#womanizer bravado just goes down the drain

[dolcenco]

I never squealed so loud my entire life because of his hiccups, wtf this was too cute, velez wtf

Chris with hiccups is one of the most tender and beautiful things I saw 😍😍😍😍

Zab: I already scared him, but it does not work.

[vs-redemption]

Hi, its me! Im sorry for bothering you! How would Bakugou, Aizawa, and Iida react if some random kid, who had their eyes but different hair, who looks homeless and IS homeless, knockef on their door and said 'hey, do you know *insert womans name*? Youre my dad apparently' and it turns iut it was a woman they had a flimg with, who left them, and went on to abusr their kid? Like severely? Its just me projecting lol. Im so sorry have a great day!

A/N: I noticed that @madkaleidoscope got almost the same request while going through the my hero tags, so please check out their post HERE for another take on the same idea.

A Surprise Meeting (Bakugo, Iida, and Aizawa meet their abused child)

You can read the same scenario for Todoroki and Dabi HERE You can read the same scenario for Hawks, Fatgum, and Shigaraki Here

Warning:⚠️Mentions of child abuse and homelessness. Also, swearing for Bakugo!⚠️

Bakugo

“What the hell do you mean they were offended?” Bakugo growls at his manager through the phone propped up on his shoulder as he aggressively chops up vegetables for the stew he was making. “Instead of being grateful that I saved their asses, they decided to file a complaint against me huh?”

The underpaid person on the other end launches into an explanation about why a top ranked pro hero should avoid yelling out expletives while fighting villains in front of a crowd of civilians. Apparently it wasn’t an appropriate way to behave in front of impressionable children and elderly folks. Bakugo rolled his eyes as he continued cooking. He’d heard this spiel a hundred times before. He’d honestly worked hard over the years to improve the way he directly interacted with the innocent people he fought to protect every day, but he couldn’t help but get a little overzealous in the moment when taking down bad guys.

Bakugo clicked his tongue in annoyance when his doorbell suddenly rang. He wiped his hands off on a towel before going to tell off whoever it was that was interrupting his very limited free time. It was bad enough he was already getting an earful from his manger while he was trying to relax. He ripped open the door and felt a hint of surprise when he had to lower his angry red eyes to find the unexpected visitor. It was a little girl.

“What the hell?” Bakugo leaned out of the doorway a bit to look for an adult that might be accompanying the child but she seemed to be all alone. His manager paused their lecture to ask if he was all right. “Yeah, but I’m going to have to call you back,” Bakugo hangs up the phone and looks back at the little girl who was glaring up at him with familiar red eyes. Her long dark hair was dirty and matted. She had scrapes and bruises all over her arms and face.

“Do you need help or something?” Bakugo asks awkwardly as he tries to slip into his comforting hero voice. “Where are your parents?”

“Mommy left and didn’t come back,” the little girl scowls and crosses her arms. She then tells Bakugo her mother’s name, causing the man to freeze up in shock at the implication. “She said you were my daddy.” Bakugo just stands speechless for a few moments as his brain tries to catch up with what he’d just heard. He knew the girl’s mom, but he hadn’t seen her in about four years. They’d had a bit of a summer romance right at the beginning of his hero career before she’d suddenly disappeared, never to be heard from again.

Bakugo lets his eyes scan over the little girl once more. He couldn’t deny she had his eyes and his scowl. He felt irritated that his summer fling hadn’t even had the decency to tell him she’d gotten pregnant. He squats down to look more closely at the dirt and injuries all over the girl’s body.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, trying to keep the gruffness from his voice. Some emotion cracks through the little girl’s false bravado then and she looks down at her bare feet shyly.

“Mommy…” she whispers. Bakugo takes a deep breath to calm the rage that boiled up inside him and offers a hand to the little girl.

“Mommy left me too,” he confesses. “But she’s not going to hurt either of us ever again, okay?” The little girl looks up at her dad, a tentative hope blossoming in her eyes. Bakugo knew this was going to impact his life in a huge way, but at the moment he only cared about getting to know his daughter and making up for lost time. “Are you hungry?” The little girl nods her head eagerly and he leads her into his apartment. He would get her cleaned up and fed before getting started on all the legal stuff he’d undoubtedly have to endure before she could really be his daughter completely. His mind was already coming up with ways to fit parenting into his work schedule though, and he found himself looking forward to spending as much time with his little girl as possible.

Iida

Iida assumed he was going to have another normal morning as he sat at his desk, looking over his patrol route for the day. He’d taken over his family’s hero agency not too long ago, but he was already used to the daily routine. All the experiences he’d lived through during high school, not to mention growing up in a family of heroes, had prepared him for most scenarios he would encounter as a pro. He had no reason to suspect that anything out of the ordinary would happen, even as he heard the knock on his office door.

“Come in,” he calls out while standing up to start putting on his hero costume. The door blasts open and a young girl runs into the room.

“Daddy!” she shouts as she runs right up to him and throws her arms around his waist. Iida looks down at the girl in shock before glancing towards the door where one of his sidekicks stood looking as confused as he felt.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” the sidekick says a bit awkwardly. “One of the interns found her wandering outside. She was asking people to help her find you, her dad.”

Iida wanted to deny the claim immediately. He would definitely know if he had a child, especially one who looked to be around eight years old. The idea became a lot less preposterous as he looked back down at the girl. Her hair color was as white as snow, a complete contrast to his dark blue. The thing that gave him pause were the two legs sticking out from under the dirty skirt the girl was wearing. Her legs looked skinny, too skinny, aside from her calves which had tiny exhaust pipes sticking out of them. The girl looks up at him after a moment to meet his gaze. His breathe catches in his throat at her blue eyes and checkmark shaped eyebrows that were iconic to the Iida family.

“Uh, thank you,” Iida felt flustered as he looks back at his sidekick who was blatantly starting at him in shock. “I’ll handle this from here. Do you mind asking someone to take over my patrol?” The sidekick accepts the job and hurries off, leaving Iida alone with the girl. Part of him felt really embarrassed that this had happened in front of his coworkers. He couldn’t imagine what they must think of him now. He definitely didn’t seem like the type to be involved with something that could be perceived as scandalous.

“What is your mother’s name?” Iida asks, even though he was sure he already knew. The list of possibilities was very small. The little girl goes up on her tiptoes and Iida bends down to meet her so she can whisper in his ear. He sighs heavily at the name that falls from her lips. It was just further confirmation that this wasn’t some crazy misunderstanding. The information settles into his mind. He was a father.

“Please don’t make me go back to her though,” the girl’s eyes brim with tears as she searches Iida’s face for comfort. “She’s scary.” Iida understood how the girl felt. If given the option, he would choose never to see that woman again either. She had only dated him for a brief time, pretending to be in love with him in order to take advantage of his fame until she found someone higher up in the ranks to seduce. He had been so shocked and heart broken when she’d left him so suddenly, but now there was no way to hide from that mistake of his past.

“Why do you say she’s scary?” Iida asks while putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She winces and flinches away from his touch. He narrows his eyes in concern and asks her to roll up her sleeves. His heart fills with sadness at the welts marring her frail arms. “I see,” he frowns. “I promise you won’t have to see her again if you don’t want to, but can you tell me where she lives?”

“I don’t know. We always have to sleep outside,” the girl explains warily, painting a rather sad image of her life.

“Well that just won’t do,” he pats her on the head. “I’m going to make sure you have a comfy, warm bed to sleep in from now on.” The girl’s face lights up happily and she hugs Iida even tighter. The shame he’d felt initially was gone now, replaced by a determination to provide his daughter with the best life possible.

Aizawa

Between all his hero work and being a full time teacher, Aizawa’s opportunities to simply sleep for a couple consecutive hours were few and far between. He took any chance he could to just shut his eyes and rest for a while. Tonight he’d hoped to get a decent amount of sleep in before having to wake up at the crack of dawn to attend a UA staff meeting. However, it seemed fate had other plans for him.

It was around one in the morning when a knock on his front door pulled him from the depths of his much needed slumber. He rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes as he rolled out of bed, not even having the energy to be annoyed. “Who is it?” He asks while putting on his slippers and shuffling over to the door. There was no answer, so he pressed his face up to the peep hole. He let out a groan when he saw a random kid standing outside. If this was some kind of prank, he wasn’t sure he had the strength of mind to deal with it at this hour. He already put up with a whole class of teenagers every day who drained him of every drop of patience he had.

“Can I help you?” Aizawa mumbles after opening the door. The young boy in front of him looked to be about thirteen years old. The ends of his dark burgundy hair were frayed and had been cut sloppily as if he’d done it himself. He had outgrown his clothes a while ago, and they appeared uncomfortably small on his skinny frame. The poor kid looked extremely dirty and smelled even worse.

“Do you know this woman?” the haggard boy holds out an old photograph of a person Aizawa recognized immediately. It had been a very long time, but he’d never forget the face of the first woman he’d ever been with. He’d been so young and naïve at the time, and he still felt bitter toward the friend who’d set him up with a woman with such an atrocious personality. Aizawa knew right then and there that he wasn’t going to be getting back to sleep anytime soon.

“This is my mother,” the boy states the obvious fact. “And apparently you’re my dad.” Aizawa had no reason not to believe him as he looked into the boy’s tired eyes that matched his own. It was clear that life had not been kind to the kid so far.

“Come on in,” Aizawa invites his son inside, deciding to wait to involve the proper authorities until morning. “You can take a hot shower, and I think I have some leftovers we can heat up.”

“A shower?” the boy looked overwhelmed, as if the promise of a shower was more than he’d ever dared to hope for. Aizawa was growing more concerned with each passing second.

“Where is your mother now?” He asks and the boy shrugs.

“I haven’t seen her in a couple weeks,” he states as if that were normal. “I think she met some new guy.” That was enough to put Aizawa’s teeth on edge.

“Where have you been staying then?” he asks.

“Wherever I can,” the boy replies, sounding embarrassed. “Park benches, bus stops, train stations…” Aizawa was horrified. What kind of person left their child to survive in those conditions? Why hadn’t she ever reached out to him for help?

“What are these?” Aizawa reaches out to snatch up the boys arm. Now that he was inside where the lighting was better, he could see strange scars and scabs covering his skin.

“Cigarette burns,” the boy pulls his arm away and averts his eyes. “Mom thought it would make people more willing to help when I had to beg for money.” Aizawa felt his eyes fill with tears at the words, and he doesn’t think twice before pulling his son into his arms. The boy returns the embrace, clinging to Aizawa as if he feared the man might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“What’s going to happen now?” the boy asks fearfully after he calms down a bit.

“You’re more than welcome to stay with me,” Aizawa finds himself accepting the role of father rather quickly. He was already responsible for so many kids already, he didn’t see the harm in adding one more to the list. “If that’s something you’re comfortable with.”

“Yes, please!” The boy nods his head, looking ecstatic as he wiped away his tears. Aizawa nods his head and pats his son on the shoulder.

“Well then kid,” he says with a small smile. “Welcome home.”

------

Aizawa Tag List:  @clovertitan  @raine-needs-help @lucacangettathisass @lea2107-foxsin @tiaraowens

[kitkat1003]

The Dawn is Breaking, and I am Crumbling

Yakko is awake.  His siblings awaken, too.  Through the thin veneer of calm that is fueled by the near 70 years of acting experience they have, they keep it together enough to meet the new CEO after filming.

She’s not what they’re expecting.

This is Chapter 2 to this fic.  Please read the first chapter.

@asilcorner

Yakko lets his face drop, just for a moment, when Spielberg turns away to mess with the controls and let his brother and sister out of the suspended animation tubes.

The whole room looks far too futuristic for only 22 years, Yakko thinks.  The eerie glow from the tubes, a light blue, paints and eerie vibe about the metal interior.  He can see the shadows in the corners of the room.

Wakko and Dot, at least, look healthy.  As much as the redesign weirded him out, change of art style and all, he has to admit they kept the general feeling of their characters.  Dot still has her flower and dress, Wakko still has his sweater and cap.  The studio kept them relatively the same, though Yakko can’t help but play with the bit of hair sticking up between his ears, unused to it.  He feels the lines are a bit sharper.  Maybe this is how modern animation looks like?

The liquid starts to drain, and the polite grin is back on Yakko’s face by the time Spielberg turns around, even though his hands are shaking behind his back and he’s terrified by how this is going to turn out.

Dot’s tube opens first, and she’s picked up by metal arms and set down on the ground, and Yakko is at her side before he registers moving.  She doesn’t look lucid yet, eyes open but unseeing, but she blinks a few times and he sees the spark of recognition soon enough.

“Yakko?” Her voice is so small.

“Hey,” he smiles at her, even though it’s a bit pained, and he hugs her close.  She clings to him and shakes, but the sound of Wakko’s pod opening breaks them apart, because Yakko turns to see his little brother.

Wakko starts to cry the moment he becomes conscious, and Yakko rushes to his side because he understands, but they don’t have time to cry right now.  

Not with executives watching.  Not with the situation they’re in.

“Hey, hey, hey, bud, don’t cry, it’s okay,” Dot is right behind him, clutching him by the tail as if its a leash.  Only his siblings are supposed to be allowed to grab his tail like that, and Yakko clearly remembers that night, when the men in the task force grabbed him by it and yanked hard enough to bruise.  He shivers in memory.  Wakko sniffles, as Yakko wipes his tears.

“We’re getting a reboot,” He says, loud enough for Spielberg to hear.  Dot and Wakko glance at the man, who gives them a thumbs up.  They wave back.

“We have to put on a brave face,” Yakko then whispers.  “They don’t expect us to be sad.  It’s just like acting, okay?  Just for a day, and once we’re back alone in the tower, you can let it out,” he hates that he has to tell them this, that he has to ask they hide it away.  He wants nothing more than to let them rage and cry and scream, because they have every right to want to.

But, because they did this in 1993, when all Yakko wanted to do was ruin Plotz, when all they wanted to do was feel the sun on their fur and play without contracts or cartoons, because they sucked it up and signed contracts and did the work then, they can do it now.

They all take a deep breath.  Wakko rubs the tears out of his eyes.

They stand in a row, familiar grins on their faces.

“I think it’s time for Animaniacs, don’t you?” Yakko tells Spielberg, and he is both relieved and annoyed by the way Spielberg smiles and nods.

“You bet it is!” Dot agrees, and Wakko nods his head, tongue flopping about comically.

They play their roles well, don’t they?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first episode goes well.  Yakko helps move things along with the songs, all ad-libbed.  The new CEO is a curveball, and when she looks at him he can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  There’s something off about her, something he can’t quite put his finger on, that makes her dangerous.  He internally panics at how casual Wakko and Dot are around her.  Maybe it’s just him?

In the break between the second half of their debut, where Pinky and the Brain’s return plays, she tells him that she wants a meeting with the three of them once they’ve looked over their contracts.

Yakko swallows the instinct to run and nods in reply.

They also, during the break between the two segments of their return, meet up with the grim reaper, who holds out their joint contract.

“Anything to keep us away from you, huh Daddoo?” He grins up at the reaper, and said personification of death cringes away from them.

“Yes-now read it over and sign it already,” The accent from this guy never gets old.  Yakko snatches the document from boney fingers, reading it over.  It doesn’t seem any different.  A higher paycut, actually, which is nice.  He supposes already being a celebrity helps with that.  The finale clause, though, that bothers him

Upon the end of the Reboot, the Warners will become property of Death.

“Yeah, no,” he points to the clause.  “I don’t think you actually want us, and I’m pretty sure making people property has been illegal for a while now,” Death seems surprised by the clause, himself.  He glances at it, and then his eyes dart towards the CEO’s office.  Yakko’s eyes narrow.

“Of course,” Yakko watches him revise it, the reaper mumbling under his breath about That crafty woman, and once that’s been taken out he lets Wakko and Dot sign it with him.

“Your As still look like 2s,” Yakko whispers conspiratorially to Wakko, and he giggles.

Back to the show.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The office building is quiet when they go in to meet with the new CEO.  He doesn’t actually know her name.  Nora?  Norita?  He doesn’t remember her introducing herself, so maybe that’s just for the mysterious factor.

“Leave the talking to me this time, sibs,” he whispers to them as the elevator dings to their floor.  They must hear something in his voice, because they don’t argue.

The CEO is at her desk when they arrive, scrolling through her tablet while nodding along to a call she’s in.  Her eyes dart sharply to the Warners, and Yakko pushes his sibs behind him.

“Mhmm, yes, that’s very interesting.  Please hold,” She tells the person on the line, setting her tablet down and pressing a button on her earpiece.  She takes it out and sets it down on the desk, standing up.  Her heels make her loom, ever taller, over them, and her eyes are dark.

“Now, I know of your history.  Plotz spoke of you extensively, and I had an assistant watch your previous show incarnation several times.  I know how you work, your strengths and weaknesses, and your fears,” She regards them coolly, and Yakko stands tall, despite the ever mounting panic.

“You were brought back because Spielberg wanted you, and keeping him ingratiated to the studio is more profitable than the property damage you cause with your antics,” Every sentence is said with calculated precision.  Every sentence is pointed, like the end of a knife

Yakko isn’t that aggressive, but Dot certainly is.  He can feel her getting angry.  Even Wakko, the calmest of the three when it comes to dealing with things, is becoming annoyed with the CEO’s attitude.  That’s dangerous.  He grips their hands in his tight, squeezing to remind them that they have to be quiet.

“You three, of course, will bring us money, but you’re also expensive to keep around.  The nightmare that will be the publicity scandal should you come out with what happened to you these past 22 years would be...difficult to handle.  So, I think it’s in your best interests to keep quiet,” She crosses her arms over her chest awaiting the challenge.

Yakko can see it, so he doesn't react.  His siblings, on the other hand, don't quite understand the position they’re in.

“Like Hell we’ll keep quiet!” Dot jumps out in front of Yakko before he can stop her, stomping over to the CEO with a glare and a sharp toothed scowl on her face.  “I’ll make sure the whole world knows about what you did to us!”

“Yeah!” Wakko runs over, mallet in hand.  “What are you gonna do if we blab, huh?”

She’s got them lifted in the air by their tails before they can blink, gripping them tightly.  Yakko jumps, staring at her with wide eyes, and Dot and Wakko are frozen in shock for a moment, before they start trying to escape.  Dot is shouting obscenities.  Wakko keeps trying to hit her with his mallet, but it isn't long enough.  She holds them far enough away from her body that they can't reach her.

Yakko is frozen.  This is the worst case scenario.

“None of your episodes have aired yet,” She reminds them.  “I could halt production here.  Spielberg is important, but we could smooth things over with him with the right words.  He’s terribly sentimental.  And while the fans would be upset about this reboot’s cancellation, we could cite many things that would have the Warner Bros. studio come out as if we were doing what was best for the show,” She glances between the two younger toons, and then to Yakko.

“And your next ending won’t be as peaceful.  We have Dip, here, and we aren’t afraid to use it.  That’s how we get rid of new toons that don't meet our standards, after all,” She grins, then, and Yakko freezes.

They use Dip casually?  Here?  That-that’s murder.  And they’ll do that to baby toons, ones who haven’t even gotten their footing in this world.  Yakko thinks he’s going to be sick.

“So, you have one option.  Comply,” She shakes Wakko and Dot in her grip, stunning them out of their scrambling to escape.  “I’ve made things efficient here, and I won’t have that changed by toons whose character sheets should have been burned in the 1930s,” Wakko and Dot flinch, and Yakko clenches his fists.

“Now,” She takes a breath, “Are you going to quit wasting my time?  Because I have about ten calls waiting that are more important than you three,” She smiles at Yakko, and it’s one that makes him shiver again.  

“Well?  Don’t try for bravado.  I know you’re nothing without your words.”

And Yakko hates that, and he’s terrified, but she’s got his siblings held tight in her arms, by their tails, and she’s threatening them with murder, and it’s all too reminiscent to that night, where he let his siblings down.

Not again.

He pounces, teeth bared, and digs them into her shoulder, knocking her to the ground.  His teeth breaks through her nice suit coat and shirt and through skin, and she drops his sibs and kicks him with her sharp heel, knocking him back. He rolls across the floor before standing, spitting out fabric and the taste of her, wiping his mouth.  He’s trembling.  Wakko and Dot look shocked.  

He’s never done that before.

“Here’s something you don’t know,” he spits, as she stands, incensed.  “No one’s threatened us with Dip before.  So, maybe I’m not as useless without my words as you think,” She narrows her eyes, and regards him with...something indiscernible.

“You don’t touch them,” he growls it out.  They aren’t fully animals and they aren’t fully human, so they’ve got the sharp canines that put a household dog to shame and enough cognizance to know when to use them.

“You got a problem with us, you leave them out of it.  This is just you and me, got it?” He bares his teeth, a reminder of what he can do.  The smell of blood makes him want to throw up, and that’s with him trying not to register the taste.

“Yakko,” Dot tries, but Wakko shushes her.  It’s a standoff, and Yakko is more terrified than brave but he doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe, just lets the blood drip from his teeth as she holds a hand to her bleeding shoulder.

“This meeting is over,” The CEO says, finally.  “I trust you can see yourselves out.”

It’s not a concession, but it is something different than the high and mighty attitude she had before.  Maybe she’s realizing that all Yakko has to lose is them, his siblings, and that means that death means nothing to him.

Hard to beat someone who’s not so easily manipulated by fame and fortune or threats, is it?

The walk back to the tower is silent.  Dot holds his hand, leaning against him, and Wakko clutches his pant leg.  They both seem to still be in a state of disbelief.

“They have Dip now,” Dot whispers, incredulous, horrified.

“They aren’t gonna play anymore,” Wakko agrees, with the same amount of horror.  He’s shaking.

Yakko holds them tight, as best he can, and they go home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first thing he does when they get to the water tower is direct Wakko to the kitchen and Dot to her dressing room area.

“Eat and get ready for bed,” He says, weary and exhausted.  Wakko’s blood sugar levels need to steady out, and Dot needs something to keep her mind off of what happened.  Directing them to something that they can lose themselves in the motions of is easy.  He knows them too well.

They don’t protest, nodding.

He goes to the sink and gargles water, over and over, until he stops spitting out pink.  He brushes his teeth six times.  Scrubs his tongue raw.  Washes his face.  Doesn’t look at himself in the mirror until he’s sure he won’t see that dark red anywhere.

He doesn’t regret his actions, but he certainly isn’t proud of them.  

When he comes out of the bathroom, their bunk bed has been made a large king size one, and Wakko and Dot are waiting for him.  He quickly slips into some pajama pants and heads over to them, getting in the middle so they can snuggle up against him.

“Yakko?” Dot starts, and he can feel the fire in the back of her throat.  “Don’t-Don’t you ever say that.  That people can do bad stuff to you, if they keep us safe.  You did it before and you did it now and I can’t-we’re a team.  We don’t sacrifice each other-we can’t-you can’t do that to us,” Ever word is pushed out, like she has trouble knowing that she has to say it.  

“You’re everything to us too,” She finally says, halfway to tears, and Yakko can’t swallow the lump in his throat to reply.

“Stay,” Wakko pleads.  “You can’t give yourself up for us.  You have to stay,” A man of few words, and yet they strike Yakko right in the chest, as he holds them tight.

He rubs their backs until they’re almost asleep, staring at the glow in the dark star stickers on the ceiling.

“I’ll try,” he mumbles, and it’s not as much of a promise as it is a hope, but they’re too close to sleep to try arguing.

When he finally drifts off, he doesn’t dream at all.

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Confrontation Flop (Gilgamesh, Arthur, Hakuno, Enkidu)

He’d known that the man would try something, he always did, but this?

“This will be great! I love Gil’s holiday parties.” Hakuno held the letter in her hands, grinning as she stood up. “We have to go. It’ll be a great chance for you and Gil to finally get along.”

Get along.

She actually thought that he was going to get along with that selfish, arrogant, stuck up shit of a man. No, looking at the overly elaborate letter with its golden and pressed lettering, done in its overly formal and carefully chosen font script; it was obvious that the man was trying once again to show a difference in their status.

He- who had gotten Hakuno to date him, who roamed around in his ratty shirts and spent his days fixing pipes and fitting plumbing was a far cry from the finely dressed and meticulously coiffed presence that worked alongside Hakuno in design.

If the man realized who he was… If he just had an inkling at his noble heritage and the fact that he was a prince-

“Arthur?”

A glance to Hakuno reminded him why he was keeping that carefully under wraps though. Her honey brown gaze was melting him down to the quick, that smile making his heart do that familiar pitter patter in his chest. She was a goddess. A true lady of tender birth and valiant spirit.

“You will go with me, won’t you?” Hakuno held the invitation, that blasphemous sheet of pure migraine inspiration, to her lips, watching him carefully. “I really love spending time with Gilgamesh. I know he’s an ass, but he has positive qualities too.”

Name one.

But he couldn’t say that aloud. Hakuno was being generous.

He’d made her to go a gathering with Lancelot in attendance and she despised the man for mistakenly kissing her once and grabbing at her intimately. If the woman could deal with seeing Lancelot after that, he could at least deal with Gilgamesh for the occasional outing… so long as, like Lancelot, Gilgamesh kept his distance now.

“Fine, fine.” Arthur shook his head, “I’ll go.”

I’ll go…

He should have turned the invitation down.

“Ah! My fool has brought her pup with her,” Gilgamesh cheered, holding a champagne glass in hand and moving around the guests. Arthur couldn’t get passed the shirt, watching him move around in what had to be bondage from whatever round of BDSM he was doing with that weird inhuman like friend of his. The leather straps went around his collar and waist, criss crossing over his chest as though to hold up a chest that wasn’t there.

“Gilgamesh!” Hakuno smiled, holding up a box.

“Is this your homemade sweets?”

“It is!”

Gilgamesh shook his head, glancing to Enkidu and quickly keeping himself between the being and the box. He glanced to the two of them and narrowed his gaze.

“That was very wise of you. The wines you can afford are cheap swill. Still, bringing them at the start of the party before Enkidu as filled their twelve stomachs…” He clicked his tongue at them. “Hakuno, it is like you do not want me to enjoy your liquor infused treats.”

“I would never dream of depriving you of them,” Hakuno told him, her smile brighter than ever. Her hand reached in the box though, stealing a piece.

“Hakuno-“

She slipped the candy between her teeth, smiling a second before Gilgamesh bit the other half of the chocolate.

Just like that-

“Hakuno!”

“It’s nothing,” Hakuno tells him. “He’s teasing-“

“Stay here.”

He hands her the coat as Gilgamesh attempts to flee, taking his box of sweets with him. Enough of this. The man does this far too often. It’s about time this ended. If it doesn’t, he’s going to get mad.

“Do not leave this spot. I’m going to talk to the asshole and then we’re leaving.I don’t want to hang around some guy’s party when all he’s going to do is try to steal you.”

“It’s not like that, Arthur!”

“Stay.”

It won’t take more than a minute. His hands are already balled into fists. His temper is already rising higher and higher as he follows after the direction of the asshole. There’s no missing that golden head of hair dipping into one of the rooms upstairs. He follows after, finding the man setting the box of chocolates down on a table by the bed. His jacket is tossed aside a moment before he is hearing the door close.

“How dare you.”

“Hmm?”

The man glances over, that everpresent smile gracing his lips at the sight of him.

“What are you doing in here, pup? Your mistress should be downstairs, no doubt whistling and patting her leg. Shouldn’t you be doing the noble thing and remaining at her side?”

“We need to talk.”

Gilgamesh turns, his hand brushing back his hair as he moves to sit on the bed. “You don’t look like you want to talk.”

He moves a step closer.

“I will warn, you are in my home, invited only through a guest of mine. Your behavior, should it reach a point of violence, could be taken as an intruder.”

“You think you’re so damn smart,” Arthur growls.

“I am, you no doubt appreciate it often. Smarts increase business. Business means more work for Hakuno and more work for you.” Gilgamesh motions happily, those eyes gleaming. “Isn’t it interesting how this relationship works? I find myself more entertained by this design world by the day.”

“You don’t need the money from the work.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t care about the lives you help.”

Gilgamesh shrugged lightly, adjusting the straps a bit around his collarbone.

“You are truly just doing this to make my life a living hell. Hakuno is dating me. We are serious. She lives with me-“

“You live with her. Hakuno told me.” That red gaze gleams a bit more. “You may feel free to continue. I want to see your complaints through to the end. It is my duty to hear criticism. It’s good for the soul.”

“You’re making my life a hellhole for your own entertainment. Hakuno loves me. She doesn’t care for you like that anymore. Stop kissing her. Stop holding her in your arms. Stop teasing her.” He moves closer, step by step, until he is standing before him. “Don’t harass her. Don’t intimidate her. Stop using your foreignness as an excuse to be in her personal space.”

He has to lean in, pushing for the most threatening expression he can manage.

“You won’t like what happens if I learn you’ve been doing that still.”

Gilgamesh watches him.

He watches the asshole right back.

He can feel the air in the room circulating, the sound of a bubbling water babbling away as though from a fountain. The soft whirr of the heating is going on. For the span of what has to be eternity, he’s staring into those eyes, waiting for the light to dim. He waits for the tremble or the shiver.

“Boring.”

Arthur blinks.

“How incredibly dull.” Gilgamesh shakes his head, breaking eye contact first. “Here I had expected some violence or some good insults, at least a challenge of some sort. The noble knight of a plumber comes all the way after me and does this? Should I be impressed by your constipated expression or the cliché threats? I’m pretty sure Enkidu could teach you better in their sleep.”

The tie around his neck is grabbed. Without thinking, he’s grabbing Gilgamesh back, finding their lips slammed together…

And then they’re on the bed.

He can feel that mouth sealing with his own, the heat of his driving all thoughts from his head. He can feel those hot hands, one holding his tie and the other delving into his hair. The man’s legs are moving to wrap around his waist a second before he finds himself pressed against the bed.

He doesn’t look to see details. Arthur finds his eyes closing, his hands clinging to the leather straps, finding them staying in place nicely as he holds the man to himself. Their teeth clink together, their mouths are all but fighting one another. The air that had filled his lungs is violated, kidnapped from his own body by the asshole above him. He hardly notices anything before he finds the onslaught of the man over.

Then he’s panting, staring up at the blond over him. The organ in his chest is pounding away like a rabbit.

“That was… different.”

All the bravado has vanished.

Arthur stares at him as Gilgamesh presses a hand to his lips. He can see the other glance in the direction of the door before leaning in.

“Gilgamesh-“

The thought stops the second a cool breeze hits him beneath the belt. His eyes follow Gil’s own attentions. All the blood in his body drains as he sees his own pants unbuckled and his manhood exposed.

There’s no words.

“I-I can vanish for ten minutes.”

Gilgamesh’s eyes lock with his own again.

“After that, someone will come looking. This is truly foolish, however, she is interested in you. That must mean there is some quality that I do not see in you. In all the time that I have known her, she has never found something to interest her that hasn’t been entertaining.”

He should beat the man.

He should threaten him and leave.

No court would ever blame him after that kiss. No judge would rule against him. He has the opportunity to get away with doing exactly as he’d dreamed.

Instead, a hand is wrapping around a hardening length.

The hand he has on Gilgamesh is moving lower, grasping the metal ring connecting those straps on him. Without any intent this evening, he finds himself bringing the man closer to himself willingly, his lips pressing once more to Gil’s own.

He sees the blue shirt gone. He feels the silk beneath his body.

His face is heating up, his chest burning as he finds himself pressed harder into the mattress. He goes to grip the man’s waist, but his legs are spreading.

A chill meets his body as the only warning.

Pain then arrives. His lips open to scream, but he finds the other’s lips sealing his own. He can feel the man pushing in deeper, swallowing each and every second of screaming from him. He holds the straps on Gil harder, bringing him in until their mouths are moving faster, better.

“Tight,” he manages to say, but Arthur steals his air again.

His lips are moving hard against Gilgamesh’s own. The man’s shoving into him harder. There a rising feeling going through him, building up higher and higher. The pain that had been there ebbs away, the pleasure is starting to become too much.

“Y-you’re so damn tight,” Gil breathes.

“M-more.”

“Relax for me. Take more.”

Arthur turns, grabbing the asshole’s hair and slamming their lips against one another. He can feel his hips moving in time to the other’s movements, the two of them both shaking as he tries to hold himself together.

“Gil,” Arthur warns.

“Come on-“

“GIL!”

The feeling of warmth runs through his insides, but not before he feels himself spilling forth. He finds himself staring deep into those red eyes, his body holding onto the man tight.

The sound of the fountains can be heard in the background.

Arthur finds himself staring at the other, waiting.

Gilgamesh stares back, his body pulling back lightly.

“…We s-should talk about this.”

“I have guests…”

“Gilgamesh?”

The man is pulling himself out, slipping out of his hands before he can grab him.

“Gil, come back-“

“Hakuno is waiting,” Gilgamesh throws his way. The man grabs his pants, slipping from the room before he can stop the man.

The shit just ran off, just like that.

He moves to stand up, limping a little as he fixes his pants back into place and opens the door. His eyes land on the being in front of him.

“Ah, you must be Teacup.”

“…You must be Enkidu.”

“My friend complains about you a lot. Hakuno was looking for you,” the woman/man stared at him a second before their eyes drifted down. “Ah, and you were having sex. Can Gil at least keep his pants closed for one get together?”

Enkidu moves closer, helping to zip his pants up a second before herding him to the stairs.

“If Hakuno asks, your head is aching. I had a really strong perfume and it gave you a bad migraine.”

“Why are you help-“

“Next time you and Gil decide to have a twosome, just invite Hakuno in. That’d be really great. Now I have to make excuses for Gil and for you.”

The being shoves him in Hakuno’s direction, moving to where Gilgamesh seems to be forcing out a laugh beside Merlin and Gudako. He can see the man lifting a drink to his lips as their eyes meet.

“Arthur? Are you alright?” Hakuno is pressing a hand to his arm, frowning a little at him. “Please tell me you’re not going to fight with Gilgamesh. He just came downstairs to enjoy the party.”

“I… I think you and I need to talk. At home though.”

His arm wraps around Hakuno as he nods in Gil’s direction.

He’s not sure if Gil is after Hakuno or him anymore.

His ass hurts now.

“You seem so out of it, Arthur.”

“I feel out of it.” He presses his lips to hers. “Let’s go home.”

[prolestariwrites]

Open For Me [2]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil/Reader Tags: Explicit sexual content, First time, First love, Violence, Death, Implied dubcon, Implied drug-induced sex Rating: M Part: 2 of 5

Summary: Vergil's life has been difficult as far back as he can remember, until he meets a young woman who saves his life. Can she save it again when he learns the truth of who he is, and bring him back from a dark and dangerous fate? A five-part story of pre- and post-canon Vergil.

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What matters most is how well you walk through the fire. —Charles Bukowski

It is morning when you open your eyes. You smile to see Vergil still sleeping, and you slide over to lay against his back, pressing your forehead between his shoulder blades as you take in his warmth.

It's quiet, so the lady upstairs must be out since when she's home her heavy footsteps clomp back and forth. Vergil jokes that she must walk a mile a day, and you're inclined to agree, although if that is the worst thing you have to deal with in this apartment you'll take it.

You can feel him starting to wake up, so you kiss his neck, trailing a line down his spine. When you reach his lower back he jumps a bit, and you chuckle against the ticklish part, doing it again. Vergil rolls over with a yawn, his arm reaching for you as you look up. "What are you doing?" he asks gruffly.

"Saying good morning." You crawl upwards and straddle his lap, smiling down at him just like you had the first time, over a year ago. Vergil's mouth turns up in one corner, and you return his smirk as his hands trail along your thighs.

"Good morning," he replies, before grabbing your arm and yanking you down on top of him.

Vergil covers your laugh with his kiss, his hand tight in your hair. You brace yourself on his shoulders as his other hand presses to your backside, and you rock as you feel his erection growing under the covers. He has been more like this lately, everything fiercer, his touch and kiss aggressive. Something is changing but you can't pinpoint it, so you allow him to take the lead as he pulls your tank top up and rolls you over.

His mouth traces down your neck as he reaches your chest, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples until they harden. "Don't tease," you scold, and Vergil gives you another smirk, his eyes dark and focused on you as he gives one a long lick. You grab his hair and tug, but he won't be moved, and he teases your flesh with his tongue until you are squirming. "Stop," you moan.

"You want me to stop?" he chuckles, kneeling up and tugging his sweatpants down.

"You can be such a jerk sometimes." You lean up on your elbows, licking your lips as you watch him reach inside the waistband and pull his cock free, stroking himself for a moment. Then he reaches over to the table and fishes out a condom, opening it quickly and rolling it on before he leans down to cage you in with his body.

"Open wide, my sweet," he murmurs.

You pull your knees up and open as he sinks into you. Your head rolls back at the sensation of him filling you, stretching you, until his hips are flush with your thighs. Vergil groans as he pulls back, and then he thrusts forward again, and again, until his movements are steady and hard and he is panting with the wet slap of your bodies. The pendant sways with his movements, tapping against his chest that strains with his efforts and flushes up towards his neck. Your hands reach for his hips, holding on tightly as you let him fuck you. This is how it has been, since that first time months and months ago when he took your virginity with a breathless whisper in the quiet, still house, your parents sleeping downstairs.

He knows just what to do, and it isn't long before the pulsing starts. You give a gasp as you tremble with your orgasm, and Vergil pumps his hips quickly before stilling, his grunt the only indication that he's found his own end. Collapsing back on the bed, you sigh as he pulls out, watching with a yawn as he removes the condom and ties it off before dumping it into the trash.

You roll to your side with a smile, wondering about round two, but he is already grabbing his pants off of the floor. "Are you going out?" you ask.

"Yeah. I'm meeting someone."

At that you sit up and tug your shirt back in place. "Who?"

Vergil hesitates before answering, "He knows something about my parents."

"Your parents?" Confusion swirls a bit as you frown at his back. "What are you talking about?"

You watch as he takes a minute to finish dressing, before finally turning towards you. But Vergil won't meet your eyes as he explains, "My parents were killed when I was only eight. There is some… mystery about what happened to them."

"Like an unsolved case?" you ask.

He shakes his head. "Not exactly. It's hard to explain." He checks the clock on the bedside table before moving to grab his coat. "I'll be back tonight."

"Okay," you answer as the door clicks shut.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The sun is setting, but Vergil does not move from the table by the window in the coffee shop. Arkham had left over an hour ago, but there is much to think about, to consider. He lifts the paper cup and takes a sip, barely tasting the slightly bitter coffee as he watches people walk up and down the street.

All of them are so oblivious. Beneath their feet is a portal to another world, filled with creatures made of nightmares. Vergil is on a personal basis with the things, ever since they had killed his mother and brother and nearly him, leaving him for dead in the grass outside his childhood home.

He chuckles under his breath. It's not funny, never was. But Vergil can appreciate the sick sense of irony that the one who saved humanity from the demon realm could not save his own family. Sparda had been gone well over a year, a time that was fuzzy with whispered questions and more than a few tears from his mother. The confusion is what is most potent from those memories that only surface when he concentrates hard. What had been warm and safe had turned to strain, and even now he can taste the tension that marred their lives when his father disappeared.

Maybe it's just the coffee, though. Vergil finishes it off as the waitress comes over, eyes rolling and a deep sigh escaping her as she pops one hand on a hip. "You done?" she asks.

Vergil takes his time draining his cup, even after the last drops had already slid down his throat, pretending to still drink. Finally he peers up at her annoyed face and sets the cup down. "Yes," he answers.

The girl gives another eye roll and takes the cup. "We're closing soon," she says pointedly.

"Good to know." They have a bit of a stare-off before she huffs away.

Vergil turns to stare out the window again. He wonders what Dante is doing: his younger brother that he loved as fiercely as he drove him mad. As far back as he can remember, Dante had been a part of him, and there is very little of his childhood that didn't involve the curious and outgoing boy in some way. To casual outsiders, the handful of neighbors who were friendly with their family and the various servants that had lived in their home on occasion, the boys were opposites despite being twins.

But that had been wrong. He and Dante had been the same, the same ambition, the same puffed-up sense of pride, what his mother referred to as the "Sparda" in them. It had seemed like a joke to Vergil when he was little to think of his warm and quiet father anything at all like them at their wildest, although now that he understands the full truth of who his father had been and what he had done, he sees the wisdom in his mother's assessment.

"Dante," he whispers. They are not so much opposites as complements of one another, completing some missing part, as if Dante had taken all the bravado and he had absorbed all the introspection in the womb. The energetic Dante with his penchant for aggression had seemed the opposite of the thoughtful Vergil with his perfectionist tendencies, when actually Vergil was the only one who understood Dante's jokes, and Dante was the only one who could keep up with Vergil's ideas.

Which is why the information Arkham had brought is so distressing. At first he hadn't believed it could be Dante, remembering the house engulfed in flames, the heat on his cheeks and the ash that choked the air. They had been inside, no way to escape. Dante was dead and gone.

But the face that was almost his own had stared back at him from the photograph. The silver hair that everyone had exclaimed over when they were two little boys dressed the same was unmistakable. And the red pendant, the twin of his own, made it all reality.

Arkham had left him a copy of the photographs, and Vergil pulls them out to lay neatly on the table. He snorts to himself to see that Dante had gotten no better at dressing himself, remembering how he would run out of the house barely dressed sometimes, or appear for dinner with streaks of dirt up his arms. Vergil would stand and smirk as their mother fussed over the state of his hair or why he would put on an orange shirt with red pants, enjoying the faces Dante would make as she licked her finger and rubbed a spot from his cheek.

He rents a room in Red Grave City, Arkham had told him. Goes by the name Tony. Does odd jobs around to make money. Other than that, he keeps to himself.

Of course he would; they had to, and Vergil wonders if he encounters demons as often as he does. Vergil is so full of questions now: who is he, where has he been, what has he been doing all this time? What did he eat those first weeks without Mother? Did he have a coat in the winter? What did he do with his blood-stained clothes after fighting off another pack of demons?

The questions make him uncomfortable. Vergil isn't sure if he wants the answers, truly. He sorts through the pictures, thinking of his teenage years that were marred with hunger and violence, until he met a girl in a community center. It is almost tragic that he has finally settled into a life he can handle, only for his brother to crash into it the way he would crash into his bedroom in the morning.

He will go and see Dante, though, because there is one question he must know: how he escaped. The fire had been so consuming, there was no way he could have gotten out in time. That sensation that pulses under Vergil's skin when he thinks about the demons starts to make him itch as he lifts a photograph and studies it closely. There was a woman who cared for him, Arkham had said. Was that Mother? Did she take him and escape the house with the one twin she could find, could save, the twin that was her favorite?

Vergil curses and shakes his head. That's the real question, isn't it? For all the smirking and teasing, Dante needed more care, and Vergil had watched his parents fuss over him in ways they never needed to with Vergil. Vergil was the responsible one, the trusted one, older, smarter, better at everything, and he had to be, didn't he? Because Eva had placed her hands on his shoulders and with a teary smile had told him he was the man of the house now, and he had to protect his brother, and Vergil always took his role very, very seriously. It would make sense that she had collected Dante and ran, leaving Vergil to fight on his own, to live on the streets. Vergil could handle it. Vergil can handle anything.

Quickly he gathers the photographs and stuffs them into his coat pocket. He heads to the street, weaving through the people who crowd the sidewalks, his senses alert. Even though you had shared an apartment for a year now, Vergil is still used to being on guard.

He swings towards the bank on 31st. The ATM machine there has questionable security, and he lifts his hood to hide his face as he steps up and begins to press the buttons. There is a combination he had discovered that will spit out a hundred dollars, some glitch in the coding that Vergil had worked out after watching the guard who restocks the machine every morning at five a.m. It's an easy way to get money now, better than pickpocketing anyway, and with his five twenties folded in his pocket he slips down an alley to catch a bus home on the next corner.

In the dark of the alley, he feels the burn on his neck, the one he has not felt in a year, ever since you had left together and settled in blissful anonymity in a new city. The one that he had started to hope he would not feel again.

The one that reminds him of the fire.

The air goes quiet as his footsteps stop, and he waits for them to appear, his eyes sharp on the shadows. Moving to the city had shaken them off of his trail for quite a while this time, but it is inevitable that they would find him again.

Briefly he thinks of you, and what you will say when you see his blood-soaked clothes. He could run, but that would just leave them to another day, and if they followed his trail and found you…

It isn't worth the risk. The only good thing about this is how far he is from the apartment, knowing that at least that will keep you safe.

Vergil reaches into his jacket and pulls out a switchblade, flicking his wrist as the blade makes a soft click into place. "Come on," he mutters, impatient to get this over with.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

His words stay on your mind the entire day, even through the six-hour shift you work at the grocery store. Vergil has never talked about his past, ever, except to say he had no family. Never a mention of parents being killed, certainly.

Your heart aches a bit, partly at knowing his truth, and partly that he never told you before. You had been living together for about a year now, just the two of you sharing everything. At least, you thought you had shared everything. But the more you think about it, the more you realize he tells you nothing of substance. He's heard all about your upbringing with a single mom and overly strict grandmother, and when your grandmother died (to your relief, really), her boyfriend had moved in. They had insisted you call him dad even though he wasn't, and any questions about who your dad really was had been met with some vague variation of "just some asshole" and a wave of your mother's hand.

You had shared pictures, memories good and bad, embarrassing stories. And Vergil had too, at least seemed to… but you don't know how long he had been on the streets. You don't know what he really gets up to during the day, and how he had kept himself alive and fed and clothed those years. It wasn't drugs, that much you knew; but he always has clothes and cash to cover rent and groceries, and you are ashamed to admit you don't want to ask more questions. And there are other odd things: occasional rips in his clothes, his complete lack of friends, the pendant he wears at all times like an obsession, all of it becoming so glaringly obvious that you can't ignore the mystery anymore.

Mind made up to finally ask and make him tell you some things, you are fixing some ramen when he gets home. The greeting dies on your lips when you see that he is covered in bruises and blood, quickly turning off the burner as you hurry over. "Vergil! What the hell happened?" you cry, eyes roaming over the puffy lip and the gash on his brow.

"Nothing," he answers, pushing past you. You follow him to the kitchenette, where he runs the water and grabs some paper towels. In a shocked silence, you watch as he cleans the blood away, leaving his skin pink and puffy, before working on his hands. A sob catches in your throat when he removes his coat and you see his fingers are covered in scrapes and his arms are bruised.

"Don't tell me it's nothing," you hiss. "Did you get jumped?"

"Something like that."

"Did they get anything?"

"No."

Your eyes blink away tears rapidly. "What about… do you need a doctor? Your eye looks bad."

"I'll be fine."

"No, no! Vergil, you're hurt, at least let me look at it!"

He protests as you turn him, reaching up to cradle his face and pull it down closer to see. But then you gasp, because the gash you know you saw—you know you saw not a minute ago—is now no more than a scrape over his eyebrow. Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open as it slowly disappears, as if the skin is gluing itself together. His lip is also shrinking, the dark red color fading back into its usual flesh-toned hue and the bruising surrounding it growing smaller and smaller.

You take a step back, hitting the counter. "What?" It's all you can manage as the word catches in your throat.

He takes a deep breath. "I'm fine," he says.

The room seems to swim, and you realize that there are tears brimming. Vergil walks away, and you watch him move through the apartment. "I need to go for a few days. The guy I met, Arkham, he has information on my brother. I'm going to track him down, but it's all the way in Red Grave City, and that means—"

"Stop!" It comes out as a cry, a sound you haven't heard your voice make since you were a kid. But it does the trick, and Vergil freezes. You see only his back, just like this morning, until he finally stuffs a shirt into his bag and turns. Again he won't meet your eyes, and your fingers tremble as you say, "I don't understand."

"I'll explain it all when I get back. I promise."

The air is heavy, his words hanging between you, and for the first time since you've met, you suspect Vergil is lying. Finally he walks over to you, and you gasp as you see his face and neck and arms are perfectly healed as if nothing had happened. He presses his smooth palm to your cheek and leans in with a kiss that is firm and hot but gives no comfort. "I'll be back in a few days," he says, not waiting for you to say goodbye when he leaves.

[charliejrogers]

Under the Skin (2014) - Review

For a lot of science fiction movies, I find myself enjoying the ideas of the film more than I think I actually enjoyed the film. It’s what I’ll refer to as the Annihilation-syndrome, named after the 2018 movie that I found to be an absolute bore while also being an exceedingly intellectually stimulating discussion about the nature of cancer, mutation, and biology in general. The film I am reviewing now, 2014’s Under the Skin, honestly is nowhere near as unenjoyable as Annihilation, but I mention the film because I think much of this review will focus on the really interesting ideas this movie brought up which might make you think I thought this is a masterpiece. It’s not. It’s good, very good even, but not as good as its theme and ideas.

A lot of my restrained enthusiasm has to do with the fact that the film is purposefully cryptic and full of esoteric imagery. While there are spoken parts, I don’t think much would be lost if we couldn’t hear what was being said. That is to say, the dialogue doesn’t do much to make sense of what we are seeing displayed on screen.In fact, there are large sections of characters interacting without any dialogue, yet everything is understood.

To its credit, what we are seeing is largely very beautiful from a cinematography point of view. Much of the film takes place in the city of Edinbugh, Scotland and it captures well the urban grit of the city and how our protganoist fits well within that urban environment. The way the red lights of Edinburgh’s traffic lighst cast a foreboding, menacing band over the protagonist’s eyes as she drives about town on the hunt for men to ensnare in her trap shows that this dangerous character is right at home in the anonymity of the city.

The protagonist is played by Scarlett Johansson, who spends most of the film alternating between being the pinnacle of seduction in the eyes of the heterosexual male gaze and being a lifeless void. That’s because Johansson plays an alien (I think) or at the very least a humanoid being who seems to have the sole purpose of finding lonely men, taking them back to her lair, and trapping them in a sunken-place-like void where ultimately everything but their skin is extracted from them. I’ll henceforth refer to this character simply as “the humanoid” with she/her pronouns for clarity. We never learn the humanoid’s motivations, but we know that she’s not acting alone. She’s supported in her ventures by a (presumably) humanoid motorcycle gang who also double as agents who will clean up her messes.

At the beginning of the film, the humanoid appears to have no free will or consciousness. When she comes across her first dead body, she is more interested with the ant crawling along the body than the woman who used to inhabit that body. She simply steals that woman’s clothes, and begins acting out what seems like a pre-designed course for finding and trapping men. As soon as she has completed an interaction with a human, all of the emotion drains straight out of her face. Johansson’s face takes on a scary lifelessness on par with Billy Skarsgård’s Pennywise the clown from the It movies. There’s a scene where the humanoid, in the process of attracting a new victim, stumbles across an infant that has been abandoned at the beach and is screaming out. Perhaps the director is toying with audiences’ biases that the humanoid, appearing as she does as a human woman, will “naturally” want to reach out and save this baby. That she doesn’t seems to signal to the highest degree that this “woman” is no woman at all, but a cold, merciless something else.

Yet, somehow, by the end of this movie, I found all my sympathies lying entirely with this decidedly inhuman killing machine who makes her living preying on people just like me. This is because something happens that changes the humanoid about midway through the movie. Up to that point, it would be easy to classify the film as a feminist revenge fantasy, where men’s penchant for objectifying women and their aggressive desire to “conquer” women is met with a dish that is served so very coldly. It’s oddly satisfying to watch men who will blindly get into a car with a complete stranger and follow her into a creepy house just because they want to fuck her, end up being exposed as little more than skin around a bag of meat.

But then the humanoid comes across a man whose face deviates greatly from the norm due to some unnamed medical condition. It very much resembles the face of the protagonist from The Elephant Man. He is out an a walk at night to the grocery store. The humanoid doesn’t see him like the rest of the world does. She doesn’t understand how insensitive her genuine question about why he shops at night might be to him. In a darkly ironic sense, she’s the first person in his life to truly see him as a man and not a hideous monster. He has none of the arrogant sexual bravado like the humanoid’s prior victims. He’s sexually innocent, a virgin. When she offers to take him back to her place, he doesn’t take pride in any successful conquest. We see that he’s pinching himself just to prove that he’s not dreaming. It’s a heartbreaking sequence. Whereas we may have been on board, at least symbolically, with the humanoid’s cool takedown of the patriarchy, this particular abduction flips the script. Our sympathies lie more with the man than the “woman.”

Why he doesn’t succumb to the same fate as the other men is not clear. Notably, he’s the first we’ve seen that isn’t fully erect despite the humanoid ardent attempts at seduction. Secondly, he’s like the first to take some stock of the fact that he’s been lured into some black void from another dimension. He obviously finds Johansson attractive, but it’s almost like he is more amazed by what is happening, his penis “disarmed” so to speak, compared to those who came before him who were “armed” to conquer. And in lacking their sexual aggression, he was deemed to have a “lighter”, purer heart, preventing him from sinking into the deep of her trap.

This seems to change the humanoid. It’s as if she questions her whole purpose in life up to that point. Maybe all those men who had come before were as gentle as sweet as this one. Or maybe she yearns to be more than a monster.

Previously we had seen the humanoid stare at women from her car in much the same she looked at men, yet we never see her take women as a victim. It’s more like she was curious by these creatures, like she didn’t know they would be there. She shows the same curiosity towards her own body. She stares at it, hugs her curves. Just after her encounter with the man with the dysmorphic face, she looks long at her face in the mirror and then at a fly stuck to a window. It’s as if she’s looking at how she looks to others (humanoid) compared to what she really is (more like a bug, an alien). As the film goes on, it’s almost as if she’s trying to convince herself the skin is not a farce, that it’s really her, that she’s real, and that there’s nothing else under the skin. There’s an ironic beauty in the dysmorphic man wanting to be seen for what’s on the inside where she wants to be seen for her outside.

We subsequently see the humanoid undergo something of a coming-of-age as she flees into the more rural surroundings of the bogs of Scotland, presumably to avoid her motorcycle-driving allies who don’t want her to veer off course. The camera work in this part of the film highlights her as a stranger in this strange land, with her hot pink sweater standing in stark contrast to the drab Scottish milieu. And truly from the rocky/pebbly beach below the impossibly high bluffs at the ocean to the Mars-like desert shrubbery of the bogs, Scotland has never made Earth look so alien. Yet it’s in this foreign land, far from the trappings of the dirty city that the humanoid experiences the pleasure of being a human, or more specifically being a woman. For a few days she is even one man’s princess, and I think it confuses her so much that she enjoys it.

The genius of this film is the way it makes you forget that the humanoid isn’t actually human. In the latter half of the movie we celebrate her cautious steps towards humanity. There is a love scene that is among the most intimate I’ve seen filmed. Yet, we also fear for her and feel sorry for her when her fantasy comes crashing down and it is revealed to her and to us that her initial approach to men proves was much more appropriate.

This is a slow film that rewards patience, but ultimately it doesn’t do much to excite. There are abstract sequences of light and color accompanied by discordant sounds of chanting that seem straight out of the Jupiter sequence from 2001: A Space Odyssey. These do little more than confuse, and sometimes bore. And even if the lack of excitement is deliberate (perhaps intended to deconstruct female seduction) that doesn’t make it anymore enjoyable. Still, it is a beautifully shot picture that provides a stunning condemnation of our male dominated society. It would manage to make even the most bitter-hearted viewer feel sympathy for a humanoid who just a half-hour ago was on a cold-blooded murder streak. Still, even if it doesn’t introduce any hard-hitting questions about humanity like the best sci-fi, in the end it revels in a different dominant theme of sci-fi: no matter the monster man meets, man is always the ultimate monster.

 *** (Three out of four stars)

[elejahfanfic]

soldier of love/10

Fanfiction

Part 10

This is an AU Nick Amaro fanfic story. A little love story.

Pairing_ Nick Amaro x Elena Gilbert

 featuring lyrics by_Player_Baby Come Back

tag_ @miguelsbrat​

thank you for reading xoxo ✽-(ˆ◡ˆ)/✽

🦋🎉🪁

"I can't do this. Not again" Nick breathed in deep pulling away from Elena as if scolded.

"Nick" the brunette pleaded softly, trying to catch his eyes.

"No." he shook his head. "I will not go there. I don't know what I am doing here"

As he pushed by her, she took hold of his arm. "I never wanted to do this. Those three days were the best I ever had."

"I don't believe you."

"Nick, please. It's true."

Turning sharply around, his eyes blazed at her with the same hurt darting at her.

"You broke me! You - after Maria, you were the only one that I felt I could be with. But it was all just fun -wasn't it? Taste a bit of latino co-"

A resounding sudden slap stopped him from finishing sentence as Elena struck him violently across the face. Nick felt his jaw and the full force of her ferocious vent that sprouted.

“Yes, I lied! Yes, I don’t deny it. But it was to save you! Silas threatened to kill you - and I thought this was the best way to keep you away - I couldn’t see you dead. I chose to hurt us both. Be far away from you - but keep you safe. And it turned to be the right thing - because Silas was crazy - Lucien was right to warn me. And look what had happened to him, he paid a deadly price.”

Elena’s words fell out of her mouth like vapour but landed in his guts as shrapnels. He felt his insides tear, and the blood drain from his. face.

“Go!”

“No!” Nick slammed the door shut. Regret in his voice about the unfair accusation ran deep. “I’m really sorry about what I had said. I - this is not me - I never spoke to a woman like that - I - I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too” Elena lifted her ice cold eyes at the detective, looking at him as if he was a stranger. Her eyes were a knife in his ribs, the sharp point digging deep. Where there had been love was an emptiness, but in a vulnerable sense. Elena now turned away, opening the door. staring at the wall, avoiding the detective’s gaze.“I’d like you to go now.”

Without a word, Nick opened the door, leaving the apartment. Closing the door shut behind him, Elena slid down to the floor, tears crushing out of her, flooding her knees, her heart beating painfully in her chest wanting only one thing. Wanting him back.

Days that followed, seemed to be worse than any of those she had spent away in France.

Spending all my nights, all my money going out on the town Doing anything just to get you off of my mind But when the morning comes, I'm right back where I started again Trying to forget you is just a waste of time

Baby come back, any kind of fool could see

There was something in everything about you Baby come back, you can blame it all on me I was wrong, and I just can't live without you

All day long, wearing a mask of false bravado

Trying to keep up the smile that hides a tear But as the sun goes down, I get that empty feeling again How I wish to God that you were here

*

“Just choose whatever paintings you want, Soph. I’m ok with anything. Just not the one you are holding.” Elena said to the gallerist.

“Is that him?” Sophie said putting the painting back on the table.

“Yes. I got to go. Call you later.”

“Ok. Later.” Sophie said waving to her assistant to come and help her choose what to exhibit.

Some twenty minutes later, Elena entered the 16th Precinct.

“I’d like to talk to Seargent Benson” the brunette said to detective Fin Tutuola.

Before, he could answer, Olivia came out of the interrogation room 1. Wasting no time Elena asked the detective if they could talk somewhere more private.

“Sure. What is this about?”

“Nick” Elena said in a serious manner.

“He is not here. He moved to California.” Olivia replied, her own demeanour dismissive and stern.

“Can we talk somewhere more private, please. It will not take long.” Elena demanded.

“Sure” Olivia scoffed and now gestured to Elena to follow her to interrogation room 2.

“Ok. I haven’t got much time.”

“I know that Nick is not in California. I saw him. I also figured out that he is deep cover.” Elena said.

“Right” Olivia said not moved.

“I know how things work. Even if he is in deep cover, he still gets in touch with his family through trustworthy people. And I know that you are one of those people he trusts. I also know that you don’t like me. But I don’t care. Can you please pass him a message.”

“Can you please leave.” Olivia now said.

“Tell him - dos gardenias. He will understand.Thank you. Elena said and spinning around, she looked at the seargent with soft eyes. “You may think what you want about me, but I really love him.”

*

In Upper West Side, Nick put the old record by Buena Vista Social Club on.

“What’s with you and this song?” Erin asked as she entered the living room.

“Nothing.” Nick replied switching it off.

“Hey - it’s ok. Just - you are kind of having it on repeat like all the time in the last couple of days.”

“It just - reminds me of - it doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, spill. Oh” Erin suddenly put two and two together. “It is to do with her.”

“No.”

“Nick - look -if someone listens a song on repeat - it means a shit load of something - I guess everything. If you got to go and see her, it’s ok. I will cover for you. You covered for me and Kelly.” Erin said.

“I fucked up. I don’t think she wants to see me again. Maybe she already gone back to Paris.”

“And what if she is not?” Erin tilted her head at the detective poignantly.

“What i did the other night was very unprofessional. I can’t repeat that. I can’t blow my cover. We are so close to getting the Salvatores.”

“Right.”

“Let’s get over the details of the meeting with Giuseppe.” Nick said as he sat down on the sofa.

A couple of minutes into the conversation, his burner phone buzzed. Taking it, he now read Olivia’s message.

Elena was here. She says - dos gardenias. idk why I’m doing this. ok. later.

Nick’s heart jumped up, his whole being feeling like it got a new lease of life.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #205: Shadow of the Claw!

March, 1981

"... And the CLAW shall inherit the Earth!” isn’t even what the villain plan is, come on, cover copy person.

Yellow Claw was going to have a bunch of kids, make them fight to the death, and then the super child was going to inherit the Earth.

The actual cover is neat though. I like how all the red draws attention to the center where red is not.

Yes, I am good at talk about art.

Anyway, last time on Avengers: a woman named Shu Han who had been brought to Yellow Claw’s island to be one of Yellow Claw’s many wives (despite being a genius physicist athlete and could honestly be a superhero in her own right with those skills) sent out a distress signal which was eventually received by the Avengers. A lot of goofy stuff happened, Vision got captured like a dingus, Wasp did none things, a cyborg slime kraken was fought, and eventually Yellow Claw was like ‘whaaaat Shu Han doesn’t love me? Fine, begone!’ and told the Avengers to gtfo his island so he can start living his harem anime protagonist self-insert fic and also take over the world.

Which brings us to now.

After his dingus-like capture, Vision needs to be recharged because photons are his sweet calories and he never diets.

In fact, weirdly, he’s hungrier than usual this time. Sixty-seven whole additional solar units more than usual hungrier.

I don’t know how much a solar unit is. Even as a ballpark. But Iron Man finds it noteworthy so I’m noting it.

Meanwhile, in the only one person sitting room, Wasp retcons some actual actions into the last issue so that her entire screentime wasn’t pointless.

Maybe I should learn to be more patient on multiple part stories.

No. No, its the comic writers who are wrong.

Anyway, while Wasp was spying on Yellow Claw, she noticed some weird equipment in the research lab, including a lot of tubes filled with odd, sparkly mist.

Unfortunately, that’s all she managed to see before Yellow Claw told the Avengers to gtfo his island.

Which leaves them without much they can do about Yellow Claw.

Sure, they suspect he’s up to something. Hell, Iron Man would even admit that they know he’s up to something.

But being able to prove it is a different matter. And since Yellow Claw’s island is in disputed waters, moving without proving could lead to political fallout.

Captain America: “Iron Man is right. If we had proof that the Yellow Claw poses a global threat, international law would allow us to investigate. But as it is, we don’t have a single, tangible clue to--”

And then Jarvis walks in and tells them that the Yellow Claw’s top assistant, Dr. William Liu, is here to speak with them.

The timing this man has. Outstanding.

They scan the man to make sure he’s not walking in with a bunch of laser guns stuffed down his pants and then let him in.

And Dr. Liu pleads for the Avengers to help him. Cap asks why they should help or even trust one of Yellow Claw’s men.

Dr. Liu: “I could no longer live with the horrible nature of the master’s plan! That is why I secretly left the island, hoping that my absence would go unnoticed until I could reach you, and tell you of-- AAAGGHH!”

He doesn’t get to finish his warning because his crotch suddenly explodes.

I don’t know how else to describe it.

Apparently Yellow Claw rigged his assistant to explode in case of treachery or just for funsies. A barely alive, crotch exploded apparently a cyborg all along Dr. Liu realizes that Yellow Claw must have remotely activated his destruct code.

He gives the Avengers some coordinates in Australia and begs them to stop Yellow Claw.

Dr. Liu: “... Y-you must stop... the Claw! Y-you’re the only hope for... the children...!”

And then he dies. And based on panels, it seems like his chest exploded more than his crotch. His pants are intact.

This was the proof the Avengers needed to act, so as soon as Dr. Liu’s body is carried away by ambulance, the Avengers prepare to leave.

But Jarvis finds a note on Vision’s door begging leave from the mission.

Vision: “I regret that I have not yet recuperated to the point where I may participate in Avengers’ activities. Please understand. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

What an oddly formal ‘I’m sick, don’t come in’ letter to pin to your door.

Iron Man is perplexed since he oversaw Vision’s recharge himself and the solar gas tank should be full. But Scarlet Witch says that Vision has his reasons to do things and they should just carry on without him.

So off they go in the Quinjet.

But as soon as they take off, Vision goes to take the second Quinjet.

Why, he’s not sick in his room at all!

Hours later, the Avengers arrive in Australia, of course passing over a kangaroo, or else how would we know its Australia?

And at the coordinates poor exploded Dr. Liu gave them, they find a cave. And in the cave they find a secret base where that sparkle gas Wasp saw being loaded onto three missiles.

Y’know. I think I gave Vision too much shit last time for his stealth fail. Because the Avengers as a whole get spotted while they’re scoping out the missile cave.

Black Panther needs to give them all some refresher learning.

MEANWHILE, though. Back at Yellow Claw’s island, Vision ditches his Quinjet and intangibles into Yellow Claw’s base.

When he reaches Yellow Claw’s throne slash harem room where Yellow Claw welcomes him back and asks him how the hell he discovered he had been tampered with.

Vision explains: 1) that he required extra power to recharge, 2) that he detected ultra-wave radiation being emitted from Dr. Liu when he blew up, 3) detected the same radiation from his own bad self. Thus he deduced that he had been altered to be an unwitting mole through which the Yellow Claw could spy on the Avengers and that the alteration was what was draining extra power.

Also why Vision ditched the Avengers and came here instead.

And it was all a very smart move up until it was a dumb one.

Yellow Claw was prepared that Vision might figure things out and show up again so the doorway had a Vision trapping trap installed in it and now Vision is trapped in the Vision trapping trap.

After all his ‘I’ve come alone to defeat you’ bravado, Vision can now only defiantly claim “the other Avengers will turn your dreams into dust!”

You Tried, Vision. You Tried.

But Yellow Claw isn’t done having been one step ahead of things yet.

See, he let Dr. Liu escape and warn the Avengers because based on the broken into vent he knew that Wasp had been in his base and probably saw enough to suspect something was up. The coordinates Dr. Liu gave the Avengers was a trap!

A trap of three strong mooks with really dumb names.

Bludgeoner, Transformer, and Compressor.

Guarantee these guys won’t be recurring.

Anyway. Iron Man and Jocasta repulsor and eyeeeeee beam at the three so Transformer can readily demonstrate why his name when he absorbs the energy and blasts it back at them.

And Bludgeoner and his big hammer hands bludgeon Wonder Man and Captain America.

And Compressor, why if you guessed that his big ol cheese grater hands compress the air between them to put the squeeze on anyone stuck between, ... wow. That’s a really good guess.

You’re good at comic books, friend!

Scarlet Witch uses a hex bolt to drop a stalactite on Compressor to free Beast but the fly swatter hands man crushes the rock and shoots the shrapnel back at Scarlet Witch.

And Wasp is as useless as she often is. Sigh.

Iron Man tries to swing behind Compressor and repulsor him but Compressor blasts air and sends Iron Man SKRRUURRUNCH into the cave dirt, carving up a furrow.

Sure, this has been only two pages but this is a bad showing against three dinguses with dumb names. I mean for crying out loud, a man named Compressor just bodied a guy called Iron Man.

Back at the Claw Cave... no, wait, that’s confusing. The Avengers are fighting in a cave. The Claw Condo? Back at the Claw Condo, Yellow Claw tells Vision that hey his friends are going to die gruesome and frankly embarrassing deaths but maybe Vision could eke out a little win for himself.

Claw has long platonically admired his construction and capabilities and with Dr. Liu exploded, he does need a new second-in-command.

To sweeten the pot, he’ll even explain his villainous plot because I’m sure we’ve all been wondering about that.

Yellow Claw: “You see, my line was created to rule this planet -- though mankind has stupidly resisted that inevitability. But now, despite the chemical concoctions that prolong my existence, I grow old. My years are numbered. And that is why I selected these women, exemplary in both body and mind, to assure a form of immortality.

For each shall bear me a son, and in time those sons shall fight each other to the death! The survivor, the fittest, shall then fulfill my fate by becoming supreme ruler of the Earth!

Though I swear, he’ll not be subjected to the same obstinacy, to the blind sense of human freedom that has frustrated me for these many decades!

For within those cryogenic storage banks is genetic material gathered from the world’s most physically and mentally perfect humans! And from that matter, my heir will create a new order, a new population, all raised to obey by a single edit: unswerving reverence to my son!”

Vision: There is a flaw to your logic, Claw. You seem to forget that there are already several billion people on this planet -- people who will never serve the likes of you.

Yellow Claw: Ah, once more you underestimate me. For at this very moment, the missiles at my Australian launch base are being readied for take-off. Once in orbit around the Earth, they will dock with my private spacecraft.

Then at my command, they will release a specially formulated vapor, one which will permeat the entire planetary atmosphere, rendering everyone on the globe -- except for those here in my closed-environment sanctuary -- irrevocably sterile!

With no children being born, the Earth will be barren in the space of a few generations -- barren save for the followers of the new Yellow Claw!”

Okay, so, credit where it’s due.

That’s a VERY evil plan.

Sterilize planet, replace humanity with genetically servile slave race, make babies fight to the death for the right to rule that whole shebang.

In terms of a dick move that's a major league one.

So when Yellow Claw asks if Vision will become his new number Liu, Vision answers: “Perhaps, miscreant. Perhaps I will join you... in hell!”

Yellow Claw isn’t too bothered by the refusal and even decides to let Vision have a front row seat to his plan being fulfilled.

And I don’t mean tying him to the front of one of the missiles.

I mean, Yellow Claw’s throne room launches from his base as a hot rod pink spaceship, sold separately.

Back at the Avengers fight, Wasp does a thing.

Honestly, its a pleasant surprise.

Her powerset of ‘be small, shoot tiny lasers’ not being much of a help, she thinks outside the box. She scoops some dirt from the cave floor and jams it into Bludgeoner’s arm joints to slow him down.

And then Wonder Man clocks him in the face. Who bludgeons the bludgeoners indeed.

It does go to show that a ‘useless’ power like Wasp’s can actually be very useful if you write her smart. A superhero team should be more than just big punches, more than just spectacular powers. Wasp has great combo potential for playing things strategic and that should be something the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes are too.

Beast realizes that Wasp had a really good idea. The Avengers outnumber these three jokers so why not gang up on them with teamwork? Besides, they’re not working together in any way so the Avengers might as well.

So Beast grabs Transformer’s shield arm to leave him open for Jocasta to OPTIC BLAST!

And Cap throws his mighty shield to know Compressor’s arms apart so Iron Man can kick him in the face.

Which is impressive since Iron Man was flat on his ass in the immediately previous panel.

Apparently this was a gaffe caused by the pages being edited separately and the error not being caught before the book went to print.

As far as things go, not the worst error! I didn’t even notice it until it was pointed out.

Anyway, in a fit of pique from his dumb name dudes losing the fight, Yellow Claw kliks a button. The goons join hands or whatever weapon they have passing for hands and then they blow up.

Yellow Claw: “It is done. It cost the lives of three worthy operatives but at last -- the Avengers are dead!”

Ah, villains. Always ready to flip the board if they start losing.

And with the Avengers totally dead for realsies no foolin’ Yellow Claw is free to launch his missiles full of sterility vapors.

Actually, he could do that by remote so I don’t know why he had to wait for the Avengers to be explode. He could have just launched the missiles while they were busy fighting.

Anyway.

With the Avengers dead I guess the book will be about- can’t think of a good one for that recurring goof. So yeah, the Avengers aren’t dead.

Scarlet Witch used her powers to shield the team just in the nick of time.

Captain America: “Thanks, Wanda. If you hadn’t cast that protective hex sphere around us just in time...!”

Scarlet Witch: “Don’t mention it, captain. I rather enjoy being alive myself!”

Although, I didn’t know she could just shield people with her powers like that. Unless she altered the probability that explosions hurt so that they didn’t. Yes, that sounds plausible.

The two flying members of the team, Iron Man and Wonder Man fly out of the cave after the missiles, still determined to save the days as heroes often do.

The missiles launch into orbit and then something really goofy happens.

I’ve been saying missiles because the comic has been saying missiles and I guess they are technically missiles. But if I asked you to imagine a supervillain launching some missiles full of a chemical weapon, would you imagine this?

When the missiles launch into orbit they link up with Yellow Claw’s hot rod pink spaceship.

When I first saw this, I thought: is he going to launch them again from his spaceship? A bit of an unnecessary additional step.

But no. That is not what is going on here.

The man is just super committed to his iconography. The missiles join the spaceship and then bend to make it clear its supposed to resemble a claw.

That’s the kind of goofy nonsense I’m here for.

Iron Man and Wonder Man show up, to Yellow Claw’s alarm, and try to attack the hot pink spaceship but bounce off uselessly. The thing is protected by a strong force field.

Yellow Claw probably goes ‘phew’ internally and gets on with his evil plan.

With the missiles bent, as missiles are known to do??, to resemble claws, they can begin to spray the sterility gas into the atmosphere.

Yellow Claw: “Soon, it will be over! When enough vapors are released to mingle with the entire atmosphere -- the shadow of the Claw shall cover the Earth!”

And with things looking grim, Vision decides that things are down to him. I mean he did go off alone and is now stuck inside the enemy’s spaceship. He’s in a good position to mess things up.

So stuck suspended in a trap, he increases his density and mass to his limit and beyond! One ton, two, further!

The energy bubble holding him gives way to his weight, allowing him to make contact with the deck of the ship. Adding his weight to that of the ship and throwing it out of orbit.

The ship will crash into Earth and at this point, it can’t be stopped.

Yellow Claw is fairly pissed.

He smashes the device holding Vision captive and then starts trying to kill him with his bare hands.

And he’s capable of hitting Vision when he’s intangible because he studied Vision while he was a prisoner, the first time he was a prisoner. And created circuity to his metal sleeves that lets him tangible the intangible.

And thus he tries to strangle Vision.

I’m not sure he needs to breathe. Probably why Yellow Claw is punching him instead in later panels.

Vision points out that this fight is fairly pointless and that Yellow Claw could be using this time to escape but Yellow Claw is determined that he get something accomplished today.

And then the ship crashes into the ocean.

A short time skip later and the Avengers have parked the Quinjet on the ocean (it buoyant) and are searching for the Vision.

How did they know the Vision was here? Didn’t they think he was recuperating back at the mansion?

Apparently another gaffe but one that could be handwaved. Earlier in the issue when the three dumbnames appeared, Yellow Claw appeared on a monitor to taunt the Avengers and Vision was visible behind him. Captain America even appears to be pointing at Vision like ‘hey I know that guy from work.’

So conceivably they knew he was with Yellow Claw when his ship crashed.

Iron Man gives up on searching the ocean, not being able to find the Vision in the water but Vision just peaces in from the sky. He intangible’d out the ship just before the crash. He’s totally fine.

Scarlet Witch: “I am glad that you are safe, my husband. And I’m glad that the danger has ended.”

Vision: “No, my love. Though it is true that the Yellow Claw is dead, that he will no longer plague us with his particular form of madness -- there are too many others like him, others who would rise to power by crushing the freedom that is every being’s birthright.

And as long as any of them remain unchallenged -- the danger will never end.”

With that, Vision sort of stares out across the ocean moodily. Because a true Avengers story ends with someone staring at something moodily.

And I dunno! Maybe it was the extended break from doing this liveblog but this two-parter wasn’t as bad as I dreaded.

Supposedly, part of the impetus of the story was to do a last hurrah story for Yellow Claw and then shove him under some furniture because his yellow peril character concept was growing increasingly awkward.

After one more story in Marvel Fanfare with Cap, Yellow Claw was shelved for nearly three decades.

And man launches sterility gas missiles into space to form a giant claw to make it so that his successor can repopulate the Earth with a new, freedom hating breed of humanity is pretty great as far as comic book nonsense goes.

Although, in retrospect, I’m realizing that this was basically the same plan the Sentinels that kidnapped Scarlet Witch had.

Sterilize the planet with Wanda’s magical uterus and then replace humanity with a genetically engineered kind that could not mutate.

Comic books are weird.

Next time: Human Torch guest stars. Everything is on fire.

Follow @essential-avengers or like or reblog or send me questions or tell me I’m doing an okay job or do nothing. There are many choices available. But I would appreciate feedback.

[tardis-sapphics]

"Resolution" but Yaz is possessed instead of Ryan's dad

whaddup i’m back being thasmin trash after three thousand years

sorry for the wait, anon! i just hope it’ll be alright

so this became way longer than i expected so i’m splitting it into two parts: the possession and the aftermath. these’ll both be on ao3 in due time so please read and enjoy over there as well!

i’m going to reblog this tomorrow with the second instalment, the aftermath, so this response won’t be all of it. ofc, read under the cut bc i’m not a monster.

thank you anon for such a delightful prompt!

In amongst the chaos, they ignore you.

Make the chaos know you.

She can’t she can’t she can’t. She can’t do this to them. Tothe Doctor.

Look at her.

The rubble and debris of a Dalek shell lie at the Doctor’s feet,but she is skipping, almost, through the communications room. The lights aredim but her smile is brighter – always, always, so much brighter – as sheparades her victory around.

She is not looking at Yaz. None of them are; they are tootaken in by the Doctor’s triumph to focus on anything but her. Always the Doctor.Even Aaron, the resident outsider, scampers through the smashed metal parts tojoin the rest of the gang.

The Doctor throws out her device and scans the room with it.What is she looking for? Everyone is curious. Her device chimes.

‘Signal never sent,’ the Doctor remarks. Her smile is backin full force, her hands waving in her exultation.

She is too busy loving herself to think about you.

You are alone.

Yaz takes this moment to recede into the shadows, to wrestlewith this on her own. Her feet are unsteady; she stumbles.

‘I think that was my best skid ever. I am so chuffed,’ theDoctor is grinning away, so her voice carries above the scuffing of Yaz’s trainers.‘Well done, team! Gang! Extended fam!’ The Doctor’s gestures are exaggerated –self-congratulating – but she still hasn’t noticed Yaz’s absence.

You want her to, but she will never notice you.

You are alone in this.

She is not alone.

No one is going to help you.

The Doctor—

The Dalek laughs.

The others are frozen with fear. Good.

No one is going to help you.

She tries so hard to cry.

 The Dalek will not consider a tactical retreat as anything buta surrender. The mission is too important. It is a survivor. It is adaptable.It is exploitative.

Happy to exploit you. The Dalek fleets will thank you.

It will thank the Doctor, too. The explosion was a blessingin disguise.

The explosion dictated the direction the Dalek flew. Yaz gotunlucky; she was too close to where it landed. As soon as it reached for her, touchedher, her fate was sealed, and the aftermath of the explosion gave the Dalekenough time to settle in properly, get used to her motions and her information.

You give me so much to work with.

In that, she is learning so much about this alien race ofhate. She is learning so much about its motivations, its history. And itshistory with the Doctor.

All these faces. All these stories. All the death and thekilling and violence.

It is telling that the Doctor kept this from you.

The squirming of the Dalek’s tentacles fills her ears. She hatesit she hates she hates it.

Love and hate are intense emotions. They are parallels. Itis so easy to manipulate love to feed hate.

That is the best thing about this vessel. The others wouldhave been weaker. Your love makes our hate greater.

Love is the paper on which hate will write over. The wordswould not be clear if love did not provide such a malleable canvas.

She is trying so hard to resist. So hard. But she feels likestone. Her thoughts are vague, echoes, as the Dalek takes over her internalprocesses, a virus made massive. It takes every ounce of strength she has justto be conscious through it all.

She can feel the Dalek’s hatred, the way it delights in herfear. It is poisoning her, poisoning every good thing about her.

Fire needs a fuel to keep it burning. It is takingeverything she loves and setting it alight.

This is an incredible loathing. Loud and angry and hot. Yaz has not known hate like this.It is a never-ending energy that consumes her as much as it consumes others. Itis sustenance and exertion all at once. It is the sickest form of pleasure, onethat makes her feel healthy as much as it kills the best parts of her. She isso active, so energetic, in this hatred.

You will burn in this hatred.

She will burn in this hatred.

The Doctor will never love you back.

Yaz is starting to hate her for it.

They all have turned around, trepidation and terrorincarnate. Mouths are gaping and brains are whirring; implications abound. TheDalek is still alive. Humanity is still in its death throes.

The Dalek’s laugh echoes around the circular room andalthough Yaz hears it, she tries not to. It petrifies her. If she could use herhands, she would slam them onto her ears, block out the ungodliest sound, prayAllah she can get rid of it from her memory forever.

She cannot move her eyes. It is directing her. She cannotblink as the Doctor walks toward her.

Her expression is—

The Doctor is in pain. The Doctor is in pain! Was there evera more glorious sight?

It is more than pain. It is a thousand things. It is angerand pain and horror. It is terror. It is white hot terror, so encompassing thatall the blood has drained from her face. It is desperation. It is detestation. Itis regret. It is a bottomless ache that is taking hold. The Dalek wants her toshut down, shut down in the face of a species she could never kill. She willnever kill the Daleks.

The Doctor knows she will see her friend die first.

All of them. But Yaz first.

The ache goes deeper and deeper at the thought. As she walkscloser to Yaz, she starts to tremble.

‘Yaz,’ the Doctor murmurs. It is a scream if there ever wasone.

And Yaz feels the ache too.

She wants to scream at her. Get me away from this. Save me.Get this thing off me. Save yourself. Doctor, I love you, please, please, Doctor,I hate you, you scare me, you are not the woman I thought you were, get away from me.

 ‘Yaz?’ Ryan’s voice is the meekest it’s ever been. He cannottear his away from this monster.

The explosion truly was a blessing in disguise. It will nothave to wait now. It will come home to glory.

‘You underestimate me, Doctor,’ it gasps. Yaz’s voice is twistedbeyond recognition. It makes her step forward, once, twice, three times, and herarms swing limply. ‘Daleks survive.’

She wants to scream. Get away from me.

‘Doctor, do something!’ Ryan’s imploring is hopeless. He looksto the Doctor like she puts the sun in the sky. He trusts her beyond commonsense.

She will do nothing.

She cannot save you.

Yaz can only stare as she watches the Doctor fall apartimmaculately.

‘I’m sorry, Yaz,’ the Doctor says, and it is barely louderthan a whisper.

Look how she shakes. Limbs tense with a flight or fightresponse, and both of them worthless. The bravado, the cheer, the energy, allfor nothing. All pointless. Look at the regret. The Doctor regrets! The Dalek isgleeful as they watch her frown, shaking her head, going back in her mind to whereshe went wrong, to where she lost Yaz forever.

The Doctor is defeated. She is the slave of the Daleks now.

‘I miscalculated,’ she continues.

Yaz’s heart is breaking in two.

She will not be the—

Do not fool yourself into thinking she can save you. Oncethe Daleks take Earth, you will not see her again.

Do not fool yourself. She will not help you. She does notlove you.

Yaz detests her.

‘You will take me to the Dalek fleet,’ the Dalek instructsher. It almost wants to laugh at the imperceptible shake of her head. As if shecan say no. ‘Resist…’

The Dalek punctures further into Yaz and pain shoots intoevery corner of her being. The various made massive is everywhere. Her body iscompromised. She groans on instinct.

The Doctor almost runs to her, but stops herself.

Get away from me get it away from me save me please I don’t wantto hate you I hate—

‘…andthis body will be destroyed,’ the Dalek finishes.

The Doctor’s gaze follows the path of the tear tracks that havetraversed down Yaz’s face. While her body shakes with her emotions, her limbsare planted solidly in their place. She is frozen by her grief.

Is this the Doctor? Immovable and defeated, because of one woman?She is weaker than the Dalek thought. So influenced by pointless things.

‘Doctor, do something,’ Ryan repeats.

Yaz doesn’t want to look at him, look at any of them. Shedoesn’t trust them she hates them she is going to die and they don’t care theyare doing nothing—

‘Fine,’ the Doctor concedes.

It interrupts Yaz’s muffled thought process. So that’s all?She’s condemned? She shouldn’t be surprised anymore.

The Doctor will sacrifice you to kill the one thing she hasalways failed to kill. She is out for glory just like the Daleks.

She would make a very good Dalek. More so than Yaz. You are somuch weaker.

In amongst the knowledge the Dalek feeds Yaz – all of theskirmishes and fights and near-deaths, coloured by the bias of the alien race –she can detect an undercurrent of terror. The Daleks have encountered many alienspecies but none of them have put fear into the hearts of the Daleks like the Doctor.

It is not a good thing. The Doctor is someone to be wary of.

Yaz knows that now.

‘Doctor, seriously?’ Graham questions, from the Doctor’sleft.

The Doctor is steadfast in her defeatism. ‘My decision.’ Sheturns to the Dalek-Yaz, and for a second her eyes travel down Yaz’s face, evenas Yaz shakes under the strain of being host. ‘Just promise me you’ll let hergo.’ The Doctor swallows. ‘You will keep her alive. She is my one condition.’

Yaz thinks she smiles.

‘You are my prisoners now.’

The humans are morose as they stand in the TARDIS. Contemplatingtheir new fates as servants of the Dalek Empire. Lin and her male human huddleclose to each other out of fear. Lin keeps looking at Yaz and massaging theback of her own neck.

The Doctor has been flying her ship and she is stricken. Ashen.Defeated. Hopeless. Her face is in the shadows and the Dalek prefers it thatway. If the Doctor is not staring ahead, glazed and resigned, then she isglancing at Yaz, her heart shattering all over again and her desperation mounting.

The Dalek loves their fear. It does not care for their otherfeelings.

You will not care for their feelings.

Yaz’s eyes are swivelling round and she takes in the view ofthe moving TARDIS, listening as the discomforted groaning fills the vastconsole room. She is looking at it through the eyes of the Dalek’s greed andshe is in awe.

This machine is so powerful. It never dawned on her before.It could be used for so many things. The pleasure would not be the journey butthe easy ticket to new, exciting victories. Every trip to different placeswould be for conquests, not exploration.

All the possibilities!

‘The glory of a TARDIS shall be ours,’ the Dalek says. Oneof the tentacles reaches up into the trapped air as if cheering.

There are so many benefits to come of this. The Doctor hasfinally been defeated and the Daleks will celebrate the vanquishing of theOncoming Storm.

And you – your name will be known for this glorious success.

But you will not be here to see it.

She will die and her family will never know how.

She will never get to say goodbye.

‘Help her,’ Ryan says to the Doctor; blind still, as if theirfriendship with Yaz is worthy enough. It is almost admirable, but it will neverbe enough.

‘Trust me?’ the Doctor asks, working on her flying TARDIS,but though her decision is final, she does not seem to trust herself. She haulsup a lever but, Yaz sees, it takes effort. She is weak. ‘We’ve landed.’

The trepidation is loud enough for all to hear.

All Yaz hears is pain. Pain, and a deep-set fury.

The tentacle over Yaz’s shoulder is active again; it brushesacross her face as the Dalek gestures. Slimy and sinister. She abhors it. It abhorsher but right now it does not care.

‘Finally, my mission is complete.’ Centuries of defeat andbrokenness have turned into the greatest Dalek victory of them all. The Dalekturns Yaz around and starts walking her to the TARDIS doors. ‘The Earth and theDoctor shall submit before the Dalek fleet.’

Her trainers are so loud as she stomps uneasily on the metalfloor. A Dalek shell would be much more discreet. Much more comfortable.

Then the doors fling open and the fleet is not there. Thefleet is not there. Only wind and imbalance and death, death, death.

The Dalek will not die.

She will not die—

She tries her best to keep steady, but the Dalek is heavy onher back and she is too close to the TARDIS doors. The winds of space howl andpull her further back, their enveloping colder than even the slime of the Dalek’stentacles. She stumbles one step back, then another.

‘Did I forget to mention?’ the Doctor’s voice rings out. ‘Nofleet. Only a sun going supernova, and a squid-sized vacuum corridor, about topull you out into space.’

She is loud above the din of the space winds, but only afool would call it confident. The Dalek can feel her fear, lives for it, evenwhen it is screaming, preoccupied by its own terror.

And Yaz is more terrified than she’s ever been. Worst ofall, she does not feel hope. She is screaming too, but it is quiet.

She knows her life will go quietly in amongst all thischaos.

‘Yaz!’ Ryan shouts. He is holding onto the console – they allare. Only the Dalek-Yaz is in freefall.

‘You’re too weak, Dalek, you can’t hold on!’

‘Except,’ Graham interjects, ‘it is holding on, Doctor!’

The death knell chimes in a suppressed imagination. TheDalek screams to itself and it is cold.

All Yaz can think about is warmth.

She will burn in a supernova and her family will never know.

For once, the Dalek is too consumed by its blind fear tobelittle her.

The Doctor moves something else but nothing helps. The windsgets louder.

The Dalek will not die the mission will be complete—

Noise escapes the Doctor – ‘The vacuum corridor’s expandingand I can’t control it!’ she yells. They are all holding on but on the Doctor’sface there is panic now, a deeper panic. Her face is contorting with anguish asshe comes to the same conclusion as Yaz. This might be it.

She will lose Yaz forever.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s gonna take Yaz with it!’

She has sacrificed you for the taste of Dalek blood.

This is the time to give up. Accept her end.

You will not give up we will fight to stay alive and wrestlethe TARDIS into control—

The console starts to fizz and smoke and explode and the Doctorscreams. Everyone is struggling—

Yaz is knocked off her feet by the tremors running rampantthrough the TARDIS, and she skids further down into hellfire. But she is up intime for her hands to be thrown out, and latch onto the doorframe. She isholding on by her fingertips and she does not know whether that was her doingor the Dalek’s.

She is definitely grunting with the exertion. Fear iskeeping them alive.

She thinks she might be crying again too.

‘Yaz!’ the Doctor screams. She is desperation incarnate.

The Daleks hates her with a blistering heat. It fears herwith all it has. The coming glory of her defeat is enough motivation to holdon.

Stretching as far as she can, she bunches her hand into Ryan’sjacket and drags him over to her. She pushes his hand onto the lever she has beenkeeping up. ‘Hold onto that for me,’ she shouts to him. ‘I’ve got to save her.’

Confused, terrified, and wholly unprepared, all he can do isnod, and steady himself for the job at hand.

The Dalek-Yaz watches as she makes her way over to them. Gruntingwith effort, catapulting herself closer to the doorframe, legs flying akimbo asshe runs.

‘Doctor!’ Graham yells.

She catches one of the TARDIS’ pillars and hugs it. Intensityis keeping her going, but there is something else in her eyes too, somethingthe Dalek recoils from.

Intensity is keeping her going, but there is something elsein her eyes too, something the Dalek recoils from.

‘Yaz! Yaz! Hold on!’

Yaz is crying so much. But there’s love in the Doctor’seyes.

She hates her. She hates the Doctor for giving her hopeagain.

‘Yaz, I know you can hear me,’ the Doctor says. ‘You’re doingso well, fighting the Dalek. I’m so proud of you, Yaz, and I’m sorry, I’m so sosorry.’

She thinks the Doctor may be crying too.

Do not listen to her. She does not love you. Do not findhope in her she will not save you

The Dalek is growling at her. I will save you and togetherwe will take back control of the TARDIS—

‘She is mine now,’ the Dalek retorts.

The Doctor lurches forward again. She is so close totouching her but Yaz still has to reach out.

‘No, she’s not, she’s mine!’ the Doctor answers, panting.She can barely speak through the desperation pumping through her lungs, throughthe steadfast desire to hold on.

Yaz admires her for it.

There is a part of her still holding on. There is a littlebit of love in her still.

‘Yaz, I’m here, I’m here,’ the Doctor continues. ‘I can’tlose you now. You’re bringing so much good into this universe and it wants you,I swear. And I need you stay just as much as the universe needs you. No, more.

‘Don’t listen to what it tells you, please, don’t let ittwist your goodness – fight it, fight it! You’ve got so much more left to do!’

She thinks the Doctor is crying.

Do not listen to her!

The Dalek’s screaming is still so loud to her, but it’s gettingless internal.

Its grip on her is weakening.

‘I love you, Yaz, I’m so sorry for this, this was never – Inever wanted you to – Yaz, please remember how much love you have – I love yourlove – use it, please!’

She wills her eyes to move to the Doctor’s outstretchedhand.

‘Yaz, please,’ the Doctor begs.

One final time.

The world is starting to lose its grip on her too.

She will kill this fire.

She will kill this damnation. And let that not damn her.

She throws out her hand.

[bisexualshrug]

Charlotte/Becky: 5,6,7,8,12,14,15,18

[Angsty Charlynch drabble at the bottom under the cut]

5) How would they describe each other?

To Charlotte, Becky is the most stubborn, annoying, lovable goof on the planet. She’s so frustrating sometimes, but God she’s just so intoxicating. Every second with Becky she just wants more. She just loves her more. It’s like this addiction, but somehow a healthy one. Because Becky just makes her so much better. And Charlotte hasn’t felt Good in a long time. And Becky makes her believe she can be. Becky is the only person Charlotte feels like she can really relax and breathe around. 

To Becky, Charlotte is just completely captivating. Sometimes Becky just stares at her and feels like she would be happy for the rest of her life never looking at anything else. Charlotte is amazing in every possible way. And, sometimes, that’s difficult for Becky. Because how can she ever possibly measure up to Charlotte? But, Becky thinks, if she can’t measure up to Charlotte, she’ll try her damn best to love Charlotte enough to make up the difference.

6) What do they love about each other?

Charlotte loves how much of a passionate fight Becky is. When Becky really wants something, she scratches and claws her way to it. She’s relentless. And even if she gives up for a moment, she’ll come back to it and scratch and claw harder than she did before. Becky fights and fights and fights until she has nothing left in her. And, in a way, Charlotte thinks her life never taught her what it truly means to struggle but fight anyway. But Becky teaches Charlotte that.

Becky loves Charlotte’s disguised selflessness. How she interacts with all the little girls who admire her. How Charlotte does these little things for everyone around her that are so purposefully small and hidden that most people don’t even realize what she’s done. She loves how quick Charlotte picks up on everything. Just her intelligence. How she is told something one time and is like “Okay go it.” It’s just completely fascinating to Becky how amazing Charlotte is.

7) What do they have in common?

General stubbornness. A need to prove themselves by being the best. This is why they are so drawn to each other and why they fell apart. 8) What are some differences between them?

They both feel like they need to prove themselves but in different ways. Becky needs to prove to HERSELF that she’s good enough. Bc SHE’S never believed it. Even when everyone around her has seen it and told her. 

Charlotte needs to prove herself to EVERYONE ELSE. And even when they tell her she’s enough Charlotte STILL feels like she’s not as deserving. Of this business. Of all the titles. Of Becky.

12) What would happen if they never met?

Charlotte would have had a much more difficult time learning to let her guard down again. Learning that she needs time away from all the pressure to relax.

Becky wouldn’t have an inspiration. Charlotte drives Becky to be better, work harder every day. And without Charlotte, she wouldn’t have someone there constantly driving her to improve.14) Are there any love rivals?

They both get hit on a lot when they go out to bars or clubs with friends. Jealous, Protective!Becky leaps out when she catches Charlotte looking uncomfortable bc of a man standing too close to her. Becky has gotten thrown out of bars for tryna start a fight. When Becky’s getting hit on, Charlotte just kind of slicks back. Recedes some. Bc even though she knows Becky loves her the fear of Becky finding someone better can’t quite be shook off.

15) Describe your favorite moment of that ship!

What’s that one moment of Becky and Charlotte I think in Walmart or something and Becky says something like “Hey Charlotte do you like adolescents? Because I’m [points at protein powder] PRO-TEEN!” Like just the look of pure, utter annoyance on Charlotte’s face. Girlfriend energy. Like “You’re so dumb and annoying. Why do I continue to put up with this every day? Oh wait. I somehow love you anyway.”

18) Describe or write a really angsty scene!

Exhausted and devastated, Becky pushes the door of the Raw women’s locker room open and walks inside. The door swings shut behind her as she hangs her head, a dejected look washing over her face. After a few moments, Becky sucks in a shaky breath. 

She can’t give up now. Vince may have stripped Becky of her match at Wrestlemania and suspended her, but Becky Lynch isn’t a quitter. The Man doesn’t give up. She’ll get this back. She knows she can. She has to.

Finally, Becky moves forward and lifts her gaze to scan the locker room. The silence in the room convinced Becky it was empty, but, as she lifts her head, she immediately spots her Wrestlemania replacement watching her. 

When their eyes meet, a smug grin appears on Charlotte’s face, “How does it feel, Bex?”

Becky clenches her jaw, “Don’t.”

A loud laugh erupts from Charlotte, “Oh, this is so rich. Becky Lynch. The Man herself, stripped of everything. Her title. Her Wrestlemania match. Her stage. How does it feel, Bex? To lose everything?”

Becky angrily spits out, “God, I’m so sick and tired of listening to your shit. Have you lost your mind? Are you insane?”

Suddenly, the air of amusement drains out of Charlotte. Her eyes flash dangerously, and she walks forward until she’s inches from Becky. Charlotte towers over Becky, glaring down at her fiercely.

“You don’t get to speak to me like that.”

Becky scoffs, “I’ll say whatever I want, honey. Go fuck yourself.”

Becky begins to walk away from Charlotte toward her locker, but Charlotte steps in front of her again.

She smirks down at her, “Leaving so soon? Where’s my congratulations, Bex? I’m going straight to the main event of Wrestlemania. The first ever women’s main event, starring Charlotte Flair.”

Fierce anger lights up in Becky’s chest momentarily, but the flames are quickly doused by her exhaustion. She always has to fight ten times as hard as everyone else to make half the distance. Now, the urge to fight drains from her. She sighs, too exhausted and upset at tonight’s events to put up a front of bravado anymore. She looks up at Charlotte, eyes devoid of any emotion.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore, Char.”

At the unexpected words, Charlotte seems to pause before taking a small step back. Receiving no response, Becky continues.

“We’ve fought for months. I’ve beaten you. Again and again and again. And, frankly, I’m just tired of it. I’m bored. I’m moving on, and you should too.”

Charlotte moves back into Becky’s space and responds darkly, “You don’t get to decide when I move on. I haven’t even started yet, Bex.”

Becky takes a purposeful step back from Charlotte, putting distance between the two, “Well, I’m stopping. Whatever you do from now on, Charlotte? I don’t care. The only thing I care about is Wrestlemania. Everything else is irrelevant to me. You’re irrelevant to me.”

Becky’s words seem to pierce through Charlotte for a moment. Becky spots a flicker of hurt appears in her eyes for an instant, but it’s quickly replaced by a wave of almost crazed anger.

Charlotte’s voice begins to rise, seemingly affected by Becky’s words for the first time, “No. No. That’s not how this goes. See, I decide when we stop. You don’t get to walk away from this!”

Becky stares at Charlotte, making sure to emphasize her words slowly and heavily, “I already walked out, Char.”

Suddenly, Charlotte grabs Becky by her shoulders and shoves her back into the lockers, pinning her there harshly. Becky can feel Charlotte’s heavy, angry breathes hitting her face. Her eyes are wild and raw, but Becky meets her with a defiant glare.

Becky’s cold gaze doesn’t waver from Charlotte, “I want Ronda at Wrestlemania. And the second you’re out of my way? I’m done. With you. With us. For good.”

Charlotte’s presses Becky harder into the locker and moves even closer, their foreheads now only inches apart. Becky can feel the tension rising in the room, and she knows Charlotte is only a few more words from snapping.

Charlotte attempts a sneer, but there is an underlying hint of desperation in her voice, “Fine. You’re done with me when you get your main event back? Well, you’re never getting it back. I won’t let you.”

“God, Charlotte,” Becky scoffs, “What the hell is wrong with you? Let this go. I’ve got a title to win, so move the hell out of my way. Go back to Smackdown. Face Asuka.”

“NO!”

Charlotte bellows the word loudly. Her voice echoes in the empty locker room. Becky flinches at the sudden eruption. Realizing that she’s losing her cool, Charlotte sucks in a sharp breath and closes her eyes. Her attempt at calming herself down is interrupted.

Becky quietly breathes, “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Charlotte’s eyes flash open and quickly lock with Becky’s again. Several emotions flicker on Charlotte’s face, but they disappear too quickly for Becky to name them. 

“I’m Charlotte Flair. I’m The Queen,” Charlotte says, voice faltering on the words, completely failing to hit the assured tone she was attempting.

Noticing the momentary weakness Becky’s hands reach forward, grabbing Charlotte’s waist and shoving her backward. Charlotte stumbles a few steps away, freeing Becky from her grip.

Becky moves to grab her bag, trying to quickly leave the room. She was serious when she said she wasn’t interested in doing this anymore. Becky slings her bag over her shoulder and faces Charlotte one more time.

“At Summerslam, you didn’t steal my match. You just won.”

Charlotte growls, “And you left me anyway. You hated me for it anyway.”

Becky answers coolly, “You knew. You knew it would hurt me. And you did it anyway. And, now? You’re doing the same thing. But worse.”

Charlotte falters at the accusation. The truth behind Becky’s words smacks Charlotte in the face. Her mask slips off entirely, leaving a despondent, broken woman staring at Becky.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Maybe that wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

Charlotte hoarsely croaks, “You mean I wasn’t enough for you anymore. Just say it.”

Becky stares at Charlotte sadly, “It wasn’t about that. I watched you from the sidelines for so long. Char, you never even tried to get me on the field.”

Charlotte’s eyes close, and she breathes in heavily through her nose. Becky picks up on the telltale signs of Charlotte trying not to cry. Momentarily, Becky pauses. Her face softens. Her foot twitches, every instinct in her body telling her to move forward. To wrap her arms around Charlotte. Bury her face in Charlotte’s hair. Whisper comforting words in her ear.

But Becky stays still, too scarred by Charlotte’s actions tonight to find enough energy to want to comfort her ex-girlfriend. Things are just no longer the same. Becky walks past Charlotte, moving to exit the locker room. Before she can exit, Charlotte speaks again. Raw desperation coats her words.

“Please don’t leave. Not again.”

With her back turned to Charlotte, Becky hesitates. Her own eyes swell with tears, memories of Summerslam and the months after flashing through her mind.

She thinks about the night of Summerslam. Getting her own hotel room. Numbly packing her things from their shared room and going to her own. Sitting on the bed, staring down at her phone. Knowing she could call Charlotte with one click. Beg for forgiveness.

Becky remembers all of the nights she almost called Charlotte.

But she never did.

Back turned to Charlotte, Becky quietly declares, “I won’t ever forgive you for this.”

She yanks the door open and walks out of the room.

Becky doesn’t look back.

[reallystellacadente]

Just Once More

Digging through my computer files for something else entirely, I found this. I have no clue whether I ever posted it before. It takes place during the five years in carbonite when, in my KOTFE AU, Quinn goes out in search of his missing wife Xhareen, convinced she’s in hiding and that the Force will lead him to her. At some point, this will become part of an entire write-through of KOTFE and KOTET [Quinn’s solo journey segment is tentatively called Quinn the Hunter] but since the Life Day event is almost over, I guess it’s still timely? I have no clue where it was supposed to be set, especially seeing how I like to just invent planets out of thin air. 

Life day

No matter how far he got from home, no matter how many years she was absent, Quinn always marked Life Day. Not the way she had, with laughter and gifts and a costly and frankly wasteful spread of food. No, this year it would be as it had been since she left, alone in his room, with only a bottle of Corellian brandy -- and a prayer. That just once before he died, he could see her again.

Pathetic, he knew.

Their first Life Day together they weren’t actually together. He was her captain, she was his lord. He’d given her “the speech” about duty. He had tried to transfer out, confessing his feelings were well past professional by then, and dangerous to them both. She reluctantly agreed, then smiled when he backed out, admitting her own feelings but accepting his reluctance. “Just know that I’m here,” was all he remembered, along with that smile. It was enough at the time.

They were on Tatooine, the least appropriate planet in the galaxy for Life Day. Vette had somehow rigged a holo projector onto a broken slingblaster to make it seem as though she was shooting snowballs at everyone and even Quinn had to admit he shrieked like a child when she lobbed the first one at him. By the time she’d logged a hundred hits or so, he barely noticed. Vette and his lord ran about in a most unprofessional manner, tossing pillows and singing, until Vette suggested that a Life Day party was what was called for. His lord immediately agreed and left the lodging for several hours, returning to inform everyone to put on their best clothes and meet her at one of the auxiliary buildings used by Imperial command in Mos Ila.

She had somehow procured a room with forced air and it was a relief for Quinn to be able to put on his dress uniform and not melt immediately into a puddle. She smiled as soon as he entered, and handed him a heavy box covered in a lightweight fabric and tied with a flaxen string. Vette, too, had a box, large and flat and similarly adorned. There were others in the room as well – some  officers from the nearby garrison and others he recognized as minor officials or functionaries, even the flight crew from the spaceport who looked after the Covenant.

She was wearing a dark plum evening dress, cut low down her back and fit snugly on her frame. Her hair was down, covered in a barely visible, glistening net. Surely, she hadn’t just drummed all that up in the few hours she’d been gone. Must’ve had it stowed on the ship. Quinn realized he’d never seen her in any dress before, much less one that brought out her nascent beauty. He had always said she was a wholly unique woman.   

She bade everyone to eat and drink, and then they all had to open their boxes. Most of the junior officers appeared to have been given cred sticks – Quinn would have to make sure she hadn’t drained the ship’s financial reserves yet again – and the senior officers and various planetary officials received small trinkets that they all seemed delighted with, even if a few of them were likely faking it. Vette received a new tunic that she immediately changed into. Quinn was momentarily delighted when his gift turned out to be a bottle of aged Corellian brandy of a rare vintage.  

Maker’s balls, he thought. I will really need to check the ship’s ledger now!

She made everyone sing songs from wherever they called home until finally, she graced them with one of her Miralukan folk songs. The Miraluka always seemed such a contented culture, so it bugged Quinn why their songs all sounded so sad. He downed another mug of mulled wine – he would certainly save the brandy for another occasion. Though when she sidled up next to him and asked how he was enjoying the party, he had to confess with a smile as rare as the bottle in his hands that he was, surprisingly, quite happy at that moment. “Mission accomplished,” she whispered as she was whisked away into another group dance by one particularly star-struck young adjutant.

The night ended too soon, when the last of the locals stumbled out of the room into the crisp, brief Tatooine night. Somehow, the three of them made it back to their lodging. Quinn had intended to check the ship’s books before retiring but woke up the next morning, still in half his uniform, with just enough time to get to the refresher and into his clean uniform before his shift started.

Of course, he would figure out that she’d paid for the fete and the gifts out of her own funds, always as eager to make others happy as she was to jump into a fight without thinking. That same bravado that put her on that ship with Darth Marr. That took her away from him for four years now.

Whoever coined the phrase “alone but not lonely” should be shot, he thought as he drained his glass. His happiest days were behind him, of that he was sure, but he still had this ritual of remembrance. He would never forget her, even if it seemed the rest of the Empire had. 

He re-stoppered the bottle – odd, this year he apparently was unable to finish it – then walked the few steps from his desk to his cot, and fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

“Just once more, Xhareen” were, as with every year,  the last words on his lips.

[not-so-secret-nerd]

Holtzbert, "are you fucking insane?!" (Bonus addition of "maybe I'm just crazy")

Eye for an Eye, Prank for a Prank (part 1)

Erin idled quietly in the kitchen nuking leftovers—Wednesday night was leftover night, aka the night where Patty didn’t cook and no one wanted to fork out the money for takeout—when she heard the throaty explosion in the lab above her and sighed after catching her balance on the counter. As jarring as it was, this wasn’t an unnatural occurrence. Holtzmann was notorious for combining materials that didn’t coincide well together. The woman started more fires in the firehouse than the previous firemen put out while living there. But even though it was a natural occurrence, it still gave Erin a start every time it happened.

Leaning against the counter and admiring the late autumn sunset—leaves becoming a kaleidoscope of color in the soft orange light—the brunette waited for the string of barely muffled curses to drift down from the rafters, a small, unnoticed smile pulling at her lips. Leave it to Holtz to blow something—

An unearthly shriek ripped through the air, making the physicist choke on her coffee.

Erin was scrambling for the stairs before she realizes she gave her feet the command to move. The scream wasn’t one of surprise or frustration. It was one of pain.

“Holtz?” she shouted, taking the stairs three at a time and almost putting her shoulder through the wall when she tripped and bounced off the drywall on the first landing. No answer. She runs faster. “Holtzmann?!”

The upper floor of the firehouse had been divided into two spaces: sleeping and Holtzmann’s lab. Rooms were to the left of the stairs. The lab was to the right. Today, the whole upper floor was filled with black smoke that smelled like burning rubber and ozone. It hung fog-thick, distorting lab instruments and making their lights glow like earth-bound stars.

Stopping just shy of the doorway, Erin waved away curling tendrils and searched for the blonde. She coughed hard and stumbled to a window, throwing it open to clear the air. Through the thick smoke, Erin caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette stagger out from behind a table.

“What the hell?” she shouts, taking Jillian’s shoulder and spinning her around. “Are you—“

The question dies in her throat. Her eyes go wide. Blood. Tissue. Bone. A trifecta of horrors.

Hunched nearly in half, Holtzmann turned wild eyes onto Erin. Her yellow glasses, now cracked in one lens, hung haphazard from her right ear. The front of her t-shirt and pants were spattered with blood. Her left hand gripped her right with bruising force…only there wasn’t a hand there anymore. Not one that could be of any use, anyway. Skin and muscle barely hung from the remnants of once dexterous fingers and smooth palm. A shock of white bone peeked out from behind bloody tissue, the faint echo of fingers left behind like the stump of trees after a clear-cutting operation.

Erin physically felt the blood drain from her face, the world tilting on its side.

“Erin…” Holtzmann wheezes in a tiny voice, huge eyes locked on the shattered remains of her hand. “I th-think this is…b-bad.”

Bad? This had blown past bad and taken orbit around the earth! Hadn’t Erin warned her? Hadn’t she been terrified of this exact thing happening but was talked over time and time again? And now that it had, she couldn’t get her brain to find the right gear.

Call an ambulance!

Call the paramedics!

Call someone!

Holtzmann suddenly pitched forward in a boneless fall back to earth. Erin caught her in a diving slide and goes to her knees, cradling the younger woman.

“Abby! Patty!” she shrills in one breath, loud enough the dead would probably rise from their graves.

“E-Erin…I—”

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” the brunette stutters in what she hopes is a soothing gesture, searching for something she can wrap around the remnants of Holtzmann’s hand to staunch the bleeding. “You’re going to be okay.”

“I just…wanted to…tell you—“ A shiver runs the length of Holtz’s body, and her eyes start to roll.

“No! Holtzmann, stay awake!” Erin gave the smaller woman a shake, a hand resting on her cheek and patting it gently. She could feel tears starting to well in her eyes. Where were Abby and Patty? “You have to stay awake. Please, what were you going to tell me?”

Holtz’s eyes flutter back open but she has to squint hard at Erin to see her. The tip of her tongue darts out and she swallows hard. “H-happy…” she slurs, struggling to form the word. She tries again. “Happy…Halloween.”

Thrusting her right arm forward, Holtz taps Erin on the nose with the stump of her hand…the stump that appeared to be attached to a wooden stake gripped in the engineer’s very real, very attached and healthy right hand.

Erin’s mind turns to static. Already struggling for traction, she sits in dazed befuddlement, working her jaw up and down like a fish out of water. What had just happened? It kept repeating in her mind over and over again even as Holtz rolled into a squat beside her, giggling as she did.

“Come on, Gilbert, come back to earth,” Holtz laughed, giving the physicist a gentle nudge with her shoulder. She might as well have pulled the pin on an over-tight spring with how fast Erin came to her feet. Gone was the shocked vacancy. Gone was the confusing. In its place, a dark kind of anger reigned.

“Are you fucking insane!?” Erin thundered, voice matching the war-drum pound of her heart. If she’d been any less furious, her level of anger would have been shocking. Erin wasn’t someone who reached this level of anger often or who swore so openly, but when she did all of creation took notice.

Holtzmann certainly did. The blonde practically jumped away, a nervous kind of sheepishness replacing her previous mirth.  

“Happy Halloween?” she shrugged, beginning to suspect she might have taken things a bit too far. After all, this was their first official Halloween together, and Holtz hadn’t really been able to feel out Erin and Patty’s prank level. Abby she knew. The two made it a yearly event pranking each other—fighting for the title of Halloween Queen—but Holtz didn’t know Erin…

“That wasn’t funny!” Erin continues shouting, rubbing away the lingering moisture in her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I thought you actually hurt yourself!”

“Come on, Er,” the engineer snorted, rolling her eyes. “You think I’d be stupid enough to weld near a propane tank? Wait…” Holtzmann holds up her hand—whole and healthy—with a wince because she’d done crazy shit like that in the past. “Forget I said that. But seriously. I’m safe up here. Snug as a bug in a rug.”

“You start fires on a regular basis!”

“Fire-bug in a rug then,” Holtzmann gave the brunette a wink and an eyebrow wiggle that only serves to exacerbate the situation rather than defusing it. Erin’s expression turned from wet angry to something more stoney.

“God, is everything a joke to you?”

“Er, seriously, it was just a prank. It’s Halloween. Me and Abby do this all the—“

“Well, I’m not Abby! And I don’t appreciate being the butt end of a terrible joke! I mean, who does that?!”

“Normal…people?”

That was a mistake to say.

“Normal people don’t prank their friend making them think they’d seriously hurt themselves! I thought you were really hurt, Holtzmann, and you’re just laughing it off like it’s nothing. Like me worrying is just another joke to you! Something only normal people get because apparently, I don’t understand why something like this would be even remotely funny!”

Holtz leaned back, absently tugging on her ear, sudden understanding dawning. Oh hell, she’d really, really fucked up. Yep, Holtz had taken it too far. Shit.

“I…Erin, I’m sorry,” she stammered, losing a fair portion of her bravado. “I didn’t mean…it was just—“

“A joke? Whatever, Holtz,” Erin snapped, turning tightly away and stalking back downstairs in an effort to hide the creep of hot embarrassment climbing her neck and the cresting of fresh tears. “Just, whatever.”

The engineer watched in silent dismay as Erin disappeared, leaning heavily against one of her work benches. This wasn’t a medium poof. This was a catastrophic, mega-sized, containment unit malfunction poof that left the blonde with more than egg on her face. She was covered in a fair amount of green goo and a sinking feeling she’d just shattered whatever budding friendship had been forming between her and Erin.

“Oh man,” she exhaled, rubbing her face and taking some of the fake blood with it. “Holtz, on a scale of one to ten, this is a CERN level fuck up. Way to go, hot shot. Way to go.”

[audreycritter]

Jason: "Why couldn't Wonder Woman have adopted me instead?"

HI I WROTE A THING

Cor Et Cerebrum universe bc why not and also I don’t have to do a ton of legwork to get Bruce and Jason to talk.

Gen!FicFluffishSome language

Jason Todd has been moping around the manor for five weeks when Bruce has finally, finally had enough. He likes having him there, he really does, and most of the time it works out just fine.

Except Jason has picked up the awful, grating habit of muttering, “Why couldn’t Wonder Woman have adopted me instead?” every single time he’s even mildly annoyed. In his defense, Bruce visibly flinched the first time Jason said it, half-joking, and he’s been throwing it around since then probably in hopes of getting a similar reaction which Bruce will not give him the satisfaction of seeing.

Jason is pretty fond of his new catchphrase and the week that Bruce reaches his limit is the same week Jason makes sure he overhears it while Jason is talking to Alfred, Damian, Tim, Dev, and Dick, in that order. The final straw is when he’s sitting on the floor in the study while Bruce works at the desk, and Jason puts his book down to ruffle Titus’ ears and without provocation says it to the dog.

“You’re a good boy,” he says to the drooling face, the dog’s whole body shaking in excitement. “I never had a dog. Why couldn’t Wonder Woman have adopted me instead? She’d let me have a dog.”

Bruce slams the folder in front of him shut and Jason waits for the shout or the tense reassurance that Jason could, in fact, procure a dog if he so desired.

But instead Bruce picks up his cell phone.

“Diana,” he says after a moment. “I have a problem.”

Jason stops petting Titus to listen and Bruce stands and leaves the room.

“Get a bag,” Bruce says stiffly when he returns, Jason still sitting and too shell-shocked to move. “Now.”

And if Bruce is going to take it to the next level, Jason is going to match him step for effing step. He throws stuff in a duffel upstairs and stomps back down toward the front, where he finds Bruce waiting.

“Hurry up,” Bruce says. “She’ll be here soon.”

Jason follows him to the end of the lane where Bruce takes the duffel bag and motions for him to sit down on it. Bewildered, amused, angry, and still silent, Jason complies.

Bruce pulls something out of his pocket and then crouches and safety pins a piece of paper to Jason’s shirt.

“Ow,” Jason mutters, even though the pin didn’t actually prick him.

“Sorry,” Bruce says, and Jason feels a touch of guilt but doesn’t fess up. “We’ll miss you. Have fun.”

And then Bruce leaves.

A few minutes later, a car turns into the drive and stops. The window rolls down and Dev looks at him. Tim is in the passenger seat on the far side, with wide eyes, sipping something orange through a plastic straw.

“Mate,” Dev says, leaning out the window to look around a bit.

“Yep,” Jason says.

The note on his chest says UNACCOMPANIED MINOR. GUARDIAN: DIANA PRINCE.

Jason isn’t a minor but he’ll let this detail slide for now.

“I’m calling his bluff,” Jason says, and Tim snorts.

“Bloody hell,” Dev grumbles and rolls up the window and drives toward the manor.

Another few minutes go by, slow in the early fall afternoon, and then there’s a soft whoosh and Wonder Woman lands on her booted feet in front of him. For all his bravado, he hasn’t actually spent all that much time in front of her, and if he’s honest, she still intimidates him far more than Clark ever does. He forces himself to give her what he hopes is a cheeky grin.

“Hiya,” he says. “Guess you’re the new mom.”

“Your father conveyed such wishes,” she replies solemnly.

She looks up and Jason turns at the sound of footsteps approaching across the fine gravel. It’s Bruce again, this time with a mug in his hand. He raises it to Diana slightly in greeting.

“He is certain?” Diana asks and Jason is starting to feel a little nervous. She sounds so serious.

“Ask him,” Bruce says, with a shrug. He stops and puts one hand in his pocket while he sips the coffee. “He’s been talking about it for months.”

“Are you certain?” Diana asks Jason and Jason is still unwilling to back down. At some point, one of them has to break and either admit it’s a huge farce or beg him to change his mind.

“Yep,” Jason says. “So, whaddaya say we get the frick outta here?”

“I have always wanted a son,” she says, now beaming. “I always thought it unlikely to find one that agreed to the terms of Themyscira.”

“You’ve found him,” Jason says, giving Bruce a slightly alarmed look. He was not made aware of terms.

“Do not trouble yourself,” Diana says, seeing his expression. “Castration is a brave but noble undertaking to dwell among my women. And we are not barbarians. You will be permitted to be sedated for the procedure if you desire it. There is no shame.”

Jason feels the blood rush to his cheeks and then immediately drain from his head.

“The–” is all he gets out. The world around him has gone fuzzy, wrapped in gauze and protected from sound.

He does not hear or see Bruce sputter into his coffee.

But he does turn to look at Bruce after and mistakes the attempt at Bruce’s self-recovery for a dark scowl.

So, Jason figures he brought this on himself.

“Shall we go?” Diana asks.

“I…” Jason looks dumbly down at the note on his chest and tears it off with a frown. “I think I’ll stay,” he says faintly.

“That is unfortunate but understandable. I have reason to believe your current family holds great affection for you,” Diana says kindly.

“Sorry to waste your time,” Bruce says, as Jason climbs to his feet and says a hasty goodbye. The boy goes up into the manor and disappears inside.

“How did I do?” Diana asks, smiling at Bruce.

“Fine,” he says, scant on praise as usual. “The castration bit was a little over the top, don’t you think?”

“It was very effective,” Diana retorts. And Bruce can’t argue with that.

“Thanks again,” Bruce says. “I’m going to go do damage control.”

“It was my pleasure,” Diana says before flying away. Bruce watches her go and then turns back to the house. When he goes inside, Jason is sitting on the steps in the foyer with a defiant glare.

“I wish the Kents had adopted me,” he snaps before Bruce can speak. “They’d never do something like this.”

Bruce opens his mouth and for a long moment, is frozen, but then he laughs and holds out an arm. Jason is still sulking, pretty convincingly for someone wearing combat boots and almost as tall as Bruce.

He steps right into the hug with his arms stiff at his sides and his chin dipped down. Bruce squeezes him, an arm firm around Jason’s shoulders.

“You didn’t really think I’d let her take you, did you?” he asks.

Jason grumbles something indistinct and shakes his head.

“You know she was joking, right?”

“Fuck me,” Jason mutters in disgust and relief at once. “I’m never gonna be able to even look at her again.”

“Give it a few months,” Bruce says. “You’ll survive. And maybe stop throwing your dad out with the bathwater every time I turn around.”

“Are you calling yourself a baby?” Jason asks without looking up, but Bruce can hear the grin in Jason’s voice.

“Maybe. Maybe I’m sensitive.”

Jason barks a laugh against Bruce’s shoulder and steps back.

“Deal,” he says.

“Crap,” Tim says from the top of the stairs. They both look up to where Tim and Damian both have armfuls of books and action figures from Jason’s room.

“Put those back,” Jason orders sharply, already hurrying toward the stairs. “Now, you miscreants.”

“Why did you permit a return policy, Father?” Damian asks, stepping back and tightening his grip. Tim has already fled and abandoned him there. Damian wastes no more time in following and Jason’s heavy boots sound out as he storms down the hall. There are outraged shouts and a scream a moment later.

“Change of heart, sir?” Alfred asks calmly, walking by with a tray of tea things.

“Something like that,” Bruce says, still looking up the stairs and trying to decide if it’s worth intervening. There’s another yell and he decides they’ll come for help if they need it.

Probably.

Maybe.

There’s a loud crash.

He shakes his head and goes upstairs.

“I knew she wasn’t serious,” he mutters to himself when there’s another crash. “Why didn’t I go with her?”