real. it's been 8 yrs since trespasser and we're only just now getting to the evil plan???? the fuck is solas waiting for

harding & varric are suddenly besties with solas??? lmao. are harding and solas ever in the same room together in DAI, seriously. i know varric and solas have friendly banter exchanges but all of that content is determinant, the only actual quest that links them is cole's quest and they spend that whole quest respectfully disagreeing

anyway. varric goes to talk to solas (it should be the inquisitor doing that but ok) and solas destroys bianca (death penalty for that alone tbh) and then they just like...keep standing there talking??? why isn't solas trying to hurt him or anything. also, why is he so dumb that rook can sneak around and knock over a pillar to ruin his ritual. how does this ruin the ritual. he's so stupid. why can't varric just tackle him, we're all just STANDING THERE waiting for the world to end

"The veil is a wound inflicted on this world!!" ...yeah inflicted by...you...right solas...come the fuck on. shut up

this intro in minrathous is basically the beginning of me3 including walking across thin planks and doing lame auto-platforming with a recurring character from a previous game while the world is getting exploded around you. come on

THIS IS JUST FUNNY

Varric about Solas, a career liar who he knew for maybe a year and is now actively trying to destroy the world: he's my friend!!! Varric about Anders, who he hung out with every day for 6+ years and merely blew up a church to start a war, which was not a world-destroying event: hes dead to me!!!!!!!

man oh man i'm just. aaaaaaaugh

i think a real big problem in dragon age that bioware clearly has no idea how to handle is...hmm how to describe it. narrative compounding?? the weight of all these games filled with choices that somehow have to cohere over one narrative despite being written and developed by whole teams of different people over the course of like 20 years. it's a problem mass effect doesn't have, at least not in the original trilogy, since the original trilogy is all about shepard. so it's easier to cohere all those choices together, and in ME3 i was actually really satisfied by the sensation of continuity and completion i ended up with, how many characters reappeared and remembered how i'd interacted with them before. i've always liked playing someone new in dragon age, but it makes it really difficult for the story to track all these previous decisions and ensure they have weight. and everyone's gonna get attached to different characters and questlines and outcomes and feel like they're important, but not all of them can actually BE important. i understand that. that's just part of the RPG experience. but i feel we're reaching a point in dragon age where each subsequent game disregards increasingly critical aspects of the previous game's story and it's making so much of the prior games feel retroactively...worthless. like. where's the inquisition? did nothing i do in that game matter? the developer Q&A mentioned that you'll design your inquisitor in the character creator, so clearly they're part of the game, so why ALSO say the inquisition's not a significant faction in the game? wtf are we DOING??? and obviously the Warden's been AWOL since DAO and i doubt that'll change, and the developer Q&A mentioned the Here Lies The Abyss choice won't make an impact so that possibly rules Hawke out too, and as the games go on it just feels more and more absurd that these past heroes have nothing to do with current crises, and all the timeskips create increasingly long lengths of time between each game, making new appearances from old characters seem more and more unlikely. and so many of the companions/old heroes can die in their respective games, so if bioware decides, hey, let's bring merrill back or whoever, how do we write around that? there's just too many choices, but the POINT of the games is the choices, and it's just become impossible to account for everything, but ignoring past plot beats/decisions/characters is frustrating for people like me, who play and replay and try different options and speculate about what might happen next based on their own specific choices. and some of it is understandable. like, i'm biased in favor of my preferred characters and questlines, obviously, and i can't always get what i want. but it's such a bizarre choice for something like...oh idk THE ENTIRE INQUISITION to stop mattering. ugh. augh!!!!! i can't take it

IN CONCLUSION

if varric dies in this game you will see me on the news

[blindmagdalena]

First I’m literally obsessed with the way you write homie it’s literally so in character.

Second, how do you think he would react to having a thicker gf and seeing them being verbally harassed bc of it? I feel like he would lose his mind

this fic has been rewritten and given a smutty follow up! check it out here. ;)

Tonight's gala is a significant one. Not only does Homelander have about a dozen deals to grease with a firm handshake and some oily promises, it's your first time attending one of these events at his side. He couldn't be prouder. You took his breath away in your formal wear; a sight to behold that had him clapping his delight. "You're gonna knock them dead," he whispered in your ear, savoring the flustered, breathy way you laughed.

Strange now that when he looks for you, Homelander doesn't see you on the event floor. You had gone to get drinks while he spoke with this senator—who has officially lost any and all of his interest in the wake of your disappearance—but you've been gone too long. Like an itch at the back of his neck, something doesn't feel right. "Ah, apologies, senator, I seem to have misplaced my date," he says, flashing his best award winning smile. "Gimme a minute to find her. Make sure she hasn't gotten herself into any trouble," he says, throwing in a wink for good measure. His pleasant expression falls off as soon as his back is turned to the boring little man. When Homelander doesn't find you on the event floor, he steps out. He listens for you, filtering out the music, the chatter, the noise of the world. He seeks what is familiar to him, what he would know from a meter or a mile away, and what he hears puts a lump of ice into his gut. You're crying.

Homelander moves swiftly down the hall, finding the women's bathroom in a heartbeat. You've gone far from the event floor, bypassing the nearer bathroom to use one further away. You're hiding, he realizes, but he can't fathom what from. He moves faster, imagining that you're hurt, that someone has you, that— "Babe?!" Homelander calls sharply, slamming open the door. He doesn't mean to scare you, but he can see in your expression that he did. Your eyes are wide and red, tears trailing black mascara down your cheeks. You stand with your hand lingering on the bathroom sink, and as the shock fades, your expression falters.

He's never seen you look so... sad. It twists in him like a hot knife, the discomfort he feels at it turning immediately into rage. Anger comes quick and easy to him. His voice is low when he demands, "Tell me what happened." "It's nothing," you try to dismiss, picking up the tissues you dropped on the floor to toss them into the garbage. "I just got overwhelmed at the party." "You're crying in a bathroom a floor down from the event, it is categorically not nothing," he argues, taking hold of your arms once he's near enough. He pulls you into him, lifting a hand to cup the side of your face. Thanks to plenty of experience with makeup in film and television, he knows better than to smear the blackened tears on your cheeks, though the impulse to wipe them away is there. "C'mon. Tell me."

You lean into him as you always do. He is a pillar, just as you have been for him. He can't fucking stand seeing you like this. "I don't belong here. I don't... talk, or dress, or look like these people. They're all..." You lift your hands, gesturing vaguely. Your voice sounds hoarse. He can't bear the sadness in it. "Perfect." "You have to be kidding me," Homelander says, his disbelief genuine. "The gaggle of sycophants and suits back there? They're insipid. Boring as all hell. I can't even tolerate being in the same room as them without you anymore," he says, huffing a laugh in an attempt to ease your mood. Anything to bring back your smile. "Seriously, what brought this on? You've never given a shit about all that pomp before." Your gaze drops. He knows you're hiding something from him. "Hey, c'mon," he coos, using the knuckle of his index finger to tilt your chin back up. "Tell me, and I will make it better."

One way or another.

With visible reluctance, you take a breath. "I... went to get the drink, like I said," you begin, fidgeting with the zipper on his glove. "When a group of people kind of cornered me at the bar. They seemed nice at first, they were asking questions about me, about us, which I know you said to expect, but then..." Your eyes prickle, he can see fresh tears well up as you speak. Homelander slips a hand to your back, rubbing it, his brow furrowed.

Sounds like someone's going to die tonight.

"One of them commented on my dress, she said that... Vought must not be used to dressing women my size," you say, voice falling quieter with every word. New tears fall. Homelander's jaw tenses. He looks away from you, blinking back that familiar crimson burn. "They all started laughing, and I just wanted to disappear," you say, a tight little sob escaping your throat as Homelander pulls you in against his chest, rubbing your back. "I'm sorry I didn't-" "No," Homelander interrupts, his anger making the word sound harsher than he intended. "No," he says again, correcting himself to be gentler. This rage isn't for you, after all. "No apologies. Let's get you cleaned up, alright? Get back out there." Someone is definitely going to die tonight. You tense up, pushing back from his arms to look up at him. "Please, I'd really like to just go home." "We will," he assures you, smoothing his hands up and down your arms. "Soon. I want you to show me the group who spoke to you."

"I don't want to cause a scene," you plead, flattening your hands to his chest. "They're not worth it." "No, they're not. But you are," he says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. He holds you firm until he feels you begin to melt, yielding to the warmth of him. By the time he draws back, you look sufficiently pliant. "Okay," you say quietly. He bites back a predatory smirk. "Nothing too dramatic, please?" You plea, leveling him with an attempt at a firm look, despite your big teary eyes. "Me? Dramatic?" He asks, feigning outrage. "I mean it," you stress, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There it is, Homelander thinks. There is not a single heinous thing he would not do to see you smile. "Relax," he purrs. "I'll handle this."

When the two of you return to the event floor, it only takes you a moment to point out the offending group. With a hand wrapped securely around your waist, Homelander brazenly guides you to them. He feels you squeeze his hand anxiously, but he isn't the least bit deterred.

"Heyyy, what's up!" Homelander greets boisterously, bulldozing into their conversation with the friendliest of tone. Only you are wise enough to recognize the venom dripping from the corners of his mouth. His canines glint sharply in the light, as if eager for a bloody meal.

The air is strange, a mixture of drunken excitement and surprised nervousness. It's not every day Homelander himself steps into your conversation. A few of them look at you before they exchange glances, but clearly enough alcohol has been imbibed that they're feeling brave. They don't see the danger they're in. Homelander runs his tongue along his teeth. You clueless fucking idiots.

"Homelander, oh my god! I was hoping to run into you," one of the women announces. He can smell the liquor on her breath when she leans in, putting a bold hand on his arm opposite to the one he holds you with. "I'm such a fan, you have no idea. I've seen every one of your movies," she says, flushed giddy.

"Always great to meet such a dedicated fan," he says, lying through his teeth. A glance through her bag gives him exactly what he needs; her Vought security badge. She works in communications. "Kathleen, right? In Communications," he says, pointing a finger at her, his eyes slightly narrowed, as if he's just now recalling this information. "Oh, I-wow, yes! I can't believe you know who I am," she says, glancing back at her companions.

"I try to know everyone I work with," he lies smoothly, subtly shrugging her hand off of his shoulder, placing his hand on his hip. Not all of them work for Vought, but each of them has their ID on them. A quick flit of his super powered vision between them is all it takes for him to know each and every one of them.

Homelander cocks his head to the side, giving her a once over. Her dress is richly patterned, a myriad of black, white and red. The belt bears a familiar double C logo.

“Wow, Kathleen, look at you. Chanel, huh? Oh, wait…,” he stops himself, leaning forward to take a better look at the details of the dress. He clicks his tongue, standing straight. “Nooope, I misspoke. Chanel doesn’t bleed. Not a bad knock-off, though,” he says with a brief downturn of his lips, shrugging. Immediately, all eyes fall on Kathleen. There are a couple of stifled giggles and some childish oohh's. The man to her left, seeming eager to play along with Homelander’s little game of Mean Girls, readily chimes in, “Busted.” “I’d be quiet if I were you, Chuck,” Homelander says, rounding on the man so sharply, his laughter falls immediately silent. The shock on his face is understandable. He doesn't work for Vought. Homelander has no right knowing his name. “I can smell the red paint on the bottom of those misshapen Johnston & Murphy’s you’re trying to pass off as Louis Vuitton. Now that’s embarrassing.” This time, no one’s laughing. There’s no mirth left in Homelander’s voice, and they've all finally realized it. His gaze is drifting from one potential prey to the next, his mouth set in an unyielding line. He lifts his brows, waiting for them to continue their jeering.

“What? No one has anything to say to that? How about you, Jason?” He asks, startling one of the other men. “Why don’t we talk about those fucking ugly veneers of yours? I mean, god damn. I’ve never seen a more square smile in my life. It’s like staring at white slatwall every time you open your mouth.” Homelander begins to laugh. The sound of it is thorned, vicious to behold. “Aww, c’mon, don’t be so fucking sensitive. You wanted to have a laugh at my girl, right? Let’s laugh, then,” he says, lifting a gloved hand to snap his fingers impatiently, demanding, “Laugh!” Like a bark from an obedient dog, a single man amidst the group forces a stilted laugh. Homelander hones in on him with the precision of a seeking missile, dropping his hand. Deadpan, he asks, “Something funny, Jim?” Jim audibly gulps. “Y-you said-” "Y'see, that's your problem. You're all just a bunch of fucking sheep, so desperate to be seen as somebody, you end up being no one at all. If you put half the effort you put into kissing ass into a personality, you might be a fraction as interesting as she is," he says, gesturing to you with the hand he doesn't have holding you close.

"But instead you prop yourselves up on all this..." Homelander spins his hand loosely through the air before sighing, "Bullshit. It's boring. You're all so fucking boring and miserable with yourselves. You reek of it," he says, lip twitching in a near snarl. "Go. Get the fuck out of my tower,” he rumbles, voice set low. “All of you. Before I throw you off the balcony myself.”

There's a pregnant pause before Homelander snaps, "Now!" Like roaches, the lot of them scatter. Homelander watches them with a sneer. He would have preferred literally tearing them apart, but it's neither the time nor the place. "Holy shit," you whisper. Homelander hums quietly, turning to look down at you. Before he can say a word, you grab hold of the back of his neck and kiss him absolutely senseless. He grins against your lips, turning to pull you properly into his arms. His ego swells immediately, the kiss speaking volumes. You're pleased. Pleased with him. He greedily soaks up the feeling of your body against his, lips moving against yours, eager to chase away the salt smell of your tears with something a little more salacious. The two of you break apart before the kiss becomes any more scandalous than it already was, the buzz of the crowd around you dulled by the fervency pulsing between your bodies. "That was... the hottest thing anyone has ever done for me," you whisper, your heart beating heavily in your chest.

"That so? Might not be for long. This dress on your body has been driving me positively wild. All. Night. Long," he says, punctuating each word with a kiss. You bite your lip, inhaling a sharp, flustered little breath. "Can we get out of here yet?"

"You're damn right we can," he says, kissing you again.

That night, Homelander fucks you in and out of the dress. The truth of it is that whether you're dressed to the nines or laid completely bare, he will always be wild for you. You're beautiful, you're his through and through, and he's going to make sure every inch of you knows it.

He can deep fry those morons another night.