#she's a bit of a red hood when she first establishes herself as a crime lord

[vegalocity]

Considering: how Minyi might react to bb Bell.

Well- it depends on how old she was when Bell was born. She's about six during the events of LMK so depending on how long Goliath and Meiyun were together before they had Bell she could be anywhere from eight- to like fourteen when they had Bell

I think on the younger side she just FULLY adopts her as a baby sister even though that's absolutely not how family works, Nah it totally IS tho because the spiders haven't had any kids in hundreds of years since Huntsman and Goliath became of age, so the idea that they wouldn't be communally raising the kid is of course absurd.

and it's not that she wouldn't adopt Bell as a baby sister if she was more on the older side, but i think it'd be more... complicated.

Minyi is fully human, she's BEEN fully human and she will continue to BE fully human until she almost dies when a case goes too wrong and someone injects her with that vial of 'just in case' spider venom to rapidly heal her wounds but also make her a hybrid like her father is now. She had to fight for clan acceptance beyond 'Huntsman and Goliath individually like her well enough but she can't REALLY be clan because she and the Queen don't like eachother' and arguably still doesn't have it and might not until she's fully an adult and goes from Teen Sleuth to Kingpin crimelord (No joke thats her future when she hits adult years) but Bell was named princess from the moment she was handed to SQ

If she's a teenager at the time i think she'd still love and care for Bell very much, but I think there would be some sort of tone of muted resentment to it. Like, the kind where you do kinda feel bad about how easy something came to someone younger when you had to fight for every step in the process, but you also aren't REALLY surprised. Because when did ANYTHING ever come easy to Wong Minyi? Her life has been nothing but the hard way for longer than she can remember.

That said- when she's an adult and IS that Kingpin of crime, forcing the spider clan back into proper relevancy (albeit through different means than they would have expected) she ABSOLUTELY would go full 'this is my precious baby sister Bell she's the crime princess of this mafia and if anyone makes her cry you're taking a long walk of a short pier'

[kitkatt0430]

Been in a Batfamily (in all it's fucked up drama) mood lately and thinking...

Jason gets into town, starts establishing his Red Hood persona, screwing with the Bats and taking over Crime Alley. He intends to use the new Robin to screw with Batman and manipulating Black Mask into reporting the new Red Hood back to the original. And as planned, Joker does not respond well to 'some upstart' using his old moniker.

Except when Joker breaks out of Arkham he can't help but be distracted by Batman and his shiny new Robin. (Has Joker been out while Tim's been Robin at this point? Let's say no for the sake of fanfic purposes.) Now Harley made Joker promise no more killing kids after what happened with the last Robin, made it clear that was a hard boundary for her and she'd leave him for good if he want after any more kids.

Of course, his promise that of course he wouldn't kill anymore kids was a total lie but it got Hartley to go all soft and agreeable for him again and that was what mattered. Besides, he doesn't want to kill this Robin. He wants to see what Batman sees in having child sidekick and take one for himself.

So Tim gets kidnapped by the Joker before Bruce can send the poor kid somewhere not Gotham for his safety. And Joke unmasks Tim because of course he does. And Harley sees how young Tim is and watches Mr. J start electrocuting the kid because surely the brainwashing'll stick if they fry his noggin' a bit first...

And Harley decides this is a boundary for her too. She can't be a part of this and even if it kills her, she's going to save this kid. She knows she can't do it on her own and her first thought is to go find Batman.

Of course, she quickly nixes this idea. Batman isn't ruthless enough and sure maybe he'll make it all the way through Joker's henchmen - admittedly as per usual - and rescue the kid. But then Mr. J will go back to Arkham and even though Harley doesn't want Joker dead... she also kinda wants him dead for this one. For using his promise to her not to kill kids as an excuse to torture children instead.

Next choice is Nightwing but he's out for the same reasons as Batman. Nightwing is somewhat more likely to kill the Joker and could live with it in the way Batman couldn't, but it's not a guarantee and Harley wants this kid to know that the guy who did this to him will never be able to do it ever again.

And then Harley remembers. Red Hood. Who definitely picked that name not as an homage but as a taunt. Who clearly hates the Joker and all he stands for. Who will... probably kill Harley, let's be honest, but she's not sure she wants to live without her Mr. J even as she's mentally planning out the man's death. So.

Harley makes an excuse to leave. Joker says something about mom doing the grocery shopping to the kid he's electrocuting and hands off a list of random stuff to Harley. She takes it and skedaddles. Heads all the way to Crime Alley. Stands outside it for a long moment. Thinks about the kid Joker's gotten his hands on. The way he screamed and cried and begged for Batman to come save him after the bravado of Robin quickly wore off.

She steps into Crime Alley. And then she does random acrobatics down the street, waiting for the Red Hood or his men to show up.

And they do. The Red Hood's henchmen are quick and efficient in grabbing her and presenting her to their boss. There's a gun in her face and she should be terrified and she is but...

She tells Red Hood about the kid. She drops the fake accent she put on for Joker and let's herself be, for just one last time, Harleen instead of Harley. The doctor who cares and not the killer Joker molded her into. "So kill me or whatever, I know I deserve it for believing Mr. J's lies again. But you have a code. You don't hurt kids. You don't kill kids. And maybe I'm asking too much, but I wasn't there and didn't save the last one. So I'm begging you to save this one."

Jason sees green. He has Harley take him to the Joker's hide out. He tears his way through the Joker's goons and doesn't hesitate to kill the Joker because he's too deep in the pit rage at the man who murdered him to care about his convoluted plans to try and force Bruce's hand, to make Batman finally kill Joker.

On the bright side, killing the Joker himself clears up some of Jason's lazarous pit related anger management issues. On the spot. The down side however is that Jason now has a traumatized Tim to deliver back to Batman - which he'd rather not, Batman cannot be trusted not to weaponize children - without being blamed for the state Tim's in.

He makes this Harley's problem - explain this to the Bats yourself, it's your punishment, Harley - and decides he needs a new plan to say 'screw you' to Batman with. He's gonna win over Robin 3.0 and get the kid to willingly abandon Batman to join the Red Hood Crew. How hard can it be, anyway?

Meanwhile Tim has absolutely figured out Jason is the Red Hood because he's absolutely connecting dots he should not be capable of connecting and formulating his own plan to try and lure Jason back home. Because why would Tim focus on healing from his own trauma when he could prioritize someone else's and compartmentalize the hell out of his own problems. Which is definitely the healthy thing to do and not at all going to bite him in the ass with depression and miscommunications down the line. (They all need so much therapy.)

So now the Joker's dead, Harley has delivered Tim safely back to Batman, (Ivy is about to get an unexpected visitor,) and the Bats are about to start playing four-d chess with each other to try and achieve various goals. Jason is trying to steal Tim from Bruce. Bruce thinks maybe saving Robin means the new Red Hood could be saved from himself after all. Tim is trying to lure Jason back to the manor for Alfred's cookies and oh is that a long overdue conversation with Bruce that is also sprung on him like a trap??? And Dick would just like to thank Red Hood but somehow winds up drunk confessing to the definitely-a-hallucination-of-Jason the whole didn't find out his little brother was dead until after the funeral when Dick got back from space thing and how he's so grateful to the Red Hood for saving this new kid who's just the neighbor's kid but also rapidly looking brother-shaped and why is he so bad at protecting the people he cares about???

(Jason rapidly going from 'drunk Dick is funny' to 'drunk Dick is clingy and cries and oh god he's getting emotions all over me make it stop')

[greeeengoblin]

Hit me my darling tonight <3 Slade/Fem!Jason

Jessica Todd had finally decided to join the Batfamily after a long time, but she hadn't anticipated that she could be kidnapped by Deathstroke on their first mission together. As a mercenary, Deathstroke hadn't planned to kidnap Red Hood; in fact, he was thinking of abducting someone closer to the family like Red Robin and demanding a ransom. However, when he realized that Red Hood was actually a young girl and the least protected and loneliest member of the family, he quickly and successfully abducted her. Jessica had been sitting on the cold concrete floor of an empty warehouse brought by Slade for nearly four hours, her hands, feet, and mouth bound. Her helmet and gloves had been taken from her, leaving her with nothing useful, and Jessica didn't even think Bruce and the others would come to help her. Her hair was matted with blood and sweat, her thin, weak arms were covered in bruises and cuts, and the sleeves of her black Red Hood outfit had small tears. Her frail, weak legs were almost shivering from the cold. Despite this, she could still look at Slade with great anger and courage. Slade almost felt pity for Jessica. He took photos of Jessica in her current state and then swiftly pulled the tape from her mouth. Jessica's jaw was clenched, and her mouth was almost bright red.

"Don't you have some kind of button to call the big bat? Anything to get him here?" Slade asked.

"No." Jessica replied, then looked at Slade with a confident and slightly smug smile. Her face showed a clear expression of confidence and a bit of defiance. Her eyes were slightly narrowed, scrutinizing her opponent carefully, and the corners of her lips were curled upward. Her eyebrows were slightly raised, carrying a mocking expression. This expression seemed intended to belittle the person in front of her or establish superiority over them, and Slade was annoyed by Jessica's ability to stand like this even in such a bad condition next to him.

"Then what are you relying on, huh?" Slade asked. "No one is coming to save you, you'll stay here in pain forever. Besides, I can find many clients who want me to kill you." Slade put his hand on Jessica's cheek. "Maybe the great crime lord Red Hood's skin would appeal to Black Mask..." He continued talking and calculating while his hands roamed over Jessica's body, his hands reaching her chest. "Hah... Very small," Slade mocked. Jessica's chest was almost non-existent, her body very thin but strong and flexible.

Jessica, responding to Slade's mockery, gave him a hard headbutt. Slade screamed in pain, Jessica's head was very hard. Jessica continued to laugh cunningly, her nose bleeding, making her look more like a psychopath. "Even in this state, I can hurt you, so don't talk too much and keep your hands to yourself," Jessica said.

Slade stood up in anger and gave Jessica a hard, effective slap on the face, but Jessica said nothing in response. There was no sign of pain, and she continued to smile as she turned away. Slade's eyes widened; he hadn't realized Jessica was such a psychopath and disturbing person. There was something about this girl that made him feel strange; Slade felt both fear and irritation towards Jessica but also a bit of pity.

"What are you trying to do?" Slade asked, his voice almost at its lowest level and in a more compassionate and sincere tone. As soon as Jessica heard this question, she felt her face fall in a strange way. Her face showed a clear expression of anger and sadness, her eyes full, as if she was trying hard to hold back tears. Her eyes were slightly red, her gaze focused sharply on Slade, her lips tightly closed, her facial features tense and angry. Her eyebrows were furrowed, with slight wrinkles forming on her forehead. Clearly, she was angry, but this anger was directed at herself; Jessica was angry at herself.

"Hit me... And say 'you're mine'. I don't know... But I'll like it," Jessica said. She lifted her head towards Slade and approached him submissively, her hands and feet still tied, making her tired.

Slade's eyes widened at this question, and he pulled back. He didn't expect to hear such a sentence; he wasn't a pedophile. "What are you talking about, you crazy girl?"

"I love you... I love you so much." Jessica's face tensed. Her eyes now looked more alive, glancing at Slade. Her heart was beating rapidly. "I was only there for you to kidnap me. I knew you would take someone else instead of me... I threw away the communication devices I had with me so they wouldn't find me..."

[queenofthefullmoon]

An exhaustive list of Bloodborne bosses I would or would not date

Father Gascoigne

We’re starting this list off with a strong yes. You may be like, but Blue, this is a married man with two daughters! To this I reply: I pretend not to hear it. Also, not to be horrible, but his wife is dead while I’m right there baby, with my blunderbuss and my axe, and I’m ready to risk it all. YES, I know he’s a very stinky man, but you gotta make compromises sometimes. What’s that smell? Ah, the sweet dilf, it sings to me.

Cleric Beast

Let me be clear, I’m not a furry, but the Cleric Beast has stated some facts and made some points! The only reason why I’m not to keen on dating it is that it can’t best me in battle, which is something I’m always looking for in a partner.

Blood Starved Beast

Our first no of the list, I’m not very into skin flaps and poison, which the Blood Starved Beast has plenty of. Moreover, I’d have to get Djura’s approval, and that scares me beyond anything else in Yharnam.

Vicar Amelia

Another Cleric Beast, this time with a bit more flair to it. First of all we just have to admire the way she transforms, very sexy and bloody, which is something you’re gonna want in your relationship if you’re someone who likes fun. (Thiccar) Amelia, cradle me like your golden pendant.

Hemwick witches

Another hard no here. No offense, but I like having eyes, and dating a pair of witches covered in eyes that they’ve been harvesting for years doesn’t seem like a good idea to me!

Shadows of Yharnam

Honestly yeah? You get 3 cool partners in black robes for the price of one. They all wield different weapons, which makes for two excellent things. First of all, you get a very efficient bodyguard team (useful at parties, when a hunter gets drunk on blood, or when you open your front door and a beast is there). Secondly, if you want to have a fun sparring match with your partners, which we all know is a fundamental activity in a couple, you have very varied options!

And a bonus for animal lovers: they can spawn snakes at will for you!! Never a boring day with your 3 hooded partners.

Rom, the vacuous spider

NO. Don’t date Rom. She’s baby! She doesn’t understand what’s going on. Instead, here’s a list of nice activities you can do with Rom:

- Read her stories

- Trims her back growths

- Clean her teeth

- Make her some cute little glasses

- Knit matching socks for her and her children

- Teach her new spells

- Not date her

Darkbeast Paarl

Paarl is a similar situation as Rom. He’s just a little puppy… He doesn’t know what dating is. He knows what going on a walk means, though! So go on, go on a happy little walk with Paarl. He’ll love it, you’ll have fun, everyone will be happy.

Amygdala

Yes. Evidence that it’s a good idea is: lots of arms (good hugs), can grab the shit out of me, CAN and WILL crush me, can sometimes shatter my consciousness with its eldritch powers (very sexy), can send me in other dimensions, will annihilate my enemies with a funky laser beam, and the most amazing feature: can pop it’s eyes out of its skull like a stress ball (fun trick to show your friends at parties). The ideal girlfriend.

The One Reborn

NO!!!!! There’s a lot of freaky stuff I’d date in Bloodborne but the One Reborn is NOT one of them. Firstly, it has 6 nannies. Do I look like the type of person who wants their dates consistently moderated by 6 Pthumerian elders? No!!! I’m a free bitch baby!! And in addition to that, Juan Reborn just has too many limbs. It’s not okay. If we ever got engaged I wouldn’t know where to slip the ring.

Micolash, Host of the Nightmare

Would I..? No, I wouldn’t… Unless? Haha, just kidding. Wait… Actually… Um.

I mean… If you’re into bastardous hysterical little men who howl while running around, sure. BUT beware… You might lose him in a mirror and never find him again, which I find very inconvenient. Imagine going shopping with a guy who compulsively disappears in mirrors. Imagine explaining to the store employees why your dumbass boyfriend broke all their mirrors.

Also, how will we kiss?  With the cage on the way?

Oh god, do I have to wear a cage too?

Celestial Emissaries

I’m not against having a multitude of partners but I’m afraid that might be too much for me. Also, they look like little tiny bebes. I know I’ve said before that I wasn’t ready to be a parent, but I might make an exception for the Celestial Emissaries — let them chill in my home, make them pb&j sandwiches, stuff like that.

Ebrietas, Daughter of the Cosmos

Dear Ebrietas… I have a lot of fondness for her but she looks way too much like mac’n’cheese for comfort. She’s invited for sleepovers and all, no doubt about that, but I see our future together as platonic.

Martyr Logarius

Now Listen… Logarius is an Enemy of women. The proof of his crimes still remains in Cainhurst castle. Do I want to date the genocidal Yharnam Santa? Are you really asking me that? Do you take me for Executioner Alfred? I am not crazy. I will not date Martyr Logarius and his red skulls spamming ass (however miss Annalise queen of the Vilebloods, call me).

Mergo’s Wet Nurse

Um yes of course? Tall dark eldritch wife? I feel like Mergo’s Wet Nurse is the Dancer of Bloodborne, where I’m in a situation where I’m presented with the ideal girlfriend and people expect me to say no because she’s an enormous eldritch entity who could kill me in one hit or whatever. Do you think me a coward? Do you believe that I am not willing to risk it all for invisible girls? Think again.

Gehrman, the First Hunter

Ew no! Gross! He’s gonna make a doll designed after me and I will have to call the police!

Moon Presence

On one hand yes (see Mergo’s Wet Nurse) but on the other hand… I feel like the Moon Presence would be too possessive and easily jealous. I just need some freedom, yknow? The liberty to go out and make friends with other Great Ones. And I know she would NOT like that. She’d ask me if I’m the only Great One I’m talking to and I’d have to nervously hide my phone and say Yes Babe Always Babe, lest she would shackle me to an unending dream. I’m not about that life.

Ludwig the Accursed/the Holy Blade

I genuinely don’t know what to say. The screaming horse man? Am I— the horse boy? Him? No. I… I’m not gonna. I love his sword. Lots of class. Very good theme song, could be cool to have him as a friend (maybe I could ride him around to different locations?) but to date? Kiss his horse mouth? KISS HIS EYE MOUTH? You could say that… Neigh.

Laurence, the First Vicar

NOW WE’RE TALKING BABEY… All the class of the Cleric Beast with FIRE included! Picture this: it’s the winter, it’s snowing, and you’re cold… NOT! You are dating a FLAMING BEAST, you are never cold. Laurence has one proper arm to hold you and one arm that’s a constant flaming inferno, which means he’s great for the summer and the winter, depending on which temperature you want to be at. Your enormous flaming boyfriend will always be at your side.

Living Failures

First of all mood, second of all, this is kind of a Celestial Emissaries situation where I’m not against having many partners but I don’t want a whole congregation of them. There’s just too many Living Failures. I also like dating people with faces? And that aren’t, like, blue. So it’s a no from me, but I’ll befriend them. I’ll go garden with them and all. We can have a girls’ night, it’s all good.                      

Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower

I’m gonna have to be predictable and say yes here, but fair warning, Lady Maria isn’t for everyone! I know she looks like the perfect wife, but get this; this lady is a hunter. She’s only a lady because she’s related to royals. She has nothing ladylike in her. You think she takes baths? You think she knows what self-care IS????? I laugh at your ignorance, at how you misunderstand her. Maria is a stinky girl; but she is MY stinky girl.

Orphan of Kos

I don’t want to date the Orphan of Kos because he was literally just born and still has his placenta attached to him.  I don’t care for infants, and I don’t care for violent infants. I wouldn’t even want to invite him over to play with the Celestial Emissaries or something. He’s like that asshole child in kindergarten who hurts the other kids for fun. Am I being harsh to a literal baby and an orphan at that? Maybe. But Kos herself couldn’t tell me I’m wrong.

Bonus chalice boss: Yharnam, Pthumerian Queen

Now listen here… Yharnam is a queen, tall and kinda eldritch, absolutely rabid, which we’ve established is my type. Shall I step on the toes of Oedon and declare her mine? Perhaps. She has a very powerful scream, which worries me in case of a domestic fight, but overall I get to marry a kind of eldritch queen, which is alright in my book. I know she has an equally eldritch baby, but it’s formless, so it doesn’t bother me that much.   Dark Souls 1 ll Dark Souls 2 SOTFS ll Dark Souls 3

[lokislittlesigyn]

OG616 : Thor: The Dark World - Pt.6 [Escape From Asgard]

[My masterlist, where all parts of this and my other fics can be found]

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: Technically sort of nudity? Nothing is described, and the context is purely medical. It’s all at the end so if you’d like to skip that last bit, go right ahead.

Author’s Note: rewatching thor 1 tonight filled me with the itch to post more OG. I love seeing people enjoy this little story - and I hope it lives up to your expectations! <3

Taglist: @high-functioning-lokipath , @onaheroicmission To be added to the taglist, just ask me here or send a message! <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Sigyn stood in the throne room along with Fandral, Volstagg, Odin, and a handful of Einherjar. Everyone had to be caught up to speed: The Dark Elves had returned, after so many thousands of years, and attacked. Murdered Queen Frigga.

Worse, now they were gone without a trace.

"We are still unable to restore the palace shields. Our artillery cannot detect them, even Heimdall cannot see them." Fandral looked at Odin, "My King, we are all but defenseless."

Odin remained still, pondering, until Thor entered.

"She's your prisoner now?"

Sigyn glanced at Thor. They must have Jane. She clenched her jaw and looked to Odin, wondering if, perhaps, grief clouded his judgement.

Odin turned to Thor, who commanded, "Leave us."

The Einherjar, along with Fandral and Volstagg, bowed and left. Sigyn followed, giving Thor a meaningful glance as she passed.

Be wise, brother.

Sigyn left slowly, lingering a while in the shadows. Listening as Thor conveyed a plan, and Odin disregarded it.

"We will fight! Until the last Asgardian breath, the last drop of Asgardian blood." The king clutched his spear, leaning on it.

Haven't enough died already?

There was a pause before Thor spoke again. "Then how are you different from Malekith?"

Odin laughed. "The difference, my son, is that I will win." Then, beating Gungnir on the ground, he dismissed Thor.

Winning. As if victory would bring her back. As if it would change anything. Victory is nothing without the ones we love. Sigyn shook her head, storming out of the room.

~~~~

Odin soon commanded the Bifrost remain closed and established a war council.

As usual, Sigyn was not invited. She decided against barging in. If Odin was beyond reason, time would be wasted on him.

Besides, they had enough problems to deal with. Beyond the Dark Elves’ return, the Aether had infected Jane, and if they did not act soon, the universe itself could be lost.

Sigyn closed a tome she had been studying. Runes, depicting magical forcefields... And how to counteract them.

She made her way to a case off in the side of her room, grabbing one of Loki's lesser-used daggers - until now, it had been left exclusively on display. She placed it in a sheath on her thigh, which was concealed under her skirt. Then, walking over to the mirror, she studied herself.

Time changes us all, she mused, But how strange that it changed me so quickly. One year out of hundreds, and life has become so... Different. She gazed out the window.

Afternoon. Golden sun bathed all of Asgard in brilliant light, the sky so clear and cloudless that even now, stars shone a little in the distance.

If not for the fact the Dark Elves could attack at any time, it could be considered a perfect day.

Every passing minute was agony.

We must act - we can’t wait for Malekith to strike first. Thor had a plan.. He would know what to do. Sigyn straightened up. If I can be of service to him...

She quickly turned, throwing on her special black cloak before jogging off to find Thor.

~~~~

That night, Thor, Fandral, Sif, Heimdall, Volstagg - and for once, Sigyn, met in the dead of night. They sat around a candlelit table in the back room of a tavern, concealed by the darkness.

Thor was first to speak. "What I'm about to ask of you is treason of the highest order. Success will bring us exile and failure shall mean our death...

...Malekith knew the Aether was here, he can sense its power. If we do nothing he will come for it again, but this time lay waste to all of Asgard. We must move Jane off world."

"The Bifrost has been shut down and the Tesseract locked away in a vault," Sif noted, followed by Heimdall.

"There are other paths off Asgard, ways known only to a few."

Thor leaned over the table. "One, actually."

Sigyn's heart fluttered in her chest.

"No." Volstagg said, earning a warning glance from Sigyn. Their gazes met, then broke as they turned back to Thor.

Fandral sighed. "He will betray you."

"He will try." Thor responded.

"Of course he will," Sigyn leaned closer, "But if he has enough incentive to help you, then he will fight for you until his dying breath. If nothing else, Loki is useful to you. He's miserable in that cell..."

Thor looked at her intently. Fandral raised his brows, watching her.

Sigyn's face flushed as she realized her mistake. She cleared her throat.

".. I may have visited him."

"May?" Fandral smirked.

"How did you get past the guards?" Thor's eyes never wavered. Sigyn tilted her head at him and lifted her hood, disappearing from sight.

"Oh, Sigyn.." Volstagg sighed. "Loki's all but ruined her." He lamented as Sigyn dropped the hood again, unable to contain a mischievous smirk.

"Did you know?" Thor turned to Heimdall, who shook his head.

"No."

I fooled the gatekeeper? Sigyn glanced down at her cloak. You deserve a name, my tricky friend.

"Well, what then?” Fandral piped up, “Your lovely mortal is being guarded by a legion of our Einherjar who will see you coming from miles away."

Thor looked at Sif. "I won't be the one who comes for her."

Sif met Thor's gaze. "And what of the Allfather?"

Now Heimdall spoke. "It is my sworn duty to notify him of crimes against the throne."

"Assuming you can get Loki's help, and you can free this mortal - what good would it do?" Volstagg huffed, growing agitated, "We'd all be dead the minute we step one foot outside the palace."

"That, my friend, is where we won't be leaving by foot." Thor answered.

"It's settled, then. Each of you know what you must do." Sigyn looked at Thor, "But what of me? Even with this," she motioned to the cloak, "I'm still the trickster's wife. Not to be trusted."

"That is precisely why you are needed," Thor smirked slightly, "You will help guarantee Loki is on our side."

~~~~

Thor walked down to the dungeons, seemingly alone. Approached Loki's cell, where the ebony-haired god was waiting.

The inside of his cell was perfect.. Too perfect. Immaculately clean and put-together, like its lone tenant, who watched Thor with a critical gaze.

"Thor.." Loki walked up to the barrier. "After all this time and now you come to visit me." He stopped. "Why?” He sneered, “Have you come to gloat? To mock?"

"Loki, enough." Thor remained straight-faced. "No more illusions."

The trickster's eyes widened, then defeated, he disappeared.

The true Loki appeared in the far end of the cell - which was revealed to be a complete wreck, destroyed furniture strewn about it. He was sitting there against the far wall, just as disheveled as the messy room around him.

Ragged.

Heartbroken.

"Now you see me, brother."

Thor walked closer to him.

"Did she suffer?" Loki watched him. His eyes were tinted red - he'd been crying.

"I did not come here to share in our grief. Instead I offer you the chance of a far richer sacrament."

Loki's gaze darkened. "Go on."

Thor watched him intently. "I know you seek vengeance as much as I do. You help me escape Asgard and I will grant it to you, vengeance. And afterward, this cell."

Loki examined the cell, then looking back at Thor, chuckled. "You must be truly desperate to come to me for help."

Thor turned, slowly walking away.

"What makes you think you can trust me?"

"I don't." Thor stopped and faced him again. "Mother did. You should know that when we fought each other in the past, I did so with the glimmer of hope that my brother was still in there somewhere. That hope no longer exists to protect you -

You betray me, and I will kill you."

Loki paused a moment, then hummed. Smiled. "When do we start?"

Thor looked to his right and gave a single, firm nod.

Next to him, Sigyn appeared, the hood of her cloak now pulled down. Loki leaned forward from the wall, his eyes wide and trained on her, glancing over her tear stained cheeks. He gulped.

"Hello, my love." She cast a spell, holding the energy in her hands, "I believe we start now."

~~~~

Sigyn guided Loki to a small room where his armor was waiting. Remained quiet as she traced the frayed edges of his shirt - a physical reminder of the rage, the despair he felt from Frigga’s death.

He shifted his weight and they locked eyes. There was a distinct pain behind them. The very same pain she had seen before, when he was brought before Odin... Her hands made their way down his waist, eventually pulling off his shirt. She swallowed, almost afraid to touch him - it felt like ages since they’d been this close.

He watched her, quiet, and helped remove his other ragged clothes in turn. Finally, he broke the silence.

"That cloak, where did you get it?"

Sigyn looked at him. "I made it." She grabbed a healing stone and crushed it, forcing herself to remain steady as she healed a scrape on his exposed side. 

"You enchanted it yourself?"

She hummed an agreement.

Loki raised his brows, shifting his weight and cocking one hip. He grabbed his nearby dark green undershirt, pulling it on.

"It was.. It was Frigga’s idea. She showed me the right spells… Hold still," she now healed a wound on his leg, trying desperately to ignored the fact her face felt warm. "We have to do this quickly."

Loki obliged, craning his neck to see the spot she’d healed. “It’s just a bit sore.” He adjusted his shirt.

“I’m sorry..” She stood, helping him dress, wishing they could stay like this - her, tending to him, finally seeing him, finally close to him...

But they had to hurry.

“Don’t be, you did fine.” He still spoke gently. “I can handle this much,” he offered, and she grabbed a comb, urging him to sit while she set to untangling his messy locks.

"I’m sorry we don’t have more time," she murmured, trying to be gentle.

He adjusted his sleeves, pulling on his bracers. "Thor wouldn’t allow that. Though I’m sure you asked anyway."

"It was worth a try.." She ran her hands through his hair, tucking it back behind his ears. "I had hoped to at least see you, let you bathe, let you sleep properly.."

"I’m an enemy of Asgard, remember? We don’t have such luxuries." He pulled his boots on, then stood. 

Sigyn set the comb aside, stepping in front of him.

He was beautiful.

Clad in his colors, his body healed, he looked more like himself. And his eyes… Still shielded and colder than before, but now they looked at her intently, taking in the sight of her as long as they could.

"After all this, Odin will see you as a hero." She reached up to caress his cheek. "I’ll make sure of it.. Then we can be together again."

Loki was silent. He placed his hand over hers, keeping it close.

"I promise." She moved closer, their bodies touching, her lips hardly an inch from his, she could feel his soft breath on her skin-

Knock knock.

Thor. He was still waiting outside. Sigyn pulled away. "We have to go."

Loki’s shoulders dropped, and he nodded. "Well. Let’s not keep them waiting."

[otpnessmess]

For you, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do Pt. 3

I ended up beta reading this myself, which only means I made it angstier and longer so..yeh. Coronavirus social distancing going great over here, hope you’re all safe! Enjoy!

Ao3 - Masterlist

First - Previous - Next

-

Old habits kicked in hard as Marinette slipped into Ladybug mode and turned to Jason with a determined look in her eyes he knew very well despite not having seen it for some time now. She sometimes showed an expression resembling it in her daily life, but it never quite felt the same as when she had first gone out on patrol with him.

The young woman had renounced the Miraculous in favor of keeping them safe, but he could tell she sometimes missed the feeling of freedom they brought. So one night he dropped through her window in the middle of the night, way after the bats had ended their nightly rounds, and offered to take her out.

That was the first time they had soared together over the ceilings of Gotham and the sight of her bright smile only made it so Jason fell even harder for her.

Their outings had to be few and far between, since Marinette refused to let the presence of the Miraculous be known, which meant they had to be extra careful before heading out. It became a thing they rarely got to share but, at the same time, it only made them relish it even more.

The man loved seeing her laughing happily while jumping from roof to roof, even if it distracted him a whole lot. He could still feel the ache in his bones from that one time he was too busy admiring her he didn’t see the chimney in front of him. Marinette loved teasing him about that...

"I’ll see if I can help get some people out while you go change Jay.”

All of his fantasizing was shattered by those words as he saw his best friend about to bolt towards danger. She would have left him there with no response had he not grabbed her hand in a desperate attempt to knock some sense into her.

“Nette, wait. You don’t have a Miraculous and we don’t know what’s going on, how many people are there, or who even is attacking. I know you want to help but you should remain unseen, or just escape. We’ll handle it.”

He should’ve known his belle wouldn’t listen to his pleads to remain out of danger’s way, that wouldn’t have been her. If there was someone that needed saving, she would do everything in her hand to help, and Jason could never ask her to ignore that part of herself. Still, he could at least try to convince her not to do anything utterly reckless to the best of his abilities.

The bluenette held in a sigh and was ready to start an argument they really shouldn’t be having in a moment like this. “Jay-”

“Marinette, please . We’ll take care of this, there’s no need for you to endanger yourself more than necessary.” She still didn’t seem convinced enough and in a somewhat panicked effort to get through her he blurted out “What if it’s the Joker? I know you can handle yourself but I still worry. I don’t want to lose you.”

Her eyes softened at the pleading tone of his voice, and next thing Jason knew he was being squeezed to death in another hug. His arms instinctively held her close as if she would disappear if he let go, which he wasn’t sure wouldn’t actually happen.

"That's a bit hypocritical of you if we're being fair, isn't it? I have to see you put yourself on the line to fight crime all the time too.” That made the man feel slightly guilty and blush, she was right. Wasn’t she the one always left behind when he was called to a commotion, wondering whether he’d be back or not?

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to be complaining about it as much as trying to get him to ease his worries, her soft voice mumbling reassuring words while her hand didn’t seem to want to leave its place over his heart.

“I'll be as careful as I can Jay, I promise to avoid unnecessary risks. Now let's go, we can't waste more time."

Giving him one last quick smile she then finally took off, leaving Jason to push his feelings to the back of his mind with a sigh, longing after her warmth. He didn’t allow himself to sulk, though, there were people in danger, and the fastest this was solved the earlier he could get home and watch movies in their pajamas with Mari.

Knowing the high number of rich and powerful people in attendance was very likely to attract some of Gotham's best-known villains like a moth to a flame, Bruce had adopted the habit of reserving a designated room in whatever venue he was organizing an event where the bats could safely change into superhero attire if there ever was a need. Jason would’ve liked to say they hadn’t had the need to use it that often but that was simply not true. Villain break-ins happened more often than not.

Having memorized the blueprints of the building as part of the protocol, he had no trouble finding his way to where his siblings were already getting ready. Barbara and Tim had set up an operations center earlier in the day so they could stay close to monitor the situation and were handing out the intercoms.

Jason immediately started changing while Dick tried to get input on what was happening on the lower floor. “What do we have on our hands this time?”

Tim, who had just put up the surveillance footage from the main hall cameras on the several monitors in front of him, was the one to answer. “The Penguin and about 20 other people stormed the hotel,  all of them armed and if I had to say, probably here for the auction pieces. Around 200 civilians still remain inside, the rest managed to escape before they closed off all the entrances. The balcony and main doors are heavily guarded inside and out but there are still a couple of safe access points through the windows and ceiling. They shouldn’t spot you until it’s too late.”

By the time the report was finished everyone was ready to head into battle. Bruce established disarming the attackers as a priority but, should the opportunity show itself to allow more people to escape, they should focus on that. Quick last-minute directions were given before they were all off, knowing perfectly well every second wasted meant a higher chance of anyone getting hurt.

While this was happening, Marinette had barely managed to make it back to the ballroom doors. People were screaming and in such a haste to get as far from the chaos as possible they were shoving each other out of the way, which meant going in the opposite direction with a puffy gown proved to be incredibly hard.

Once she reached the main entrance, though, the petite woman came to a halt before hiding behind a wall. It had been blocked and a minion stood before it with a rifle in his hands. Just great. She doubted she could get inside without being spotted now, and that made her feel utterly useless.

Despite knowing his friend and his family would be here soon to make quick work of the situation, the urge to help people had been embedded deep within her after so many years battling Hawkmoth and wielding a Miraculous, and she despised having to watch from the sidelines.

Unfortunately, as if some kind of higher power had heard her thoughts, she got pulled out of them by a very loud yelp some meters away from her. The guard had spotted a couple coming back from one of the many minor hallways of the hotel, seemingly oblivious to the transpiring events. His gun was now pointed at them and the man had a wicked grin in his face.

“Oh my my my, what have we got here? Get inside!”

He moved towards them with every intent to push them inside the room, more hostages to be used to bargain with the vigilantes. What he didn’t expect, however, was that turning his back to Marinette’s hiding spot would give her an opening to grab a nearby vase and crack it on his head from behind, knocking him out.

The scared couple thanked her in a rush as she directed them towards the hotel doors, urging them to run. She was relieved they listened since a moment later another minion that heard the commotion had approached her with a rage-filled scream when he saw his partner bleeding on the floor.

Marinette’s training was still useful even if she wasn’t transformed and helped her evade the attacks that were being directed at her body. The man had forgone his gun in favor of trying to mess her up with a deadly-looking knife, thinking she would be somewhat of an easy target.

Fighting unarmed against an armed opponent, especially while wearing a dress and heels, was bound to go wrong though. He managed to land a couple of hits on her in her arms and shoulder, the stinging and extra weight of her dress starting to make her falter. However, before he could take advantage of this and land a deadly blow, Red Hood had already punched him so hard his body landed on the floor, unmoving.

“Worry not Princess, your knight in shining leather is here to save the day!”

Always a lover of the dramatic, Jason bowed with a chuckle before being shoved by Marinette behind the same wall she was hiding earlier, the bullet grazing him on the side.

“Careful!”

More and more attackers were approaching from their positions guarding the entrances because of the ruckus, and they didn’t seem keen in being merciful to the duo. Her mind was running at a thousand miles per hour, coming up with plans to get them both out of this in the easiest way and with the least amount of injuries possible.

Jason, though, didn’t give her the chance to ponder this for long before he reached to cup her face, told her to run, and jumped in to square up against all the goons by himself, trying to give her an easy escape route. Truth be told, he would have probably been able to take on those guys enough for one of his siblings to show up and help him out. She did hear him call for help into his intercom after all.

But she also saw how at the minimum display of struggle a guy landed a shot to his head that, even if it merely cracked his helmet, had Marinette’s heart racing and her throat tightening. This was still her best friend in that suit, and she’d be damned if she would play bystander while he was endangering himself.

Utilizing the shadows as cover, she hurried to pick up the guns and knife from the fallen men near her and gulped at the implications of it. It weighed in her hand and mind, what she was about to do. However, she didn’t allow herself to dwell on it. Those men could live without a hand, or a foot, but she could never imagine a life without Jason.

Thanking the heavens that she had accepted his offer to teach her how to shoot, the bluenette first went for the ones on the sidelines holding the guns. The sound of the weapon going off was deafening in her ears, her arms were bloody and her hands were sweaty, but steady.

Five shots were all she needed before the only noises left were the ones coming from the men brawling. It seemed that the sounds of gunshots were enough to attract their attention to her, making one of them point his own weapon at her.

Paralyzed in place, Marinette witnessed Red Hood knocking out the two men holding him back before going for the one focusing on her. She was extremely relieved seeing the last threat come down crumbling to the floor as Jason breathed heavily standing in the middle of the mess.

Marinette wanted to rush to his side and see for herself if he was okay, but as she tried to move she started to feel just how heavy her limbs were. Drowning in the sound of her blood in her ears, her head felt light and dizzy.

Looking down, she wondered when she had added sleeves to her dress, her entire arms coated in a beautiful crimson. Her eyes then glazed over the bullet wound on her shoulder, wondering how she hadn’t noticed it yet, before turning to Jason.

If Marinette tried really hard, she could hear him calling for her in agony. He was going to be so mad at her for not turning tail when he told her to. She hoped he could forgive her.

The image of her best friend running to her and catching her before her body could hit the floor was the last thing she remembered before everything went black.

-

As always, thank you so much for reading! I hope to maybe update the 4th part at some point but don’t quote me on that, I try my best but I’m not always in the mood to write.

Tag list

@18-fandoms-unite-08 @vixen-uchiha @tbehartoo @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @queenmj10 @mochegato @stressedfan @bigpicklebananatree @novicevoice @crytallized @maribat-shenanigans @casual-darkness @kiara-rose-blackthorn @fertileleaf @chez-pezeater @shizukiryuu @marinettepotterandplagg @normal-piece-of-shit @theatreandcomicfreak @violatiger8 @corabeth11 @i-is-mysterious @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @weird-pale-blonde-person @iloontjeboontje

[more-pokeimagines]

Stone Cold Body [03] - Chapter 2

A/N: Here’s chapter 2, I hope you enjoy it just as much as the previous parts. 

Warnings: mentions of violence and executions 

Past

The throne room was already full of people when the guards opened the door to let him in. He knew that he was way too late and wondered if he should think about an excuse but thankfully, his father was too busy with throwing his weight around to notice him. His mother, however, shook her head disapprovingly as he took his place next to his sister Carlina but the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips showed him that she was rather amused than angry.

“You’re late, son,” she said quietly. The fabric of her expensive, dark grey dress rustled quietly when she turned her body to look at him. Bede shrugged, quickly putting on a smile. “I’m sorry. I forgot about the trial. Father convicts so many people that it’s hard to keep track of it, honestly.”

Next to him, Carlina nodded. She was fifteen, four years younger than him, and she hated these trials almost as much as he did. He was just much better at hiding it, even though he still couldn’t stop himself from passing a sarcastic comment from time to time – but only when his father wasn’t paying attention.

It wasn’t a secret that the king wasn’t a patient or nice man. He knew exactly what he wanted and did everything to achieve his goals, no matter the cost. Everyone in the kingdom knew that it was dangerous to disgruntle him or to violate the law. Even his own family wasn’t safe from his angry outbursts sometimes – except Carlina. The king adored his daughter like nothing else and he couldn’t refuse her anything most of the time, maybe because she looked so much like him with her dark hair and hazel eyes while the prince himself took mostly after their mother.

When it came to the trials, however, things were a bit different – not even Carlina could convince their father to change the law.

“Bring the prisoner in!”

The king’s voice echoed with the tall walls. The crowd, mostly wealthy members of the rural nobility, turned their heads to the large and richly ornamented double doors in the front of the throne room to see the poor unfortunate soul that was about to get their fate sealed. 

It was a girl, not much younger than Carlina. She was accompanied by almost a dozen soldiers, her hands were tied at her back. Her plain dress was ripped and dirty, her long hair was matted but in her eyes, Bede could see a spark of anger, even though the guards had probably tried everything to knock the fight out of her.

He turned his head away. This girl had done nothing wrong, she had just been born into the wrong family, and still, his father wanted to see her dead. Simply because she was able to practice magic. As far as he knew, she wasn’t even good at it, not yet at least, but the fact that both her parents and her siblings were powerful sorcerers was enough to make her an enemy of the kingdom.

The guards pushed her down to her knees, and a murmur went through the crowd. Nobody had expected her to be so young. Bede’s sister silently reached for his hand. “Father is going to kill her, isn’t he?” she mumbled. He didn’t respond but Carlina knew that she was right anyway. Their father never showed mercy when it came to sorcerers.

“Tell me your name, girl,” the king commanded, his tone harsh and unyielding as he stared at her with a stern face. In moments like this, he looked even more intimidating, with his expensive robes and the crown that glistened in the light which fell through the large windows.

The girl looked up, not the tiniest bit afraid to stare the king directly into the eyes. She was braver than most prisoners Bede had seen but he knew that not even the bravest and strongest people could survive his father’s trials. “My name is none of your business,” she said. Then, after a few moments of silence, she added in an almost mocking tone, “Your Majesty.”

“Your stubbornness isn’t going to save you,” he replied. “But very well. Do you understand why you are here?”

Defiantly, she raised her chin. “Yes. I’m here because you hate people like me”, she raid. Her voice was shaking ever so slightly but she didn’t seem to be bothered by it. “I’m here because you’re afraid of us and of the things we could do to you and your family.”

“You practiced magic,” the king interrupted her and furrowed his brow. “My soldiers captured you because you broke the law – performing magic is a punishable offense, and it is my duty to penalize those who don’t pay attention to the rules I established.” He paused for a few seconds, waiting for a response and when the girl remained silent, he continued, “I’ll take your silence as a confession then.”

Some of the courtiers put their heads together, eagerly whispering words Bede couldn’t understand from where he was standing but it was evident that they agreed with their king’s decision. Most of them were too afraid to contradict him anyway.

At a sign from their king, the soldiers set the girl back on her feet. She was struggling to stand upright but the look in her eyes was still as undaunted and fierce as before as she awaited her sentence.

Bede watched his father from the corner of his eye. His voice was as cold as ice when he finally opened his mouth to speak again. Without batting an eye, he said, “For your crimes, I condemn you to death. At sunrise, you will be burned at the stake.”

*

She stayed in the background, the hood of her dark cloak successfully hiding her face as she watched the soldiers put the finishing touches on the stake. The wood was dry; it would burn like tinder in less than ten minutes. At least, the girl wouldn’t have to suffer for long.

Still, she could feel her heart ache when she thought about it. It wasn’t the first execution she watched and while it usually made her sad, this time was different. She was devastated. The girl didn’t deserve to die, she still got her whole life in front of her, and yet, the king had sentenced her to death without even feeling any remorse. He didn’t care that her death would tear her family apart even more; he didn’t care that he was about to burn another child at the stake.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the king and his family, all dressed up and arrogant as they stood on their balcony to watch the execution. She felt a wave of hatred washing over her and quickly averted her gaze before she got tempted to do something incredibly stupid.

Her time for revenge would come. But not today. There were still too many things she needed to figure out beforehand.

The quiet creak of the wooden door a few meters away from her snapped her out of her bitter thoughts, and when she looked up, she could see the convicted girl, surrounded by three more soldiers who kept a tight grip on her arms, even though her hands were still tied. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she had cried for hours but other than that, she showed no sign of weakness.

The woman in the dark cloak smiled sadly. It always pained her when people like her were killed, especially when they were innocent and never did anything wrong in their entire life, but this time, it was particularly devastating.

She hated the fact that her people were hunted down like animals, simply because they were able to practice magic. Of course there were some who didn’t play by the rules and used black magic to get what they wanted but the vast majority wasn’t dangerous at all. And still the king acted like each of them posed a threat to the public, and his people, narrow-minded and gullible as they were, believed him unquestioningly.

The thought alone made her angry but right now, she couldn’t risk losing control. She was in the enemy’s territory right now; she needed to pull herself together if she didn’t want to be the next to die. So she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw the soldiers guiding the girl towards the stake, and she turned her head away, trying to brace herself for what was going to happen.

She would never forgive herself for letting her sister die. She would never, not in a thousand years, forgive the king or his family for killing her. And one day, she would make them pay for what they did to her and her people.

Masterlist / Next chapter

[ali-kitkat]

Hisses and Scratches Ch 1

Sometimes life was easy to get through and other times it turned her into a cat. It had been happening to her all week, turning into a cat that is. Her twenty-fifth birthday had passed the earlier Friday and since then she has been shifting back and forth between human and cat. A seal point Siamese to be specific; she had been in her room when she first shifted and every time afterwards. She had considered herself lucky because of that since she transformed back naked.

The present conundrum Marinette was in, was she was lost in Gotham, as a cat. She just moved to the city and had been at a fabric shop before she felt the magic that signaled the shift. Leaving before she bought anything, she ran into an alleyway just as the transformation took over. She wandered for hours before she got lost and she still hadn’t transformed back. She turned around at the loud noise from behind her to see Robin staring at her in curiosity.

“How in the world did you end up out here? I can tell you’re not one of Selina’s, she doesn’t have any Siamese cats. She’d keep you locked up tight. You’re definitely not a stray either, too well kept.” He mused. “I don’t want to leave you out here; you’re wandering around lost. So, I’ll take you with me.”

He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring her hisses and claws. Holding her in his left arm, he raised his right and fired a grappling hook. She stopped lashing out so as not to slip out of his hold but continued hissing and growling. He chuckled at her displeasure and she cast what was supposed to be a glare at him, though she doubted it had any effect. They landed in front of a taller man wearing a bomber jacket and red helmet.

“Another one? You don’t have enough pets already?”

“What’s your point Hood? I found her in Crime Alley, and I wasn’t going to just leave her there; she was wandering around. I’m going to keep her.” He announced. She let an annoyed growl at his statement.

“Are ya sure that’s a good idea? She seems a little angry about that.” Hood asked while reaching out to pet her; yanking his hand back when she started to swat at it. “Shit, she’s a demented little fuck, a perfect match if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

She started to squirm, trying to escape his grip was tough and she almost accomplished it before he grabbed her by the scruff. Her body went taut against her will and she let out a pitiful mewl, hoping he’d ease his grip, he didn’t. Another two people landed on the roof and shook their heads at the sight.

“Baby bird, you can’t keep picking up strays.”

“Yeah you’re gonna get fleas that way if you keep it up brat.”

“You lot would know about that wouldn’t you?” He replied shifting her, so she was squished in his arms against his chest. She let out a growl that turned into a purr when he started to scratch her behind the ears. She stopped when she heard someone land and let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m keeping her.” He announced. “She already swatted at Hood.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to father.”

Batman hadn’t given a physical sign of understanding, but the other three vigilantes were falling over themselves with laughter. She heard their mutters ‘It’s genetic.’ ‘Adopting strays is fucking genetic.’ ‘You’ve gotta be shitting me. He adopts animals like B adopts orphans.’ She let out a mewl of disapproval and the vigilante who called Robin ‘Baby Bird’ stepped forward to pet her but backed away after she hissed at him.

“Alright so she’s a little hissy.” He said. She let out a growl at the pun. He jumped a little and stared at her in bewilderment, as did Hood.

“Is it just me or was that a little odd, like she understood Nightwing’s joke?” Hood questioned; his tone worried.

“Hood animals have more intelligence than you. They can understand the human language, though I will concede that it was odd that she growled at the pun.” Robin answered.

They all stopped and stared at her as if she was going to speak, she merely blinked at them in return unfazed by their actions.

“Of course, he found a cat with a similar temperament to his.” Hood said dryly.

Robin let out a snort and resumed petting her, drawing out another purr. She could see Nightwing and Hood pouting. She started to squirm, demanding to be let down. He eased his grip slightly and she slipped out of his hold, she trotted around then brushed against Hood’s leg. She darted away; tail puffed out.

“Way to go Hood you scared her.” Robin sneered and started towards her. She ducked under his grasp running to the edge of the roof. She had almost made it before she was scooped back up, she lashed out against the person holding her, spitting and hissing before she was handed back to Robin.

“Thank you, father. Let’s go home before she makes another break for freedom.” Robin said, while keeping a tight grip on her. She let out another growl. “Yes, I hear you loud and clear you snarling ball of fur.”

*~*~*~*

It had been a few hours since she was accidentally kidnapped by the Bat family.

Robin, who she learned was Damian via his family butler, was laying on his back petting her while the rest of his animals were laying down near them.

He had taken to calling her Eris, since she had sown discord between the brothers when only Damian was allowed to pet her. She was content with the scratches she was receiving from Damian, being a cat wasn’t too bad but that came to a halt when she transformed back into a human. While still laying on him. Lacking clothing.

“What the fuck?” He exclaimed, throwing her off him. She landed on the floor covering herself to the best of her ability.

“Son of a bitch.” She muttered while staring at him in shock. “Could I get—”

He threw a blanket at her before she finished her sentence. Catching it she wrapped it around herself as quickly as possible.

“Hi, my name is Marinette.” She whispered, embarrassment coloring her face. Damian was staring at the ceiling. She could hear the clamoring of footsteps headed for the room, Damian could as well since he lifted his head in confusion at the sound.

The family had rushed into the room, not bothering to open the door but break it down instead, falling into a heap of limbs on the floor. Jason, the first to look up, locked eyes with her. The blanket fell from her shoulders and she let out a squeak as she transformed back into a cat, back arched, tailed puffed out again and started to spit at the Bat clan.

“What the fuck?”

“Isn’t that the cat he brought home?”

“Yes, that’s the cat I brought home. Apparently, she’s not just a cat, are you Marinette?” Damian said finally shaking himself out of the daze he was in, sitting up to look at her. She turned to face him and let out a growl. “Can you transform back?”

She let out a hiss, backing further away from the family as they finally pulled themselves up from the floor. They were wide eyed in shock and awe, but they were on guard. Damian climbed off the bed and approached her carefully, she backed herself into a corner. She was scared, she supposed that much was clear with the family as they eased themselves from their taut posture to a more relaxed pose. Not completely but enough to tell her it was okay. Damian had grabbed her by the scruff again, much to her ire and was keeping hold of her.

“She told you her name?” Dick asked.

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing boy wonder.” Jason sassed. “She was wrapped up in his blanket, shoulders bare. So, when she transforms back again, we should probably have something ready for her to cover herself up in.”

“Will she even transform back?” Tim questioned, moving in front of her.

She was writhing, the need to flee rising. The fear she had, had her so on edge she extended her claws lashing out at whatever was closest to her. Unfortunately, that had been Tim, he let out a swear as she caught his arm. A long scratch stretched up his arm, he glared at her and the scratch. Damian had shoved him back while holding her scruff a bit tighter in one hand.

“Way to go jackass, scaring her further won’t help us a bit.” He snarled at Tim. “Everyone but father leave. The two of us might be able to calm her down. Have Alfred stand outside the room, he will be the one we call for if she transforms back.”

She relaxed somewhat as the three other boys left, but when she locked eyes with Bruce, she tensed up again. Bruce was unreadable, she knew from living in Gotham so far that it was because he didn’t like meta-humans. She understood in that moment, that’s what she was.

Damian eased his grip a little bit, not enough for her to get free. It was an attempt to establish trust she realized when she glanced at him. His green eyes were worried with a hint of anger, she wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or not though. He had shifted her into his arms, keeping a firm hold on her. She was still taut, barely eased and casting glances at Bruce before either of them caught onto her nervousness of the man. Damian followed her line of sight to his father and connected the dots from there, she was classified as a meta and she knew Bruce was Batman. She was scared of what was going to happen to her. His father nodded and left the room, there was no point in terrifying her further.

“Can you try and transform back, Marinette?” Damian asked her, his voice soft. She let out a cry that she tried to make sound like a no as much as possible, an odd attempt at communication. “I’m assuming that was a no, I want you to focus on being human, focus on yourself, push everything else out of your mind.”

He let her go, so she didn’t stray far from his side for fear that he might tackle her. She sat on top of the blanket and closed her eyes focusing like he suggested. It had taken a bit of time as she kept getting distracted while he watched her, she had to swat at him to get him to turn around so she could concentrate. After that it hadn’t taken long for her to shift back. She clutched the blanket to her chest before tapping Damian on the shoulder. He turned his head slightly and whipped it back just as fast.

“Couldn’t you have tried to focus on clothing?”

“Look it was hard enough to focus on being human with you staring at me, but every other time I changed back before I didn’t have any clothes. I don’t think it’s going to happen honestly. Besides I’m pretty sure I’m more embarrassed here.” She replied. She was blushing and he was too if the back of his neck and his ears were any indication, they were bright red.

“Somehow I doubt that.” He muttered.

“What is your dad going to do? I classify as a meta, and he hates them.” She asked, her voice meek. There was a knocking sound before Damian could respond, Alfred stepped into the room. She ducked behind Damian, the blanket covering her but embarrassment winning out.

“Forgive me for intruding, but here are some clothes for Miss Marinette to wear.” Alfred said; handing Marinette the clothes and leaving just as quickly as he entered.

She slipped the clothing on while still keeping the blanket on her, getting dressed underneath it. She shifted the blanket to her shoulders and tied the drawstring on the pants given, they were small but still a bit too big for her.

“I’m assuming it’s meeting time now?” She asked moving in front of Damian. His face was unreadable as he nodded in confirmation. She took a deep breath, gripping the blanket tighter for a small sense of security. He led her to what she presumed was the living room.

She had expected stares but theirs’s unnerved her, almost to the point where she shifted again. Damian’s father was standing behind his brothers. Jason stood between Dick and Tim. She started to hyperventilate, and Damian grabbed her, ushering her into an armchair, distracting her from her train of thought.

She looked at their faces trying to gauge their expressions. Bruce’s expression, from what she could actually read, was a mixture of shock and awe. His brothers were amused, Jason was muttering something she couldn’t make out but had resulted in him being elbowed by both Dick and Tim. He had fallen over with a pained expression and she had to muffle a laugh. Which caused him to look a little disgruntled on top of pained. Damian let out a laugh shocking his family, as they all turned to stare at him instead of her.

*~*~*~*

@chocolate1721 posted in the discord about cat Mari being cuddled by Damian and this transpired. Enjoy!

[animalpetcel]

Ideal RHATO

Okay, so I’ve done some thinking. While Red Hood and the Outlaws was an interesting concept; give Jason friends and a team of his own, get him out of the Batfam Shadow, it’s been bogged down by L*bdell spotty writing and questionable Editorial decisions. So I’ve taken the time to think of what I would personally want the Outlaws to be.

First of all, I don’t believe that Jason would be better of if he remained solo. While he does deserve a good solo run other than UtH, the idea of permanently sequestering from creating meaningful, recurring relationships with other heroes is just repulsive to me. He should be allowed to have friends and people to talk to outside of the Batfamily guys, there’s only so many adventures he can have by himself before they all start sounding the same. You could even have him gaining friends as part of his character development.

Okay! So let’s begin

In my version, the Outlaws would be a more obvious antihero team. They take cases by those who feel that regular heroes can’t help them, that they won’t go far enough to achieve justice. The Outlaws won’t kill often, but it would usually be awful criminals like drug dealers, traffickers or those in charge, but if they don’t kill, they won’t be above dissing out harsh, lasting punishments to those who cross them. There could be the possibility of them being a team looking for redemption, but I’ve never really thought about them going in that direction.

Btw: This will be a hard reboot, everything from New52 to Rebirth regarding RHATO will be completely retconned, because Lobdell wrote almost all of them and despite what people want to believe most of it is bad save for some barely passable moments

Outlaw Members

Jason Todd

Can’t have the Outlaws without their infamous leader. Like I said above, I believe that having his own team can be a good thing for Jason, he can establish a history disconnected from his history with Bruce and actually start to move on. I’d imagine him being a reluctant leader, preferring to work alone but admitting that having people to rely on has made his mission a lot easier. He’s a very driven and calculated person, and after reading Arkham Knight Genesis, I have no doubt in his leadership skills and his ability to turn a ragtag group of antiheroes into a team to be reckoned with.

Idk if I’d keep his All-Caste stuff. I know that it was probably created to give his backstory something that stands out, since he’s the third Batfam member to have the League of Assassins in his backstory and isn’t the only one that’s died before, but he barely uses the All-blades or brings up the All-Caste to the point were you can omit it and don’t really have to do that much to replace it. At this point, I’d accept Talia making him train with Brother Blood over the All-Caste.

I’d probably say that the Lazurus pit Talia used to bring him back was kinda special, giving him a minor healing factor and increasing his strength, idk, something small.

Eddie Bloomberg

(I hate Tom King and this dialogue too but I wanted a recent image of him)

Did you know that unlike Roy Harper, Eddie was actually Jason’s best friend pre-reboot? Most people don’t because DC doesn’t care about using pre-established canon or developing its less popular heroes! 🙃

Okay, I used to be a huge fan of Jason and Roy’s friendship in New52 RHATO, but then I learned that Roy was originally Dick’s friends, that his personality was dumbed down for New52, Roy actually hates mercenaries and would never become one, they only used Roy because he was more popular and that most Titan/Roy friends actually hate his New52 counterpart and friendship with Jason. While I believe that Roy and be both friendship with Dick AND Jason (but in different ways. Dick is more of a close friend while he and Jason should have a more big brother kind of relationship), I have to admit that DC dropped the ball here, and it would be easier to just scrap everything instead of trying to make it work.

Eddie’s personality is actually quite similar to New52 Roy’s, and he and Jason already have unexplored history, so switching Roy with him won’t mess anything too much.

And now, I hear you ask “Ani, what about the Outlaw’s being an antihero group? Wouldn’t that make Eddie stand out?”, and I will reply “Don’t worry, I have a plan!”

Back when Eddie first got his powers, Neron, the king of hell at the time (?) wanted Eddie to be his protege, but Eddie refuses. But what if Neron was more forceful? Eddie could be offered, now powerless again because of the events of TT (but his death is retconned to just getting badly injured), to become Neron’s protege once again. With nothing left to lose (his relationship with Blue Devil is still in the fritz, Teen Titans no longer seem to give a damn and Rose & Jaime is still off doing their own things), he takes it. I guess he’s probably look different with more of Neron’s power coursing through his veins, but the point is that Outlaws become a “Fall from grace” for him. He’s trying to still be a hero, but as Neron’s influence continues to grow, his ability to tell right from wrong gets more and more clouded.

He’s the one to approach Jason with the idea of being a team, wanting to relive the “Good Ol’ Days” when they were younger and less bogged down with personal trauma. While Jason is reluctant, he admits that since being self-exiled from the Batfamily that it’s been kinda lonely, so he agrees, but only short-term. Eddie then segways into the next member of their burgeoning group–

Rose Wilson

While pre-reboot, Rose and Jason did not have the friendliest interactions, with her holding a blade to her throat while his brothers threatened him with a crime he never committed. Post-reboot, he and Rose seem to have a more “friendlier” relationship, but the Wilson family have been rebooted at least theee times in both New52 and Rebirth, so who knows if they even still know each other now,

Rose and Eddie were very close friends in Teen Titans, and I think that getting Rose away from the madness of her family and father could be good for her character.

Eddie manages to convince her to join the “Outlaws”, but like Jason, she goes into it thinking that it’ll be a one-time thing. She cares a lot about Eddie, and sticks with the team to make sure that he’s doing alright. She probably could have an arc were Nightwing confronts her on her work in the Outlaws (since the other heroes see them as white-hat mercenaries) since he mentored her in being a hero, so it could be about dealing with what other people expect of her.

Essence

While L*bdell might be basically a shit writer, he does create interesting concepts. With a better writer, Essence could be a very interesting character, watching from the shadows and judging whether or not the Outlaws are actually “good” people, before she eventually starts taking a more active role in helping them punish criminals.

While she would at first interact solely with Jason, asking him questions about his deeds and ordering him in what direction she feels is best, she would eventually introduce herself to the rest of the group. I think she’d get along best with Komand’r, while the others might test her absolutism, Black-And-White morality a bit.

Rankorr (Jack Moore)

I know that there’s some people who want Guy Gardner to be Jason’s lantern, but what about a lantern who is close to Jason in age and actually fits the Outlaw theme?

Jack Moore is a Red Lantern, not only a Red Lantern, but the first human lantern who is also the first Red Lantern to be capable of creating constructs. He struggles with his rage, and deep down, he wants to enjoy a normal life on earth.

Maybe after Red Lantern (retconning Lobo or if not, he’s brought back using Red Lantern Blood Magic), he decides that the RL’s are a bit too cult-like for him and tries to lay low on Earth, finishing his literature degree and opening up a small bookstore somewhere in London. He’s close with Guy, but still can’t/refuses to let go of his rage, so Jack is still a RL

Of course, keeping his rage at bay is hard work, and after witnessing police brutality one more time, he loses control.

The Outlaws were hired by the family of the victim to make the officers see justice, but after seeing Jack work, they realize that this might be their easiest case yet.

Afterwards, Jack tries to downplay the entire thing (before resorting to threats when the Outlaws won’t listen), but Jason eventually convinced him that his talents would be wasted just being a civilian (and that his rage will only get worse if he continues to just let it boil without an “outlet”) so he joins the team

Blackfire

I’ve read Komand’r’s backstory, I know how bad it looks. However, in a medium where retcons and reimaginings are features instead of bugs (and can benefit a character’s story if done right), I really think it could be possible to make her work.

After reading New52 RHATO, I began thinking that it could be so much better if not only Eddie took Roy’s spot, but also if Komand’r took Starfire’s, since I feel like she had more potential beyond “Kori’s evil disabled sister”, “War Criminal” and “Struggling queen of Tamaran”

First, I’d change her pre-reboot backstory so instead of taking over the Gordanians, she is instead captured by them after Starfire frees her from the Psions (Komand’r still hates her sister and refuses to follow her). Through her clever mind and manipulations, she manages to earn favor with Lord Damyn, feigning romantic interest. Of course, given Komand’r’s nature, she ends up killing and replacing him, but her rule doesn’t go over well and she is again recaptured, but this time she’s brought to Earth.

Realizing that she’s now trapped on the planet whete her sister has become a successful and popular hero, Komand’r is at first angry, and then conspires to free herself and take revenge on her sister (who she still blames for everything despite that not being the case).

The Outlaws bust the alien trafficking ring, and Komand’r, seeing her chance, decides to show off and make nice with them to eventually use them for her revenge.

She finds Eddie and Rankorr easy to manipulate, but she bumps Heads with Jason whenever she tries to take his role as leader away from him and finds Rose’s mind to be “weak”. Overtime however, she bonds with Jason over feeling inferior to their siblings, realizes that her anger shares Rankorr’s intensity, and grows a genuine friendship with Rose and Eddie

Oh yeah, and maybe she tries to make things right with Kori

Artemis Grace

What would the Outlaws be without the greatest Amazon to have ever lived? Nothing, that’s for sure.

While I don’t agree with Jaytemis (at least not yet), I have to admit that Jason would be a fool not to like her. She’s a cool, confident character with a lot of interesting lore behind her.

Her joining will probably be pretty close to canon. The Outlaws are tasked with going after Black Mask, and Jason decides to go undercover, as the Red Hood still has his fingers in various criminal pies. While investigating, he runs into Artemis, who is looking for the Bow of Ra, and rest is history.

I feel like she’ll get along really well with Rose and Komand’r and maybe she’ll date one. She’ll definitely view Eddie a bit dismissively, and she isn’t a huge fan of demons. Rankorr would probably come off as stuck up to her.

Bizarro

Anyone who knows me will know that I’m am not a huge fan of Bizarro clones. I consider them to be an overused concept (that sometimes feels as if it relies on gene superiority, but idk if I’ll ever fully process my dislike for them), and the fact that as the time I’m writing this, there are at least four currently in continuity does not enamor me with the concept more.

However, after re-reading RHATO a few times, I’ll admit that the Outlaws’ Bizarro has grown on me. Since he already kinda has a unique name (Bizz), all I think he needs is a more visually distinct costume (doesn’t even have to directly reference Superman, but I can go 50/50 on the backwards “S”)

The Outlaws getting Bizz is exactly the same as canon. I’d imagine that he and Eddie would be as close as brothers. While Rankorr might find Bizz’s way of thinking and speaking to be annoying, I’d think that Rankorr will eventually warm up to him and probably teach him how to read and help Artemis teach him. Komand’r and Rose will probably be less receptive to him, but who knows

August Heart

I’m a Godspeed fan first and human second, we’ve been knew.

In all seriousness, Godspeed is the perfect Rebirth era character for RHATO and the fact that he and Jason still haven’t met is why DC doesn’t have any rights.

Okay okay, but he’s honestly a perfect fit. Like Jason, he also kills when dealing with crimes, but he isn’t so good and knowing who’s guilty and who isn’t just yet.

This will probably be after Death of the Speedforce, with August finally making things right with Barry, but still not forgiving himself for everything that happened. Deciding to self-exile himself rather than go back to Iron Heights, August travels, trying to figure out what do to do next, trying to follow Barry’s rules (which he finds to be very wishy-washy) to the best of his ability.

Eventually, he learns that Black Hole is still running, and against his better instincts, he goes after them.

His trail of lightning destruction catches the eye of the Outlaws.

Barry, realizing that his best-friend might need someone who can actually be there all the time to help reign him in, Barry goes to the Outlaws and asks them if they can help him once they catch up to him

They do in the form of offering a spot on the team.

August is very self-assured (even if it is hiding a softer, more emotional center), but has proven to be able to work with others, so I can see the other Outlaws coming to like him. They might find him a little cocky/early to jump the gun, but still a trusted and valued member of the team.

Since every Robin has their own flash, it only makes sense to finally give Jason (and have them date) a speedster of his own, and it should be someone who fits his morals, and who else could Then the speedster fans literally call “The Red Hood of the Flashfam”?

Final Thoughts

Other possible members I would consider/accept are

Eradicator Superman

Koryak

Vanessa Kapatelis/Silver Swan lll

Simon Amal (Crux)

Danny Chase

Clone!Roy Harper

Connor Hawke

Orm Marvius

Man O’ War

Lagoon Boy

Scarlet

Zachary Zatara

Thomas Merlyn

Ragman

Bleez

Walter West

Even with a cast as sizable as the one I just listed, with a good enough writer, there could still a few minor side characters. I would personally want the them to be

Scarlet: Jason’s former sidekick. She could be either a civilian who he talks to get experience some normalcy or the leader of her own version of the Outlaws made of up the Generation Outlaws we meet in RHATO #37-40. Either way, it could contrast with Bruce and the way he (mis)treats his own sidekicks and family

Zachary Zatara: Eddie’s old friend who helped him get his devil powers. Zachary would definitely be worried over Eddie once again accepting Neron’s power and will want to try to help. Whether he suceeds or not will depend if the writers want to go in that direction

Isabel Ardila: She’s a nothing character, but there’s a small chance that with a better writer, she might gain an interesting personality or an actual purpose in RHATO

Talia Al Ghul: before the reboot, Talia was Jason’s mentor figure and even gave him a cool dagger. It would be so cool if we can bring that back and erase Morrison’s problematic charactization of her. Maybe the dagger she gives Jason could be an All-Blade or smth. They’d definitely take a few cases from her however

Batfam, Titans and respective groups: it would have to happen eventually. It could lead to some interesting, angst filled conversations. And who knows, maybe they’ll actually make progress with their issues

But this post has gone on long enough. I just really wanted to talk a bit about my ideal Outlaws team that I will never see anywhere except for my dreams because mass media hates me and DC still thinks that Lobdell deserves to write Jason 😔😭

[giftfromthesleepprincess]

Chapter 4–The Widow, the Medicine, and the Poison; Scene 3

Gift from the Princess Who Brought Sleep, pages 139-153

If you traced back the roots of those who ran pharmacies in Elphegort, you would find in most cases that they traced back to people called “shamans”. It was said that many of those shamans had been devotees of the great earth god Held, and that embroidered in the robes they wore was a great tree insignia modeled off of Held’s form.

The original owner of the La Bula pharmacy had apparently been one such shaman, and in the corner of the shop hung a tapestry that depicted said tree insignia.

“Shamans and chemists--the name might have changed, but what we do isn’t all that different,” murmured the owner of the pharmacy, Egmont. “What is different is that I have to join the union to get a merchant’s license, and pay taxes. …Ah, and I guess there’s also restrictions on the sale of poisons.”

Hanne asked what restrictions in particular.

Egmont showed her a notebook he had on hand. “When buying poisonous substances, you always have to record your name and status in this ledger. If you write a false name, that alone could subject you to penal regulations. And then, I can’t sell them to people who aren’t of age or prostitutes.”

“What kind of people have been buying poison lately?”

“Like it says there, almost all of them have been hunters. They use them to make traps and poisoned arrows to catch game with. And then there’s farmers with livestock. Sometimes they buy them to help put down animals that have gotten afflicted with particularly nasty ailments.”

“What about doctors?”

“Like Dr. Felix? Of course he buys some. For use in his research, or to euthanize hopeless patients. But there’s no records of him making any purchases for close to a year...And now he’s fallen ill himself. Sounds like the doctor might need to practice his own trade--though I hope he’s able to make a full recovery all the same. If he dies off then my business’ll be at risk.”

Egmont sighed. It seemed only natural that a pharmacy’s biggest client would be doctors. Losing Marx, the only doctor in town, would have a huge influence on him.

“I was wanting to ask you if Dr. Felix’s daughter buys medicine here too.”

“You mean little Margarita? Yeah, she buys from here all the time. Naturally her business is appreciated, but…” Egmont said, and then sighed again.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Nah, it’s just that she doesn’t buy medicine, she buys ingredients. She says she mixes them up herself. Even though she could do just fine purchasing the finished product without going out of her way like that...No matter how many times I tell her that, she won’t listen.”

“Can someone who’s not a chemist even mix up drugs in the first place?”

“She has a medical license for the time being. There’s no problem with her mixing up drugs in itself. It’s not a crime as long as she doesn’t sell what she makes to anyone else. Under Elphegort’s laws, anyway. I’ve heard things are a bit stricter in Beelzenia.”

So that meant it was legal to make medicines for use among friends and family like Margarita did.

“Why does she mix up the drugs herself?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. …Well, it’s not like I can’t think of a single reason.”

“Which would be?”

“…This is just a guess, but… It might be that she wants to cure her illness,” Egmont said quietly.

“Her illness?”

“Yeah, well, she can’t sleep, right? I think she’s trying to make a medicine that will cure that—something that will make her able to sleep. There are a lot of things with that purpose in the ingredients she buys.”

“Such as…the Greeonion Plateau Rose?”

Hanne put forward the name of the flower that the mayor had showed her in Calgaround.

But Egmont shook his head in surprise. “That’s not a sleeping drought so much as a poison! I can’t sell that to miss Margarita. She’s still just sixteen. I said it before, but I can’t sell poison to someone who isn’t of age. I don’t even deal in valuable goods like the Greeonio Plateau Rose in the first place.”

“Is there anywhere else in Toragay where one could buy it?”

“Nope,” Egmont flatly replied. “This is the only pharmacy in Toragay. If you really want a Greeonion Plateau Rose…Hmm, there might be some in Aceid.”

“…I heard that a woman calling herself a ‘sorceress’ had been coming and going in Toragay lately. Has there been any talk of her selling or giving drugs or poisons to anyone?”

“Sorceress…Ah, yeah there was someone like that here. Some creepy woman wearing a hood in the middle of the day. She was some associate of Marquis Blankenheim, so no one said anything. I was real shocked when the world police said she was some terrible criminal, after the marquis died—Or rather, it actually made a lot of sense. The marquis might have been murdered by her, actually. …Er, the conversation’s gotten a bit away from me. Drugs and poison? I haven’t heard anything about that. If there was I wouldn’t have stayed quiet about it.”

“Has she been seen hanging around anywhere other than the marquis’ ho—”

“What? Are you looking for this woman? People stopped seeing her a long time ago, so I’m pretty sure she’s gotten out of town. As for hanging around anywhere...Actually, now that you mention it…”

It sounded like Egmont had remembered something.

He spin his index finger in a winding gesture next to his head, as though to trace back his memory, and then after a moment of thought he replied, “I did see her walking with Margarita once. They said they were going to the charity institute. But that was several months ago.”

“The charity institute…Got it. Thank you very much.”

“Hey hey, leaving already? While you’re here, you should buy something. You look like you’re pretty tired. It spoils your lovely features. –How about this? If you drink this syrup, it’ll blow your weariness all the way yonder to the Hellish Yard!”

“…Alright, I’ll take one.”

Hanne gave in to Egmont’s prodding and somewhat reluctantly decided to purchase his tonic.

“Thanks for the purchase! That’s 50 Ev!”

That’s expensive!

That was the same price as staying the night in a world-class inn in Aceid.

“Does this thing really work?”

“Yeah! I guarantee it! I drank it myself earlier, but it got me in a pretty big fix--chiefly the lower half of my body! Gahaha.”

Ignoring the pharmacist’s crude joke, Hanne took the bottle with the cloudy white liquid inside and left the shop.

As she headed for the charity institute, Hanne opened the lid of the suspicious drug and poured it into her mouth in lieu of lunch.

…Eugh!

Even if she didn’t have much interest in eating and drinking, that didn’t mean she had no understanding of flavor.

Bitter things were bitter, after all.

…That pharmacist better be prepared to suffer if this doesn’t do anything for me.

.

When she visited the charity institute, a woman with an air of kindness not unlike a divine mother came to greet her.

“Do you have some business here, ma’am?”

Since she’d been asked, Hanne decided to respond politely in kind.

“YES! I! Am! Hanne! Lorre! Of! SCHUBURG NEWSPAPER!”

“Oh my, you’re an extremely energetic one, aren’t you? A newspaper, you say…Are you writing a story on us?”

“That! Is! CORRECT!”

“Very good, you are most welcome here. Please, come in.”

“THANK YOU VERY MUCH!”

--The medicine seemed to be working too well. She’d gotten more energy, but had the feeling that that carried its own problems.

Hanne tried to regain her presence of mind as much as possible, and entered the charity institute alongside the woman.

“Right now the children are having their afternoon nap. So I would appreciate it if you could try to speak as quietly as possible…”

“ALRIGHT! …I will do that.”

As the woman said, on the other side of an open door she could see several young children lying down on cots. Presumably, all of them there were orphans.

Most towns had orphanages like this in them. The majority of them were established by the Sisters of Clarith, and this charity institute was one of them.

“Of course, during its founding we received a great deal of donations from many people.  The one who contributed the most was Dr. Felix. We’re forever in his debt. …Such a tragedy he’s gone the way he has—” said the woman who was, apparently, the director of the charity institute, Rita Flohn, her expression mournful.

Rita had originally been a midwife, and because of that she had known doctor Marx for a very long time.

“I helped bring Margarita into the world when she was born too. …I feel sorry for her. From the moment she was born she’s suffered such hardship, and now on top of that her father—"

“HoLD UP! …Did something happen when she was born?”

“It was rainy that day. Dr. Felix’s wife—Margarita’s mother—realized she was going into labor, and he and I were there to witness it...Everything was going along smoothly. But it was then that the unthinkable happened.”

Rita continued to speak, looking out the window and gazing at the sky.

“Lightning struck near the house. Perhaps you could call it fortunate that it didn’t hit Dr. Felix’s mansion directly. But that wasn’t the case at all for his wife. Her condition took a drastic change immediately after that lightning strike. …When the baby had somehow been given birth to, her mother was already dead. And that baby wouldn’t cry--she wasn’t breathing.”

“And by that baby—you do mean Margarita, right?”

“Yes. I had thought at the time that both the mother and child were beyond saving. I could only stand there in a stupor, holding the silent baby in my arms, Dr. Felix embracing his wife and sobbing. But then—a miracle occurred.”

This time Rita drew close to a small shrine that was nearby. There was a drawer in the shrine, and from there she pulled out a red cloth-like object.

“…Which was?” Hanne asked.

Rita wordlessly handed over the item. It wasn’t just simple cloth. When she looked closer she could see that it had something like cat fur grown thickly all over it. The fur was the same red color as the cloth.

“Somebody suddenly entered the mansion. A strange woman who wore a hooded robe and had a worn-out cat plushie on her shoulder. She silently held a hand over the baby, and then immediately left—when she did, lo and behold! The baby I had thought dead starting wailing as loud as she could!”

Just as Rita started shouting, the sound of children grumbling became audible from inside the room. She hurriedly went towards them, and returned after calming them down.

“…Sorry, I got a little bit carried away. I believe that woman was a messenger of the gods. That the gods took pity on poor Margarita. The fact that she can’t sleep is also likely some sort of divine favor.”

“Did Miss Margarita have any abnormalities after that? …Aside from being sleepless.”

“None. She grew up rapidly and healthily, as though what happened when she was born was just a dream. At first Dr. Felix did a great deal of study towards her insomnia, but ended up giving up on it. She didn’t seem to be having any health problems, so he figured he’d leave it be.”

“Did Dr. Felix dote on Margarita?”

“She was a memento that the wife he loved left behind, so of course he did. He wanted to make her as happy as he could. There in comes the previous Marquis Blankenheim, who he already had social connections to—Lord Kaspar’s father, I mean. He would frequently visit him with Margarita along, and got Lord Kaspar and Margarita acquainted. He anticipated that the two of them would get married someday. There are people in society who say that Dr. Felix got them involved with each other for his own influence, but I don’t think so at all. I believe that to the last everything he did was for Margarita’s happiness.”

Between her idea and society’s rumors, which one was the truth? Hanne had no way to tell. In the end, that was something she’d have to ask Marx himself. On the other hand, even if he woke up and she was able to talk to him, that didn’t necessarily mean what he told her would be the truth. There wasn’t a parent alive who would be happy to admit that they’d only used their own child as a means to an end.

“Of course…I can’t say whether or not it made Margarita truly happy,” Rita murmured. Her eyes seemed to have a faint flare of anger in them. “Lord Kaspar—No, I’ll dispense with the honorifics with him. To speak bluntly, that man was the lowest of the low. Garbage. Spending all his time playing around and picking up other women every day while he had a wife like Margarita around—I’ll say it again, that bastard was utter trash.”

While ranting on she made a move as though to slam her fist on the desk in front of her, but, seeming to remember the sleeping children again, she quietly set her fist down.

It seemed that contrary to Hanne’s initial impression, she was an unexpectedly emotionally tumultuous person.

“My my…Miss Rita. Please calm down.”

While trying to pacify this overexcited woman, Hanne, who was uplifted from the medicine she’d taken, was extremely calm.

“Pitifully enough, Margarita—she’s such a softhearted girl...She became friends with one of Kaspar’s mistresses, and ended up bringing her here to this institute! Honestly, that poor dear—”

This time it looked like she’d start crying.

…What a bother this lady is.

Hanne was the slightest bit annoyed, but even so she had to keep talking to her. She wanted to ask a little bit more about that “mistress” that Margarita brought over.

“What were they doing here?”

“—Apparently she came here to help Margarita. Though it seemed to me she came along somewhat reluctantly. In the end, it was Margarita who did the cooking and served the food to the children, and the woman just left without doing anything. She was a weird one. Wearing a robe, hardly saying anything at all.”

“This woman…Was she really Lord Kaspar’s mistress?”

“Obviously! She was wearing such distasteful deep red clothes! Only a loose woman would wear something like that!”

That seemed a bit prejudiced of her. Speaking of red clothing the mayor of Calgaround had been dressed like that, but Hanne didn’t get that kind of mental image about her at all.

Putting that together with what the pharmacist had told her, the “mistress” that Margarita had brought along was undoubtedly the sorceress she’d been after.

Sorceress, huh…?

There was one thing that piqued Hanne’s interest. The “messenger of the gods” who supposedly resurrected the baby Margarita from death. Assuming Rita hadn’t been hallucinating, then that must have indeed been the work of a “sorceress”.

“Miss Rita. This mistress…Did she possibly have any resemblance to the ‘messenger of the gods’ who appeared when Margarita was born, or perhaps—”

“What are you saying!? That’s impossible! That woman and the messenger have nothing in comm…Well, maybe…she did a little…No! They were definitely different! Their features might have been a bit similar but they were definitely different people!”

“If you keep shouting like that you’ll wake up the children again.”

“That’s fine! Naptime’s almost over anyway!”

“I see…At any rate, you’re positive that the two of them aren’t the same person?”

“Yes. I swear to god! …Ah, now that I think about it, that mistress did come here one other time. She was alone then.”

According to Rita, that was about three months ago.

“She asked me if there was an inn around here. As I recall…that was when…Lord…Kaspar went to Aceid with Margarita. To attend the King’s birthday celebration. Apparently that woman had come here now knowing that the Marquis and his wife were out of town. Ordinarily I might have offered for her to stay here, but I couldn’t help but loathe her. So I suggested a different inn.”

“Where would that be?”

“Uhrm, let me think...”

.

It was the inn that Hanne had stayed at when she first came to Toragay a month and a half ago. She’d used this inn any time she was staying in Toragay since then. The rates were alright and the lady owner wasn’t all that bad. The owner’s son was a sensible man who worked as both a coachman and a postman.

Hanne stood before that inn. She hadn’t returned to spend the night now that the day was wearing long. She was there because, unexpectedly, it was the next destination in her coverage.

A carriage drew close. The inn owner’s son was driving it. When he spotted Hanne there, he stopped the carriage and called out in a good humored tone, “Welcome back, Miss Hanne. Is your job going well?”

“So-so. Are you all done working for today?”

“Nah, I’ve still got a bit to go. I have to take some guests out to the Kihel check station.”

As he said, there were guests sitting in the luggage compartment. From the window she could see two heads. Their faces weren’t visible, but from their heights it looked like they were both children.

“I’ll be seeing you. If you have any other business for me don’t hesitate to give me a holler.”

So saying he pulled on the reigns. The carriage departed, making its way along the main road.

Hanne opened the door to the inn. It seemed the old woman who ran it was right in the middle of making dinner, and the pleasant smell of onion soup wafted to the entrance.

“Mrs. Brigitta.”

Hanne peered into the kitchen and called out the woman’s name.

Facing a pot with soup inside it, Brigitta replied without turning towards Hanne, “Welcome back. You’re early today. I’ll have dinner ready in a bit, so you should wait upstairs until then. I’ll call you down when it’s finished.”

“Ah, actually I have something I want to talk about…But you look busy, so it can wait.”

Brigitta turned around. She was making a displeased expression, but she always was. That was just her resting face.

“I don’t mind. All I have to do now is wait for it to finish cooking.”

“Oh yes? Well then, it’s about a guest who stayed her a while back…Do you know the name ‘Elluka Clockworker’?”

“I don’t recall.”

“I’d heard that a woman in red clothing wearing a hood had stayed here before…”

“—Ah, now that you mention it, I did have a guest like that. I think she stayed the night about three months ago. She used the room next to the one you have now.”

“Was there anything strange about this person?”

“No, not really. Though, she ate up all the food I gave her, and hardly said a word—Thinking on it now, she did forget something here.”

“What was it?”

“Some kind of strange liquid. I thought it was ketchup or something. But it’s been so long since then it’s probably gone bad by now.”

“Are you still storing it here?”

“I put it in our storeroom. It’s there on the left when you get in. If you want to look into it go get it yourself.”

“I will. Thank you very much.”

Hanne left the kitchen and went for the storeroom right next to it. When she looked left, there sitting on the shelf was a small glass bottle. It was filled with red liquid.

She took the bottle in hand, opened the lid, and sniffed it. It didn’t smell like it was rotten, but it had some other scent to it. It was a bit like rusted iron.

--I hope this turns out to be a clue.

It was one of the sorceress’ personal belongings. For argument’s sake, if she were able to find traces of some kind of toxin in this, then it would substantiate the idea that the sorceress had given Margarita poison.

Well then, who should I have examine this?

If she wanted to get this done in a hurry, then Egmont at the pharmacy here in town would do the job. However, if she wanted to get the job done right, then perhaps it would be best to consult a specialist in the field--Puerick Rogzé.

It was too late to go to either of them today. She would take this liquid to one of them tomorrow, and have them look over its composition.

She could hear Brigitta calling from the kitchen. Apparently dinner was ready.

Hanne didn’t fuss all that much over her meals. But it wasn’t like she wasn’t hungry either.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[qqueenofhades]

with hearts like wars and lips like scars

Surprise, surprise, I have officially arrived in this dumpster and there appears to be no getting out. This is my first-ever effort at writing for these two (as well as my first MCU fic, I think), so please be gentle, as I have watched ten episodes of The Punisher over three days and have a lot of emotions. I am New Here and just want to play a bit in the sandbox.

Tagging @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels, @extasiswings, and @prairiepirate because they know what they did.

Set immediately post-1x10 of TP. Rated T.

Karen takes the subway home.

It seems almost like a strange thing to do, banal, ordinary. Half of her can’t see why it shouldn’t be. Once the feds and the cops and the crime-scene cleanup crews can’t think of anything else they need to do to her, she’s politely taken Agent Madani’s card – you two have a connection, like this is some game show, maybe – and retrieved her bloodstained purse, she ducks into the bathroom long enough to be sure she won’t cause any more public hysteria, then steps out and walks to the subway. There are still plenty of flashing lights surrounding the hotel, she gets checked one more time before she can leave the police cordon, and finally, nakedly, she’s on the street, alone. She looks up at the sky, for half a second. No idea who she expects to see fly by. Iron Man?

There is some interest in the scene, and Karen gets goggled at briefly, but New Yorkers are New Yorkers, and it’s nothing they haven’t seen before. The grumbling seems mostly to be about how it’ll fuck up the evening commute, and she briefly wonders who all these people are, who she is, that they just live here and accept it as the price they have to pay. She feels dreamy and numb and oddly uncaring. She fishes her Metro card out of her purse and stands coolly on the platform in the cold drench of the fluorescents, keeps turning her head and looking too long at any tallish man in a dark hooded sweatshirt. Of course it’s not him, not since he climbed out of the roof of the elevator and she – and she –

(Karen doesn’t know how that sentence ends, and doesn’t know if she should.)

She waits until the subway pulls in, realizes too late it’s the local 1-train and not the express, and gets stuck calling all stops, until she gets off at Times Square to switch trains. There is something alluring about the idea of being lost in the crowd, nobody looking at her twice. Karen sees people more worried about the whole thing than she ever was and wonders why she doesn’t give a damn. Well, it’s not that, not exactly. Just that if you consider that she was the one grabbed by a crazed bomber and nearly blown to the same red mist that he ended up as, pulverized on the inside of an industrial freezer, she should be the one most upset. Life and death twisted between her fingers, red wire or white. She couldn’t let on. She couldn’t look down. She had to keep her eyes on Frank’s, and trust him.

She did. She does. The only one in the city again, probably. When after they’ve been subject to actual fucking alien attacks and destructive galactic warlords and whatever else, somehow one man, one loner in black, is Public Enemy Number One. It makes sense if you think about it, the way humans are, the way they’ll determinedly ignore the most ridiculous and insane shit but throw fits over the smallest thing. The headlines are ginning up to be good and hysterical. The Punisher Returns! Clear-as-day picture from cop car dashcam footage. Karen is the only one who knows it’s a lie. The Punisher didn’t return. Frank Castle left.

(Frank Castle left.)

(She closes her eyes and tries, yet again, to make her peace with that.)

It’s getting dark by the time Karen walks up to her apartment, the familiar drone of a siren going a few streets over and kids loitering on the steps. She climbs past them, digs for her keys, collects her mail, and wonders if she remembered to buy milk; she thinks she was getting low. Just getting back from a normal day at work, evidently. Nothing more.

Her phone buzzes maniacally in her bag, now that she’s out from underground and has reception again, and she finally remembers it, takes it out, and sees about forty missed calls and texts from Foggy. At least he, not being a savage, has had the decency to check up on her, since it’s probably on the news that a Bulletin reporter was caught up in the mess, and Wilson was open about targeting her. Karen thinks that while she might know a few too many vigilantes for peace of mind and quiet life, she’s just as cussedly stubborn about running into the punches. Pick your battles, pick fewer than that, that’s too many, put some back, it’s just as much her as it is Matt or Frank. She didn’t have to go on the radio and she didn’t have to defy the whole damn establishment like that, but she did. Maybe that’s why she and the other kind get along.

Karen unlocks her door and pushes it open, dropping her coat and bag on the back of the couch and shutting and bolting the door. She thumbs out a quick text to Foggy reassuring him that she’s fine, which – if the phone buzzing again thirty seconds later is any indication – doesn’t really do the trick. She picks up. “Yeah. Hey. I just got home, I’m fine.”

“I haven’t been able to get in touch with you for like, six hours.” Foggy sounds accusing. “Karen, what the hell happened? That bomber – ”

“It’s all right.” Karen toes off her heels and tucks the phone under her chin, padding into her kitchen to see what can be scraped together. “I was on the subway. And before that, they had interviews and other things they wanted to do. Like I said, I’m home now.”

“Jesus, Karen.” Poor Foggy Nelson; being friends with Matt Murdock and Karen Page is not a job for the faint of heart. He pauses before the next question, as Karen can almost hear the name being shaped in the air and knows it’s coming. “Is it true that he’s back?”

They don’t need to define “he,” though Karen feels a momentary urge toward deliberate obstinacy. She loves Foggy to death, but she doesn’t know if she wants to get into this with him. She hasn’t told either of them about her intermittent, secret meetings with Frank, the way that she told him he would be dead to her if he murdered Schoonover, and then when he improbably turned up again months later, disguised as a hobo asking for change, her only emotion was relief. She kept wondering if she might hold a grudge, but she knew fairly quickly that was a lie. She didn’t want to. She just wanted to see him again. Strange, how that always seems to be the place they end up in. Truncated. Unfinished. Unmended.

Foggy is still waiting for an answer, and Karen doesn’t know what to tell him. She opens the fridge, sees a few Chinese takeout boxes, a wilting head of lettuce, a bodega bag she stuffed in and has forgotten what’s actually in there. Maybe she can boil some pasta, there might be some in the cupboards. She opens it. To the phone she says, “The police are doing their job, I’m sure they’ll figure out everything that’s going on. Tell Matt that I’m okay.” She doesn’t want to ask if Matt noticed. She assumes he does care. She is not, however, in the mood for whatever moral high horse he would be bound to hop on in regard to Frank. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Foggy. Okay?”

With that, not leaving him a chance to point out that she never answered his question, Karen hangs up, and tosses her phone onto the counter. It spins a few times, hits the fruit bowl (or at least, what would be a fruit bowl if she ever went to the supermarket) and as she steps over and opens the cupboard in search of victuals, she catches sight of the browning roses tucked in their vase against the back wall. Their stems are dry and brittle, their petals dropping, and she should probably throw them away, but she finds her hands unexpectedly freezing. White roses. That was how he thought she should get in contact with him. Not a burner phone or anything else like that. I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy. Seriously?

Karen finds her mouth quirking up into a brief smile. Then – she doesn’t know why, but still – she impulsively grabs the vase, runs more water into it like that will suddenly bring them back to life, and sticks it in the window, where it’s visible from the street. She’ll throw them out tomorrow. She’ll make peace with it then.

She boils a little pasta, sloshes the last of the Prego béchamel sauce over it, and mixes it up in a bowl, standing at the counter to eat. As she takes a bite, the heat stings undiscovered cuts in her mouth, and she grimaces, spitting it back and breathing hah-hah-hah until the burning subsides. She’s more wary about the next forkful, but she’s hungry, and it doesn’t take long in disappearing. Then she puts the bowl in the sink – wash it tomorrow too, apparently – and checks her phone again, this time to answer messages from Ellison. No, she does not expect to miss her deadline. She avoids the question on what on earth she was thinking. She was just there to interview Senator Ori. A journalist cannot be blamed for that.

Karen walks into her bathroom, pulls her hair out of its loose knot, and lets it tumble down her shoulders. Strips off the blue silk blouse, dotted with blood, and decides that true to the emerging pattern, she will worry about how to get the stains out later. Opens her medicine cabinet, digs out Bactine and band-aids and hydrogen peroxide, and hisses and winces as she dabs at the shrapnel cuts on her face. The paramedics took care of most of them back at the hotel, but there are still a few extra. She was, after all, publicly held hostage by a terrifying killer, gun to her chin, dragged into an elevator. Can’t blame her for being shaken.

Karen sets her chin, looks at herself in the mirror, wonders if you’re supposed to cry just to release the stress hormones or however it makes you feel better, and doesn’t think she has any likelihood of weeping for herself. She strips off the skirt and the frayed pantyhose, runs a shower, and steps in, letting the water cascade over her head and shoulders until it finally turns lukewarm and she cranks it off, old pipes creaking. She wraps a towel around herself and brushes her hair until it likewise falls into a monotony. Ritual cleanliness. Lady Macbeth and her spot. Have to keep washing until it finally comes out. Karen doesn’t know why. It’s not her spot.

At last, she shakes her damp hair back, steps out of the hot steamy bathroom into the comparative shocking coldness of the hall, and goes into her bedroom to put on her pajamas. There is a strange, hollow, echoing emptiness in her chest that’s different from ordinary trauma or the receding of shock, something she doesn’t want to think about. Wants to get into bed with enough quilts to feel their weight, to be pressed down into the mattress, to sleep for a hundred years, or at least until the alarm has to go off tomorrow morning. The world will make more sense then, be settled back into place. That, and then she can –

Frank Castle is standing on her balcony.

For a long moment, for a brief and wild eternity, Karen is completely sure that she is hallucinating him. That she has somehow called him up from whatever hinterland he’s gone back to, that this is just some mirage of a stressed and tired mind, that of course she’s seeing him only because she wants to. She doesn’t know how on earth he would have gotten up here, if he was real – parkoured his ass up? It seems to fit the dramatic necessity – but then, how or why Frank does anything is usually the mootest of points. When she blinks hard a few more times and he’s still there, when he catches her eye through the glass and seems set to jump back down if it’s not what she wants, she is forced to accept that he, somehow, is actually there. She remains where she is an instant more, then shoves the window open and hisses, “Frank? What the hell, Frank!”

He grabs the frame and limbers through, elegant as a cat. He lands on his feet like one too, but he straightens up slowly and with evident pain. There’s still dried blood on the side of his head where the bullet grazed him, he’s moving carefully enough that there must be another, and Karen has a brief and confused impression of him bodily diving in front of a shotgun to ensure that wasn’t her. His shoulder looks fucked up too, and she fights the brief and pointless impulse to tell him to go to the hospital. Of course the Punisher can’t walk into St. Luke’s or wherever else, with the entire city on the lookout for him again. Wherever he’s been living, whatever urban shithole he’s stayed off the grid, who knows. And even though she should, as they stare at each other, Karen can’t tell him to go.

“What are you doing here?” she manages at last, in half a whisper. “It’s dangerous.”

Frank grunts, almost amused, as if he can’t believe she’s actually saying that to him after the day they’ve had. He does, Karen supposes, have a point, and he tips his head at the flowers. “Saw them. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Karen wants to ask how he saw them, but she gets the sense that Frank is working with somebody who has a whole lot of cameras and is not afraid to use them. They stand a few feet apart, her clean and damp and pink-faced, hair loose in shining blonde locks, warm from the shower, and him filthy and bloody and dressed in black, having climbed all the way up here with God knows what injuries just because he caught sight of a bunch of dead flowers. Karen feels absurdly guilty, as if she should have taken more care at calling him up, that she has this power and perhaps needs to go wary in how she uses it. They stare at each other a moment more, and she shakes her head. “God, you’re still a mess. Don’t you have anyone to look at that?”

“Normally a guy named Curtis would do the honors. But he got the shit kicked out of him earlier by our friend.” Frank’s mouth tightens, and he looks away. “Didn’t feel like I should impose again.”

Karen has some sense of Frank mentioning him earlier during the face-off with Wilson, something about the bomb that Curtis had been strapped to, and that they needed to pull the white wire, then and now, to stop it. A brief shudder passes over her, the fear she didn’t feel then, when it was nothing but instinct and adrenaline and the unshakeable knowledge that if she wasn’t walking away from here alive, neither was Frank. Live or die, they were doing it together, and she lets out a slow, shaky breath. Then she says, “Go sit down.”

Frank seems about to argue, smartly decides against it after a glance from her, and painfully makes his way to one of the kitchen chairs. He sits down, ready to spring up again in an instant at any sudden noise or knock, if some enterprising cop tailed him here, and Karen wonders briefly if she really should let him stay. That thought is dismissed as soon as it comes, and she goes to pull the curtains shut, then returns to the bathroom to collect her first-aid kit. Having Matt Murdock in your life means you own a decent one, and while Karen is no Claire Temple, she knows a thing or two.

She comes out with it and sets it on the kitchen counter, as Frank turns his head, regrets it, and winces. Then he says, more gravelly than usual, “Karen. You don’t have to fix me up.”

“Hold still.” Karen pulls on a pair of blue rubber gloves and tears open an antiseptic wipe, dabbing at the crusted blood along the shaved side of Frank’s undercut, as he jerks but doesn’t make a sound otherwise. The bullet has left a corrugated gash, but she should thank either his reflexes, for being fast, or his goddamn skull, for being so thick, and she holds his chin with her other hand as she works. As ordered, Frank stays unnaturally still, like a big cat in the scrub remaining motionless for a human to approach it, but she can feel his breathing. It takes almost a dozen wipes to get the blood off, and she cuts a length of gauze, folds it into a pad, and presses it into the wound. Of course, running around for hours after you’ve been shot in the head, no matter how glancingly, doesn’t help. God, he’s stubborn.

There’s no sound except the muffled thump of someone’s music from down the hall, and the hiss and sigh of the radiators. The atmosphere is strange, slow, heightened, like in the immediate aftermath of the blast when they found themselves on the floor, battered and breathless, and turned toward each other, drawn like magnets, as she reached out to touch his chest and his hand cupped her head, shielding, checking to see if she was all right, the roughness of his callused fingers tangling in her hair. Karen discovers that her throat is oddly dry, that she has to swallow, as she cuts surgical tape and tamps the gauze in place. Then she says, “What about the other one? Let me see that.”

“It’s – ” Frank shifts tersely. “Karen – ”

“You took a goddamn bullet for me,” she snaps. “Let me see.”

He blows out a frustrated breath, but reaches for his shirt and slowly peels it over his head, grimacing again as the blood-sodden fabric sticks to the wound and comes away with an unpleasant sucking sound. It’s mottled and bruised, an entry and exit hole visible on ribs and back, so at least the bullet isn’t in there; Karen is not nearly skilled enough for extraction surgery. She notices, in a sudden and matter-of-fact way, that Frank is ripped. Not that you would expect otherwise, the sort of things he does, but this is the first time she has had the chance to inspect the results at close range, and it does something to her, makes something flutter low and hot in her stomach. She looks away. She’d rather he didn’t see that.

Karen pours some disinfectant on another gauze pad and dabs at the wound, feeling like this is just window-dressing to make her feel better rather than anything about to actually help, but Frank silently tolerates her attentions. She tapes another dressing into place, looks at his shoulder, and decides that while it indeed may be partially dislocated, she isn’t sure how to put it back. It’s clearly causing him significant pain, he doesn’t need to be at a disadvantage if someone comes after him, and she’s just trying to think if she can Google “how to reset shoulder” on WebMD when Frank says, “Grab my elbow. Line it up with the joint. I’ll tell you when you have the right angle.”

She looks at him, startled, then takes hold of his arm, lifting and bracing it, as Frank wriggles around awkwardly to try to give her the correct degree of torque. “When I count three,” he says, slightly breathless, “you whip it up hard and straight, you’ll hear a pop when it goes in. Keep it at that angle. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Karen takes a better grip, adjusting the angle slightly as he beckons with his chin. She waits as Frank counts, and then on three, does as ordered, with a brief fear she’ll break his arm. There’s a horrible wet scraping sound but no pop, he swears in pain, and she lets go, with another stab of guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“No, come on,” Frank rasps. “I thought it might take a couple tries. Grab it, Karen. Good girl. Again. One – two – three – ”

This time, there’s a brief, fierce resistance, she can feel it running through the whiplash cord of his muscles and then into hers like an electrical current, and there is a grate and an undeniable pop as Frank’s shoulder snaps back into joint. He lets out a heartfelt “Fuck” of relief, massaging at his collarbone, and grimaces, blowing out a breath and dashing the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “That’s better.”

“Here.” Karen takes the ibuprofen bottle and shakes out several rust-colored pills. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything stronger.”

Frank glances at her ironically, as if in acknowledgement that she pre-empted his question, then scoops the pills up and chokes them down dry. Karen goes to get him a glass of water, which he drinks, then clears his throat. “I should – I should get going. Micro’s probably already shitting bricks about this whole thing.”

“Micro?”

“Guy I’m working with,” Frank says, not particularly helpfully, but this at least makes Karen feel briefly better that he is not attempting this damned-fool idealistic crusade completely single-handed. “He can be a goddamn mother hen sometimes.”

“Someone should look out for you.” Karen can’t quite stop herself from reaching out for him, as if to cup his cheek, though her hand doesn’t entirely get there. Frank tilts his head back, his brown eyes shadowed almost black in the crappy lights of her apartment, and their gazes meet, the undercurrent of earlier, whatever it was between them in that instant in the elevator when their foreheads touched and their mouths were close and… Karen knows about Maria, of course. Knows that Frank can’t bear to let go of his wife, not now, not with the job not done, and she doesn’t want to distract from or dishonor that. And yet.

The moment remains heightened between them, as the tip of her fingers brush ever so slightly against his jaw. It’s the briefest and most innocent of touches, but Frank tenses as if it’s been something far different. Of course nobody touches him with kindness. Nobody touches him without intending to break him, more than he already is, takes defiant pride in already being in so many pieces that they cannot do any worse. And yet, Karen thinks, that is not entirely true. If she had died today, if he had not been able to save her, something else would have broken among all his halls and halls of shattered mirrors. Something fundamental, and permanent, and painful. She doesn’t know if she wants to have that responsibility, that weight on his much-abused heart, and yet she does nonetheless.

Frank turns his head as if he’s about to kiss her fingers, like that kiss on the cheek in the darkness down by the bridge, when they met after the car accident with Madani. He stops himself, of course, if not entirely in time to disguise what he was going to do. Karen pulls her hand back, self-conscious, and he gets to his feet. “Thanks, Karen. I’ll see myself out.”

She wants to tell him that he’s an idiot, an idiot, that he doesn’t have to run alone across the city to whatever lonely bed might await down whatever miserable hole, but as well established, Karen Page knows too many vigilantes. She bites her tongue instead, wanting to at least offer him a hot shower and something to eat (what? Her pasta leftovers? Maybe she can warm up the Chinese?) but she knows he won’t accept. He’s already come all this way to see that she’s safe, she ended up taking care of him, the city is still looking for him, and he will take no chance of being caught here. But even with all this being the case, she doesn’t know how she’s just going to – well. To just let him go. Again. Always. Maybe one day that cycle will end, but it is not today. It is not now.

“Frank.” Her voice is tremulous. “Take care of yourself.”

He looks at her for a long moment, those shadowed eyes and that craggy, broken nose, that hard mouth and the jarhead buzz cut, so many hard edges somehow softened past bearing when his gaze is fixed on her, and only her. He seems about to say something else, then gives it up as a bad job. He takes half a step, reaches her, and grips the back of her head, drawing their foreheads together. They share breath, their eyelashes flutter, her lips part as if in instinctive and unspeakable need for a kiss, but Frank does not kiss her. He tilts her chin back and presses his mouth to the pulse point on her neck, raw and unformed, devoted, desperate, as if he needs, if nothing else, to feel the echoes of her living, beating heart. He holds her against him for another moment, their breathing heavy with unspoken, unshared words, and then he lets her go, with impossible tenderness. He says in a rasp, “Lock the door.”

Karen manages a tight little nod, lips pressed white, clenching her fingers into her palm until she can feel the crescent moons of her nails. She goes to the door with him, as if bidding him good night after a pleasant evening, and as he looks at her again, it takes all her effort not to kiss him then and there, Maria or no Maria, vengeance or punishment, death or dishonor. But she can’t, and he can’t, and so, somehow, she opens the door again and does not need to tell him to be careful. He steps out, and she waits until he is out of sight, and then, as ordered, she locks it. The bolt is heavy as iron in her hands.

Karen turns, and goes into her bedroom, and lies down on her bed, in the darkness. When she closes her eyes, Lewis Wilson’s maddened face swirls up behind it, until it vanishes in a bloom of ravening flame, and she opens them again with a jerk. She will get over this, she supposes. She always does. But it still takes her a while to close them again.

She sleeps. Not all that well, and broken with uneasy dreams, but she does. She is awakened, as ever, by her alarm the next morning, as if – just as she wanted – everything has snapped back into place like that reset joint, as if the world will go back to whatever normality it possesses, which seems to be quite little in this corner of Hell’s Kitchen sometimes. She gets up. She walks into the kitchen. Thinks about how she’ll get to work. Opens the cupboard, then glances over, reflexively, at the window

The dead flowers are still there. She needs to throw them out. And yet, that’s not the only thing. A fresh bouquet of white roses has been laid on the balcony, glistening with morning dew. An apology, perhaps. A goodbye. Another message. It could be anything. Who knows how long it will be before she sees him again to ask.

Karen opens the window, takes them inside. Cuts the stems and puts them in a new vase. Then gets dressed, grabs her purse and her keys, steps out of the apartment, and does not look back.

[taiblogcomics]

A Jerkass at the Circus

Hey there, spicy Gushers. Well, let's do one of our things on the back burner. But which should we do? I dunno. Want to base it solely on the cover? Okay, we got a boring team pose as usual on Suicide Squad, and Red Hood is an annual. You know what, let's do the annual, we don't gotta worry about continuity that way~

Here's the winning cover:

Hey, it's Nightwing! Will he be the newest Outlaw? Well, considering he has his own ongoing series and doesn't appear outside of this annual, I highly doubt it~! It's a cool, dynamic sort of cover at least, so that's good. What is that last word on Ma Gunn's sign, though? "Criminally Infirmed"? Is that a thing? Maybe this comic will tell us if that's a thing~

This comic takes place before the events of issue 12, but it waits until page 5 to tell us this. So you can fit it into continuity if you want to, presumably~

So we open on a big cruise-looking ship. A yacht of some kind, I dunno. It's got a huge deck with a lot of people on it. One is clearly the captain, since he's wearing white and has a hat (he might also be a milkman, but I'm betting captain). Another is an old guy with his grey hair in a ponytail, who's smoking. His name is Dimitri, and he's hired the captain here to pilot this boat out in the middle of the Baltic Sea to meet a fellow he wants to hire. Because the middle of the sea is a great place for a clandestine meeting. Dimitri got shown up by Red Hood at some point (he's too generic for me to remember, if it ever even appeared in a previous issue), and now he's hiring KGBeast for revenge. The captian panics as soon as Dimitri reveals who he's meeting, and for good reason. KGBeast blows up the boat and shoots everyone but Dimitri. Now they can talk privately.

So, where do you go from there? Well, how about a circus in Russia, where Dick Grayson, AKA Nightwing, is watching the performance. And what a performance it is: Jason Todd as a combination trick-shooter and motorcycle stuntman, Artemis as a more traditional horse-mounted bow-based sharpshooter, and Bizarro as the strongman. Buy T-shirts, kids! Anyway, after the performance, Nightwing (who we'll refer to by his supranym, since unlike Jason and Roy, we actually respect Dick Grayson and think he's cool) goes seeking out Jason's trailer, since apparently he got a text more or less requesting a meeting. Bizarro serves beans while Jason explains the situation. So, those Russians Jason threw out of Gotham back in issue 7? The ones we long forgot? Well, they're back, and they're using this circus as a front or something. Anyway, the long and short of it is that basically Jason wants to hang out with Nightwing, but is too much of a dope to come out and say it~

And just because Jason and Nightwing have made up enough that Jason doesn't want to murder him anymore, he may just have had a flashback revealing he admired Nightwing ever since they were both kids and Jason went to one of his circus performances, but he still enjoys taking the piss out of him. We may respect him, but Jason doesn't: Nightwing will be filling in as "Flippy-Flop the Acrobatic Clown" while undercover here. And so, the undercover work begins by integrating themselves with the circusfolk around a bonfire that night. While Artemis is charmed by Nightwing, Jason instead encourages Bizarro to pursue a circus performer playing the violin. Artemis is more interested in Nightwing's shared backstory with Jason, though, but Bizarro hits it off with Angelique, who reveals herself to be a bearded woman. Bizarro sees nothing wrong with this, and she finds him very sweet for that.

Another circus worker expresses a notion of gratitude towards Jason, as Angelique is his daughter and he's clearly sent someone kind her way. Since he's been kind to his daughter, he decides to let them in on his secret: he can help them get extra work, work that doesn't involve the big top. He'll let Jason in on it if he comes to see him during their friend's performance. And speaking of friends, Nightwing exposits some backstory to Artemis, mostly involving how he joined the Bat-team. Their first real meeting comes when Jason returns one night from being Robin, collapses into bed--only to find Nightwing already in it. Apparently after Nightwing moved out, Alfred just gave his old room to Jason. Apparently he neglected to tell him someone else was using it now when he came back home to visit~

Artemis is deeply amused by the stories, though she thinks perhaps things could have gone differently and led to friends instead. She tells Nightwing not to let the past define him, and Nightwing thinks Jason's lucky to have her watching his back. They part amicably, and everyone goes to bed. We open the next day, already midway into Nightwing's act as Flippy-Flop. Fortunately, despite the terrible clown outfit, he's not wearing a wig or makeup or even a red rubber nose. In other words, the least horrifying clown ever made. So, while that's going on, the Outlaws instead go down with Jason's new friend, who shows them a mysterious pool in the middle of the circus. Diving down, they find a cavern off to the side, wherein a whole load of explosives are being stored. And who's down there taking inventory on all the munitions? Why, our previously foreshadowed friend KGBeast~

Apparently this whole thing ties back to events in Detective Comics Rebirth, which I didn't read. The long and short of it is, a military group was formed to destroy the Batman, but they lost. This seems to be one of their weapons caches, which I'm not sure does them a lot of good hidden in Russia and not Gotham, but what do I know~? The guns in this thing are energy weapons strong enough to push back Bizarro, so it might be a little overkill for Batman. Fortunately, Artemis always brings an axe to a gunfight, and she cleaves his new toy apart. Jason leaps at KGBeast, and both begin exchanging point-blank gunfire. They both must have really good body armour. Jason's are non-lethal, though, given that promise he made to Batman at the beginning of the series--which he even states out loud--but KGBeast is under no such obligation. I guess he's just a terrible shot~

Artemis, instead, chooses to fight him more hand-to-hand, and indeed chops off his wrist-mounted gun. That's KGBeast's thing, if you didn't know: he's missing a hand, so he has an elaborate gun instead. KGBeast encourages them to drop their loyalty to any particular nationstate and be their own person, which might be inspiring if it wasn't coming from a crazed gunman. He's growing a bit tired of the fight, and comments that he's seen through their ruse. Their "Outlaws" thing is just an excuse to get crime out of Gotham. And apparently they've been in Gotham the whole time, it's just the circus that's Russian. Sorry, the context was ambiguous. There really was no "Meanwhile, in Gotham" sort of label to establish any of these scenes. We need those, guys!

KGBeast prepares to give the Outlaws a quick death, but Nightwing suddenly jumps on him from behind. KGBeast attempts to throw him off, but Nightwing just uses Bizarro as a set of parallel bars and rebounds. He and Jason team up and both punch KGBeast in the face. This is then followed by Artemis and Bizarro doing the same, and they're much stronger, so KGBeast is knocked out. And so the comic wraps up with Nightwing putting in with his contacts at ARGUS to arrest the other criminals at the circus, while he and Jason share an amicable handshake, with Nightwing basically saying that he's proud of the work Jason's doing as an Outlaw now. Artemis is a little bummed that she wasn't given an equal goodbye, but Bizarro's really pleased he got to kiss the pretty bearded lady. He even made sure to get her number: eight. Jason sighs and leads Bizarro inside to explain a few things~

So, other than me getting confused about the location for half the comic, this issue was not too bad. They say “before the events of issue 12″, but probably before that whole storyline works better. It’s nice to see Nightwing and Jason actually respect each other, though the idea that perennial street orphan Jason Todd happened to visit the circus and see a young Dick Grayson (age 12) perform is a bit contrived if you ask me. Otherwise, it’s just kind of a fun romp with a classic Batman villain like KGBeast. He’s going by just “the Beast” now, given also his new declaration of not allying himself with a particular nation, but I’d rather not confuse him with Hank McCoy of X-Men fame, you know~? Plus Bizarro’s just kind of a delight, like always~

[vincent-marie]

Chicken Run Review

Back when I was a kid and we got "Prince of Egypt" on VHS for Christmas, one of the bonuses on the tape was an early trailer for "Chicken Run". At the time I was a huge fan of the Wallace and Gromit shorts, and seeing the same studio working on a feature film was enough to make me want to see it.

I saw it in the theaters, and it was a very fun experience for me. I got it on VHS, and it was my favorite movie for a while. I recall I watched it so many times to a point where it annoyed the hell out of my sibling.

It not only has a very special place in my heart as something nostalgic, but it's also pretty cool looking back on Dreamworks animated films when the studio was still trying to find its niche. Before "Shrek" became such a very literal monster hit and the studio built its identity on "subverting" Disney while at the same time stealing their thunder.

"Chicken Run" was the first major project Dreamworks had released in conjunction with Aardman, and was enough of a hit that Aardman would continue making films while under the Dreamworks umbrella.

But after almost seventeen years I'm finally able to take off the nostalgia goggles and ask: Does it hold up in the long run?

I'd say… yes and no.

At first I thought since it was Aardman's first film that they might have been a little rusty at doing a feature because they had previously only done shorts and TV shows. The transition to theatrical movies can be a hell of an adjustment.

However it turns out that "Chicken Run" has a lot of very solid elements on its own merits. It just has one major weak link, and it wasn't Aardman's fault. I'll get to that later.

The overall execution of the film is effectively cinematic. Even back when Aardman was only making the "Wallace and Gromit" shorts, a lot of us forget just how much they elevated stop-motion animation from just a cute little novelty like holiday specials to something that could be like a Hitchcock film. With "Chicken Run", the music is excellent, the character animation is fantastic, the voice acting top-notch, the models, props and sets well-crafted, and the majority of the characters are quite memorable and charming. (Everybody loves Babs, she's such a sweetie.)

A few things haven't aged so well about it, though, particularly the dynamic between Mr. and Mrs. Tweedy. Due to the current awareness of the abuse of men at the hands of female partners, the old Henpecked Husband routine really isn't funny anymore. On top of that there's Mrs. Tweedy insisting that the chickens organizing is "all in [his] head", and that just has a faint stink of gaslighting.

With that said, it could be read as just how vicious and ruthless Mrs. Tweedy is as a villain. That it adds a layer of pure evil; if that's how she regards her husband, then she's an even bigger threat to the chickens.

I've heard her compared to Cruella DeVille, and that's not an invalid comparison. Though with the way her chicken pies are advertised as being something warm and down-to-earth while she is vicious and greedy at heart, it reminds me a bit more of Mom from "Futurama", except not as humorously foul-mouthed. Interestingly, she too has a habit of casually slapping her sons, though that's more effectively framed as irreverent slapstick as opposed to being dark and menacing.

There really is something pretty crazy about how Tweedy's farm is run like a prison camp. Or the fact that Mr. Tweedy comes from a long line of egg-farmers but we can safely assume they didn't have any troubles with escaping chickens.

What's more is that Mr. Tweedy is right all along about the chickens being organized. I find it interesting that if the Missus hadn't been so focused on trying to make a quick profit and telling her husband to shut up, the mass chicken escape, and the waste of money spent on the pie machine that goes up in smoke, could have been prevented. If she had just not been a greedy, abusive spouse.

Now I'm going to move on to what I believe to be the very best part of the movie, and that is our main character Ginger. I daresay she's probably a one of the most underrated female badasses in animation. She's established from the start that she's clever, she's determined, and she doesn't let all that solitary confinement in the coal bin crush her spirit. And even during those times when she is at her lowest there's always something that gives her an idea or inspiration and she gets right back up.

It's also very clear that her fellow chickens are klutzes and they don't believe in her. Her escape plans could theoretically work if she just escaped by herself without the others tripping up all the time. But she doesn't. Instead she's determined to come up with a plan that could get all of the chickens out at once. Why? Because she really does care about them enough that she wants ALL of them to be safe. She may roll her eyes at them fouling up one of the plans again, and she has every right to be frustrated with them enough to want to just leave, especially after Bunty shoots her down at one of their meetings.

But she never does. She's staying with them and seeing to it that they get out as well. Towards the end of the movie when the crate takes flight, she's not even concerned that she's not on it. She's in awe because the plan worked. They are going to be okay.

On a certain level she's always reminded me of Lisa Simpson and her own sense of kindness, justice and integrity. Except that series often framed her as being obnoxious and self-righteous and therefore needed to be taken down a peg by the end of the episode. (I love the first eight seasons of "The Simpsons", but it has its problems.)

Ginger, however, is clearly in the right for most of movie. When Rocky is coaching the phony flying lessons she seems to be the only one who sees through his BS. And save for the unconvincing romantic subplot, she doesn't take any of his smug, condescending crap.

Again, the only thing that really gets her down is the physical impossibility of getting the chickens out. And, like I said before, there's still always that spark of determination that keeps her going, that gives her new ideas, that gets her back up. Nobody can hold her down.

I have to attribute a lot of Ginger's strength as a character to the voice performance. Julia Sawalha really helped to bring out a sense of sweetness and warmth to her, but also a lot of determination and a no-nonsense attitude with just a hint of snark in response to Rocky's self-serving BS.

Not to mention her integrity kindness makes for an excellent contrast to Miranda Richardson's selfish and sinister take on Mrs. Tweedy. (Who besides me would actually like to see Miranda Richardson play Cruella DeVille?)

But now that we've gone over the strongest link, we come to the weakest one in the entire movie, and that is the very existence of Rocky the Rhode Island Red.

Really what bothers me about this character is that he gets shoehorned into the story even though he does not fit the tone of the rest of the movie. Yet he becomes a major crux of the plot, and, for some reason, winds up a love interest for Ginger.

Even when I would say "Chicken Run" was my favorite movie, I never bought the romantic chemistry Rocky and Ginger are supposedly having. Their rom-com style bickering only made it apparent that they should only be friends, and nowadays the trope of "tough girl just needs a man to get her to loosen up" really pisses me off.

What's more is the whole Pie Machine Rescue sequence feels like an unearned opportunity for Rocky to "save the girl".

Now, I actually like the Pie Machine escape. The machine itself always reminded me of the sheep-shearing contraption in "A Close Shave".

But Ginger had already proven herself to be resourceful and quick on her feet, and yet she still apparently needs a man to save her. She probably could have rescued her own damn self out of that metal leviathan.

She still sort of does. At the very least, she saves Rocky's ass in the end before he gets roasted in the oven. She even does the Indiana Jones bit of going back for her hat before the door closes.

Yet afterwards even she gives Rocky all the credit for sabotaging the machine. Sure, he shoves the carrot in the gravy dispenser and causes pressure in there, but she also sabotaged it with a literal wrench in the works. Why is she giving him all the praise? She's well within her right to claim some credit too. Apparently the film just needs to further elevate and glorify Rocky.

I will say this, though. The whole "Strong Woman Who Needs To Be Saved By A Man" trope in this case still doesn't piss me off NEARLY as much as it did with Maid Marian in "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves". In that movie it felt like it was making Marian superficially strong to make the movie look more modern and forward-thinking than it really was. Ginger, on the other hand, was already strong and well-developed in her own right and isn't just validation for Rocky's existence.

If anything, Rocky's the one who needs to be constantly propped up by the more interesting characters. He's not even very fun or interesting on his own. He is, as a friend and I have dubbed, generically cocky. He's no cheerful rogue with a heart of gold like Disney's take on Robin Hood, he's no girl-crazy, ego-driven goofball like Lupin III; he is, at best, a loose idea for a character that needs a lot more work done before the final draft of the script.

I think part of the problem may have been the casting. Not that Mel Gibson's voice acting for the character is necessarily bad, but with the way the character was written one would need a real force of personality to elevate him to an entertaining level of sleazy and egotistic.

During a streaming of the movie someone suggested that the late Phil Hartman would have been a far better casting choice, and we in the chat unanimously agreed. Yet another reason it's a crime against the natural order that we lost Phil Hartman when we did.

And there is an a very real behind-the-scenes reason for why Rocky feels so half-assed as a character compared to the rest of the film.

The short version is that while "Chicken Run" was in production, Dreamworks decided to stick their hands in the pot and Americanize it.

They introduced an American breed of chicken, played by a big name movie star who could pull off an American accent, and he even flies into the movie wearing an American flag cape.

The minute he makes his entrance the whole story becomes the tired "Liar Revealed" plot line that's been used in several lame-at-worst/passable-at-best US family features. "A Bug's Life", "Oz, The Great and Powerful", "Road to El Dorado", need I go on?

Why is that? Why has that story kept popping up in hackneyed mainstream American screenplays?

Might it be because of a subconscious social anxiety that most Americans in power keep getting rewarded and showered with praise in spite of not doing a day's work in their lives? And they're secretly afraid that they're going to be exposed as the undeserved, over-privileged phonies they really are?

Nah! That can't possibly be it.

Anyway, in the grand scheme of the plot, Rocky is ultimately useless. There's a well-known criticism of "Raiders of the Lost Ark" that Indiana Jones himself makes little to no real impact on the plot, and if he hadn't intervened, the Nazis would have still found the treasure, and still gotten their faces melted off.

Rocky is kind of like that, except he's not just a useless spectator. His whole part in the movie takes a huge chomp out of the screen time with other characters expecting great things of him, all amounting to nothing in the end, save for an narratively convenient last-minute rescue. (Which could have been avoided if he hadn't just outright ditched the chickens like the jerk that he is.)

Though, I do have to give that scene some credit: Mrs. Tweedy being thwarted by "Tricycle to the Head" is kind of funny.

Also in the scene when it's revealed Rocky could only fly because of a circus cannon, the overall execution is actually very good. There has no dialogue, just suspense. The audience doesn't see what Ginger sees when she unfolds the paper, but the look on her face indicates it's something big and not good. We don't get to see it until Ginger puts up the second half of the poster, and the revelation drops like a bomb as the thunder crashes above. The music, the camera work, the use of rain all makes for a very dramatic revelation.

I find it interesting that the one good thing to come out of the plot culdesac with Rocky is when he has already left the farm.

But not long afterwards Ginger comes up with the idea to build a flying contraption. She doesn't come up with it based on anything Rocky said, did or left behind. She's inspired by Fowler's stories of the Royal Air Force, which he had been going on about since the very start of the movie. She very well might have come up with the idea even if Rocky never flew into the coop.

While watching this movie during the streaming session, my friend who hosted it, Devon Baxter, theorized that a better story would have been if there was somewhat of an underdog theme going on with Fowler. That he could have just been seen as a joke to the other chickens but Ginger sees some value to his stories and get the idea from him to build the crate.

And now that I think of it, Mac, with her convoluted contraptions, could have also been an underdog with the way the other chickens fearfully cringed after her little catapult demonstration. Maybe like how they see Fowler as a crazy old coot, they could have seen Mac as a nut who "is gonna get us all killed".

Both Fowler and Mac could have been characters who weren't taken seriously by the others, while Ginger would be the one to see their value and encourage them to do this ambitious project of making a crate and flying them all to safety.

One can only speculate what the story could have been like if Dreamworks had just kept their mits off the story.

But with all that said, this is still a pretty good movie for Aardman's first feature film. And if this hadn't been a success, they wouldn't have been able to make the far superior "Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit".

I'm always going to love this movie for its stronger elements. You really don't come across surprisingly well-written female characters like Ginger in mainstream movies very often. And I applaud Aardman for being one of the few studios left who haven't caved in to doing all CG animated films the way Disney has.

[njawaidofficial]

Angelyne's Real Identity Is Finally Solved

http://styleveryday.com/2017/08/02/angelynes-real-identity-is-finally-solved/

Angelyne's Real Identity Is Finally Solved

Way before Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian, the enigmatic blonde bombshell was famous for being famous, perpetually driving the streets of Hollywood in that pink Corvette. But her true identity has remained secret all these years … until now.

“Would you be interested in a story on Angelyne’s true identity?” the man wrote last fall under a pseudonym, referring to the enigmatic L.A. billboard diva who has been a pop culture icon of self-creation and self-marketing since the early 1980s — and is now regarded as a forerunner to Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian and every personal-brand hustler on social media. “I have many details on her life — all well documented — from when her parents met to early adulthood. It’s very different from her public, concocted story — and more interesting.”

Angelyne is one of the vanishingly few contemporary public figures whose background has remained shrouded in mystery, along with the conceptual artist Banksy, Bitcoin founder Satoshi Nakamoto and aircraft hijacker D.B. Cooper. The man, who claimed to work in an undefined role for the federal government, said he was a hobbyist genealogist, occasionally taking on paid assignments in the field as an amusing side gig. A few years earlier, he’d decided it’d be fun to set himself the challenge of cracking Angelyne’s case. “And I did,” he explained.

Later, at the 101 Coffee Shop in Hollywood, the genealogist — who looks like Michael Kelly’s contained political operative Doug Stamper from House of Cards — unfurled an elaborate story of Angelyne’s past, based on material he contended he’d enterprisingly pulled and synthesized from a global network of public databases. He laid down a folded printout of a row of yearbook photos.

“This one,” he said, pointing at a 1967 Monroe Senior High School sophomore from the San Fernando Valley, third from right, “is Angelyne.” A schoolgirl with hooded eyes and long center-parted locks, in a button-down white shirt and tie, stared out across half a century. “Also known as Renee Goldberg.”

The Hollywood Reporter has since independently confirmed this is Angelyne’s real identity with public records and family members. Far from the archetypal transplant-with-a-dream, as she has tacitly long alluded, she’s the locally raised daughter of Holocaust survivors, a Jew who has found refuge in shiksa drag. It’s a fascinating, only-in-L.A. story of identity, history and a symbiotic yearning both to be forgotten and to be famous.

•••

The yearbook photo was no smoking gun. By her own cosmetic surgery confessions, Angelyne has had quite a bit of work done — and if the genealogist was right, that high school junior is now 66 years old.

Copies of immigration, marriage and death records pointed to a cloaked prehistory of Renee Tami Goldberg (originally Ronia Tamar Goldberg), which seems to reveal the trauma Angelyne had both emerged and escaped from. She was born in Poland on Oct. 2, 1950, the daughter of Polish Jews who’d met in the Chmielnik ghetto during World War II — they were among 500 to survive out of a population of 13,000, the rest sent to death at Treblinka. According to the documentation — obtained from the International Tracing Service, established by the Red Cross as an archive of Nazi crimes — her parents, Hendrik (aka Heniek or Henryk) Goldberg and Bronia (aka Bronis) Zernicka, endured unimaginable horrors at a series of concentration camps, first together at Skarzysko, where prisoners’ main job was to make munitions, and then apart at the 20th century’s most infamous hellscapes, including Buchenwald and Bergen-Belsen.

Bronia later submitted paperwork to Yad Vashem indicating she’d lost more than 40 relatives in the Holocaust, including her father, three brothers and a sister. Shortly after liberation, she and Hendrik married in the Foehrenwald displaced persons camp in Germany. They were eventually repatriated to Poland, which remained hostile to Jews after World War II. So after Goldberg’s birth, the family immigrated to Israel, remaining in an ultra-orthodox community of Hasidic Jews called Bnei Brak, east of Tel Aviv, until 1959. (A younger sister, Annette, was born in 1954.)

They boarded a ship leaving Haifa for New York and settled in L.A.’s Fairfax District. Her father worked as a tool-and-die mechanic. Then, in 1965, her 44-year-old mother died of cancer. Goldberg was 14.

The next year Hendrik (now Henry) remarried another Holocaust survivor, a seamstress divorcee named Deborah, and Goldberg acquired a younger stepsister, Norma. She and her father moved from the Westside to Panorama City, deep in the San Fernando Valley, where she’d begin high school and Henry and Deborah would run a strip-mall liquor store in nearby Van Nuys. She’d have a brief marriage to the son of a Beverly Hills executive, living in Hollywood with him. Goldberg’s paper trail ends with their divorce in 1969.

•••

Angelyne had single-handedly created and then inhabited a modern myth of L.A.: the platinum blond bombshell in the bright pink Corvette forever circumnavigating the city, seeking to enchant by dint of her sheer superficial glamour. It had the aesthetic power and emotional resonance of genuine performance art, Marina Abramovic by way of John Waters, particularly as she kept on rambling around the city over the decades while she aged.

I’d written a profile about Angelyne for THR in 2015. She attempted to micromanage the terms of our time together in sharp-elbowed fashion before agreeing to let me ride in her Stingray 1LT. Once inside, reality quickly shone through her constructed shallow facade: a keen intelligence, a striking vulnerability. Also something else, undefinable but perceptibly troubled, even haunted.

When I asked about her family and her past, she described herself as an only child and an orphan. “I lost my parents at a young age,” she said, “and because of that, I sought the attention of the world through my tricks. I said, ‘Well, I’m going to get the love of the world.’ ” When I pushed for more, she shut me down. “It’s just a long story,” she said, the cartoonishly girly lilt of her voice gone flat. “I don’t want to get into it. I made my way here.”

Angelyne was similarly mum or vague when I inquired about other things that might have forged her, from religion (“I’ve tried them all — Jewish, Catholic, Hindu: too many dogmas”) to her place of origin. Some internet stories suggest that she is from Idaho, but she wouldn’t talk about where she grew up. A distant hometown perfectly fit her narrative of an American small-town girl coming to L.A. to fulfill a dream. (I searched Idaho public records and could find no indication of someone named Angelyne, Angelyne Lyne or Angelyne Lynne — all names that have appeared on her business filings.)

I came away with an understanding of how she’d built and perpetuated the Angelyne phenomenon — including the business by which she made a living: lucratively marked-up and vigorously hawked merchandise sales out of her trunk, plus licensing and appearance fees. (Of course the Kardashians and other proteges have exponentially scaled and digitized the model.) But I’d fallen short in penetrating who she really is, why she’d dedicated her life to transforming herself into what she described to me as a “Rorschach test in pink” — a figure who simultaneously elects to commute among us and hold herself apart, in her formulation, “on top of a pink cloud on top of a pink mountain.”

•••

Jews had assimilated in the postwar period. Surnames Anglicized, religious observance ebbed, kosher compliance curtailed — both to better conform to their American homeland and, often, as a conscious or unconscious departure from the trauma of their European pasts. They’d arrived and imagined themselves anew.

Yet Goldberg becoming Angelyne: That would be a feat far more radical, a leap far more extreme, out of a grim and drab past into a realm of complete fantasy. How fitting it would be for such an act to take place amid the New World shtetl of Hollywood, defined by metamorphosis and make-believe.

To many Jews, Angelyne reads distinctly gentile, the quintessential shiksa, whether by accident or intent. Her taste and status cues exist in a goyish Bermuda Triangle somewhere between Dolly Parton, Loni Anderson and Traci Lords.

But once I floated the idea of Goldberg as Angelyne to friends and colleagues who had been fascinated by her over the years and occasionally had had their own fleeting curbside run-ins, the surprisingly unsurprised reaction (particularly from the Jewish ones) was consensus and instantaneous: That makes sense. The stereotypical old-school shmatte-selling, the hardnosed negotiations, the pure all-purpose chutzpah — “I’ve known that woman,” one happily told me, as if welcoming home a long-lost relative, “all my life.”

As thorough as the genealogist had been in piecing together Goldberg’s early life, he’d missed an easily Google-able recent connection between Angelyne and her alleged true identity. Late last year, I saw that The Fillmore Gazette, a community newspaper of a small town 60 miles northwest of L.A. in Ventura County, had published online a legal notice on April 28, 2016, that Renee Goldberg had petitioned to change her name to Angelyne Llyne at Ventura Superior Court. (After short-selling her Malibu condo in 2010, she now lives in the Ventura County area of Thousand Oaks.)

If the genealogist’s claim is to be believed, Goldberg recently had become eligible to collect Social Security benefits. (It is unknown whether Angelyne has applied for such benefits under any name.) While the Social Security Administration had previously not required applicants to document proof, the policy changed in 2005 after Congress took action in response to terror concerns.

I drove to the Ventura County courthouse to get the document. She claimed to have been born on Jan. 26, 1962 (a dozen years after the genealogist’s records indicate), and to be from the statistically gentile Louisville, Kentucky. As for the reason for the name change, she states on the form, “This is my stage name that I use and have used since 1978.”

Goldberg also listed a residential address that was 2 miles away. When I headed over, I discovered it was a commercial showroom for personalized trophies, plaques, gavels, medallions and clocks called Custom Awards & Engraving. I decided to refrain from asking owners Jerry and Linda Mendelsohn about Angelyne for the time being.

As it happens, Goldberg’s sister, now Annette Block, lives in Oxnard, 10 minutes south of the showroom. She and her husband run a wholesale business selling stuffed animals and dolls. (Angelyne, incidentally, had quite a few stuffed animals strewn about her Corvette when I drove around with her.) One of the dolls for sale is named the Angeline, an alternative spelling she used early on — and was credited with when she played a part in the 1977 sex comedy Can I Do It … ‘Til I Need Glasses? (the film debut of Robin Williams).

•••

Scott Hennig, a 60-year-old portrait illustrator from Idaho, has been Angelyne’s assistant, close friend and gatekeeper since the late 1980s. We’d spoken many times but always over the phone. He’d declined to meet when I requested an interview while profiling Angelyne two years ago, stating he preferred to remain “behind the scenes.” I told him that a self-described genealogist had come forward with documentation attesting to the fact that Angelyne was in fact Renee Goldberg.

Hennig scoffed. “This stuff comes up every few years — it seems to get more and more ridiculous,” he says. “My favorite one of all was this 300-pound black woman who claimed to be her mother. ‘I’m your long-lost brother,’ ‘your twin sister.’ Chalk it up to life in Hollywood. I’ve never heard of ‘Renee Goldberg.’ It’s laughable, it’s outrageous.” And as for the genealogist? “This guy needs to get a life. It’s almost like …” He thought for a moment. “Like stalker stuff, it really is. It’s kind of creepy. It’s weird.”

I brought up the name-change document connecting Renee Goldberg to Angelyne, and told him I would be happy to send over some of the genealogist’s material for her review. “I’m not saying the paperwork isn’t legitimate,” he responded, growing testy. “I’m saying it ain’t her. Look, I get emails from another Scott Hennig, a karate expert in Texas. People think that’s me. There are a lot of girls out there named Angelyne. I don’t know what to tell you. And who knows how legitimate this old stuff is, going back to World War II?”

Hennig went on, wondering, “And who’s this guy? He’s poking into Angelyne’s business — why don’t we get his name?” I put that question to the genealogist soon afterward, who’d communicated with me under the pseudonym Ed Thompson.

“There’s a difference between her and me — and she and most people,” he reasoned by phone. “She’s a celebrity, and beyond that, she forfeited any claim of privacy when she ran, as a joke or a stunt or not, for governor of California” during the recall race that Arnold Schwarzenegger won in 2003. “As for me,” he went on, explaining he had a government job that included a top-secret clearance, “reputation is fairly important, and the controversy that might be involved in this situation is not part of that culture. There’s a minute possibility that surreptitious activity — not illegal but surreptitious — could reflect badly on a top-secret clearance.”

I sent Hennig the name-change document and the yearbook photos the day after we spoke. Subsequent efforts by phone and email to discuss those materials with him — or, better yet, Angelyne — were repeatedly dodged.

•••

On a rainy Tuesday evening nearly two weeks later, I was reporting on another story at a Sunset Strip tattoo shop when I spotted Angelyne’s new Pepto Bismol-hued Corvette Z06 gleaming under a street light across the street. It was parked in front of 1980s hair metal haven the Rainbow Bar & Grill.

I soon found the reclusive Hennig, clad in a denim jacket and jeans, loitering in an empty upstairs hallway next to a Pantera poster. He looked just like the lanky fellow whose over-exposed vintage photos had appeared beside his boss’ in the 2005 premiere issue of Hot P!nk, Angelyne’s short-lived glossy fan magazine. Before I could say hello, she emerged from an adjacent restroom, in full regalia.

Her eyes went wide as she shook my hand. I asked if Hennig had conveyed my queries about Renee Goldberg and the Holocaust. While he stood mute a few feet away, she stammered, “I have a weird stalker who has been following me and hanging underwear outside my home and all sorts of things. We’re going to catch him — big time!” Usually, she explained of her history with obsessives, “I use reverse psychology on them and they go away.”

As Motley Crue’s “Girls, Girls, Girls” softly piped in overhead, I offered my sympathies, asking if she’d yet taken legal action or informed the authorities. In the past she’d told me she’d filed restraining orders against two stalkers. Angelyne said she and her team hadn’t — that they were “building a case.”

Angelyne cast herself as a victim of a scheme, and me as an unwitting — or even witting — pawn. (The next day I spoke with the genealogist, who’d previously told me that he had “no tie to her other than curiosity,” and asked him if he was stalking her. “No, not at all,” he chuckled. “It’s a contorted, convenient way to try to come up with a semi-plausible story. Or not even that plausible. It doesn’t even make any sense. How could this kind of information about her past possibly be part of a plot to force her to do anything?”)

I asked Angelyne about the Ventura County name-change document. Her expression scrunched. “It was a complication thing,” she said, tipping from one foot to the other. “I don’t want to talk about it.” I pressed, and she said she’d have her lawyer call me. I asked if it would be her business attorney, William Remery, or the attorney on the document, David Lehr. “Someone else.”

She wheeled around to Topic A. “I know you want it to be true because you’re Jewish — and that’s adorable!” This last word was enunciated with her breathy falsetto inflection, a stagey girlishness that Paris Hilton appropriated. I told her, without success, why my interest was justifiable on journalistic terms. She nodded, unbowed: “Is your editor Jewish?”

She bid me goodbye with a hug — “I know you love me and don’t want to hurt me” — and a promise that I’d hear from her lawyer. Angelyne also stated that it’s her inalienable right alone to share her story as she sees fit — or not. (Earlier, regarding the details of her past, she’d told me, “I want to save it for my memoirs; that’s my right for my own financial interest.”) Later, when I left, I saw her on the sidewalk beside her Corvette under a translucent pink umbrella, huddled in what appeared to be an intense conversation with Hennig.

The next day, curious to revisit those Hennig photos, I unearthed from the bottom of a pile on my newsroom desk the premiere issue of Hot P!nk, which Angelyne bulldozed me into purchasing two years ago for $50 — along with other merchandise — before even agreeing to seriously discuss participation in a potential profile in THR. What instead caught my eye were the advertisements, which on closer inspection all seemed to be personally connected to her: the North Hollywood auto body shop that I’d elsewhere read custom-paints her Corvette; the late Beverly Hills plastic surgeon Dr. George Semel, who she’d previously told me was her “artistic collaborator.”

I kept scanning. There was an eighth-page ad from Custom Awards & Engraving, the trophy business Angelyne listed as her residential address on the name-change document. Co-owner Linda Mendelsohn also was mentioned in the text, which congratulated Angelyne on the launch of the magazine. Bingo.

•••

A fortnight passed without word from Angelyne. I rang Hennig and told him I was still looking for clarification. Where, at least, was the follow-up from the mystery attorney? This time he was curt. “I’ll tell her you called,” he said, his tone cold, hanging up. It would be the last I’d hear from either of them.

The next day I dialed Goldberg’s sister, Annette Block. Her husband, Stanley, picked up. I explained I was working on a piece about Goldberg and her life before becoming Angelyne. “Well, Angelyne …” he began, knowingly, tentatively, before a voice in the background interrupted him. He came back on: “Give me a call tomorrow.” When we talked again, he acknowledged knowing Angelyne at “one time in my life, maybe 40 years ago,” but insisted that “my wife is not related to her.” His spouse declined to speak to me.

Next I called Goldberg’s stepsister, Norma St. Michel, who resides in Van Nuys in the San Fernando Valley. I brought up Angelyne. “Oh, I have no idea,” she said, an edge to her voice, cutting me off and hanging up.

Finally, I tracked down Michael Strauss, the Jewish boy (scion of a Beverly Hills dynasty forged by the changeable reader board on movie theater marquees) whom she’d wed in the late 1960s. He was now a family man living in Carlsbad after a successful career manufacturing acrylic furniture.

I told him what I was calling about. “Holy smokes,” he said, astonished. “I haven’t talked to Angelyne in years. I’ve kind of followed her on the internet.”

We chatted for an hour. Strauss had tender memories of Goldberg, referring alternatively in the past and present to her as “Angelyne” and “Renee.” He’d never spoken publicly about the identity of his first wife before, and only rarely in private, he said. (An exception: In 2016 when she applied for a new driver’s license, a DMV investigator contacted him to corroborate her true identity.)

They’d met through mutual friends while she was still living on the Westside. “She was the most gorgeous redhead,” he said. “She was unique, beautiful, smart.” Later, during their short matrimony, they lived together with Annette and her first husband at the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street, “right where Wolfman Jack used to record.” Strauss emailed me photos while we were talking: the pair posing barefoot by the pool at a friend’s backyard party, a striking black-and-white portrait he’d taken of Goldberg at his family’s Trousdale Estates home. (A budding photographer, he shot the likes of Donovan and War.) And, most importantly, he sent the same yearbook photo the genealogist had shown me.

Strauss explained that Goldberg’s childhood had been difficult. Her father, a man with a concentration camp number tattooed on his arm, had been controlling, cruel and narrow-minded, propelling her to flee home early. Like many survivors of trauma, Henry didn’t discuss it. This extended, to Strauss’ memory, as far as Goldberg’s own history; her father told her she was born in Israel, not a German displaced-persons camp. Regardless, “she has never considered herself Jewish.”

Strauss was surprised to learn from me that Goldberg’s mother had died just a few years before he met her; he’d always thought it had been much earlier, a hardened scar. “She’d never talk about her mother — ever, ever, ever. It was a subject that couldn’t be brought up. If I brought it up, it was shut down.”

After they broke up — it was amicable — he traveled for several years, returning to L.A. in the mid-1970s. “I hooked up with Renee again, and she was Angelyne,” he said. “I wasn’t there when she made the transition. All of a sudden, big boobs, blond hair, this voice — the voice used to make me nuts. It didn’t compute with who I’d known she was.”

It would be another decade before she’d achieve notoriety for her pioneering famous-for-being-famous billboard campaign. “As an entrepreneur, I was sad that she wasn’t ever able to be more [financially] successful,” Strauss said of her career, which emerged out of punk and new wave bands and occasional bit parts in films. “Why didn’t she take it farther? Why not a TV show? She invented this marvelous, crazy, out-of-this-world character but couldn’t fully sell it. I was always a Renee rooter: ‘Come on, girl, take it to the next level!’ But she only had the capacity to take it so far.”

When they broke up, Strauss held on to some of her effects — personal photos, official documents — “because she didn’t want them, and I wasn’t just going to throw them away. I mean, what if she eventually wanted them back? Except she never did. I saw her in the early 1990s, and I said, ‘I have these things.’ She didn’t want them. She wanted nothing to do with it. She’d created another life.”

Why had she done it? “You’d have to ask her that,” he said softly.

Renee Goldberg had purely committed to the fundamental principle of Hollywood — escapism — by inhabiting the character she conjured to the point of no return. Like many dreamers, she adopted a stage name and altered her body and behavior to better position a prospective entertainment career that, like many dreamers, never panned out quite as intended. Nevertheless, far more than most, by any definition of success, she truly became the person she was pretending to be.

Strauss eventually, reluctantly, ventured a guess. “It’s a persona that must have suited her,” he said. “It made her way in life. It’s not an easy world out there.”

A version of this story first appeared in the Aug. 2 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.