#so i break down in the shower

[angelsfalling16]

Trying so hard not to fall apart

So full of pain that I can't breathe

Know I need help but I can't find it

I just want to feel happy

[jackietaylorsghost]

#im just like her fr

YELLOWJACKETS 105. Blood Hive

[walkingstackofbooks]

Every time I watch Shore Leave, I become more convinced that Ruth is dead.

Like, Jim's hellbent on chasing after Sulu, Yeoman Barrows has just been attacked, and then he stops for these flowers with a look of wonder on his face?

My theory is that he's terrified he'll be too late and something will attack Sulu, he thinks something along the lines of "how many more flowers will I have to lay on graves?" and then he sees the exact flowers he lays on Ruth's grave and he has to stop and take one and smile sadly.

And then the whole conversation with Ruth, I mean... Yeah, it does make sense if they were once together and then broke up, but the /pain/ and /longing/ in his eyes, man.

(Also this leaves open the possibility that because he's already seen one dead loved one on this planet, after McCoy is "revived", he might be half-convinced that the McCoy who came back was just a reconstruction because he wanted to see him, and the real Bones is still just as dead as he was. Oh, I want to write this fic so badlyyyy.. if it wasn't a work night ...)

[astracora]

A Mandated Holiday Break - Chapter 5

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Loose spoilers for 'Mischief' anecdote and Sylus Myth.

Word Count: 1275

Written: 21st December 2024

Notes: Post-relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

You've passed out, midway through some movie about a man in green visiting some city in search of his father. Sometime during your movie marathon with Sylus, he'd noticed you'd stopped caring what you'd put on. He'd gotten too invested in Die Hard (a Christmas movie, you swore), and had been more than horrified that the inaccuracies didn't bother you.

At that point you'd stopped showing him movies you really loved, instead giggling with glee at making him watch some of the worst or silliest things you could find. To see his nose scrunch, and what you'd (incorrectly) called his snobby rich boy taste.

Of all the movies you could watch, he refused to understand why toilet humour had entertained you so.

It hadn't, he thinks, his inability to not roll his eyes, had been your goal.

Still, the laughter had been worth it. He would do anything to hear it forever, so perhaps he'd let you play terrible movies for the end of time.

As you murmured in your sleep, at which he'd lowered his head to try to make words out. (Something about a farmers market, and a duck?) He'd left your side, reluctant but knowing you needed to eat. Something other than cookies. You'd at least drank the water he made sure was at your side, if he left you alone he thinks you'd subsist off caffeine.

When he untangles himself from you, carefully, so carefully because while he'd love to bring you with him, the bags under your eyes demand more sleep than you've been getting. He checks you over once more, tugging the soft pink blanket over you. (It doesn't match the decor but you'd said pink suited him. He'd given you a look of disbelief... but he hadn't stopped using it since. Despite running a higher temperature than anyone you knew.)

He met the twins in the kitchen, stuffing sugar cookies into their mouths, as soon as they heard the door open. Two pairs of guilty, wide eyes shot to stare.

He's seen raccoons before, digging through food in the bins. He won't compare them, out loud, but the look is similar. "You better hope the doctor doesn't count those." Luke gulps, Kieran fidgets.

There was little the doctor was protective over, or possessive over. Sugar, and the kitten curled up on his sofa, were the two that mattered. He'd also been informed of their presence, waiting for him.

Sylus knows no matter what, even the N109 zone wouldn't keep the good doctor away from either of those things, especially in the same room.

With a smug, little self satisfied purr, he stuffs one of the fresh baked cookies into his mouth.

Food was always better shared, than alone, as he'd learned over the years.

"Is it dinner time?" Luke asks, swinging his legs as he jumps back up on the counter. Watching Sylus grab things from around the room, pulling his phone out to find a recipe he'd been sent by the prince.

'I want to make this.'

'I'm not letting you make it in my kitchen.'

'They'll like it.'

'They won't like the base being set on fire.'

In the end he'd promised to make it instead. If only to save everyone from the prince's electronic based curse.

He nods at the question, and as he watches the two out the corner of his eye, he realises he has no idea when they started living here.

He's aware of the time they've been working for him, he remembers the day he met them vividly. He's deeply familiar with how he felt watching them struggle against Ever's bonds.

The crystals gouged out of skin, the pain, the yearning. It had twisted parts of his chest, and torn at old memories he wished he could forget.

It was never easy to separate from the past, it stayed a part of you even if you desperately wished it wouldn't.

Still, he has no recollection for when they went from visiting for work, to staying, always present unless they wanted to explore together. Talking to him with candour... no, formality was never the twin's forte.

Something had changed, however, and he wasn't sure when.

He follows steps as he muses, though doesn't share his thinking out loud, after all, they seem content to just watch. Sticking leftover crumbs in their mouths, and chattering to each other.

Sylus doesn't really know when making meals for others became like this, he started because it made you happy, he continued because he liked doing it. A simple task, but it garnered praise, and joy. Food was not something he'd needed before, now, however, it was a gift to be shared.

It was simply just as easy to prepare for four (five, as he makes enough to save a plate for the prince), as it was for two.

Kieran hums the song that you were playing earlier, still out of tune, and he has to bite back his laugh, but finds himself joining in. He doesn't remember the words yet he's never discontent for his mind to remember you in every song he ever hears.

"Hey Hunter!"

"Morning!"

You enter the room, rubbing at your eyes, and he finds himself smiling at you easily. It's more a quirk of the lips, and garnet eyes melting, but you smile back as though he's beaming.

Perhaps in his way, he is. He's still unpracticed with joy. With emotions.

Showing them is hard, so he speaks them and he places them into your hands (for your heart to keep) in actions.

He refuses to let you think he is not earnest. Never to lie, never to flatter. You will never doubt his affections, he promises.

As you yawn and pull yourself up onto the kitchen counter, and he wonders why he bothered to buy stools for the bar. None of you seem to use them, content to hover too close. Comment and talk and titter away.

When he'd asked, you'd shrugged. "I like to be tall." You'd teased, kissing his forehead at the height the counter allowed you.

His cheeks had flamed and he'd blinked. Surprised and confused. Until the feeling settled into a burning need. So hungry and desperate and clawing, he'd pulled you in by the back of your neck and bitten, kissed and licked his way up your throat.

Your laughter and sighs had stuck in his head for weeks after.

He found himself wishing you'd do it again, every single time you sat on the counter to watch him cook.

Instead of the twins singing, though you seem to find it entertaining to watch them relax, you reconnect your phone to the sound system he installed in the kitchen.

For you, ever since he visited your own place to see your speakers hooked up on the wall, humming away as you baked bread. Told him music made any task better, even the ones you hated.

Sylus has been so used to solitude his entire life. Before the abyss, after the abyss. He's spent longer alone, than he has with others. Even when he built Onychinus, ground up, clawing and scratching to his makeshift throne, nothing had touched that solitude.

His time in the clouds had been short in comparison. A blip.

A torn out moment as close to bliss as he could ever have thought to get.

This. Here. A low chuckle in his throat, songs in the air, and warmth in his joined heart... he could not bear to trade or lose.

Even when one of the twins, pointing at each other when whirled on, throws a slice of carrot at his head.

[stillprettyunoriginal]

Names are so vital. So important and held to who a person is and gods Claude who has known Jericho through being far closer to Simon than himself now; through Jericho and the taking of his FACE through having to take in the mind of bloody fucking Martin. If names bring power, what sort of humanity does it draw out of a person when they’ve seen you try on a good couple. Maybe I’m just in my own head about this but truly, there are versions and layers of learning and change to the Jericho we know now, and after a certain point? If we move past his childhood? Claude has been there for nearly all of them besides the tubs. When he lost Kassie there was someone else and this one hasn’t LEFT through his learning and hasn’t died through him stumbling into the world and overall at his side. He has truly been one of the people closest to him. One of the closest you could get, at the very least, when you wear the face of a tormentor and feel your gut twisted by their own memories of their hatred of you or how you her them, and you can’t remember a world without that hurt. I’m never going to heal from these two I swear it.

(also the taking of Martin’s face is destructive to my mental health rip someone please save me it ruins me every time I remember it, n WONDER he had brother issues dude)

[adelaidedrubman]

KINKTOBER DAY 7: RISKY PLACES for faith x jenna | from prompt list by starsandskies summary: faith and jenna take a break from bliss production — and from lab safety protocol.  wordcount: 2.5k notes/warnings: NSFW! in the sense of explicit sexual content and in the sense of OSHA violations. sex in the chem lab. flop styles, it’s a failsex production. shower sex, technically. author is a faith is a pillow princess tease truther. author is a faith is stinky gross truther (/affectionate, horny). potential secondhand embarrassment. you can get a visual on the footwear described for faith here, if you’re so inclined.

“Not at the lab station,” Jenna panted as she caught Faith by the small of her back to interrupt her effort to push herself up by her palms to sit atop the table, gently guiding her down from tiptoes. 

“It’s covered in glassware,” she answered to Faith’s drawn out whine of protest, kissing away the matching pout. “And we can’t risk it breaking,” she said softly against the side of her mouth. “Far too great a safety hazard, when…” 

Jenna gulped, spell momentarily broken as she recalled a rather unfortunate reality, taking a step back and trailing her gaze down Faith’s shapely legs to her feet.

She nodded in gesture towards the hastily slipped on latex gloves stretched up to her ankles, empty fingers flopping past the length of her toes to create a resemblance to a bizarre pair of bright blue udders — Faith’s latest clever effort to evade Jenna’s strict enforcement of the ‘closed toe footwear must be worn in the lab at all times’ policy. 

“... when those would hardly offer much protection from broken glass,” she finished, clearing her throat and lifting her head to put the display out of sight, and hopefully out of mind. 

“You make the choice where to take me, then,” Faith replied, tacking an extra trill onto the double entendre. “But you better hurry,” she added in sing-song, tugging playfully at the waistband of Jenna’s slacks. 

Jenna hummed in consideration, throwing her head to the side to look over her shoulder at the expanse of the lab as Faith worked unbuckling her belt and pressing kisses to the freshly exposed column of her neck. 

The sample storage freezer. No, she wasn’t particularly in the mood for temperature play. She craned her neck further. 

The Bliss barrel loading dock. Well, they were safely sealed, but there was always the possibility of a machinery misfire, and the shortcomings in Jenna’s curriculum vitae included not being forklift certified. 

The exam table. A perfect option, if only it had been recently sterilized. As it were, moving on. 

The safety shower and eyewash station. She smiled. 

What better place to safely conduct their impromptu lab hook-up than the safety shower? 

“Have a bit of patience, darling,” Jenna chided, snaking a hand up Faith’s skirt and grasping tight onto her ample backside as she turned her in the direction of the shower and began walking them towards it in a sloppy, groping waltz. “It is a virtue.”

“I’m not so interested in virtue right now,” Faith replied, undoing the final buttons of Jenna’s pants — and causing them to pool at her ankles, so that she had to waddle the remaining few steps to the stall. 

“Well,” Jenna replied, allowing a second hand to join the first under Faith’s skirt as they reached their destination, one on each cheek to squeeze and spread. “Far be it for me to keep you from pursuing whatever does interest you.” 

With that she braced herself and tightened her grip at the top of Faith’s thighs, tensed her muscles to hoist and lift Faith to set atop the basin of the eyewash station — her slender arms trembling and nearly giving out, unable to support the weight with their lack of power — Jenna worked out at the library, as she’d heard the kids say these days, after all. 

Still, she somehow managed to lift Faith high enough she could get the rest done herself, doing the kindness of sighing in appreciation as if Jenna had really been the one to earn it. Sighing in that dreamy way that was all warm whispering breezes and perfumed haze settling over the world, that managed to make the space between them airy and bright, yet sticky and dense at the same time. Like a storm settling in.  

Faith pushed back the sleeve of Jenna’s lab coat to begin pressing kisses up the length of her inner forearm that carried that same feathery light electric current.

“You know nothing could stop me,” she hummed against the pulse of Jenna’s wrists, followed by her teeth catching the thick rimmed cuff of her protective gloves and pulling to peel the latex from her skin in slow, teasing crawl that caused her skin to pull tight and pimple. 

No, Jenna thought as she shivered at the snap of the glove springing fully freed to hang from Faith’s mouth, nothing likely could. Her beguiling little force of nature, her darling little marvel of the universe she could spend an eternity watching in awe. 

So engrossing she could barely even think to lecture her about not putting things that might have toxic residue in her mouth. 

Instead, she simply brushed a thumb against pink lower lip to pry it from top and knock the glove to the ground, forgotten. 

She certainly couldn’t dwell on it as Faith took the thumb into her mouth to teasingly suckle before guiding the hand between her legs and beneath the lace of her underwear. 

She glanced to the side and trailed her eyes along the curves of Faith’s legs, briefly considering replicating the gesture to remove the obnoxious sight of the gloves her lover donned on lower extremities — thinking better of it as she glimpsed the flaking brown of dried river mud braceleting her ankle. There was such a thing as too much toxic residue to ignore. 

Instead, she focused on slipping her fingers inside Faith and working them to a steady curl-then-stiffen rhythm, delighting in the easy glide they found. 

“My, my,” Jenna purred at the trembling ridge of Faith’s jaw. “Someone’s well lubricated.” 

She smiled as Faith responded with a hook of her leg around Jenna’s waist to pull her in and a demanding rise in pitch and volume to the melody of breathy moans. Faith was the only woman Jenna had ever been with who never chastised her for the overly clinical dirty talk. 

The thought made need assert itself freshly in her body, warmth surging in the pit of her stomach and bubbling upward to flush across her chest, blessedly just as Faith’s fingers began undoing the buttons of her blouse to slip beneath her bra and squeeze a nipple. 

“No,” Faith huffed as Jenna shrugged to shuck clothing from her torso completely, pulling the stiff white lapel of her jacket back up to her shoulder and patting it in place. “The lab coat stays on.” 

Jenna laughed into their kiss in indulging agreement, rewarding Faith for the flattering flight of fancy by working her fingers harder and faster. 

She felt a burn grow in her forearm from the effort as Faith began to flutter and tighten, her own hips rocking in rhythm as she sought the friction of its steady pressure. 

She pushed herself further, powering through the pop and crackle of her overworked joints (there had yet to be an invention of medical science to counteract aging past thirty) and losing herself to the sweet chorus it created with Faith’s gasping moans, fading into the background as a low, steady creaking. 

It all so paired so perfectly, a subtle slick slap that punctuated every thrust, the ‘oh, oh’ that every cry of her name stuttered into, the throb throb of her pulse in her ears, the creak, creak creak snap — 

Thud. 

Jenna blinked eyes open to the sight of the glistening pink of her fingers still outstretched in front of her but decided bare of breathtaking blonde sitting atop them. 

“Ow!” 

Then down to the woman now sprawled on the floor at her feet, face scrunched in pain and hand reached behind her to rub at her tailbone, water pooling beneath her. 

Water? 

Then up midway to the basin of the eyewash station, now hanging crooked, ripped from the wall from the force of the weight, exposed pipe spewing water where it was once mounted. 

“Ah,” Jenna noted thoughtfully, rinsing her fingers under the freely streaming water and reaching and turning to step from the stall and fetch the first-aid kit. “Do you need me to call for medical —” 

“No.” Faith cleared her throat, a brief gravel before she smoothed her voice and skirt and rose to her knees, scooting sideways and out of the water of the sprung leak. “Let’s worry about that later. And for now, get back to where we were,” she cooed, reaching palms towards the back of Jenna’s knees and pull her in. “Or better…” 

With the ghostly swiftness of a strong wind whistling through a window’s cracks Faith pulled down Jenna’s underwear and slid tongue between her lips, swiping back and forth with just enough pressure to be more satisfying than maddening from the lack of focus. And just as it began to creep into the territory of the former, Faith mercifully ended the torment — a final upward glide to settle tongue pressed against her clit and flex. 

Jenna slapped a hand against the concrete wall to steady herself as Faith’s tongue firmed and massaged with an ever increasing force that drew her wound her ever tighter, closing in on release. She careened even faster towards the edge as Faith’s lips pursed, giving a light suck that cause pleasure to spike, and another — drawing so close — and another, and — 

Pop.

Not exactly the release Jenna had in mind, as Faith pulled back with a giggle and shuffled to her feet, propping arms atop Jenna’s shoulders. 

“But we should finish what we started first, shouldn’t we?” Faith whispered with a devastating drip of venom laced honey, leaning back against the wall and guiding Jenna’s hand back in place between her legs. 

She really should have seen that coming, shouldn’t she? 

“I do believe teasing is half the fun for you,” Jenna sighed, weary but free of malice as she obligingly began to pump her fingers to build back to the rhythm she’d previously set. 

“But only half of it,” Faith replied, raking fingers along Jenna’s scalp to the elastic band tying her hair back and through to pull it loose and allow curls to spring free. 

One hand stayed buried in Jenna’s hair as the other roamed her body, ghosting every stray place it could. A brush of fingertips along her collarbone, a fist bunching the sleeve of her lab coat, a teasing caress of her inner thigh. 

All that contact disappeared as Faith tossed her head back with a sharp gasp, free hand instead reaching back to the wall to push her forward and into Jenna. Her muscles tensed and writhed in the uneven jerks of a body given over to sheer reflex as it chased release, hand against the wall clenching and unclenching as it crept up and up and up, fingers curling around the handle they finally reached and closing in to grab for purchase, pulling down to — oh no — 

A click, and a cascade of water fell from the plastic fan of the showerhead jutting from the wall, causing Faith to turn her head to the side and cough as it poured into her open mouth. 

Jenna gave her lover a few slaps on the back to clear her airway as she pulled her to the side and out of the stream’s way. 

“Maybe we should go dry off,” she suggested, stroking Faith’s back as she continued coughing in her arms. “There’s some towels in the supply closet, and —” 

“No,” Faith interrupted sharply, brow pinching inward and green eyes squinting into a glare. “No,” she repeated softer, dipped back inside and sugar spun and spat out again with a sticky, glaring bright fluff. “This is spontaneous and romantic,” she said, voice ringing high and clear like a bell, but one packed too tight in cushioning to reverberate as she enunciated every word with a pointed care. Oh, she did so love when Faith took that tone with her. “And we are going to enjoy it.”

Before Jenna could mumble an appeasing ‘of course,’ Faith jerked her wrist a bit too roughly to return her hand its place, the force of her leg hooking around her waist to pull her forward causing Jenna to stumble forward. 

She kept her balance and caught herself with an elbow against the wall easily enough (another benefit of non-skid shoes to tout to Faith in the afterglow), rather appreciating the support as her tired arm got back to work. 

And getting soaked hadn’t made Faith any less, well, soaked — still all depths of slick past dripping blonde curls. 

It was a quick build back to where they’d left off, no time at all before Faith’s breaths were uneven with labored heaves of her chest, pink flush creeping up her neck. 

And those sounds she made — ever higher in pitch and volume, chiming like a bell indeed, one struck harder and more rapidly with each passing second until it was a continuous, blaring trill. 

Wait — 

Jenna pulled back from her place nuzzling against Faith’s pulse, ear back from the lips spilling sweet cries to hear the shrill, drawn out siren piercing through the air — just before a fresh drizzle of water fell down from above, this time from the sprinklers fixed to the ceiling. 

Jenna belatedly noticed the heat that radiated against her back rather than the front she had pressed against warm body, turning to look behind her. 

She was greeted with the sight of hot blue flames reaching up from the matte black surface of the table, trailing gaze further down its length to see the tip over bottle of ethanol laying just where they’d begun their endeavor, having finally crept over to the still lit bunsen burner to fuel and spread its flame. 

“I think that’s an official ‘experiment failed’ for today, darling,” Jenna said with a flick of her eyes up towards the flashing light of the blaring fire alarm, removing her hand from between Faith’s legs. 

She once again silenced the beginnings of a complaining huff she saw preparing to pass through pouting pink lips with a kiss, weaving her fingers through the spun gold tresses of still soaking hair to tilt her head back. She reached to grip the back of her thigh and raise her leg to prop at her waist one last time as she deepened the kiss, subtly slipping away as she angled her lover back. 

“Let’s grab a fire extinguisher and take care of this,” Jenna offered as she pulled away, giving Faith’s leg a parting squeeze. “Then we can take this somewhere a little less… high risk.” 

Faith smiled, reaching to the side and pulling down the fire extinguisher to pass to Jenna as she answered in sing-song, “Just don’t be long.” 

“I’ll be as efficient as I can,” she answered, taking the item from Faith. “Although…” She smiled, taking a step back before nodding at the floor in gesture towards Faith’s gloved feet. “This probably wouldn’t have happened, if you’d just worn proper footwear.” 

Jenna turned and pulled the pin of the fire extinguisher to release a pressurized whoosh that drowned out any responding protest Faith had to offer.

High risk, high reward, Jenna thought to herself as she swept the snow white spray along the length of the ignited lab table, smile widening as she considered. At least if it worked. 

Getting Faith to wear shoes in the lab would be better than sex. 

[ohslenderaphrodite]

💕

[theguardianace]

it should be illegal to feel like this on your birthday

[zipquips]

i rememorized how to solve a rubik's cube!

[kylejsugarman]

i talk a lot about el camino being a “quiet” movie and probably the best example of both that “quietness” and the movie’s realistic depiction of PTSD and the early days of “freedom” after extended abuse/torture is the shower scene at skinny’s house. a movie more concerned with turning jesse’s implied torture into a spectacle would’ve Amplified this scene—lingered more on his scars, lengthened his split-second flashback to being hosed, escalated his reaction to said flashback—but el camino doesn’t want to dramatize the quiet, achy reality of Living Through It. jesse has that brief flashback to being hosed and just grunts out a soft, involuntary “no” in the present moment. just a quiet “no”. el camino is as much about the absence of dialogue and sound as it is the dialogue. no answer to “did they really keep u in a. cage?” extensive silence during his flashbacks to mike and walt. no response to his parents after they beg him to turn himself in. the soft, scared “no” before reality returns. fuck, how can u sum up the experience of surviving torture and abuse with a long, quiet shower and a two-letter word??

[nerdie-faerie]

Currently unpacking all my shit into my new flat. And it's never more apparent that I have both, a shopping and hoarding problem, until I have to once again move and confront my problems

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[californiaquail]

you go into grocery outlet to see if they have some toothpaste and cheap blackout curtains to replace the ones your cat destroyed and you walk out with an armenian pastry and fucking fruity ass infused gin even though you literally have gin at home and don't even drink that much

[crossbackpoke-check]

Sat politely ankles crossed hands folded please say you have more thoughts about the DC deweys. Lazarus pit cold-eyed stare pristine and bloodthirsty anyway I would love to hear any further thoughts if you have the time + energy + motivation

how i imagine you waiting for me to re-read the resurrection of ra’s al-ghul and hush vol. 1+2:

ALRIGHT. in no particular order, thoughts about the dc deweys

connor fits very well into the mold of a talia al-ghul for me; chip on his shoulder, femme fatale, deadly and precise. he’s not the loudest but he’s got a dry wit that’ll cut you!

“why is connor an al-ghul at all and not batman” well first of all he’s already got the water connection, i’m gonna go dip him into the lake a couple hours north of the pas to make him incredibly long-lived, rejuvenated and beautiful

second of all i want him to be a questionable villain/antihero because he looks evil in those pictures but like beautiful evil. you see him at a multi-million dollar soirée and he’s bored of being there wearing his “heritage” beads and jewels he originally had from a thousand years ago. he and his assassins are only here to murder the head of state who’s planning to lay a pipeline through ancestral grounds

rip brandon duhaime i simply cannot imagine you as any kind of batman. lacks the gravitas, too much of a yapper, loves his wife too much. i curse thee to be green arrow if you’re in this narrative at all

assuming connor stays with toronto, would LOVE to think about toronto as one of the sites of the lazarus pit for many reasons

(a brief aside here to say that for me personally this is interesting if connor goes to winnipeg because i think they suit him better, he’s a manitoba boy, but re: the chip on his shoulder, he’s NOT a manitoba boy. he’s from the pas and very proud of it)

a) the amount of ‘toronto is the center of the universe’ hockey creation myths i can play with & birth/rebirth/reincarnation. if you WANT to feel unhinged trying to blend hockey and comics is an ice rink not just a pool of water?

b) mr. cathal kelly i love your works!!! toronto eats its young!!! thinking about this very literally in the sense of the resurrection arc where players come to toronto and are sacrificed, give up their body, their skill, in service of the demon’s head, and lose themselves.

c) we see echos of the same narratives and styles over and over again—if i can hop over to the flyers for a second, there is of course the curse of the *8s (18 richards, 28 claude, 48 danny b, 68 nolan, 88 lindros) but ALSO the danny brière -> tk -> morgan frost celly chain. every generation a resurrection, emerging clean and new from the pit

can you just briefly hold my hand and imagine wayne gretzky as an evil ra’s al-ghul wanting to possess a new body. gretzky i’m sorry to malign you and i know you never played in toronto but you are the best player in my head to fit the idea, i’m open to other suggestions

coming BACK to green arrow dewey (i did not re-watch arrow or re-read those comics sorry) connor could also be black canary, who takes a brief dip into the lazarus pit (toronto) before getting married to oliver. i do like that narrative but because we were talking about pristine and cold-blooded i figured connor dewar head of the league of assassins was more what you were after

now that i’ve gotten through world building… choose your own adventure narratives?

hockey-ish au: connor chosen as a host for the Next One. i think the lineage of the great one -> next one -> next next one -> next one up of gretzky -> crosby -> mcdavid -> bedard is taken, BUT i can imagine that the league of old boys all have the same intentions. connor gets sent to toronto unknowingly being prepped to get body-snatched by ???? and brandon duhaime of course accidentally stumbles on the plot and they have to fight to stop it

connor assassinating people :) snapshot of the head of the league of assassins delegating which major world events they’re going to change today. would love his shark face from the gifset to have blood spattered across it, ideally.

version 1 as head of the league of assassins: brandon is one of his assassins, big strong bodyguard type. devoted to him, would lay down his life, perfectly designed for connor (lady shiva/cassandra cain-ish). connor orders for something to be done and brandon does it there for him then gently wipes the blood off his face and apologizes for being careless and getting him messy.

version 2 as head of the league of assassins: an actual plot where connor aims to assassinate SOMEONE but brandon gets in the way. they meet at odds as their respective roles (hero, leader of a crime syndicate) but are magnetically drawn together as their alter egos. eventually brandon puts together the pieces of the Big Evil and manages to (legally!-ish as much as vigilante-ism can be legal) take it down and the ending panels show a tentative friendship and recognition of potential shared goals

also, jaromir jágr is immortal. don’t know if this is relevant OR related but he is. personal hot spring lazarus pit?

um. thanks for coming to my 1.5k ted talk (including tags). what a way to moritz seider lore drop that i DID grow up a comic book nerd, lmao. thank you so much for enabling me <3 i'll be here all week thinking about which teams would get what rings in a blackest night au

[gumy-shark]

hey gamers is it normal to break out in hives when i get super stressed or overheated (not every time i get overheated, haven’t found a pattern there yet)

[haileydilmore]

subbed to my fave streamer & he put my name on a sign on the craft attack 12 server. it's the little things