#wounded supervillain

[serickswrites]

Just Watched

Warnings: blood, gunshot wound, character death, revival

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!" Sidekick screamed at Supervillain as they rushed to Villain's side. Villain had collapsed in a crumple heap after the bullet tore through their chest. "Come on, Villain, come on," Sidekick said as they ignored Villain's blood that was pooling on the ground and knelt down, feeling for a pulse.

"Sidekick, really, it's not that bad," Supervillain said as they stood looking completely unbothered by the fact that Hero had shot Villain moments ago before escaping.

"YOU JUST WATCHED THEM DIE!" Sidekick screeched as they realized Villain was pulseless. They couldn't believe it. Villain was dead. Villain was dead and Sidekick was stuck working for Supervillain.

"You're being a tad overdramatic, Sidekick. I think we should--"

"WHY SHOULD I LISTEN TO YOU?" Sidekick began to sob. Villain was dead. Villain was dead and there was nothing they could do. They brushed Villain's hair off their face, "I'm so sorry," they murmured to Villain's body.

"What are you sorry about, Sidekick?"

"Villain is dead. I am sorry they are dead. And I'm sorry they worked for someone who is so uncaring." Sidekick sniffed.

"Villain isn't dead, Sidekick, they--"

But Supervillain was cut off by Villain twitching and suddenly sitting up with a loud cough. "Oh, geez," they gasped as they spit out a bullet into their open hand. "Remind me to never do that again."

"HOW?" Sidekick shouted.

Villain flinched. "There's no need to shout, Sidekick. I'm ok."

"YOU WERE DEAD! HOW ARE YOU NOT DEAD?"

Villain gave a wry smile. "I'm immortal, dummy." They looked over at Supervillain. "What'd I miss while I was out?"

Supervillain shook their head and headed to the car. "Just some minor dramatics. Come along, we have a lot of work to do."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@pepeniascat

[whump-blog]

Okay here comes the request. Hope this isn’t too specific :)

Caretaker finds their friend Whumpee drunk out of their mind. They don’t know what happened but nevertheless they bring Whumpee home and take care of them. Whumpee, being rather incoherent, accidentally confesses something (maybe their treatment with whumper, maybe a love confession of what they think is unrequited love, maybe something else…)

Sorry it took me so long to answer this, but there wasn't enough creative juice in me, haha. I know it's not exactly what you asked for, but I still hope you like what I wrote :)

Thank you @whumpinthepot for helping me with this and doing a proof reading.

CW: drunk whumpee, abuse, alcohol abuse, protective caretaker, wounded character

“What are ya' doing Hero?” asked Civilian blinking slowly, trying to get used to the light in the flat while Hero dabbed his face with a wet cloth.

“What am I doing? I'm trying to wipe all the scratches off your face, you- idiot!”

“Wh- what scratcheees?”

“The ones you got when you decided to start a fight with that guy from the bar.”

“Ooh yeees! Well- he deserved it. He shouldn't have taken my drink.” Civilian swayed, and Hero had to grab his shoulder to keep him still.

The night among friends had been going smoothly with drinks and laughter, until Hero lost sight of a drunk Civilian for a few minutes and things got out of control. Resulting in Hero having to drag him out and take him home.

“That wasn't your drink!" Hero started, but he knew it was a lost cause, "ahh- never mind, can you take off your shirt? I want to see that you don't have any more cuts under it.”

“Heh, are you trying to flirt with me?” Civilian teased, trying with trembling hands to remove his torn clothes.

Despite the evening's outcome, the friends were enjoying their time together, but when Hero saw under Civilian's shirt, his face turned pale and the room fell silent.

The multiple scars covering Civilian's chest showed just how negligent Hero had been as a friend. How was it possible? Hero wondered. How was it possible that someone had been hurting his friend and he hadn't noticed? 

“Who- who did this to you? When did this happen? Why didn't you say anything?!” Hero bombarded Civilian with questions, while guilt and worry overwhelmed him.

“Wait- m’ head…” -Civilian pressed his eyes closed- “don't talk so- so loud," he said as if what Hero had just found out was not a big deal.

“Tell me, and I swear I will see to it that you get justice.”

“Wha- what ar-e you talking about?”

“Don't play dumb. Where did all those scars come from? Civilian, someone's been hurting you and that's- that's not right...”

In the silence after Hero spoke, all that could be heard was the gentle breeze ruffling the curtains. Civilian was quite drowsy from all the alcohol, and looked as if he would pass out before answering Hero's questions. Until he finally managed to put his words together to give a halfway coherent answer.

“I- well, all these here," Civilian pointed to his scars, "you don't have to wo-worry Hero, they we-were my fau-lt.”

“Civilian..." pity could be heard in his voice, "I don't know who told you that, but it's not true. None of this can be your fault.”

“Yes, yes it was. I- I got involved with the- the wrong-g people. If I had never met Supervillain… things wouldn't have gone this far.”

Civilian seemed lost in thought. But Hero now had more questions than answers. Suddenly, nothing seemed to make sense.

“So, was it Supervillain who hurt you like this?”

Hero was trying to remain calm, but a storm was raging inside him. What could Supervillain want with Civilian? No matter the reason, as soon as he got his hands on that son of a bitch, he would make him regret ever having scratched a kind and gentle person like Civilian.

“Well, yes- in part…”

“In part? What do you mean? Has someone else been hurting you?”

“Ah well…yes… hm- erm, I,” Civilian hesitated looking at Hero in the eyes, “I told you it was my fault… if only I had been better… I brought this on myself."

“Civilian, you have to tell me the truth, you can't go on like this." Hero pressed.

As the conversation went on, Civilian looked more and more stressed until a few tears managed to escape from his eyes. “I- I just, I don't want to tell you.” 

“Why?”

“You're going to get mad at me.”

“Civilian, that's not true, we are friends.”

“You won't want to be my friend anymore.”

“Everything is going to be okay. Just tell me. I can't see you hurt like this”

Hero took Civilian's hand into his own in a gesture that was intended to reassure his friend. But, which in fact ended up breaking Civilian, who began to sob inconsolably.

“I'm sorry, Hero, I'm sorry... It- It was you-”

If the night hadn't been strange enough, that last sentence had knocked him off his feet. That was not possible. For a long moment, Hero stood frozen without saying a word, without moving a muscle, just listening to his friend sobbing in the background. Until finally it all clicked. The answer had been so obvious. Only, he had been too blind to see it.

“Villain?” the question leapt from his mind and escaped his lips.

At the mention of that name, the sobbing turned to heavy weeping, and that was more than proof enough. Hero hesitated for a moment, but ended up sitting on the sofa next to- his friend? Perhaps the years of friendship had been a lie, all a great manipulation. It was the first thing that crossed Hero's mind. If it wasn't for the alcohol, Civili- Villain would never have revealed his identity. But the good times he had spent with his friend had felt real, Hero couldn't remember Villain ever taking advantage of Hero's ignorance of his identity and trying to get information out of him as Civilian. Besides, the scars on Villain's body were very real. Those could not be faked. Now that he thought about it, on occasions when Hero had fought with Villain, he had inflicted wounds to defeat him that he could now see reflected in some of the many scars on Villain's body. But he was definitely not the cause of all of them.

With that in mind, Hero moved his arms slowly until he wrapped Villain in a gentle hug. At the unexpected physical contact, his friend flinched, but when the surprise passed, he just rested his head on Hero's shoulder and cried there for a long time. By the time Villain had calmed down, the night breeze had stopped.

“So- you don't hate me?" was the first thing Villain asked, "can we still be friends?"

“Of course I don't hate you. Whatever happened doesn't change anything, you have been my friend for many years and always will be.” Hero shook his head. “I- I just don't understand why Supervillain would do something like this to you, you're his ally.” 

If Hero wanted answers, it would be better to get them now. Once the alcohol had cleared out of Villain's system, he would probably return to his charmingly stoic and cocky self. But... was it really the right thing to do to take advantage of the situation? Villain would never have confessed to something like this in his right mind. But before Hero could further question the morality of his actions, Villain voiced one last thought.

“H- he do- doesn't like useless- people. Losing to you…” he sighed, “I will always be a failure to him…” 

After that statement, a last tear rolled down Villain's cheek as he fell asleep in Hero's embrace.

Hopefully the next morning he won't be able to remember anything, Hero thought as he laid Villain on the couch to finish treating his wounds. Some of which he had apparently caused himself.

He would definitely pay Supervillain a friendly visit tomorrow.

[ahqkas]

“MILLION DOLLAR MAN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce met you through a dating app (his sons’ doing, really) and the temptation to invite you over for christmas is getting harder to resist WORD COUNT! 3.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce is literally down bad for reader in this one, unedited + lmk if found! NOTES! for nat & based on this req. , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE AVOIDED RELATIONSHIPS LIKE A SOLDIER DODGING BULLETS, each attempt adding yet another layer to the armor he wore daily. He didn’t need them, the women, or so he told himself. They entered his life easily — at his own charity galas, where one pretty bird thought she could get a kiss from him by the end of the night. Female admirers who ate up his charming smiles and sharp eyes seemed to flock around him at all times. And those countless girls who were lured in by the Wayne name, the status, the wealth.

And Bruce gave them the attention they craved from him.

The women served their purpose as brief districtions, companions who helped him maintain his public image, but none of them really mattered to him.

They kept the colder side of his bed warm, but never his heart.

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want love — some part of him did, but that part was buried under the weight of Batman. Allowing himself to lose the walls around him and find an attachment in a woman wasn't something his alter ego was okay with, not with the way he’d been living. And another part convinced him that his duties as Gotham’s protector, with all his scars and wounds, didn’t make him a possible object for such things. Love and vigilantism didn’t mingle together well.

Maybe that’s why his own sons and personal butler teamed up on him. Batman was a hero to many, but with how much it damaged Bruce’s internal beliefs, it would ruin him soon enough.

It started as something innocent (but it seemed the wolf was clothed in sheep’s wool): Dick, his oldest, had teased him about his non-existent love life during a training session in the Batcave.

The large space was full with flickering lights coming from the monitors and grunts from the fighting men. Sweat filled the air, masculine and strong, but that only indicated to the hard work they were doing. Training wasn’t easy, they liked to train with the maximum intensity ( it was kinda needed, too ) and it showed. From their damp hair and glistening skin to the rippling muscles underneath their clothes.

“You know, Bruce,” his son started when he blocked yet another strike coming from the man in question. A puff of air left his mouth upon the attack. Not fair. “for someone who spends his nights saving people, you sure are terrible at saving yourself from eternal loneliness.”

Bruce delivered another jab, this one directed straight at Dick’s weak point. “Not now, Dick.”

But his son was nothing if not persistent and he always got what he wanted, whether it was with or without serious consequences. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date? And don’t try to tell me you had one on your arm during the last charity event. That doesn’t count.”

Both of them fully knew Bruce’s arm candies were way more interested in his name and money than in his heart and soul. The truth made his jaw muscles tighten at the realization.

“My personal life is irrelevant to my work.”

Dick took the opportunity and circled the older man like a predator catching the prey’s scent of blood. A sweet weakness, that one. He’d be stupid if he didn’t take the chance. “Is it though? I mean, sure, you’re great at taking down supervillains and brooding on top of high rooftops, but even Batman needs a little action sometimes. The different kind of action, of course. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life married to the job?”

Bruce swiped his right leg toward Dick’s shins, trying to take him down like he was the said supervillain but the acrobat jumped right on time, avoiding Bruce’s attempt with a grin on his face.

He landed on his feet and crossed his arms at his chest, leaning the weight of his body against one leg. The playfulness disappeared from both his voice and expression and instead, seriousness graced him whole. “Seriously, Bruce, even Alfred’s worried. He brought it up the other day while we were decorating the tree. Something about how the manor feels colder than usual this year.”

“The heating system is fine.”

With Jason gone, it was the truth. His second son had this strange relationship with all the members of the family. Off and on. Off and on. No one truly knew where they stood in Jason’s eyes but he made the effort and showed up on Christmas Eve the other year upon receiving Alfred’s invitation.

Bruce doubted he would show up two years in a row.

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Dick pressed, and effectively added more salt into Bruce’s wounds. It stung and it fucking hurt. As much as Batman was ruthless, it didn’t mean the man under the mask was resistant against the pain his life brought. “You’re not getting any younger, B. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in. And I don’t mean us. Try to meet someone who isn’t friendly with a criminal record.”

The older man could only stare helplessly at the other. Those words his son, partner, spoke were loud, crawling their way into his mind and much to his dismay, his heart as well.

Before he could voice his dismissal, a younger voice called out. It was familiar in a way family tended to be.

“You are wasting your breath, Grayson. Father has neither the time nor the inclination to entertain your nonsense,” his youngest son declared into the space of Batcave, his voice ringing out and echoing every single word. The blood son, Damian Wayne.

The father didn’t even flinch, just let out a deep sigh through his nose. It was as usual between those two, always bickering from Damian’s side and teasing remarks from Dick’s. You could mistake the blood running through their system as one, if not for the physical differences. They were brothers in all but red.

“Damian,” Dick started in that lecturing tone he’d always seemed to use with the younger boy, “when was the last time you saw Bruce here even try to have a social life?”

Damian rolled his eyes, the green disappearing behind his eyelids before they reappeared, rougher than they were. “The so called ‘social life’ you’re referring to consists of women who barely last through dinner. Why would he waste his energy on distractions when Gotham requires his full attention?”

“Because even Batman needs a break. You know, normal human things? Like dating, smiling, not dying alone in this cave surrounded by bats?”

“If Father is content with his choices, who are you to meddle? Unlike you, he does not require constant companionship to validate his existence.”

“Ouch,” Dick put his palm against his heart in a mocking manner, feigning hurt as his lips formed a pout. “You’ve got a real gift for the Christmas spirit, don’t you?”

The younger son narrowed his eyes at his supposed brother. The constant bickering was almost normal in their lives so far, and nothing seemed to be changing any time soon. He had to learn how to live with the excuse of a brother, although he started to form a light liking towards him. He wasn’t so bad. “I only speak the truth,” his green irises flicked to Bruce. “Though it is peculiar he tolerates your interference. Perhaps even Father has realized how pathetic his current romantic life—or lack thereof—appears.”

The object of the conversation let out another sigh, this one loud enough for the boys to hear. Their gazes snapped toward Bruce with accusingly great speed.

“If you two are done debating my personal life, there’s actual work to be done.”

He missed the glance his oldest threw at the youngest. He missed the look filled with amusement and a plan that was already brewing. He missed the nod they gave each other, although Dick’s was more pronounced and determined.

The next few hours were spent creating Bruce’s dating app profile.

The final result was the definition of real sugar daddy vibes. Every detail had been debated (mostly argued over though) and thought through, so to say the boys were satisfied with it was an understatement. The oldest prided in the work, saying how it would get so many women to reply which would eventually lead to the right one. The middle one Dick and Damian (only Dick) dragged into the activity beamed up once the profile was set while the youngest scoffed and scowled during the entire process.

During the next evening, the boys showed the main man his new account.

Bruce was left speechless upon seeing the bright screen flash before his eyes. Not a single word was muttered as he watched his boys showing him the app and explaining how exactly it worked (he’d never used a dating app before all this so bear with him). The main photo on the profile was a candid one of him, the one Cass had taken on a sunny day in the Wayne Manor gardern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows as the muscles of his forearms bulged up. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the sunlight casting shadows across his sharp features and Bruce had to admit they chose a good photo.

It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly friendly as well. The good old middle.

The boys knew he was convinced to give it a try when he waved them off with a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

The game was on.

It was past the midnight when he lied in his bed, propped against one too many pillows and wondered why he was still scrolling through the damned dating app. It was late—far past the time he should have been out on patrol, but Red Hood and Red Robin got it covered for him.

Bruce wasn’t looking for anything specific, really. If he were honest, this whole situation felt out of place for him. Swiping through the profiles was more like an exercise for his thumb.

First was Madison K. Her profile opened with flashy colors that immediately put Bruce into a doubtful situation. Were all these women going to be like this? Madison was beautiful and her looks screamed professionalism: her makeup was done flawlessly, adorning her bright eyes and full lips. She looked like she belonged on a cover for a fashion magazine, not a dating app. Her bio made his thumb swipe left.

‘Manifesting my best life. CEO of my own happiness. Looking for someone who’s successful, ambitious, and knows how to treat me like a queen.’

The next account’s bio made him grimace and swipe left once again.

‘Looking for someone who can keep me living the dream. If you’re successful, generous, and ready to spoil me, let’s talk.”

At this point, Bruce was ready to delete the dating app his boys set up and enjoy the rest of his night. Most of the profiles he swiped through were simply bland to him. Nothing felt genuine. Right. It was safe to say he was losing the hope Dick had set in him earlier in the evening. Until he stumbled upon your profile.

The account stood out among the others—simple, elegant, but with a certain amount of warmth that seemed genuine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat once he scrolled further and came across your photo. The picture showed you in a cozy cafe, the one Steph adored so much for their cinnamon roll buns. A soft smile danced on your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheeks as you looked off to the side. You captured Bruce in a way the others didn’t.

You looked like a fawn surrounded by hungry wolves. You were admirable while they were craving wealth and status. Two different sides of a coin, but Bruce had already known his pick.

Your bio was sincere, a sight the man liked to see.

‘I enjoy the little moments — finding beauty in the simple things. I believe in kindness, and I’m looking for someone who values honesty and a deep conversation.’

His mind flicked briefly toward the countless hours he spends in the cave, surrounded by work and worries. You seemed like the one who could understand the balance between the quiet and the loud, someone who could exist in both of his worlds without losing that spark you held in your gaze.

Before he could overthink it, Bruce clicked on the “message” button.

Once the screen of your non-existent chat appeared, his mind went blank and all he was capable of was to stare mindlessly at the phone. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came to him. What did one say to someone like you? He wasn’t used to thinking ahead when it came to women. This was a new field. And he couldn’t screw up.

Finally, his fingers moved before his mind could think of whatever embarrassing thing it was capable of.

> Hey, I noticed your profile and wanted to reach out. There’s something about your words that struck a chord with me. I’d like to know more about you.

And that’s how the two of you started your relationship, or whatever you could call it. Neither of you voiced it as official, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, not so soon. And yet it came at him, crashing like a large wave of emotions every time you were around. You changed everything for him.

Your conversations became the highlight of his days.

His ears perked up every single time without a fail when he heard the soft ‘ping!’ of the notification, already convinced it was from you (and it 98 percent was). Whether it was early in the morning before he started working in the chaotic Wayne Enterprises or late at night when the Batcave was quiet and felt at peace. You were always there with him.

You were thoughtful, generous, and refreshingly kind. You asked him questions that no one else dared to: what he wanted from life, what made him happy, what kept him awake at night. You didn’t flinch at his silence. You didn’t push him to give answers he wasn’t ready to share. You understood him in a way only a few people did.

Piece by piece, he let you into his world — not that part filled with constant danger and threats, but that part that longed for something real.

By the time Christmas approached, Bruce was sure of one thing: he wanted you in his life.

The holiday was just around the corner, filling the air with joy and gratitude as it always did. The snow was blanketing the streets with white powder, and although many people were complaining about the cold, it had its charm.

Christmas had always been about family for Bruce, about gathering around the tree and full table with the people who mattered most. It was lonely at first, after the death of his parents, but over the years, Alfred had made it work. The table was always full of tasty food the kids adored and presents Bruce knew would make them more than happy were neatly waiting for them every morning after Christmas Eve.

This year though, Bruce wanted it to be a little different. He wanted you to be part of it.

You might actually fit into the chaos of the Wayne family — the teasing and playful banters between you, Dick, and Tim would be absolute gold to hear. You probably even could handle Damian’s wit which was something his father would like to see. He could picture you smiling, holding back your own remarks. The idea of you sitting beside him at the long dining table, sharing their traditions, made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

That night, he sent you a message.

> Are you free on Christmas Eve?

Your response came in quickly, as it always did. Bruce’s heart thumped against the bones of his ribs.

> I am. Why?

He hesitated for a bit, overthinking his decision.

> I’d like you to join me for dinner. It’s a family thing but I’d really like for you to be there.

> Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

> You wouldn’t be intruding.

Bruce could picture the light frown between your brows and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You often did it unconsciously, never knowing how pretty you looked this way. But even as he pictured your face, a part of him was growing more nervous about the situation. Would you agree to an event this serious? Spend Christmas with him. And his family. Or were you coming up with excuses right now? He wouldn’t blame you.

> Then I’d love to come.

His heart skipped a beat and that night, Bruce went to bed feeling a little lighter than he usually did.

Snow blanketed the long driveway leading up to Wayne Manor and for once, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the pressure of Batman or the chaos the boys would definitely stir up tonight. His attention was entirely focused on the one making your way towards him. He stood just outside the grand entrance, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that fit him like a glove. The soft crunch of tires on the white powder alerted him to your arrival, and as your car pulled up, Bruce started to feel the nervousness. He adjusted his tie with a single hand.

When you stepped out, his breath caught.

You were breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in an inky black that hugged your figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmered under the outdoor lights of the mansion. The smile you gave him when your eyes met melted all the nerves that had been harboring in his system. He was finally calm and composed, for what seemed like the first time in the evening.

“You’re early,” Bruce pointed out softly when you walked up the stairs to meet him in front of the door, and his eyes sparkled with little stars at the sight of you. How did he get so lucky? “You look stunning, by the way.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting. And thank you. You clean up well, too, Bruce.”

Your gaze held a playful edge in it as you accepted his hand, locking your palm around his bulging biceps and squeezing warmly. The touch added the missing piece of the puzzle Bruce was trying to solve while his cheeks warmed a rosy pink under your influence without any hesitation. The gesture felt natural, like it always belonged there.

The two of you approached the doors of the manor in a shared silence, although it didn’t feel a bit awkward. You took a moment to take in the place. It was like something out of your childhood dreams — tall, arched windows glowing with the soft light of a dozen garlands lining the entryway. The faint hum of holiday music and the occasional sound of laughter echoed through the manor.

It was Bruce’s home.

“Do you always go this big for Christmas?” you voiced a question that's been sitting on your mind since the moment you saw the large Christmas tree from the entryway to Bruce’s living room. Decorated with lots of ornaments, it looked lovely, accompanied by a heap of presents.

“Alfred insists,” admitting with a soft chuckle, Bruce rubbed the nape of his neck as he led you deeper into his home. “And the boys like the holidays. I want them to have the best.”

The scent of pine and cinnamon enveloped your senses the further you moved. The sounds grew louder, too. You awe made him feel lighter somehow. The dining room at Wayne Manor was nothing short of spectacular this night, with the long mahogany table adorned with a dozen of flickering candles and plates of food that looked like it belonged in a holiday spread for a cookbook.

You were sitting beside Bruce (he kind of insisted anyway), your hand occasionally brushing against his. He helped you settle into the chair which earned a teasing glance from Dick. Speaking of his oldest son, he was sitting across from you with an easy grin that told you some questions would come your way sooner or later. Tim was at Dick’s right, while Damian occupied the chair from the other side of his father.

The evening was more than successful in your opinion. Steph asked you about your favorite literature, while Tim quizzed you on trivia about Gotham (which you surprisingly got all right). Damian, after much persistence from Dick, shared a story about his latest art project, though he kept glancing at you as if trying to gauge your reaction.

Through it all, Bruce remained by your side.

When the night finally came to an end, and everyone drifted to their own space of the manor, Bruce walked you to the entrance with a gentle hand against the small of your back.

“Thank you,” his gaze met yours as he handed you your coat, effortlessly helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. “For coming tonight. For putting up with them.”

You gifted him with the most precious kind of a present; your smile, smaller hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his dark suit. “Of course. They’re wonderful, Bruce. I enjoyed myself tonight.”

For a man who othen found himself at loss for words when it came to talking in emotions, Bruce found himself smiling softly with his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Because for the first time, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a new beginning.

[mycroftrh]

I’m probably never going to fully formulate this idea but. Tim becoming a supervillain and Dick just. Following him immediately. Because Tim’s probably right and even if he’s not he needs someone on his side. Who else is gonna patch his wounds and protect him from heroes and calm him down when the villain-angst gets too much?

Like yes he’ll suggest therapy first because that seems like it would probably be healthier for Tim, but once he realizes that’s gonna be a no he’s all in. He’s redesigning his costume with a higher collar, he’s contacting Slade and figuring out the logistics on getting Tim a mercenary army, he’s handing Bruce his resignation letter while figuring out what safehouses Batman doesn’t know about. Tim was the best hero and Dick is gonna help him be the very best villain he can be, too.

Jason is absolutely incandescent with rage.

[astroboots]

Stitches and Claws

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You find yourself in a compromising position on your knees when you help stitch up Miguel's wounds.

Content: Blowjob, riding cock, overstimulation, fangs and claws. Miguel kind of likes his horniness with a little bit of pain? Just a smidge.

Word Count: 3.3k

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

"Miguel, can you please just relax?"

"I am relaxed," comes the sharp reply, as he glares down at you. Jaw so tense, you're surprised his molar teeth hasn't cracked under the pressure.

Your hand comes to his knee, as you spread them wider, and you can feel the plane of his thighs tense underneath your palm.

Yeah, the man is anything but relaxed.

Miguel is still in his suit. Skin covered in dark blue and red. The only part of him not covered in the fancy spandex (and if he heard you call it that he'd be livid, cause it's Unstable Molecule fabric, not spandex) is that scowling face of his and a small patch on the inside of his left thigh. An area the size of your hand that's bare, revealing his tanned skin underneath and a nasty looking injury.

You poise the needle in your hand against the gaping wound. You don't even get the chance to make skin contact with the tip before he's hissing at you like some damned feral cat.

"I haven't even touched you yet. This is going to hurt a hell of a lot more if you keep fighting me."

You probably sound more than a little bit irritated, because this position isn't exactly comfortable. The hardwood floor is digging into your knees, and with hindsight you should've taken the cushion he'd offered you before.

God, up close, that wound look really bad. Four inches in length, red and angry. You're not a doctor. You don't know why the hell you agreed to do this. For all you know you're going to get the wound infected or worse.

"Miggy, I don't know about this, don't you think it's better go to a hospital. What if it gets infected? You'll end up with gangrene and then we'll have to amputate it and then what?"

"That's not going to happen. It's a tiny cut."

"Fine, but I'm not a medical professional and I'm probably gonna make it scar to shit."

"So it'll scar. It'll be your permanent mark on me."

"I'm worried I'm going to mess this up".

"No", he says, shaking his head. "I trust you."

Your cheeks warm at the words, barely able to look him in the eyes after he's said it.

Fuck, he'd have to go and pull that card didn't he?

With a big sigh and bigger reluctance, you dip your head down as you pierce the needle through the skin, threading it across. There's a muffled pained noise from above. The leather of your armchair squeaks as he grips it tight.

A sympathetic ache tugs in your chest at his pain and your hand still against his thigh. "Do I need to stop?"

"No, keep going," he bites out through gritted teeth.

From the corner of your eyes, you catch a glimpse of the pointed edges of his corner teeth protruding against his bottom lip. It's hard to keep your hands still when your fingertips tingle at the sight of them.

Jesus, you need to get your head out of the gutter. This is hardly the time. You persevere, dipping back down for a better view, so you can sew up the gaping wound as best as you can, ignoring the warmth of his firm thighs that are caging you in at your sides.

You try to pretend you don't hear the strained noises he's making. (Noises that are much too similar to the ones he makes when he's the one between your thighs). Practically bury your head into his thigh so you can no longer see the way his broad chest heaves or how he bites down hard on his lip when you make another stitch.

"Stop, stop!" he demands.

His hand grips down hard on your shoulder, pressing you backwards, but you ignore it, because the needle is already halfway through his skin, and for a man who is constantly battling supervillains on skyscrapers with jetpacks and regularly crashes into skyscrapers, he can be such a baby sometimes.

"Miguel, stop, I need to--"

"Enough!" He growls, his hand pushes more insistently, determined to pry you off him until your ass lands on the hardwood floor behind you.

"Let me do it myself."

Let him? Let him?! As if you had forced him to make you do this? This asshole. Swear to god! He's the one who came home in this state, plonked his dumptruck ass in your chair and asked you to help him. He's the one who sweet-talked you with his: "I trust you," when you had soundly suggested he go to the hospital.

He's always like this. Running hot then cold. Asking you to help, then pushing you away in the next second. It's a miracle you don't have permanent neck injuries with the metaphorical whiplashes he keeps giving you.

You drag your eyes upwards, the way he's hunched on himself in your chair, covering his thigh. His face is turned to the side away from you.

You don't know why he's being so unhelpful about this.

Stitching up your superhero boyfriend with a $10 Amazon sewing kit isn't your idea of a perfect Saturday night. But now that you've started you need to finish up with the stitches, you can't just leave it as it is.

"I'm sorry that I went too rough. If I hurt you, I can go slower, okay?"

He doesn't answer you, just drags one large hand over his face. It's only then that you notice that his ears and bits of his cheeks are flushed a darker shade of red than the tanned tone of his hand.

"That's not the problem I'm having," he mutters.

"Well then, can you tell me what the problem is?"

No answer.

Leaning forward, you place your hand back on his knee. That finally seems to get his attention and he removes his hand.

"You said you trusted me right? So let me know what's wrong so I can take care of you. Please?"

For all his obstinate stubbornness, Miguel is just as susceptible as you are to that card. He groans dramatically, collapsing back into the chair with a defeated expression on his face.

His legs shift in the chair, spreading outwards. The arm draped across his lap falls away, and the tight fit of his supersuit does absolutely nothing to disguise the shape of his cock, hard and heavy under the clinging fabric.

Oh. oh.

Clearly you’re not the only one being affected by the forced proximity of this situation.

"See the problem?" he says.

You look up and his eyes flicker away sheepishly. If you didn't know better, and if it wasn't for the scowl still plastered on his face, you might've mistaken him for being embarrassed. If you didn't know better, you might've made the mistake of calling him cute.

You ache between your thighs at the sight of him. But even though there's nothing more you'd like than leap into his lap and fill that ache with every inch of him, there's other priorities right now.

Crawling forward, you shoulder your way back between his thighs and settle there.

"Let me finish," you insist. "If you let me finish, then I'll help you with your problem."

It's an uneven bargain to say the last. Because the reward you're offering him, is something you want more than your next breath, and you have to bite back the 'ohthankyousweetjesus' on the tip of your tongue, when he gives you a small nod to seal the deal.

Maybe it's your newfound incentive, but this time as you pinch the needle between your fingers to stitch him up, it's a swift and efficient ordeal. You refuse to allow yourself to get distracted, eyes focused on your goal, even as you hear him groan above or shift underneath you. Not until the last stitch is done.

When you finally let yourself tilt your head back up. His eyes are pinned on your face, and you can see now that the familiar brown shade replaced by a red tinge.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and you try to keep your eyes fixed on his, holding the contact as you lean forward. Anticipation rides heavy on your spine, as your mouth inches forward, until your lip press against the thin fabric of his crotch, and you nuzzle against the rigid shape of him.

The leather of your chair creaks, and there's a rip. From this angle your view is a bit obscured, but you catch sight of his hands, the firm unforgiving grip he has on your poor armchair. The extended sharp talons piercing through the soft leather in his excitement.

All you hear from above, is a breathy, "Fuck", then the thin fabric separating him from your mouth disintegrates, the dark blue fabric making way for his tanned skin underneath.

Then he's right there. Bare and naked for you to touch. His cock jutting upright between his thighs. He's ruddy and flushed, the fat tip of him glistening with precome that wells from the slit that you can practically already taste on the tip of your tongue.

Your mouth salivates as you part your lips to take him.

To call Miguel thick is an understatement. It's a struggle to fit him in your mouth, your jaw strain with the effort as you slide him further down. As deep as you can, until the blunt tip nudges against the back of your throat and you have to swallow around him in a panicked fit to suppress the reflexive gag pushing back in you.

It's always the hardest the first time. Your mind and throat instinctively fighting you, as you try to swallow down the intimidating girth of him.

"Take it slow nena," Miguel rasps from somewhere above. His voice is a slow and melted hum that drips sweet and honeyed in your veins, and that helps.

You take a deep inhale from your nose, taking in the familiar musky scent of him, and feel your throat relax around him, accommodating to his thickness.

Your thighs ache with arousal. Panties wet and slick as you clench down around nothing. Everything is tightly wound inside you. Your stomach heavy with the dizzying heat as the weight of him rests so fucking perfectly on your tongue.

It's all you can take. You shove your fumbling fingers between your thighs, tugging at the edge of your panties until the obscene wetness greets you and drag it up against your clit.

Relief and pleasure surges through your head, filling your veins with the sensation and you rock into the palm of your hand seeking for more of your own touch.

"Are you touching yourself?"

Your fingers still at the question. You're not exactly embarrassed, it's not like you're doing anything wrong, but you feel sheepish all the same at being caught.

You pull off his cock, letting it slide between your lips and when you finally look back up, he's staring down at you with a dark hunger in those otherworldly crimson eyes like he wants to eat you whole.

"Fuck, come up here," he directs, but you ignore him. Tongue lapping at the tip, savouring the heady taste of him as you run the flatness of your tongue down the length of him.

"Nena," he bites off impatiently. "Up!"

He doesn't wait for your reply this time. So fucking impatient this man.

He's already lunging forward, arms circling your torso as he pulls you up and into his lap with an impressive ease. His arm comes to your thighs, rearranging you to his liking in his lap, one large hand gripping his cock as he positions you above.

"Sit on my cock, nena. Ride me."

Your eyes flit to the poorly stitched up wound on his thigh that looks flimsy to say the least.

"Won't that hurt you?"

His head tilts, brow arching with that sardonic expression of his as if he doesn't see what the problem is. "And?"

This is such a bad idea. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you wanted to stop now. Instead you settle on a compromise to ensure that you can at least limit the potential damage on him.

"You have to stay still for me, or you'll tear the stitches," you warn.

He nods perfunctorily in agreement and you don't think he's even listening to you. No surprise there, Miguel has never been the best at listening to yours (or anyone's) instructions. He'll do what he wants as he sees fit.

But you can't find it in you to stop. Not when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and the velvety smoothness of it twitch in your grip. Not when you notch the tip of his cock to your slick entrance and can feel yourself dripping down his length.

The only thing you care about is to have him inside you.

You lower yourself onto him, sliding down, inch by maddening inch, as that thickness stretches you to your limits and white hot pleasure invades every one of your cells until you feel drunk on the sensation.

"That's it," he encourages, with a sharp inhale, hand gripping to the sides of your hips. The honed edge of his talons gripping into your flesh, but never breaking the skin.

Your thighs are shaking as you inch down on him until they are pressed flush to his hips, and his cock is kissing that perfect spot deep inside you that has your vision whiten. Thick and sweet.

As promised, he doesn't move. Even though you can tell from the muscle twitching in his jaw, that there's nothing more he wants than to flip you over and thrust into you hard and deep until you're screaming his name with a force that makes your lungs burn out.

You lift your hips, savoring the sweet drag of his cock against your cunt, slow and unhurried until only the blunt tip of him rests inside you and stay there.

"Nena," Miguel says, and the nickname on his tongue sounds like a warning.

He's not a fan of the slow pace you're giving him apparently.

But you've never been one to heed his warnings. Instead you slide down on him, just as slowly, letting his cock fill you at a leisurely pace and it is fucking heaven.

You still as he bottoms up inside you, before you do it all over again. And again. Then again. To each grumpy groan of his that's mixed with pleasure and impatience. Then you do it again.

It's only a matter of time before his short-spanned patience snap. You can practically see it in the furrowed line of his thick brows, as you raise yourself up on his knees. His sharp canines bites down on his bottom lip, breaking the skin and that is all the warning you get before his arms wraps tight around your ribs, knocking the very breath out of your lungs.

Miguel's arms pushes you down flush on his cock, it's strong and demanding. A stubborn grip until he makes sure you've taken all of him to the root. It's blinding you with the force of it, and all you can do as he buries his face, sharp teeth poised at your shoulders, is whine.

Good, it feels so fucking good. The sweet ache of his cock filling every inch of you. You can't think anymore.

You try to raise yourself again on his cock but you wobble, the muscles in your thighs screaming in protest and gives under, unable to lift yourself back up again.

Fuck, you don't know if you can move anymore.

In a split of a second, Miguel straightens up and pulls you into his chest. "So pretty, nena," he groans into your skin, while he ruts up and into you, fucking his cock deeper.

You should probably scold him. Try to stop him somehow, so that he doesn't rip the tenuous stitches on his wound. But you can't bring yourself to open your mouth. Not when it feels this good. Not when aching pleasure is pulling you down under and robbing you of your breath and every word in your vocabulary.

"You feel so fucking good. Stretched so tight around me. Just so fucking pretty when you take my cock."

The sharp edge of his fangs skirts gently across the soft flesh of your throat, and sets every nerve in you alight. Every part of you tingles. From the tip of your fingers to the curl of your toes. That telltale warmth and heat coiling in your stomach and spreads outwards ratcheting up to a fever pitch.

Your orgasm breaks. It rushes over you, hard and punishing. Your body shakes, thighs tensing and your heart is beating hard and fast into a gallop in your chest. You shake and tremble in his lap as it courses through your veins. Lungs squeezed painfully tight as the sweet bliss of it invades your ribs and you struggle to catch your breath.

You still feel it, rushing and pulsing from your stomach down your thighs, it doesn't even have a moment to properly subside.

Miguel doesn't stop. His hands are already on your waist, lifting you up and almost off his still hard cock and you gasp at the shift in pressure inside you. You're clenching down around the fat tip of him reflexively, and there's no time to adjust, no time to think, next thing you know, he lifts his hips while pushing you down on the length of his cock. All in one swift, and harsh, unforgiving motion.

It's so much, too much. You whimper at the next thrust, the whole of your body wracked in shivers as the sensation overfloods your brain. As good as if it feels, you don't know if you can't take much more.

"Keep going, don't stop. I know it's hard nena. I know you're sensitive." he coos, his hands are gentle on your hips, guiding your movements, but for all his sweet cajoling words, and for all that you're struggling he's not easing up.

"Keep going. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I'll fill you up. I'll fill you up with every drop of me."

He keeps encouraging you, as if you have any other choice but to take his demanding thrusts. As if there is anywhere for you to go with how firmly he's holding you to him.

Fuck you can't, you can't-- oh fuck, you're--

Your arms scramble to grab onto something, anything, fingers digging deep into the firm muscles underneath.

It's chaos.

He thrusts up again. Deep and demanding and your brain shortcircuits.

Sharp electricity surges through your spine and it is blinding. All you can do is hold on to him, to claw on and hold for dear life, or you're pretty sure you're gonna fall off the edge of the earth into oblivion if you lose your grip.

Distantly, you hear him hiss in your ear, feel his hips stutter up against yours, cock pulsing inside of you, but you're too far gone to piece it all together.

All you know is that you're coming again or maybe you never stopped and this is that first orgasm still wreaking havoc on your body. Maybe it'll never stop. The sensation feels like a punch to your gut, consuming and all at once. Your eyes must cross behind your head, because your vision goes dark and blank, wiped clean of thoughts. The room seems to tilt, and crash then disappear. There's no weight to your limbs, and your thighs are so numb, you're not even sure they are there anymore. Your body is not your own.

When you come to, you're still perched on his lap. You feel like wrung out and boneless, body spent and broken. His arms wrapped around your torso the only thing that's keeping you upright.

The arms of your leather chair have been scratched up to hell. Long claw marks brandishing each side.

He looks like an absolute mess. Brown curl a deranged mop on the top of his head, sheen of sweat over his tanned skin. But he looks good, messy. Looks fucking beautiful in a way that has your chest squeeze tight when you gaze at him.

Miraculously, the stitches on his thigh has held up somehow and you feel more than a little ounce of pride of your own sewing skills at the feat.

Your hands slide off of him from where they're still gripping on tight onto him and Miguel's eyes follow the motion to his biceps where your nails have broken through skin. The tiny crescent marks looks red and raw and painful.

"Shit, Miggy I'm sorry."

He blinks up at you, eyes a little bit dazed before he breaks out into a smile. He raises his arm and looks at the mark with a pleased and admiring expression one filled with pride.

"I hope it leaves a scar," he says.

Dedication & Credits:

For @thirstworldproblemss who had to listen to me figure this one out, I'm still trying to find my voice for Miguel so sorry if this is a bit clunky for you.

Also dedicated to @guruan whose artwork literally inspires me to write/think/breathe smut 24-7 like a 7-eleven store. It's always open for slut business here. This artpiece with the spread thighs definitely inspired this oneshot.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[bet-on-me-13]

Demon Twins AU but Damian meets Ellie first

So! We have the classic Demon Twins AU, where Danny is the Twin brother of Damian. He was left for dead after a mission gone wrong in a snowy wasteland, with lethal wounds that would kill him within an hour. Damian rightfully assumed that he was dead.

Then one day, at a Gala his father was hosting, he seems somebody who looks exactly like Danyal. They have the same eyes, bone structure, many of the same Mannerisms, and all signs point to this being Danyal. He even takes some DNA and runs a test on it after the Gala. It comes up as a 50% Match to his own, the perfect percentage for a Fraternal Twin (which Danny was, they weren't identical)

He realizes that Danyal must have somehow survived his injuries and found his way to a new family, as improbableas it sounds. But there is one small deviation from the Danyal he knew.

The person at the Gala was a Girl.

In Public Record, she is listed as Danielle "Ellie" Masters, the daughter of reclusive Millionare Vladimir Masters. Which was confusing since Vlad claimed to have had a Son before her first Public appearance.

So he comes to the conclusion that Danyal must be Trans, and went through a Transition. He fully supports his new sister, but he does kind of need to contact her to see if she is safe from the League.

Unbeknownst to him, Ellie is a Clone of Danny made by Vlad back during his whole "Supervillain Phase". After he chilled out and became a good guy, she finally accepted him as a parent and let him claim her as a daughter. (They went to a frankly absurd amount of family therapy to reconcile)

Danny is just living his best life back in Amity Park, when Vlad tells him that some Heroes have been sniffing around his Estate and looking into Ellie's past. He just hopes the Fake Identity he made for her will hold up to scrutiny, it's been years since he made one.

[villainousauthor]

Would you plss write something where a villain and hero realize they're soulmates? Thank you<333

Hero grunted in pain as they clutched their abdomen and tried to catch their breath. Their head swam, and their vision blurred as they attempted to gain their bearings. One second, they were in a massive fight against several villains. The next, they found themselves being pushed back through a portal. Supervillain was likely to blame for that, with his ability to warp people anywhere in the world.

Hopefully, their communicator wasn't broken in battle, so they'll be able to send their location to their team. If they could even find it.

They try to stand, and immediately, their vision starts to darken around the edges and their head throbs. With a hiss they fall back to the ground.

"Careful, you probably have a concussion."

Hero cranes their neck to see Villain a few feet away, remarkably less injured and approaching. They don't have any weapons drawn, but still, hero feels their heart lurch.

They open their mouth, trying to speak. "I didn't see you go through the portal.. " Even their voice is laced with pain.

Villain is closer now and stops a few feet away, kneeling so they're at eye level. They seem to be assessing Hero's current state. Probably to see if they can easily finish them off, Hero assumes.

"I came in after you." Villain says nonchalantly, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. They eye the blood currently dripping down Hero's head, and the large gash in their arm.

Hero snort, and their chests aches in protest. "Why, to finish the job? Make sure I don't come back?"

Standing up and getting closer, Villain rolls their eyes.

"No, idiot. One day, if you die, it's not going to be at Supervillain's hands. Or because you bled out in-" Villain looks around at the tall trees, the lack of buildings or signs of civilization. "- the middle of the...pacific northwest? I don't even know where we are." They finish, unsure.

Hero tries to sit up as Villain kneels down again, closer this time. "I don't know either. I lost all my tech, I don't even have a way of contacting my team."

"Lucky for you, my stuff faired much better." Villain says smugly, and Hero wishes they could knock the look off their face. "I'll send my location to my henchmen, and they'll come to get us."

Villain reaches out for their arm, and Hero immediately finds themselves flinching away. Villain's lips press into a thin line.

"I'm not going to kill you, like I said. Unless you want to bleed out before someone arrives, you should let me treat your wounds." Villain's voice is firm as they pull a small first aid kid off their utility belt.

"I'm not going to bled out, it's not that bad." Hero tries to keep a defiant edge to their voice. For all they know, Villain will kill them, probably inject them with some poison or something just to make it easy.

"How bad did you hit your head? Are you blind suddenly? Because it looks pretty damn bad." Villain opens the small kit, showing Hero the contents. "Look, normal first aid crap." Their brows are furrowed, frustrated by Hero's reluctance.

Finally, after several tense seconds, Hero relents. They nod and slump their shoulders, as Villain moves closer now.

"The amount of trust issues you have is ridiculous..." They grumble under their breath as they slowly pull the damaged and blood-soaked sleeve of Hero's uniform back. They get a good look at the deep and long cut. Their frown deepens.

Pulling off their dirty gloves, Villain speaks again as they reach for something else.

"I'm going to have to clean this before I dress it. You might need sutures, though." Grabbing alcohol wipes, they use one hand to hold Hero's arm steady, grabbing their forearm.

Hero immediately hisses and jumps back, wrenching their arm from Villain's grasp.

"Jesus christ! Cleaning it shouldn't hurt that much!" Hero exclaims, even more tense. "What did you do, burn me?" They demand, but then they see Villain's expression. Their eyes are focused on Hero's arm, and their face looks cloudy and unreadable. They don't respond to what Hero said, like they didn't register it.

Hero looks down at their arm, and their eyes widen when they see it. Right on their arm, below the wound is a handprint. A completely different shade than Hero's skin tone, it stands out. A soulmark. Right where Villain grabbed them.

"Oh..." Is all Hero can manage to say in this moment. Villain seems to snap out of their trance and reaches for Hero's arm quickly, wrapping their hand back around where the mark is. It fits perfectly.

"This is...this really...this wasn't here before, right?" Villain asks, even though they saw Hero's completely blank and markless skin moments before. They unknowingly tighten their hold, and Hero yelps, their arm still in pain.

Pulling their hand back like they were burned, Villain finally meets Hero's eyes. "You're..." Villain trails off, shaking their head. They look away, palm to their forehead like they're trying to process this.

Hero feels like the forest floor will open up any minute and swallow them whole. If it weren't for their probable concussion, they're sure they would be taking this a lot harder. It feels like there's a charge around them now, an electrical current, live and dangerous between them.

Finally, Villain swallows and talks. "Let me just...let me just treat your wounds, and we can talk about this later." They manage.

Hero just nods as Villain returns to their first aid kit, ignoring the spark and air of tension now between them.

[fancyfade]

Difference between Bruce and Dick as Batman.

So I know that there's a lot of temptation to compare Bruce as Batman to Dick or Damian, and Dick as Batman to Damian, often with a "oh well obviously Bruce was meaner/Dick was nicer", but I do think they have a neat contrast that fandom often overlooks (as well as some parallels).

Robin: Year One #3

Batmatn #408

Batman and Robin #6

Dick and Bruce both will deal with whatever current threat exists, before fully helping wounded Robin, getting a verbal "I'm fine" confirmation. They clearly do care about Robin. But they also have an obligation to protect people Bruce tries to physically stop joker. Jason's not fighting Dick, but he is trying to talk him down and talk him into getting help, like he did in Battle for the Cowl. The characters also generally avoid a wounded Robin -- it's just easier to see for Bruce, because Leslie calls Bruce out on it "you're leaving (to go deal with this?)" whereas no one questions Dick leaving Damian once he's got medical care and doing his own mission to revive zombie bruce. I imagine this is partially from guilt (we do see Bruce blaming himself for Dick's close call, and Dick framing Damian as his responsibility in Battle for the Cowl) and also possible due to the whole 'batman has a job, robin's physically OK now so time to help protect people' thing.

A strong difference is after the character's get injured and treated. Bruce becomes overprotective, and continues being emotionally distant, which understandably upsets Dick. He is so overprotective he benches Dick each time he is wounded seriously, and that creates friction between them.

Robin: Year One

Batman #408

Contrast this to Dick's general lack of protectiveness. Nothing changes when Damian gets wounded as Robin. Which works well (emotionally) for Damian and it works for the conventions of the genre.

Dick is generally not portrayed as very emotionally overprotective when Damian is injured, and when Damian is captured, he often expresses more verbal concern for the people who captured Damian than Damian himself.

Batman and Robin #9 - Damian, with a new metal spine, got thrown off a building by the zombie batman dick accidentally revived.

Batman and Robin #13

Detective comics annual #11

I should note: I think it would be uncharitable to assume that Dick expressing more verbal concern that Damian will hurt the supervillains who have him kidnapped means Dick doesn't care about Damian. We see in Batman and Robin some of Dick being worried when Damian is shot, and we see Dick telling Azrael they need to find a quicker way to get to Damian when Azrael is talking about how to find the guys who took him. And also, you know. I just don't think Dick would care more about the supervillains that Damian. But Damian is regarded as a tough kid, he'll be fine no matter what, and he represents a threat to other people (interestingly, something I've seen fans accuse... Bruce of doing to damian? Even though Bruce was much more protective and wasn't worried about Damian killing Nobody when Damian was going with Nobody, or Damian killing the Saturn Club guys when Damian let himself by kidnapped by the Saturn club guys to find civilians to rescue)

But I am analyzing here the actions he does and the words that he says, and what the writer dedicates panel time to. I think it's interesting that Bruce and Dick's similarities with regards to Robin getting injured involve emotionally removing themselves from the situation and focusing on cases, and then their differences are in the follow up. Dick often maintains a status quo, which is satisfying to the Robin character (he does not feel like he's being fired or judged) and fits with the conventions of the genre. Bruce often becomes overprotective to a degree where the Robin character feels estranged from him, and is excluded, resulting in alienation from robin and coming across as the "bad guy".

I find it very interesting that Dick avoids repeating mistakes of the past that Bruce made (becoming overprotective of Robin to an alienating degree and firing him) by doing things that would be read as callous or uncaring to the reader if he wasn't Dick, I guess.

P.S. I know some people say this is why they regard Morrison's Dick as OOC, but I didn't have any place to fit that acknowledgement in the above paragraphs, but I think it's important to note that this was not just Morrison's Dick. In general Dick as Batman era was way different than Nightwing Rebirth era Dick or even post 2011 Dick.

[serickswrites]

This Is Gonna Hurt

Warnings: blood, wounds, arrow, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Villain limped towards the med bay, stumbling any time they put any weight on their right leg. The leg throbbed with each beat of their heart. The swath of bandages they wrapped around their leg was stained red and was no longer stabilizing the arrow that Hero had shot them with.

Villain cursed as they stumbled once more, nearly falling on their injured leg. They threw themself to the side to avoid landing on the leg.

Supervillain poked their head out from a nearby room. "What's with all the noise?" They frowned at Villain.

"Hero shot me. With an arrow," they said through clenched teeth as they used the wall to stand. "Who the fuck uses arrows?"

"Hero apparently." Supervillain offered Villain their arm. "Let's get you to the med bay and get you cleaned up."

Villain gratefully leaned on Supervillain. "We gotta get the arrow out."

"I know." Supervillain helped Villain climb up on the exam table. "This is gonna hurt. A lot."

Villain swallowed. "I know. Just do it." They braced against the table.

"I can give you something for the pain," Supervillain offered.

"I metabolize painkillers too quickly. You know that. Besides my body is already trying to heal around the arrow. You need to pull it out. Now."

Supervillain nodded grimly. They put one hand on Villain's leg and the other on the arrow. "On the count of three then. One," and they yanked the arrow out of Villain's leg.

Villain screamed as the arrow tore through their flesh once more. Screamed and sobbed, but realized he worst of it was over. Their body could heal properly now. And soon they would be out of pain.

"Thank you," they said breathlessly to Supervillain.

"No problem. What do you say we make a plan to get Hero back, eh?" Supervillain smiled. "Meet me in my office once you can walk again."

[sunnie-angel]

Part 9: The Bargain

part 8 | series masterlist | ao3 link

jason todd x fem!reader

summary: unsettling news upsets the careful balance of your friendship with jason todd

tags: mention of offscreen violence, angst, misunderstandings, kissing, fingering, p in v sex

rated explicit (mdni) | wc: 3.1k

a/n: wrote most of this while i was sick and a little loopy from medication, so if this is tonally a little different from the rest of the series that's why

Time seems to melt together, like the snow that covers the Gotham University campus. Jason looks devastating with wind chapped cheeks and snow dusted curls, red rising high across his cheekbones. Maybe you won’t ever get to tell him how beautiful he looks with snowflakes collecting on his lashes or how your heart had soared when he complimented you on finally getting one of his recipes right. It’s fine, or that’s what you tell yourself. You can have this much of him at least. As much as you wish it would, the strange tension never really dissipates between you, only fading to a low thrum in the background of your mind that your learn to live with. Eventually exams consume your life and you have very little time left to nurse wounds that never seem to heal quite right.

Winter break – when it finally, blessedly arrives – is not exactly the reprieve you had hoped for. Aside from a few random emails from the school warning of increased muggings near campus (which, when supervillains exist, ranks high on your list of problems why exactly?) you could almost forget that one Fall night. Almost. But Danika keeps inviting everyone over to celebrate the end of the last first semester and Lina won’t stop sending you and Jason considering looks every time you so much as breathe in his direction. You can tell she wants to ask but it won’t be Jason she comes looking for and so you don’t give her the opportunity to corner you alone.

On one memorable occasion you had physically dragged Jason in front of you as a human shield, spilling hot chocolate onto your glove and onto the snow covered ground. The hot liquid had melted into the snow immediately, carving out uneven abstract patterns. Jason hadn’t seemed to catch on as to why exactly you were so determined to attach yourself to his side, but had endured your proximity with what you might almost call joy if you didn’t know better. There wasn’t the resistance you expected, though the cavern between you doesn’t fully dissipate. It was...nice to feel his arm tucked under yours, a solid weight against your side. Maybe the little scraps of affection you could stomach weren’t so bad after all. Maybe one day the two of you could return to the time before you destroyed the closeness between you. Now if only you could get Danika to stop trying to set you up with someone, maybe you could find your footing again.

All of your best intentions go to hell only two days before you’re meant to be back for the final semester. There was a temporary skating rink in the public park, courtesy of Mr. Freeze’s latest foiled plot, one that would only last a few days before melting on its own. Like any true Gothamite, Danika had seized the opportunity with both hands and dragged you all out skating with her. It had been fun to watch Rei windmill his arms, red faced and struggling to keep his balance on his rented skates. Lina had been more than happy to offer him a steadying arm and flirtatious grin. Oddly even Will had decided to participate, the gleeful joy infectious. Jason, of course, had been a natural, gliding across the icy surface and dodging other people with an ease you envied. It had been a lovely afternoon, meant to end with laughter and chafed noses, maybe even a snowball thrown or two.

A choreographed ping of notifications to all of your phones puts an end to that. Digging with numb fingers through your thick pockets, you manage to pull out your phone and swipe through to your notifications. An email from the Gotham U, odd for this late in the day. 

An NYU student visiting home killed near GU campus, screams the subject line. It goes on to talk about measures the school is taking to keep students safe but you can’t help but click on the embedded news link. A funhouse mirror stares back, smiling. Sweat prickles at the nape of your neck. She looks like me..., you think dazedly. The texture of her hair, the colour of her eyes, even the sweep of her nose all echo yours. Dead in an alley, disfigured, torn to pieces, the news greedily crows. Violated. A hand falling heavy on your shoulder causes you to flinch, breaks the trance it has on you. With wild eyes you stare back up at Jason as he steadies you before you can fall on your ass on the ice. Wordlessly you look at your gathered friends and their bloodless faces. 

“She looks like me,” you croak, needing to have someone – anyone – tell you that you’re seeing things. 

“A little bit," Rei hedges, eyes darting to Lina for support.

“A little,” Will snorts, “try a lot."

“Hey–” Jason cuts in, glaring at Will over your head, “–not helpful.” He turns back to you, eyes still focused somewhere on your shoulder, neatly sliding himself between you and Will’s gaze. “What happened to her is a tragedy, yeah? But she’s not you, you’re right here with us and you’re safe.” 

His voice – his presence – steadies you but it’s not enough to erase the mental image of the girl with your face dead in an alley you probably know. The dead girl you might have been if Jason hadn’t stopped that mugger. Your hand tightens around your phone until the edges cut into your palm and you shiver, but not from the cold. 

“Sorry I don’t– I don’t really feel like having fun anymore.” You smile apologetically up at them over Jason’s shoulder.  Your phone pings again, your mother texting for the first time in weeks asking if you’d seen the news. The smile on your face turns brittle. “I think I just want to go home for a bit.”

“Sure, but text when you get back and let us know if you need anything,” Danika tells you gently, throwing a withering look in Will’s direction and smacking his mostly healed arm. You bite your lip and nod, skating slowly over to a nearby bench to wrestle with your skates.

Large hands shoo your shivering fingers away and you look up to see the top of Jason’s curly head as he kneels in front of you. He props your skate up on one broad thigh and untangles the knot in silence. Gently, he sets one foot down and starts working on the other.

“Look I’ll walk you back so you don’t have to worry, yeah?" he says as he sets your foot back down, still not looking at you. You can’t do anything but nod and accept his help as you change back into your boots, cold air still biting through your thick socks.

The bus ride home is fairly silent between the two of you. Jason manages to snag a recently vacated seat and ushers you into it, leans against the hand rail and shields you from the world. Unable to spend the 20 minutes or so just staring at his belt buckle, torturing yourself with the clink it makes as it comes undone, you lean your head against the window glass and watch the world melt past. It starts to snow again, fat flurries gently skimming through the streets. A quiet, still cocoon has built around the two of you and not even the bus coming to a screeching halt at your stop breaks it. Dreamlike and hazy, your body pilots you back to your front door, Jason holding your bag as you fumble for your keys.

He turns to leave you at your doorstep then hesitates, fingers running through his snow dusted curls. “Would it– would it be fine if I took a look around?” he mutters nervously. “Just, I noticed the other day that there’s some potential security issues and I’d feel better if I took a look and maybe you’d too?” His voice rises on the last syllable.

You stare at him for a second, baffled by his questions. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as you continue to stare.

“...yeah that’s fine,” you finally say. Looking for your phone to let Danika know you’re back, unthinkingly you add, “You already know your way around.” Facing away from him, you freeze, cursing yourself out mentally for the reminder of the last time he had entered your apartment. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“I’ll just be quick, yeah?”

Jason pads through your apartment quickly and surprisingly quietly for man his side as you unwind your scarf from around your shoulders and brush the half melted snow from your coat. Your sweater goes over the back of a chair to dry, leaving you standing in the kitchen in just your thin thermal undershirt. Jason chooses just that moment to walk back in.

“–should probably be fine, might want to change the lock on the fire escape window but– hey. C’mere.” He moves to hug you – he moves first! – and you fall into him, arms wrapping tight around his waist under his jacket. He freezes up at first as you nuzzle into him, the warmth of his chest cutting through the icy fingers that had grown around your spine at the sight of the dead girl that wasn’t quite you but could have been. Jason’s arms come around you, hold you tight to him like you’re actually something precious to him. A hand comes up to cradle the back of your skull and he sighs, body relaxing into yours.

“Probably just a bad coincidence, but I’ll look into it,” he whispers into the crown of his head. You can feel the zipper of his jacket pressing into you through the thin material of your thermal. “Don’t gotta worry about this at all, yeah?” His voice rumbles through your chest.

“You’re a good friend,” you mumble into his shirt. Slowly you lean back into his hand until you can look him in the eyes, nowhere for him to escape your searching gaze. He’s still tall, but there’s a half inch less of a difference between you without his boots on. Your hand slips from its python grip around his waist and tentatively winds itself around the nape of his neck. Finally, after what feels like months of yearning and waiting but had only been a few keenly felt weeks, Jason Todd looks you in the eyes.

There’s something unreadable there, some dark possessive emotion you can’t quite set your finger on. It’s too late. It’s everything you’d ever wanted from him. Makes the small part of yourself you’d tried so hard to bury over the last few weeks come clawing out of the shallow grave you’d dug for it. Vindication and bitterness go to war in your belly. Slowly you bring a hand up to trace over the sharp point of his cheekbone. His eyes close and he inhales sharply through his nose, full body shuddering as you move to tuck his hair behind his ear.

“S’all I want to be–” his eyes open wide, pupils rapidly eating up the blue of them “–your friend.”

“We are,” you reassure him. Tentatively you let the hand at his neck drift through his curls. Carefully note the way he relaxes into your grip. “Good friends.”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and Jason tracks the movement with predatory hunger. His own lips part in response and you’re so close you can almost feel his breath on your skin. Tension spools out into the space between you, so thick you could almost reach out and grip the knotted mess of it with your bare hands. You hardly dare to breathe know that you’ve finally got Jason’s attention, a physical, tangible thing that traces the swell of your cheeks and the curve of your lower lip. He swallows and you press the full length of your body against him.

“We can stay good friends, can’t we?” you breath out. Inch by inch you draw yourself closer to him, attuned to him in case he draws back, before gently drawing the tip of your cold nose from the hinge of his jaw to the sharp jut of his chin. Inhale the warm scent of him under the lingering smell of the cold outdoors. “We understand each other,” you say, almost directly into his mouth. “So well, because we’re friends, right?” His hold on you tightens. “So well, that we don’t even have to talk about this part, right?” you plead, desperate for him to let you have this.

Jason’s lips crash onto yours and delirious laughter bubbles up into your chest. Easy, so easy. All you had to do was amputate your sense of dignity. His fingers tighten in your hair as he pulls back, breathing ragged and rough.

“We’re just– just friends,” he pants, and the sight of him so out of control makes you giddy. “But so long as we don’ talk about it we can have this too.” 

You answer him by kissing him again, the soft, sweet touch of your lips turned into something filthier as he invades your mouth. His hand slides down from your waist to palm your ass as he walks you back into the bedroom, still familiar from the last time he was there. Efficiently, both of your clothes come off, his jacket and belt hitting the floor with heavy thuds. He takes his time looking at you, and you drink up the sensation. It’s been so long since he’s truly, properly looked at you and you want to enjoy it while it lasts.

Because it won’t. He’ll retreat again or get tired of you, or both. It’s temporary, this complicated, burning thing between you, or at least it is on his part. You won’t ever have his heart, no that’s something so far beyond your grasp it’s laughable to even think about, but you can have this. His desire. His attention. His base need to fuck someone wet and willing. You can have just this much of him and no more.

There’s no air of urgency this time as he explores your body this time, palms smoothing over the length of your ribs. You shiver as he trails still cool fingers across your hips, across the fat and muscle cradling your womb. Hiss as he parts your slick folds with them, his fingers freezing against the burning heat of your core. Jason grins at your reaction before pressing a finger in in in, causing you to arch off the bed and clench down at the intrusion. He laughs as your thighs tremble at the stretch in your cunt when he adds another finger. Peppers kisses down your neck until he can bite and lave at the bud of your breast, working his fingers in and out of you the whole while.

Jason draws back and you moan at the loss, try and chase after him but he pushes you back down onto the bed.

“M’coming back, just need the condom outta my wallet. Need you to be patient, yeah?”

You nod but whine anyway when he pulls his fingers out of your tight heat, already bereft by the loss of him. He rolls the condom on and you want to hide from embarrassment when you see just how shiny with your slick his hands are. Carefully he adjusts your limbs to where he wants them, hooks your thighs over his hips and threads one hand through yours as he slowly starts to press in.

And it’s not– it’s not tender, but it’s kind, the way he slowly feeds every inch of his cock into you. Kisses you as you hiccup and squirm your way through accepting the fat weight of his dick in your guts, tensing and unclenching as he tears you in two only to stitch you back together. Finally, finally his hips hit yours and your eyes close as you sigh in relief at having taken him all. With a sticky hand Jason brushes the side of your face, places a kiss to where your furrowed brows meet. He waits until you relax under him, nod and let him know that you’re ready, before he starts to move, both of his hands tangled up in yours.

It’s such a relief to feel the heavy drag of him inside of you again, where he belongs your traitorous mind whispers. Immobilized, spread out, and pinned down beneath him like this you can do nothing but eagerly accept what he chooses to give you. He swallows the gasps and sighs of pleasure directly from the source as he plunders your mouth. Kisses down your jaw and nibbles at your throat. He bites down at the cords of your throat in a cruel mark of ownership you know he doesn’t mean just as he thrusts into the soft gummy part of your cunt that has you seeing stars.

You can’t help the whine of “Oh please, Jay,” as it is torn out of you, but you feel the exact moment his strong body stops rocking into yours and you realize your mistake. “M’sorry, m’sorry. Know you don’t like– didn’t mean to say it. M’sorry,” you babble, mortified by your error and wanting to bury your face in the pillows to disappear because he’d told you.

“Shhh shh shh,” he soothes, running the pad of his thumb across the outer corner of your eye, collecting the tears of frustration gathering there. You’re cursing yourself, terrified he’s going to take even this away from you because you couldn’t keep your big mouth shut and not let the name he hates slip from your tongue. “It’s okay, s’okay. You can call me Jay, okay, but only here. Just for you, just here, yeah?”

You nod, keening your agreement as he punctuates his words with a slow thrust back into you. His pace increases, no longer leisurely but controlled. Sharp thrusts in accompanied filthy, slow drags out. Your’s so full you can practically feel him at the base of your throat, carving out any claim to your body that isn’t his. Pleasure crawls up your veins, burns deep in your belly as Jason fucks you. The wet squelch of you around his cock makes your cunt flutter and he groans into the side of your throat at the sensation. Sweat beads at the base of your spine as the too much too good feeling winches you up higher, muscles curling tight. It only takes Jason growling into your skin, cock curving up at just the right angle, to shove you off that final ledge.

Sightless and weightless, stretched thin around him, you scrabble at his solid weight, desperate for something to anchor you to the present.

“ ‘ank you. Thank you. Please, god. Jay. JayJayJay,” you sob, words slurring together as he fucks your brains out, fucks you through it. He comes to the feel of you rippling around his cock and his name on your lips.

Jason’s still there in the morning, warm and whole in the bed next to you. Your heart isn’t so lucky.

part 10

[remi-harbinger]

Ok i dont often like superhero aus but svsss au where sj is the philandering womanising supervillain xiu ya and yqy is the superhero xuan su where they have some really weird tension-extended-eye-contact kind of thing going on !!!

One day sj is ready to start a diamond heist. He's prepared for this day so well, escape routes, bribes, equipment - he's planned for everything, he's even got an outfit specially for this one with shimmery gemstones to match the shiny diamonds that will be soon joining his collection (he sells them on the black market to fund orphanages under an alias but no one knows). He's even planned for yqy inevitably crashing his party as he always does.

But yqy never shows up. SJ ends up at home sitting on his ratty couch and ranting to Wei Ying who's his roommate/closest friend/fellow villain chewing on his perfectly manicured nails. Why wouldn't Yue Qi show up? He thought what they had was special? Then, the thought hit him.

He's found someone else. A new arch nemesis.

Fury rushes through his veins. How could he??? SJ is narrating this out to WY, who's giggling as SJ paces around their flat, muttering and scowling. He even rubs salt into already bleeding wounds, going on and on about how his Lan Zhan would never, etc etc.

The next time he commits another crime, Yqy shows up. Finally. Their conversation goes something like this

SJ: Tell me the truth. You've changed. You've found someone else, haven't you. YQY (confused): You said you were fine with me fighting other people SJ: You're running around behind my back looking for other people to fight. I knew it. You can't even be an arch nemesis right? I can't believe you.

Not much crime gets done but not much superhero work does either.

Their interaction gets filmed and put on twitter. Chaos ensues.

[scarletwinterxx]

the grumpy cat's secret soft side - chwe hansol imagine

hiiii ~ tbh i liveeee for the black cat turn into golden retriever type of guy🥺😭😅 this one is soooo cute, i hope you like it🤍 i’m trying to make up for being gone in the past weeks hence why the back to back posts.

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’re hanging out with your friends at a café, and, as usual, Vernon is sitting at a corner table, a frown fixed on his face. His arms are crossed, his eyes barely leaving the book he's reading, and his presence is just… intense. You know the drill—no one dares to approach him unless absolutely necessary.

Your friends chatter away, but their eyes keep flicking toward Vernon, trying to gauge the seriousness of his aura. You can practically hear them whispering:

"Does he even smile? He looks like he's plotting something dark."

"I bet he has some secret double life where he's a villain or something."

You roll your eyes, amused by the misconception. Sure, Vernon has this reputation of being the "grumpy cat". The guy who scowls at anyone who dares to speak to him but you know the real Vernon. The one who’s soft, playful, and okay, maybe a little too clingy when you're alone.

You sip your coffee, trying not to laugh at the thought of what they would say if they knew. They think Vernon is all sharp edges and cool indifference, but when it’s just the two of you? He’s a total golden retriever.

Later, the café empties out, and it’s just you and Vernon. You lean against the table, watching him flick through his book, clearly trying to seem like he's deep in thought.

"You know, you should really smile once in a while. People are starting to think you're some kind of cold-hearted villain."

He grunts in response, his eyes not leaving the pages "I don’t need to impress anyone. Why pretend to be something I’m not?"

You can feel the smile tugging at your lips. If only they knew how dramatically different he was when no one else was around. Just the other night, he’d insisted on cooking you dinner and then gotten mad at the TV when you laughed at a cooking show he didn’t even like. 

And the way his voice softens when he talks to you? Don’t even get you started.

"Mhm, sure. Just make sure no one sees you with your 'scary' persona, or they'll think you’re a supervillain." you tease him, a playful smile on your face

Vernon finally looks up at you, raising an eyebrow.

"You do realize you're the only one who gets to see me not acting like a 'villain,' right?"

You grin, taking a casual sip from your drink.

"Yeah, lucky me."

Fast forward to a few days later. You're out with Vernon and a few friends, walking through the park when you trip over a crack in the pavement. It's not that big of a fall, but you scrape your knee, and it stings just a little.

No one notices at first—except Vernon. His eyes snap to you, and you can see the panic flicker across his face. 

Before you can even fully recover from the stumble, he’s already by your side, crouching down with an expression that can only be described as dramatic concern.

"Oh my god, are you okay?! Did you hurt yourself?"

You blink, slightly surprised at how intense he’s reacting. He’s usually so calm in public, but now his eyes are wide, his hand hovering near your knee like he’s afraid even the slightest touch might cause more harm.

"It’s just a scrape, Vernon. I’m fine." you stutter, still surprised by his actions

He shakes his head vigorously, ignoring your reassurances, his face completely serious.

"No. You’re not. You're bleeding, and... you’re my responsibility!"

You blink at him wide eyed, "It’s really just a small scratch. It's not like—"

"Small?!" He looks at the tiniest red mark like it’s an open wound that could be fatal. His voice grows louder. "You’re going to need a bandage! I’ll—I'll carry you home!"

You can’t help but laugh at how over the top he’s being. The guy who looks like he’s plotting world domination in front of others is now losing it over a scraped knee. But he doesn’t seem to find it funny at all.

"Do not laugh! You’re injured, and this is serious business." he scolds you, already helping you up still chuckling, as he holds out his arms like he’s ready to scoop you up at any moment.

"I don’t need you to carry me, Vernon. I can walk." you assure him

"I insist." 

He’s so dramatic about it that it almost seems like he’s going to faint from the sheer concern he’s radiating.

"Is he seriously offering to carry you?" Dino asks, watching the whole scene

“What the hell is happening?" Seungkwan mumbles

You hear your friends muttering from the sidelines, their voices full of surprise, and you can’t help but smirk. This is the first time they’ve seen Vernon act this way, and they’re all shook by it.

"Vernon, seriously. I’m fine!"

But he’s already kneeling in front of you, looking up at you with wide, concerned eyes, ready to scoop you up into his arms like you're the most fragile thing in the world.

"Nope. I’m not risking it. Let’s go home. You need rest, and I need to make sure you’re not going to pass out or something."

You can’t hold back your laughter anymore."You're impossible."

"I’m just trying to keep you safe."

You finally let him win, letting him gently lift you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world, completely ignoring the curious stares from everyone else around. And despite how embarrassing this all is, you can’t deny it. You love how much Vernon cares about you. The "grumpy cat" persona is a total act.

You lean your head on his chest, feeling the warmth of his embrace.

"You know, I’ve never seen this side of you before."

"Good. Keep it that way. I’m only like this for you, got it?" voice full of seriousness

"Got it."

And in that moment, you realize, as much as Vernon tries to hide it from the world, he’s completely smitten with you—and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[zoethehead]

Yet again applying this with my human as the whumpee/hero, and my demon character as the caretaker/supervillain

The Merry Whump of May—Day 20

“A taste of your own medicine”

Zip Ties || Bleeding Out || Office

Part one || Masterlist

Cw: past torture, blood loss, mentioned murders, dubcon touching(?), I guess kind of kidnapping by definition

“Stay with me, just a bit longer,” Supervillain murmured, their gloved palm pressing to the side of Hero’s head, guiding them to lean against their shoulder. The cape wrapped snug around Hero’s shoulders, covering them like a blanket, growing stains of something even darker seeping across the black fabric.

Even with the warm blood dripping across their skin, Hero shivered, prompting the arms around them to pull them a little closer.

Supervillain’s pace was fast as they moved towards the mouth of the alley, their boots nearly silent despite the gravel. No wonder Hero hadn’t heard them arrive. They weren’t even nearly silent, no, they were soundless. Everything about them was quiet. Even with their mouth inches from Hero’s ear, they couldn’t hear their breaths. The soft murmurs of reassurance nothing more than sounds carried across the breeze.

It was eerie, but strangely… reassuring. Their ear to Supervillain’s chest, they could feel the rise and fall, even though they could not hear them breathe, feel their heart though they couldn’t hear it beat. Quiet, but not the kind that drew terror—soft, gentle, the kind of quiet that promised safety.

“Close your eyes, Hero,” Supervillain whispered, tucking their chin over the Hero’s head.

Everything went quiet. The entire city, fallen to oblivion, there was nothing. Not the scurry of rats behind dumpsters, the hum of the streetlights, the sounds of cars speeding through the streets, reduced to nothing. A silence so deafening it left Hero’s ears ringing, roaring with the blood that pulsed through them. Supervillain held them tight, the palm that held to Hero’s head pressing over their ear as a rush of cold surrounded them both.

It was like falling through ice, into a pitch black ocean, the world around them bursting to darkness. The cold was worse than anything they had ever felt. It wasn’t just a surface level chill, no, this one burrowed deep into their bones, stole the air from their lungs, numbed them to the core.

Just as quickly as it had come along, the darkness cracking open, small fissures quickly shattering apart, allowing a soft light to spill in. Hero’s stomach lurched, and they would have vomited again if they hadn’t already thrown up all that was in them.

“I’m sorry, Hero, that was the quickest way,” Supervillain apologized, feeling the way Hero tensed and shuddered. They wove their fingers in the other’s hair, cradling the side of their head with a gentleness much too tender to be coming from any villain, much less the supervillain.

Hero had never even seen Supervillain before. At least, not in person. Glimpses from some mediocre cameraman had managed to film as Supervillain darted through public, faster than the camera’s shutters could open. They were the city’s most notorious villain, yet few had even seen them—even fewer left alive to recount the events. Bodies, mauled beyond recognition, burned and brutalized in any way imaginable.

What were they going to do with Hero?

Supervillain had stopped walking, stopping down slightly to set Hero on something soft. With much effort, Hero blinked, willing their vision to clear enough to make out the scene around them.

They were in a living room. At least, they thought it was. A buttercream colored couch and armchair set sat positioned around a large coffee table, the couch nearly twice the size of Hero’s back at their apartment. Facing the couch was a large fireplace, stone leading up to a mantle where a flatscreen lay fixed to the wall. The room was lit softly by warm lamplight, a few plants and personal touches, such as throw pillows and blankets spread around just perfect enough to keep the neat image, while adding just a touch of personality to make it comfortable. Still, the high slanted ceilings, the chandelier hanging down, the huge floor-to-ceiling windows framing an entire wall, made it feel more like a set to some extravagant film, not a place where actual people lived.

Supervillain set Hero down on the couch, brushing their hair back from their eyes with a quick promise to be right back, before the air shattered right in front of their eyes. When the tear had mended, Supervillain was gone.

No one knew anything about their powers, not really. No one knew their limits, their specialties. To the public, Supervillain was more a concept than a beings fear not unlike a demon or devil. Blood rushed to Hero’s head, the room spinning around them as they tried to comprehend, but it wouldn’t make sense.

Supervillain reappeared not half a moment later, a white case nearly the size of Hero’s chest in their hands, already flipped open. Hero shuddered, a sudden unease prickling up their spine as Supervillain turned and set the case on the coffee table, digging out gauze squares and a transparent bottle filled with some clear liquid. With a careful touch, Supervillain pulled the cape away from Hero, revealing the wounds decorating their chest.

There was a lot of blood. More blood than any normal person could afford to lose. Supervillain’s jaw tightened, and they twisted off the cap.

“This is going to sting a bit, darling, alright?” Supervillain tried to warn gently, but it was as if Hero’s eyes were looking clear through them.

The villain held back a sigh, setting the bottle aside for a moment as they noticed the goosebumps along Hero’s arms. They held up their hand, and gave a quick snap, and the hearth roared to life behind them, crackling flames devouring the logs.

“Close your eyes, Hero. I’ll take care of you. Go to sleep.”

————————————————

@bees-andbees (thought you’d like to be tagged :D )

@themerrywhumpofmay

[lakesbian]

attention everyone we have reached my personal favorite Line in worm

I stepped toward Sundancer and offered a hand to help her up.  She flinched away. Oh.  My hands were bloody.  I dropped the offered hand to my side. “Let’s go,” I suggested.

there are a lot of good Lines in worm, and while i will acknowledge that many of them are sort of objectively more powerful culminating moments than this one, this one is still My Personal Favorite. Oh. My hands were bloody.

it's been obvious through the early arcs that taylor has a lot of repressed anger: she beats the shit out of rachel, even after being bitten. she outright admits to the other undersiders that she hasn't taken subtle revenge on the trio at school because she's afraid she would take it too far/it would obviously be her. she is, initially, unnerved by violence: she's a bit scared by the gun present in the loft, it creeps her out that brian knows every way to break a person's body, she feels guilt about the idea of any civilians being hurt during the bank robbery. but she still beat up rachel, and she still shoves bugs up the wards' noses during the robbery, and she still gleefully rides rachel's dog and laughs and hollers from the joy and the adrenaline rush of victory afterwards.

the expression of this repressed anger thru violence escalates further when her concussion leads her to slapping emma in the mall. in the principal's office, when it's clear that nothing she or her dad says will garner help with the bullying, she shouts and slaps papers off the table and asks what would happen if she brought a knife to school. after she and her dad leave the meeting, she calls lisa:

“Hey.  How did it go?” I couldn’t find the words for a reply. “That bad?” “Yeah.” “What do you need?” “I want to hit someone.”

lisa invites her to a raid on the ABB so she can do that, and it's soo. Sooo Very. to watch how she cuts loose on it. she's so angry rachel notices it in how she's standing, and she's still confused about how rachel noticed. she's a confident leader when the fight goes crisis mode, she responds to rachel bucking against her orders by consistently shouting at rachel to "NOT fuck with me right now," she acts nigh-suicidally aggressive during her fight with lung, and she snarls "don't fucking underestimate me" when she takes him out using a caterpillar dipped in newter's blood.

all of this happens in relatively subtle increments. she doesn't notice how she progressively becomes comfortable expressing herself and taking charge instead of withdrawing or acting insecurely during the course of the mission. she doesn't notice that she's not horrified by dealing with newter's wound or seeing the sniper's broken leg. back in unmasked society, she was forced to consider how many of her aggressive actions were the result of the concussion loosening her impulse control--here, she repeatedly yells at bitch without a second thought. it's a place where her violence and anger isn't only acceptable but necessary. the circumstances normalize her outbursts and comfort with violence to her, leaving her blind to how alienated and dissociated and repressed and traumatized and furious and just Fucked Up she has to be to face down lung and then dig his eyes out.

when she says that she "doesn't believe in eye for an eye," in arc 4 alec asks her why the fuck she's a supervillain. his implicit assertion is clear: being a villain is, for him, about taking your revenge for being hurt out on whoever you can manage or justify, even if they're not the person who originally hurt you. and taylor thinks she's not doing that. but hey: she goes beyond just "hitting someone" and into literally taking lung's eyes as a culmination of the cathartic violence she's been engaging in as recompense for how she was mistreated earlier.

and the person who serves as a more "normal" reference point for how far taylor just escalated is sundancer: horrified by the idea of having to use her sun to hurt people, shocked by how casually violent taylor has been, flinching away from taylor when she turns to sundancer after committing that violence & tries to offer sundancer help.

because, oh. her hands are bloody. she hadn't even noticed how bloody they were getting, but they are.

deeply evocative one-line reminder of how taylor has changed in these first five arcs, without even noticing. and the best part is that, while the imagery of "oh. my hands were bloody" does convey that change in an incredibly brief and powerful way, the fact that taylor is saying it still means even she hasn't really realized. she thinks it's mainly just about the superficial, literal blood on her hands, and not the metaphorical blood on her hands that sundancer is disturbed by. it's good.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

mmm heroo whump i loooove heero whump mmmm baby i missed you mm

“Oh, no.” The supervillain shook their head and sighed dramatically. “A speedster with a broken leg? Gosh, that’s too bad.”

The villain didn’t want to look at the hero crawling over the floor. Their sobs and pleas were bad enough already but the blood? The bone digging through their flesh? That was indescribable.

“Is this necessary?” the villain asked. They kept their voice apathetic, even though they knew their hand would be shaking if they lifted it. The hero’s broken voice filled the lifeless interrogation room, just like the blood covering the floor. “All this mess for an interrogation? You’re wasting precious resources.”

In response the supervillain laughed. In one hand, they still held the pipe and spun it around as their gaze wandered between it and the hero. It was a trophy to them. They cared little for subtleness. The bloodier, the better but they didn’t seem to realise how much time they were wasting.

“You know, with your legs all broken you’re just another human. Nothing really special,” they said to the hero as they leaned over. The supervillain tilted their head. Right when the hero wanted to push their upper body up, the supervillain rammed their boot into their back.

They slammed into the concrete. Face first. They left a bloody handprint on the supervillain’s pants.

And the villain clenched their teeth.

By now the hero was quieter. It wasn’t that they had given up — they’d probably still attack anyone if there was a bullet in their chest — but their energy was fading and their muscles were failing. The villain had never seen them like this.

“It’s a dead end. They won’t give you any information,” the villain said and they hated the hero for that. Truly, deeply loathed that the hero endured torture for hours and even when their bones broke, they didn’t say a word to save themselves.

What kind of sick loyalty was that? What kind of unquestioned obedience? The villain was nearly jealous of that.

“You’re so pessimistic today…we just have to get a little creative, don’t you think?” the supervillain asked. “What if we make them run with their broken leg and if they stop, we kill them?”

“You think that’s creative?” The villain focused on the supervillain instead of the hero who tried to push themselves up again with their trembling arms. Their grunts and moans sounded more like those of an animal. And that wound…the villain could see their tibia.

Yet, the villain pinched the bridge of their nose and squeezed their eyes shut, surprised by their partner’s idiocy.

“Well, it could be entertaining.”

“They can’t even stand up. What makes you think they could run for your entertainment?” the villain asked.

“I dunno. I like experimenting.” The villain sighed.

If they wanted to save the hero, they needed to do it in private. Convincing the hero to give up their secrets wasn’t going to be easy but the villain had information the supervillain could never know about.

“Great. It was your turn and it didn’t work out. Now it’s mine. Give me 20 minutes with them and you’ll have your oh so desired information,” the villain said.

The supervillain studied them.

“You know what? You’re right. They’re your nemesis. Why should I get involved anyway? God forbid I do a friend a favour.”

“Look, I—” the villain looked at the hero’s tears “—appreciate your efforts. But I fear they’re quite stubborn. They won’t give you what they want, even if you take them apart bit by bit.”

For ten very, very long seconds, the supervillain stared at them.

“Is this a possessive thing?” they asked. They had the audacity not to whisper.

But the villain was willing to push them.

“It is a I-know-your-spouse-shouldn’t-know-you’re-a-criminal-thing,” they said. All the villain needed to see was some time with the hero, even if that meant they’d threaten the supervillain.

They didn’t care what their partner thought about this. Or what kind of rumours they wanted to spread. The villain had enough dirt on enough people to bring a quick end to such accidents.

“Oh, stooping to a new low?”

“Forgive me,” the villain said. They stood up. “I’m sure you understand. They’re my nemesis and you’re robbing me of all the fun. I have to draw some lines here.”

“Fine.” The supervillain didn’t look necessarily happy when the villain cornered them until the last escape was through the door.

“Search for something else to play with, will you?” the villain asked. They opened the door of the interrogation room and offered their partner the way out.

Without a second glance, the supervillain mumbled incoherent curses on their way out until the villain shut the door behind them.

However, as soon as they left, the villain walked over to their nemesis and kneeled.

“Hey, come here.” They grabbed them and pulled them onto their lap. The hero kept looking at their leg and whimpered. Fingers drenched in blood found the villain’s jawline and cheekbones and left fingerprints there.

The villain’s heart was beating fast. Usually, they were able to control themselves in stressful situations but the hero desperately clinging onto them startled them.

“I’m sorry,” the villain whispered. “They won’t let go of you. They’ll kill you if you don’t give them anything.”

The hero shook their head and hid their face in the villain’s clothes. They seemed to know how this was turning out.

“Please,” the hero begged. “Please, it hurts so much, it hurts…”

The villain wiped some loose strands of hair out of the hero’s face.

“They want information on your latest mission. You have to give them something. After that, I can protect you,” the villain promised. They could feel how the hero held onto them.

“I can’t, please, please—”

“Sweetheart, don’t make me do this.”

“No, please.” Their tears rolled down their cheeks and the villain’s heart splintered.

Blackmail was the villain’s preferred way of fighting. Everyone had their secrets and the villain liked to obtain information like no other.

In a world where information spread in seconds, a well kept secret could be the key to peace and conflict.

But their hands were shaking. Tears burnt in their eyes.

“You know I know your siblings. If…” The villain felt disgusting. They felt filthy, wretched even. Despising themselves was new and this feeling was alien to them. It hurt, it burnt. But even if the hero never forgave them for it, this would save them. “…if you don’t tell them, I will kill one of them.”

“No, I trusted you, they love you.”

“I’m sorry,” the villain said. They kissed the hero’s temple. “This is the only way, I fear.”

After that, they developed a distaste for blackmail.

[victoriadallonfan]

Lets Talk: The Predator Franchise

About two months ago, I put my thoughts into my feelings on the Alien Franchise, and why I felt that they've been faltering so much.

It felt only fitting that I do the same for the Predator franchise, but I ran into a very curious thing... there's only one bad Predator movie.

A shocking statement, I know, but I'm not counting the AVP movie series (that's it's own separate thing). The Predator (film) is easily the only bad film in the entire series, but I'll get to that later.

First things first: lets talk about Predator (1987).

It's an all time classic, a great deconstruction of the 80's action film, with insanely quotable dialogue and memorable characters - not just the Predator itself, but all the human characters are easily recognizable.

Unlike the Alien (1979) and Aliens (1986), Predator is not predominantly a horror film, nor is it emphasizing a tough topic such as sexual assault. It does HAVE horror aspects (the first time they find the skinned corpses is intensely unnerving, especially when they realize that this group of marines apparently lost all self-control and fired in all directions), and it does touch a bit on how the US government is using its own soldiers as cannon fodder to destabilize third-world countries.

But it's not really built to scare the viewer so much as to present a simple idea: what if these action heroes met a bigger, stronger, more advanced version of themselves? And the result is a near total party wipe.

Watching the original film, you realize that the Predator is depicted as incredibly unfair. The majority of its kills are it sniping someone from afar, rushing them when they aren't even looking (while cloaked), and doing a combination of the above. It would have killed Arnold while his back was turned, if the net trap hadn't been set in place.

Hell, it even kills a wounded soldier that Arnold is carrying, after Billy's "last stand" (that lasted mere moments at best, implying the Predator didn't give him the time of day).

(Also, speaking of Billy... he's psychic? Apparently?)

But yeah, the Predator depicted is not the honor clad warrior that some fans may stan (and some writers believe) but more like the equivalent of Counter-Strike hacker. The fact that it takes Arnold untold amounts of traps, ingenuity, and willpower for the Predator to finally face him man to man, no tech, no weapons is meant to be a testament to how impressive Arnold is.

Likewise, the Predator decides to blow himself the fuck up while cackling manically like a supervillain as he tries to finally kill Dutch, also opens him to showing that as alien as it is, it's remarkably human. A spite filled asshole of a human, but humanish nonetheless (amplified by him copying human speech on prior occasions).

It's a really great film about how alien life, if more advanced than our own, might see us as lesser people or outright livestock to hunt (keep a pin in that).

Predator 2 (1990) is often divided amongst fans.

Some hate the fact that it takes place in the "modern day" LA, instead of sticking to the blazing heat of the jungle (as the lore of the first movie implies that the Predator or a Predator visits at the hottest time of the season to create the local bogeyman figure), but this film does a fine job justifying the LA heatwave and honestly... the idea of keeping the Predator to one type of biome is pretty limiting. So I don't mind that.

As one can tell already, I don't think this movie is bad. As good as the first? No, it rehashes a bit too much for that. But it's still a fun and good movie.

And, notably, scarier.

But for context, Predator 2 is set in the far future of... uh, 1997 LA, where there has been open warfare between the LAPD and the Jamaican and Colombian Cartels. Like, not drug busts or stings, but actual warfare with armies of gangs and shit.

The late 80's and early 90's loved to depict LA as a dystopian hellscape where "law and order" was the only defense from total anarchy (as anyone who has ever lived in LA can tell you, racial tensions, especially between the public and police have not been good to say the least).

This entire setup is like a D.A.R.E nightmare or wet dream depending on who's asking.

(Also the Jamaican drug leader, King Willy, might also be psychic? This is the last time it's brought up, but man, I sort of wish we could see future plot lines where people are randomly psychic in these films.)

Anyways, the situation is certainly perfect for this Predator (named City Hunter to differentiate between Jungle Hunter), who takes to the city with a gusto. The difference in how the Predator is portrayed is fascinating, because the bare bones remain the same: he hunts people who are deemed as sport with alien technology.

Fitting with the ultra-violent theme of this film however, this Predator feels like a legitimately horror movie monster. Unlike the Jungle Hunter, City Hunter doesn't prefer to attack from afar, but rather ripping and tearing in close quarters combat, and when he does use ranged weaponry, it's stuff like spears, bladed discs, and nets that shred people into bloody messes.

And he's 110% a bigger asshole that Jungle Hunter: when the City Hunter decides to focus on our lead man, Danny Glover, he doesn't just hunt the man but psychologically torture him. He murders his partner - who is probably the least threatening human in the entire series - just so he can taunt Glover with his necklace at his own grave. He then copies the innocent words of a child just so he can use it as a creepy catchphrase when he decides to hunt Glover's other partners.

The iconic subway massacre perfectly exemplifies both aspects of the City Hunter. He interrupts a massive stand-off between armed civilians, gang members, and the police, just wading in and killing everyone indiscriminately as people frantically scream and claw over each other trying to escape.

(Speaking of, this film does have a LOT of fun having the Predator on modern sets. The above subway scene, City Hunter investigating a meat locker, and him performing emergency surgery in an apartment bathroom are all really cool).

Also, for being so divisive, this film creates a lot of Predator lore: the Predator won't kill (unarmed) children, he won't kill pregnant women, and he WILL kill the elderly if they are packing heat.

And this includes the trophy wall (with xenomorph skull - actually funny because we never see a Predator collect a xenomorph skull in the AVP films) and that the Predator tribe will honor and respect those who defeat their kind with a reward.

It does include that the government is aware of the Predator existence and tries to capture them, but this won't be a major plot line again until The Predator (2018) though it gets some tongue in cheek reference in Predators (2010).

Anyways solid film, lots of cheesey scenes and very tropey stuff that hasn't aged well (or aged in a way that makes it amusing). It's also that last movie that actually tries to be true horror, in my opinion. The rest of the films stick to Action with Gore, but Predator 2 is truly the last film where you feel like this was written to be a horror film.

Also, this film will be the last to really play into the world as being an overly dramatic action movie earth. It's all realism from here.

And then the film franchise will go quiet until 2004 and 2008 for the AVP films (that I won't cover here).

Finally, we get to Predators (2010), and obvious title call back to Aliens (1986) and I have to say, a pretty good trio of ideas: The human targets are actually kidnapped and dropped on a safari planet, there are multiple Predators with their own unique designs and gimmicks, and there is a internal war between the Bad Bloods (aka the Predators who break the "honor code") and the 'normal' Predator clans.

(It should be noted that Bad Bloods have been a thing for years in comics and books, but not really in the mainstream until this film introduced it to movie audiences)

I have to say, despite having a fondness for the film and loving the new ideas, this film is not as enjoyable as Predator or Predator 2. It unfortunately suffers from what I call 2010ism, where there's a lot of CGI blood/gore, a lot of lighting/shadows aren't natural in a horror sense, and the dialogue isn't memorable because it wanted to ditch the action movie dialogue.

The last part isn't necessarily too bad, and it even works with how Adrian Brody is portrayed as a cynical asshole who is purposely meant to be the opposite of Arnold in every way. But the most memorable dialogue is definitely from Walter Goggins (including his highly disturbing "bitch raping time" speech).

Also, it really wastes Topher Grace, Laurence Fishbourne, and Danny Trejo, along with the whole idea of a gang of multinational killers/soldiers/enforcers forced to work together. Not nearly enough time is given to them to bond as a team and have a moment where they show off how cool they are like Predator and Predator 2 did.

Coupled with the safari world being just... a jungle, it feels like a lot of good ideas with "safe" execution.

I don't mean to rag on the film, it's still very fun, and a lot of that is due to the Bad Bloods.

The idea of a particular group of Predators being so evil that they are even warring with their (smaller) counterparts is a great idea, imo, and these Bad Bloods are memorable for their gimmicks.

You had one who used drones as "falcons" to scan and scout out large tracks of terrain, another who employed alien "hounds" to harass humans like a fox hunt, and the leader who had a rapid-fire plasma caster that was overpowered as hell. They also employed other tech like alien bear traps, net traps, and voice decoys.

This movie definitely had the most advanced Predator tech seen on film at the time, making the Jungle Hunter and City Hunter look low tech by comparison, and I think also served to try and force the idea of the Bad Bloods being really "unfair" compared to others.

And of course, we get our first Predator vs Predator fight, which was suitably graphic and badass. Also, I liked that one Predator died by a human pulling a suicide vest attack. Idk, I thought it was pretty ironic considering that's what predators do when they are about to lose, and thought it was neat.

Ultimately, there isn't much else to say about Predators (2010), even though the film ends on a cliffhanger with more people (and aliens) being dropped on the planet. I enjoyed it, it had a lot of cool ideas, cool tech, and cool lore... but if the prior films could be compared to novels, this one felt more like a guidebook.

And now... eight years pass and we get The Predator (2018)

Where do I begin with this movie.

I guess I start with the obvious: it's bad. It's a genuinely awful movie with few redeeming qualities. I'd say it's on the tier of Alien: Resurrection, except this movie is actually offensive because of autism ableism (turns out that autism is actually the next step of human evolution and makes you naturally predisposed to using Predator technology).

And don't get me started on the sex offender controversy.

Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. It's just that this movie... jesus christ, I rewatched it for this post, and it feels like a fever dream.

The Predator (2018) ultimately, is a film that looked at everything that came before it and said, "What if we did it all on a grander scale? And make it bad?" The plot is that a Predator is being hunted by an even larger, more powerful Predator, because it plans on harvesting humanity. You see, in this movie, some Predators use the genes of animals they hunt to improve themselves. The Super Predator as he is called, is a massive 10 foot tall monster that has turned his body into a super weapon, with technology built directly into his biology.

The Good Predator arrives on Earth to warn humanity and deliver a "Predator Killer" suit of Iron Man armor that will help humanity defend the Earth from the oncoming invasion force. The Super Predator wants humanity harvested because... autism makes them super geniuses.... and he declares that a 12 year old boy with autism to be the greatest Predator he's ever met... just because he has autism...

Look, I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to describe the plot of this movie. It's just bad. It's stupid. At one point they turn a Predator hound good by giving it a bullet lobotomy.

It feels like this movie hates everyone. It hates the Predators, literally killing off the Good Predator not even halfway through the film. It hates the cast, because all of them are forgettable except for Olivia Munn and Super Predator, and it kills the mystique of the Predators because it has Super Predator monologue like an actual supervillain.

The dialogue is genuinely awful, the actors have no chemistry, and the comedy (oh yes, this film acts like a comedy on several occasions) is the definition of cringe. I would call it "ChatGPT writes Predator" but honestly, ChatGPT could do it better.

Let it be known that my words do not do how awful this movie is justice. You can only understand how bad it is by watching it, but it's absolutely NOT worth the time.

Is there anything good about this movie? Besides the Holiday Special on home release?

The effects are pretty good. We see a lot of high tech Predator stuff and that's always cool. I think this had the highest budget of any of the films and it shows.

There's an action set-piece where Good Predator escapes from a government facility and uses an M4-Assault Rifle which is badass. One of the best action scenes in the movie and a neat tie-back to the government investigating them.

The Super Predator is a cool concept and I actually enjoyed him for a large part of the film. I liked that he could just pick up a human like a toy and gut him like a fish before tossing him aside. I love the idea of a Predator that isn't a hunter, but rather a soldier sent in to fuck shit up, showing off the different tech. Really gives the impression that their society has different roles and tech for Predators beyond hunting.

I wish they gave him a helmet and didn't let him monologue like a supervillain.

And that's it. That's the good stuff. Nothing else matters. It says a lot that I don't think Super Predator or the autism plot has been accepted into lore in comics or books.

It's even been argued that this film was deemed non-canon because of how abysmal the reception was.

Suffice to say, after this awful film, fans were pretty low spirit. Which made it all the more surprising when Prey (2022) was released 4 years later.

There was a lot of drama about this film: the franchise is dead, why is the film so woke for including woman and minorities, how can any human expect to beat a Predator with a bow?

This drama is stupid and should rightfully be mocked.

Prey (2022) was a breath of fresh air for the franchise and I'd argue the best film in terms of quality.

It quite literally goes back to the roots of the series and does something that really elevated the film: it made the Predator symbolise something!

This film takes place in the 18th century on the Great Plains, following Naru the Commanche healer who dreams of being a hunter. Meanwhile, a young Predator - known as the Feral Predator for his aggression - is dropped on the planet for his first ever hunt.

Obviously, you can see the parallels between the two as Naru learns to use tricks and tools to handle her weaknesses, while Feral uses brute-force and high tech equipment to slaughter the animals and humans of the planet. The Bear hunt scene, where Naru is forced to flee from a bear and helplessly watch Feral kill the creature with it's bare hands (haha), thus condemning her in his eyes as not a threat is perfect character foil.

Also, he's such a piece of shit, cheating the moment he feels like his prey has the better of him. But in a good way that makes sense for his character.

But on the grander scale, the Predator represents colonialism. A secondary antagonist of the film are the French fur trappers, who have been skinning wild buffalo and depriving the commanche of their food source, openly compared to the Predator skinning animals/humans for trophies instead of resources.

It's actually a lesson Naru has to learn from her brother and mother, that to become a true hunter is about doing so to support a community, not just for ego and idolization.

Its no accident that the Fur Trapper leader dies when Naru sabotages his gun and Feral dies when Naru does the same to his gun as well, with both of them trapped and crippled without any means of escaping their demise.

This film finally moves to make the Predators feel like evil villains who are supremely selfish, much like the first 2 films emphasized (and the third film did to a lesser extent).

But talk of how amazing Naru is as a protagonist and how great the Feral predator is as an antagonist, the film is just good. The cinematography is gorgeous, the actors are great, the Predator effects and costume are terrifying, and lore wise, it does a lot to show that the Predator society is not stagnant.

They evolve over the years and it shows.

And my god are the action scenes incredible. The Predator vs Fur Trapper fight is probably one of the most iconic scenes in the entire franchise now, and for good reason.

Or Naru's knife fight massacre

All in all, this film really shows that the Predator films can be more that action films and... whatever the fuck The Predator (2018) was trying to be.

These films can be used to explore the history of humanity and symbolize concepts that deal with oppression, bigotry, and dehumanization.

The title of Prey - the focus on making the protagonists human - versus the Predator title is incredibly fitting.

While a sequel is left up in the air, we do have confirmation that a new standalone film - titled merely Badlands - is set to come out soon.

I can only hope they learned the right lessons from Prey and we can leave the horrid past of The Predator (2018) behind us for good.