#my brain: but you can write about children running across rooftops in the middle of the night?

[chaoswarfare]

dp x dc prompt #51

when damian was sent to investigate a‘brainwashing summer camp’ he was not pleased. The kid who shared his cabin room might make it more bearable though. Danny seems to hate this place just as much as he does.

Two days later after both of them are tied up in the store room for spying, maybe he should have come in with a better plan.

summer camp dead serious thing that nobody but my brain asked for.

#dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #crossover #dc universe #dp x dc crossover #writing prompt #writing #damian wayne #brainwashing summer camp #you can’t convince me that the main camp counselor didn’t start with ‘hello happy campers!’ #dead serious #secret identities. you know. to make dating more exciting. #they bond over being the only ones that hate the place lmao #me: i can’t write this myself because i’ve never been to summer camp #my brain: but you can write about children running across rooftops in the middle of the night? #me: off topic next question #and they were roommates

[generallypo]

move over maschenny, we’ve got a hotter and cooler Khun princess in the tower now.

introducing Khun Aguero Jahad, the one and only princess that Jahad actually, sincerely hopes never wins the competition.

excessive rambling under the cut + a short fic under that. all my warnings are dead and void as of now. cheers!

-- -- -- -- -- --

i sat on my salt for a couple of days -- and then finally, finally decided to do something about it. my previous TOG post kinda went ham on that. yeehaw.

i imagine jahadprincess!khun is a little more snakey than the original (is that possible?). having climbed the tower at a blistering pace following her selection, she’s also a more competent fighter, though it additionally means she needs to use her brain less. though she plays more by her family’s and Jahad’s rules, she’s not particularly ruled by her bloodlust in the way Maschenny is, or utter complacency like Repellista. her outfit is shamelessly ripped off of Yuri’s and the casual officewear aesthetic khun sports in s1.

anyways, i did The Big Write. it has been 3 years since i have attempted such a thing. the process was complicated and stressful, i drank milk tea to compensate. i wanted to depict the moment of a big decision in which a characteristically selfish person does something shockingly altruistic, as well as the bystander who questions her motives. it’s not quite khunbam, more like an intense, one-sided dedication and some sorely needed soul searching. 

played fast and loose with characterization, timelines, general TOG canon while banging out this beast. like every middle child, i’m not super proud of it, but it gets the job done. i had a great time with it! really!

-- -- -- -- -- -- 

Unsurprisingly, it’s Yuri who finds her first. 

Her heels, lustrous and scarlet, click faintly on the rooftop tiles, and their mild echo belies nothing of the thunder on her face, or the sibilant presence of the Black March at her side. Aguero turns to meet her, inclines her head in response. 

“Why, princess Yuri. It’s a pleasure, as always.”

“Cut the crap, Aguero,” she snaps. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Aguero raises her hands. From one of them, Manbarondenna dangles innocently, unclasped buckles gleaming under fake starlight. 

“Waiting for my ride. I’m not expecting a plus one, though.” She smiles pleasantly, eyes narrowed. “Run along now. This is a single-passenger trip.”

Yuri growls. “Seriously?” She steps forward with intent, and Aguero momentarily tenses, fingers flying to her bag — but just barely, Yuri’s features soften, and she stops. Dramatically, she cocks her head, ponytail bobbing with vigor.

“You,” she points emphatically. “You’re actually going to do this. You’re not worried about the consequences.”

She states it like an accusation, but the palest shade of concern colors her voice. Are you sure of what you’re doing? Leaving this place -- leaving all of us? A complicated expression crosses her features, and she scowls. 

“This won’t just affect you, Aguero.” Firmly, her hand rests on the Black March’s handle. Do you want me to stop you?

“… I’m aware.” A pause, and oh, ugh, Aguero’s doing it again — that nasty, calculating look on her face, the one that reminds onlookers, in no uncertain terms, exactly how the princess had come by her position. Yuri balks uncharacteristically, and steps away. 

It’s not like she doesn’t think she can take Aguero in a fight… but it’s not what she had come here for in the first place. After knowing each other this long, the least she can do is offer her support, not another enemy. Aguero has no problems with making — and gleefully crushing — the latter.

She looks at the woman before her. Khun Aguero Jahad, formerly surnamed Agnis. Not so long ago, a nameless little nobody — somebody’s second, second-choice, second-rate daughter, born in a family with too many offspring to invest attention into a daughter lacking outstanding martial prowess or an especially fetching face. A forgotten girl, wholly incongruent to the imposing figure Yuri knows her as now. 

The air around them vibrates with tension, laced with an inexorable chill -- it’s not a trick of the light, Yuri notices, that her breath seems a little more visible than normal, that the sweat on her forehead feels almost solid to her skin. Aguero is watching her, face bright and predatory, and it’s a stark reminder that even beautiful things can be cold and unforgiving.

The crown jewel of the Khun family sneers, and Yuri braces herself for impact.

— — — 

Khun Aguero Agnis had almost always been a slippery, unremarkable thing, with willow branches for arms and a sullen, snarky mien. On her placid, faintly superior face sat two intelligent, gem-blue eyes — pretty enough, but also afflicted with an attitude chilly enough to wither even the most persistent suitor’s desire. To her family, and an equally hostile Tower, she was both undesirable and unsupported — and consequently, insignificant. 

Yuri had met her before, once. It had been an event much, much longer ago, during a nameless, perfectly ordinary mission to deliver some sealed goods. A loaded favor of sorts, from one family to another. Bright and on the cusp of princesshood, hair still bound in youthful twin tails, she had been greeted at the door of one of the numerous Khun establishments by a slim joke of a girl. 

Thanks for your work, the girl had said, eyes blue and sleepless and unreadable. I’ve been expecting you. With mechanical efficiency, the girl received, inspected, and stowed the package away, vanishing from the gate within seconds. 

Baffled, Yuri withdrew, scratching her head. She’d been given a verification stamp to use at the end, but the package had made it to the correct address regardless. 

I’ve been expecting you, the Khun girl had said. That counted as a mission complete, didn’t it?

If not for the silvery-blue shock of her hair, no one would have guessed the girl a child of one of the great ten families. Favored Khuns, after all, were generally not disposed towards handling petty messenger duties. The observation had barely registered for Yuri, and not much later a more exciting adventure came along to wipe the encounter from her mind. Favored or not, there were more interesting, deadly things in the Tower to focus on.

A couple hundred years ago, though… things had changed, and drastically so. Yuri doesn’t know or exactly care for the inner politics or delicate power balances among the characters of Jahad’s court, but the truth of the matter is this: 

Khun Aguero Jahad might have only been recently crowned — but she has always been a threat. 

Since the dawn of the ten families, the Khun staples of education had remained true to three essential subjects: warfare, politics, and assassination. The children learn young, or not at all. A daughter true to her heritage, Khun Aguero Agnis had bared her fangs only at the most opportune moment, sinking them firmly in the throats of her blood sister, a rival from a nearby branch family, and a number of prominent, up-and-coming girls vying for the princess candidacy. 

It had been, without a doubt — a flawless victory, the perfect display of brains and cruel strength. And of course, with those eyes, a blue as deep and pitiless as the sea: beauty, and the arrogance to wield it.

It had taken the entire upper floors by complete surprise, propelled Aguero’s name to the top of the gossip columns, and whispered unrest among the current princesses in a way that hadn’t been felt in at least half a millennium. All it had taken was a hundred years’ worth of waiting, a lighthouse, a well-placed knife, and some dead girls.

As expected, a mere three months after her candidacy was announced, Khun Aguero Agnis became Khun Aguero Jahad, and not a single voice spoke out to disagree.

— — — 

“Are you going to stop me?” Aguero’s voice is low and cool. Like magic, a small blade glimmers in her hand, and while Yuri can’t predict what kinds of weapons her sister carries on her person, she knows better than to think this is her only, or most lethal one.

“... No,” she admits ruefully. “I don’t think I’d be able to, anyway.” Deftly, she stows the Black March in her inventory, and spins around to sit cross-legged by the princess’s side. It’s always a gamble, relying on Aguero’s temper, but it’s more likely than not that the other girl isn’t actually looking for a fight. She can’t afford the attention a real one would draw, or the physical exhaustion it would inflict.

Aguero lets her, and she grins with satisfaction. “I’ll wait with you until your ride is here!” The and buy you time, if necessary, goes unsaid. Yuri yawns, and then stretches, eyes crinkling with cheeky fondness. It won’t take long for her to get bored. What better way to kill time than with invasive questioning?

“Is he really worth it, Aguero? That boy?” Yuri pouts, eyebrows raised. “This better not just be because he’s cute.” Her words have the subtlety of a berserk Shinheuh, but she’s genuinely curious, and Aguero will understand.

A quiet huff of laughter has her squinting in surprise. Dawn hasn’t quite made it to their corner of the rooftop, but she can make out the faint, yet unmistakable curve of a real smile. 

Huh, thinks Yuri, wide-eyed. It’s not a bad look on her. It’s not that Aguero has never smiled, per se, but the intrinsic softness of it all is a wholly foreign creature to her, and she likes to think Aguero does consider her a friend. Or at least as close to one as a Khun is allowed to call a person.

“Oh, he’s cute all right. Like… a puppy, I guess. Big, gold eyes, really nice voice, listens to everything I say.” Aguero snorts, fiddles with her hair. “… For the most part, at least. There was a girl that he came here chasing after — ” and here she pauses briefly, expression hard like ice chips — “but she’s, ah, not a problem anymore.” 

Yuri blinks. By her feet, frost gleams in elegant, spiraling patterns. For a moment, curiosity steals across her thoughts— what kind of girl could that have been, to catch the eye of Aguero’s sweetheart? To make even the pride of the Khuns lose her famously unshakable cool? And what the hell had even happened? But instinct cautions her otherwise, and it’s yet to lead her astray. 

Yuri shakes her head. Best not to pry into those matters. 

“Okay, then. And what are you going to do after you go?” she presses. “You know you can’t come back.”

At first, there’s no response. The seconds slide uneasily by, thick like a finger swirled through honey. The other girl’s face is thoughtful as she slowly replies: “I’m gonna help him climb the Tower.” 

Aguero shifts slightly, and meets Yuri’s gaze. “To be fair, I wasn’t sure about that either at first. He… he’s really weak, you know.”

Yuri cackles, just to fill the silence. “That bad?”

“That bad.” Aguero exhales. “But he’s a monster, too. He has these… moments, when he gets a certain look in his eyes, and it’s almost terrifying. It’s funny, because he’s the gentlest thing I’ve ever met. But he’s going to be amazing in the future. I know it.” 

“... Like Jahad? Or better?” Is it the boy’s power you’re after? His life? It’s not like Yuri can’t understand. But in the Tower, the asking price of violence and overwhelming force comes laughably cheap, and for something as easy as that Aguero would never be so reckless. The conditions of their status are admittedly stifling, but few things are truly unreachable for a Jahad princess.

Or is it something else?

“They’re nothing alike,” Aguero says flatly. “And I don’t want him to be.”

Frustratedly, she runs a hand through her hair, gesturing vaguely. “It’s hard to explain, but he…he’s good, Yuri. He’s good. All those years stuck in a cave, all the trials the Tower ran him through, all that death and backstabbing and grieving that they make the Regulars practically eat and breathe  —  he fought through it purely by his own merit, and still, nothing's broken him of it. I can’t understand it myself.” 

Aguero murmurs to no one in particular, looking bewildered herself. “… It’s dazzling, honestly.” It only lasts a heartbeat, but there’s a heat to her entire bearing, an unexpected intensity, and it looks a lot like hope.

“He’s going to flip this Tower on its goddamned head, just you wait. He’ll need someone to watch his back when he does.” She smiles again, sharp and secretive — and it leaves Yuri reeling from the whiplash, this girl — who suddenly looks more like sunlight on new snow, like devotion underneath domed ceilings and glass sculptures praising unshakable belief, than the glacial stoicism of her bloodline. “The Regulars are supposed to form teams, right? I intend to be his light-bearer.”

“A-aha…I see it now. You’re crazy,” offers Yuri, more weakly than she would prefer. She thinks she can see the bigger picture now. She isn’t sure whether she likes it or not.

… So it’s his love you’re after. Do you think it’ll make you happy?

“I’ve got it all planned out, of course. I had a quick chat with Headon about starting fresh as well, so the Ranker rules shouldn’t apply to me.” It shouldn’t be possible to make throwing away your life so easy, so fulfilling, but Khun Aguero does it somehow, conviction radiating firmly from her entirety. She laughs, bright and determined. “We’re gonna give the floors so much hell, Yuri.”

“As for being a princess,” she continues, “I have a couple of ideas as to making sure no one looks too closely. That’s a secret, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Aguero shoots her a mild look, and it’s the end of that discussion. She flicks her fingers with impatience. But one last question still burns a hole in Yuri’s chest, the one that hadn’t actually been answered, and she can’t let the other girl leave without a proper response. If she does, there won’t be a second chance.

The first hints of day yawn loomingly across the horizon. Shades of carnation and marigold, thin and pale, send tendrils of light across the sky. In just a few more minutes, the stars will disappear, eclipsed by their vibrance. And Aguero will be gone, gone, another name to be struck from the records. 

After all their years of friendship, this is where the line gets drawn. It’s a little lonely, if she thinks about it. Yuri steels herself. A younger, less jaded girl might have asked Aguero to reconsider. But regardless of whatever answer she would have been given, it’s not the one she needs to know right now.

No regrets now, Aguero.

Princess Yuri Jahad looks the defector in the eye, feeling fully well the pride and colossal pressure of her status. Bending the rules has never, ever seemed so daunting before. Maybe the weight thudding cold in her chest is her grief. Maybe, she thinks sheepishly, it’s her jealousy. She wouldn’t be surprised if it were all of the above, and more than just her own fair share of the bitterness. 

Believe it or not, she has been a princess for a very, very long time. The other girls would want to know the same.

It’s with hushed longing that she opens her mouth again, one last piece of idle gossip. With resentment, for countless eras spent in solitude and misplaced spite; loneliness, for every generation of lost, loveless young women. Every missed opportunity, every broken dream, every petty, contrived falling-out. She’s old enough to remember most of the worst. Aguero is escaping their shiny little showcase of a birdcage, at the price of losing everything else.

Please, she thinks desperately. Let her be right, this time. This is one of their sisters, after all. They must not have another Anaak Jahad.

“...Aguero. He’s worth it?” she repeats. 

Khun Aguero Agnis steeples her fingers against her chin, staring forward. The sun rises ahead of them, unrelenting and pure, and the light catches on her face and draws it all out in ferocious streaks of gold.

“Yes,” she answers. “He is.”

#tower of god #TOG #kami no tou #webtoon #khun aguero agnis #jahadprincess!khun #fem!khun #genderbend #fanart #sketches #fic #writing #princess!khun runs away from home #yep that's it that's the fic #long ass emotional screeching

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Comfortably Numb

Part 5

Warnings as always. This isn't terribly dark. Again, more informative, but a fun little lead up towards the future, so there's that. (Take note of the way Marinette describes her movements, it's not extremely important, but gives a little insight to her mind.)

(Closed list) People I've had on hold for a week: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Sitting in a coma for a year was only mildly less terrible than sitting in a grave for however long. 

On the one hand, Marinette was in a coma for a much longer period of time as far as she could tell. On the other, she was alive and could feel this body. Could hear the nurse read the newspaper to her, always announcing the date at the beginning of the visit. Sure, most of the news of this local area meant very little to her, but beggars can't be picky or whatever the saying was. 

Still, nothing could possibly beat the feeling of waking up fully. As these eyes (Both! They both opened now!) took in the room, she decided to focus in on her nurse. Watching the little delicate movements and shifts and attempting to replicate them to ensure all her nerve endings still worked. That muscles, large and small, still responded to commands, nothing paralyzed or unresponsive. While every movement strained against itself, everything still worked to some extent. Weak, but there. It seemed laying mostly still for over a year and a however much longer had deteriorated the muscle mass. Not surprising, but annoying when she desperately wanted to work her body into a frenzy just to prove she could. 

Laying there a little longer to take stock of healed over injuries, she came to the realization that this throat felt weird. She opened the mouth and attempted to ask the nurse, only for nothing to come out. Narrowing eyes, she reached out and gently tapped thin fingers on the nightstand next to the still reading nurse, drawing his attention to her.

Startled molten gold met her and suddenly he was up and taking the vitals, checking everything to be sure Marinette was truly awake and okay. He started speaking in a soothing, soft voice, though she could barely focus on the words enough to process them. Reaching out again, she stopped him midstep and then brought that same hand up to the throat to indicate the problem. She couldn't speak.

The man seemed to understand and nodded along, quickly paging a doctor and coming back to her, pressing a button to gently prop her up and slowly adjust a few machines before turning back and slowly asking a few basic yes or no questions. 

Did she know who she was? Yes, she was Marinette, stuck in the once dead body of her soulmate. She shook to indicate she didn't. With the state of the grave, she doubted she would be welcomed back to the manor. Best not to let them know who Jason was and have them contacting Bruce.

Did she know where she was? A hospital. She gave a nod for that.

Did she know the date? Yes, the nurse had read the date every day for a little over a year now. That much was easy to agree to, despite the timeline confusing her.

Does she know what happened to her? Well yes, but she shook her head no. She couldn't very well explain dying by Joker's cruelty while in the wrong body as Robin and climbing out of a grave. That was like, three separate identity reveals to one stranger. It also made zero sense and she'd probably end up institutionalized.

With the knowledge that she understood him and wasn't brain dead, the man informed her of the various injuries she knew of, plus a few bonus ones that alluded her. Then, he mentioned her inability to speak.

While all of the breaks and bruising had healed up well, the damage to the vocal chords had been horrific and while they did their best, the damage was done. They couldn't even remove them without it potentially cutting off her airway or esophagus.

She was effectively mute.

Marinette finally woke up after a year in a coma and however long in that grave and she still couldn't scream to her heart's content. This was stupid.

All she could do was glare off into space, ignoring the doctor that came in to do a checkup. 

…

After a week they took her off feeding tubes and IV only hydration and started reintroducing a liquid diet. Progress was slow and painful, but necessary.

After another two weeks they brought in soft solids like pudding and oatmeal. This is also when they first tried to help her stand up a little on her own and fine motor control was finally stable enough to write short phrases on a white bored. Rehabilitation was turning out to be an annoyingly long process.

After a month in this place, she finally left her room for the first time and abruptly realized they transferred her to a children's hospital at some point. It made sense. Jason was about fifteen when she died for him and small due to his time on the streets. Stunted growth, likely. They probably assumed she was about fourteen right now, despite the year technically making them sixteen. Even then, it would make the cutoff for a children's facility.

The bright colors across the walls and floors jarred her a bit after the nothing of so long, but was a welcome change. She tried not to glare at the little sick kids running about as she wheeled slowly along corridors, not quite able to walk on these stick thin legs.

Reports of a child John Doe had been filed, but no one really looked at those that hadn't lost their kid, so no one who would recognize Jason ever saw his report. She would be here a while. At least until she recovered enough to be considered okay for discharge. Then she would be put into the system as an orphan. She had no intention of staying long enough to see that through.

Jason and her had taken to the streets before and would thrive out there more than in any foster home they could find her. For now, she would settle back and allow the recovery process to take control. 

…

Or so she thought. She'd only been awake for a little over a month, but she guessed the file must've been put through when she first came in to try and find his guardian. Someone, somewhere, recognized Jason Todd. 

Whoever they were sold the information to Talia Al Ghul.

The woman came in the middle of the night and stole Marinette away. With this weak body and useless voice box, struggling didn't even seem like an option.

Where would it get her, anyways? Dropped off a rooftop and possibly stuck in a grave again? Talia could kill her again and she wouldn't stand a chance in defending herself. Marinette was not willing to take that chance, so she stayed complacent in her kidnapping.

Talia asked many questions of her, curious as to the state of her new play thing. She had to have known that Jason was supposed to be dead. Marinette didn't bother with paying the questions any attention. It's not like she could respond and she felt hesitant to reveal the inability. She worried over what Talia would do upon finding out the extent of the damage. Would keeping Jason be worth it to her?

Either way, she sensed the ever festing frustration in the older woman with every passing inquiry left unanswered. The look in her eyes spoke of a willingness to torture the information out of her.

Good luck with that. 

At the same time, what could Marinette possibly lose at this point. She already died once and had no home to return to. The once ever present tug in her mind was long gone and hadn't returned with her resurrection. She already lost Jason and her old life. If she actually died again by Talia's hand, would it kill her as well by this point? The body was as good as hers what with the lost connection. Either she could either actually die in it now or she was immortal. When it came to it, with no connection or way to truly live on or track down her past life, she had nothing left to fear.

Eventually she came to a decision. Looking up at the woman before her, she lifted a hand to point to the throat and quickly made a slashing motion across it, which Talia immediately nodded in understanding at. She left for a moment only to drop into the seat across the way again and drop a notebook and pen between them. Marinette picked it up and slowly wrote out a phrase.

'Vocal Chords destroyed.'

Talia only nodded and gestured to continue.

'Long coma, deteriorated muscles. Not much function.'

"And coming back from the dead? How'd that happen?" 

Marinette only shrugged. She truly didn't have an answer. Luckily that seemed sufficient an answer.

"Your brain is fully functional though. I can see how closely you're watching me. Waiting and observing. Not nearly as reckless as your past actions made you out to be. Perhaps dying has that affect though."

Marinette only watched silently as Talia mulled the thought over.

"And the damage otherwise?"

'Mostly healed over. Weakened though.'

The following conversation continued much the same. Talia asked questions and either answered them herself or waited for a short response in return. It didn't take long to get the full extent of the situation hashed out. Talia seemed to regard her with an excited gleam now and reassured her that that could all be fixed. Not to worry, the process only hurt a little. In the end, 'Jason' would feel all better.

Marinette wasn't sure exactly how to respond to this news. Yes, the promise of healing faster and possibly regaining her voice was a tempting offer, but in the end, she knew the woman wanted something from her. The price of health would be steep, of that she seemed sure. Again, she couldn't help but wonder what her alternatives were. This would happen whether or not she consented. Might as well make it feel like she had some control over the situation, if only for the comfort it lent her. She gave a jerky nod and watched the woman's smile grow.

Letting this head loll to the side, Marinette blanked out on everything else, falling into a restless sleep for the duration of their journey to wherever they were going.

…

Over the next few weeks, she woke up in random locations, being carted off into a hotel and up towards their rooms. She was never allowed to leave the room or do much more than eat and drink and use the restroom. It was similar to how she imagined prisoners lived, only in nicer conditions. Talia, while adjusted to live in any conditions, preferred to live luxuriously after all. And it wouldn't do to have a random, half dead kid following her around, raising questions all the time. Marinette couldn't truly blame her for that. She remained hidden.

…

At the end of their travels, she followed Talia out of the final hotel room and out into a cab. The cab dropped them off at a seemingly random location only for the two to walk out into the dessert. She wouldn't be surprised if that cab was only a front for the league. They walked for well over an hour, Marinette lucky to have healed enough to walk so long, even though it started to wear her down after the first thirty minutes, only determination to not be left behind moving her forward.

Talia must've stolen her without informing anyone else of her intentions. Otherwise, she's sure they would've taken a more direct and less discreet route. As it was, they reached a cave entrance and made their way down and down until eventually they begin to veer down different paths, Talia disabling traps as they went.

Eventually they reached an opening into a glowing green room, the glow emitting from a massive pool in the center. Something about the place set her on edge. The glow reminding her of Plagg's toxic green eyes and letting off what had to be a magical aura. Talia smiled down at her in a reassuring manner, putting a hand to the small of this body, nudging her forward.

Calculating the risk, it seemed her best bet to go along with the woman's plan. Talia would want her alive, so surely this wouldn't kill her. Plus, Talia seemed sincere in her promise of healing this body up and Marinette might as well be a walking lie detector at this point. The woman meant her every word. Taking a deep breath, she only hoped this magic would accept her as well as the miraculouses had.

Hovering a foot over the pool, she hesitated only a moment before remembering Kagami's advice from all those years ago. Hesitation had never helped her before and had no place here. Blinking, she nodded and let herself drop down into the pit.

#ml x dc #maribat #jasonette #WFTW #part 5 #mightve been sitting on this for a week on accident #my bad

[all-the-lovely-newsies]

What a Moment Can Do (Chapter Four)

What A Moment Can Do (Chapter Four)

Chapter One / On Ao3

Chapter Two / On Ao3 

Chapter Three / On Ao3

Thank you guys for all the support!!

Summary: Crutchie visits Snyder   

Triggers: Child Abuse, Pain, Blood, Verbal abuse, Physical Abuse, Swearing (please tell me if I forgot anything), Verbal Ableism (just one word I think) 

(OR READ ON Ao3)

    Crutchie did his best to stay upright as the guard dragged him down the long hallway. Doors lined the walls, taunting him, reminding Crutchie of just home many children called this place home. And if each room was as full as his- he shuddered- trying to push the thoughts away.

    The hallway was unnaturally quiet for one that occupied so many children. Only the creaking of floorboards and the occasional scream or cry from behind one of the doors proving he wasn’t alone. With each scream, Crutchie winced and his mind wandered to all the possible reasons for the outbursts. Suddenly, the guard grabbed his shirt and gave it a quick yank, causing him to fly forward.

    “Would ya quit hoppin’ and hurry up. I ain’t got all day,” the guard sneered. Crutchie just glared at the guard and continued to hop, which earned him a swift cuff to the back of the head. “I said stop hoppin’, you ain’t a rabbit”

    “I can’t!” Crutchie snapped, sharper than he intended. He was rewarded by being thrown against the ground, a rippling pain shooting up his leg and hip.

    “You’ll learn to shut your damn trap and show some respect, boy,” the guard jeered and stomped his boot straight into his ribs. He then lifted Crutchie back up by his collar so they were at eye level. “You’re lucky we’re on a time crunch here, ‘cause I can do a lot worse than that.”

(OR READ ON Ao3)

    Crutchie swallowed deeply and nodded. “I uh, I need my crutch. Can’t walk without it.” The guard just let out a huff in response and proceeded to drag Crutchie down the hall. After a couple of turns, they stopped at a door with a plaque nailed to the top that read: Donald Snyder- Warden. Crutchie took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his heart that was about to leap out of his chest. The guard seemed to notice the change in demeanor and chuckled before knocking on the door.

    “Come in,” came a deep voice from the other side of the door. The guard opened the door and Crutchie’s eyes went wide. The room was much nicer than any room he’d seen before. A large, wooden desk was situated in the middle of the room, covered in papers and trinkets, a bookcase and file cabinet behind it, and a singular wooden chair sat in front of the desk. Snyder raised his eyes from the booklet he was writing in. “Ah, Brooks, it’s about time.” Brooks shoved Crutchie forward and force him into the chair.

    “Sorry boss, the kid’s slow as they come. Says ‘e can’t walk right or somethin’,” Brooks placed a hand roughly on Crutchie’s shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze.

    “Well, boy?”

    “I can’t,” he stated through gritted teeth, “I need my crutch.” Snyder’s eyebrows furrowed but then came to a realization.

    “Ah, right. You’re the crippled kid.”

    “I ain’t a-!” Crutchie yelled and promptly received a backhand and a glare from Brooks. Snyder’s disposition remained calm as he reached under his desk and came up with a crutch in hand. Crutchie’s heart sunk a bit when he saw a dark brown stain covering one side of it.

    “I’d watch your mouth, boy”

    “And I’d watch where ya put yer hands, ya schmuck,” Crutchie retorted and pulled his shoulder out of the guard’s grip. Brooks growled but didn’t respond as Snyder held his hand up.

    “I don’t have time for this right now. You’ve already put me behind schedule and I gotta get to lunch,” Snyder pulled out a loosely bound book and flipped it open. Crutchie noticed the long list of names that were smudged and crudely written across the page, each accompanied by a chicken scratch signature and some other information he couldn’t make out. “Gotta name, boy?”

    “Crutchie.” Snyder looked up from his book.

    “Got a real name?”

    Crutchie shrugged, “’s the only name I respond to.” Snyder mumbled something about ‘stupid street rats’ but scribbled the name down anyway.

    “Last name?”

    “Morris.” He wrote it down.

    “Age?” Crutchie hesitated. He’d lied about his age for so long that the actual number evaded him. Apparently he took too long to respond because he received another cuff to the back of the head.

    “Fifteen,” he spat out. Snyder nodded and scribbled down the information. The room stayed eerily silent for a while as he filled out more information.

    “Sign here,” Snyder flipped his book around and handed Crutchie a pen. Crutchie leaned in closer to the desk to write something that resembled his name, he knew the basics of reading and writing, but with little practice, his handwriting was barely legible. As he was writing he glanced at the side of the desk and noticed a copy of The Sun. Upon closer inspection, his eyes lit up at the headline ‘Newsies Stop the World’, it read, accompanied by a large black and white picture of the faces he knew all too well. Before he realized what he was doing Crutchie smiled, let out a laugh, and grabbed the paper.

    “Wouldya look at that?” he pointed to the picture, “That’s me! And-and-and Jack and everyone! We did it, Jack did it, I can’t believe it!” If Crutchie were to have looked up from the paper, he would have seen Snyder’s eyes widen with interest.

    “These boys, they’re your friends?” His voice was deceivingly friendly.

    “They’se my brothers.” Crutchie analyzed every inch of that paper. The way Jack stood proud and strong, the smiles worn by Blink and Mush who were beaming ear to ear, Race’s cigar clenched between his fingers and held high above his head. The one moment where everything was going right. The calm before the storm. The storm. Crutchie’s smile quickly snapped to a frown as he flicked his head up to meet Snyder’s eyes that held a spark and whose lips were curled into a wicked smile.

    “So you’re close with these boys, huh? Especially that Jack. Jack Kelly, he and I go way back as well, y’know.” Crutchie could feel a lump gather in his throat. His hands that still gripped the paper and pen began to uncontrollably shake and he made an attempt to escape from the chair, only to be restrained by Brooks. “Well?”

    “N-no sir, I’se-um-neva seen dem in me life. It’s this brain of mine. Has a mind of it’s own,” he stuttered out.

    “Hmm, well,” an odd sweetness lined each of Snyder’s words, “why don’t you take that paper with you and maybe Brooks here can help jog your memory. Whatdya say Brooks?” Brooks smiled maliciously and nodded.

    “Yes, sir I think that can be arranged.”

    “I don’t know if I’d trust him sir, as he can’t even tie ‘is shoes right,” Crutchie tried to snap back in an attempt to regain some confidence. He turned around to see Brooks glancing down at his feet.

    “You little.”

    “Take it outside Brooks,” Snyder tossed the crutch at Crutchie, frowning a bit when he caught it. “I need my lunch.”

    Brooks’ face turned beet red but nodded and forced Crutchie up and out the door. Crutchie gripped onto his crutch, glad to finally be able to get around on his own again. He took another look at the newspaper and wished that he could be with the boys again. What he wouldn’t give to hear Race and Albert’s bickering in the morning or to sit up on the rooftop with Jack, listening to his fantasies of Santa Fe. He’d love to hear just about anything other than the crippling silence of the hallway, broken up only by the clicking of his crutch.

    In a moment he regretted thinking that as Brooks roughly shoved Crutchie up against the wall by his throat. His crutch went clattering to the ground as he focused his efforts on grabbing the arm that was constricting his breathing.

    “I’ve had just about enough of you boy,” Brooks snarled, “You and that kid you see to care about so much.”

    “Don’t…you hurt… ‘im” Crutchie managed to gasp out. He looked up just in time to see Brooks’ fist connect with his eye causing pain to ripple through his skull.

    “You may think you’re tough, boy, but you haven’t seen half of what I’m capable of, and I’ll do it with pleasure. So keep running your mouth, keep testing me. I’d love to see what happens, especially now that I have the blessings from the boss. I will break you, oh ho I’ll break you, and I’ll love every minute of it. So I’d wipe that smug look of yours right off before I do it for you.” He gave Crutchie one more good shake before releasing him. Crutchie slumped against the wall, heaving and gasping for air.

    “Get up.”

    Propping himself against his crutch he gathered up the newspaper and followed Brooks back to the room. Crutchie glanced back down at the newspaper, he had to remind himself why he had to be strong, why he was doing this. He was so distracted that he didn’t realize when Brooks stopped in front of the door and shoved him inside.

    Immediately Crutchie’s heart sunk as the door slammed behind him. A large group of boys surrounded the area where he left Eddy. He rushed past the group, ignoring the grumbles of protest as he shoved by. Crutchie winced at the sight, Eddy was curled in a ball, furiously coughing and spitting up blood next to him. There wasn’t even an attempt at getting his sleeve. Ten-Pin, who was kneeling next to the young boy, glanced up at Crutchie and shook his head slowly as he gently placed the back of his hand against Eddy’s forehead.

    Crutchie slumped down next to Ten-Pin and looked at him anxiously.

    “ ‘e ain’t looking too good. But ‘es been asking for you.” Crutchie nodded and leaned back against the wall, pulling Eddy into his lap. Ten-Pin let the two be and did his best to shoo away the crowd.

    “Crutchie?” The voice came out strained just above a whisper.

    “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here,” Crutchie’s voice shook. Eddy looked up at him and pointed at the newspaper.

    “What’s that?” Crutchie held out the paper so he could see.

    “It’s the newsies. We made it in the papes. Can ya believe it?” Eddy’s eyes lit up but instead of responding, he quickly turned away and let out another string of coughs, stray blood speckling Crutchie’s pants. The young boy whimpered and curled tighter into a ball.

    “Look here,” Crutchie tried to distract him and pointed at himself in the paper, 

    “There’s me, and- and Jack and Race and Les- ‘es about your age- and Davey,” he continued down the line of brothers.

    Eddy smiled, “Finch is the one who was afraid of the bird, right?”

    Crutchie couldn’t help but laugh. “Yup, that’s him. You were listenin’ huh?”

    Eddy giggled, “ A course! What a- what does the pape say?”

    Crutchie took a breath, in all honesty, he didn’t get a chance to read it himself. He glanced at the headline, “Newsies Stop the World” he read aloud, “With all eyes fixed on the trolley strike, another battle brews in the city-”

    “ You’se like those fancy guys in shiny uniforms. A real battler,” a voice perked up from the room.

    “It’s soldier, idiot,” another proclaimed.

    Crutchie’s eyes snapped up to see that he had once again gained an audience. A handful of boys were either sitting cross-legged or leaning in from their beds to get a piece of the information. The one who spoke up puffed out his chest, “My Pa was a soldier. Had a shiny medal and ev’rything.”

    “Yeah? And what’d good that do ya? Ya still in here ain’t’cha?” piped up the boy sitting next to him. The first boy turned to punch the other and soon there was a scuffle on the floor. A ruckus quickly followed and a guard had slammed on the door to quiet them. When the two boys didn’t stop Fives came over from his bunk.

    “Woah, hold on there Private!” Fives sneered pulled the two boys apart. “What we don’t need in here is us fighting each other, got that?” he stared straight at the boys and they quickly nodded.

    “Sorry, Fives” they chorused.

    “Now, I’m sure this kid’ll finish the article if you idiots would be quiet.” Fives cuffed the back of both boys’ heads and nodded towards Crutchie. Crutchie opened his mouth to thank him but was quickly silenced by a glare from the older boy. “Well”

    Crutchie cleared his throat, “Uh- ehem- A modern-day David posed to take on the rich and powerful Goliath, Jack Kelly stands ready to beat the behemoth, Pulitzer,” he continued and was uninterrupted for the rest of the article.

    By the time Crutchie finished many of the boys had lost interest, but Eddy’s eyes stayed fixed on Crutchie, clinging on to every word.

    “Jack seems really amazing,” he whispered through a cough.

    Crutchie sighed, “Yeah, he is. He really is. I miss him.”

    “You could write him a letter.”

    “Huh?”

    “A letter, y’know. Sometimes my Ma would write ‘em to my Grams cause she lives cross da ocean. You could write Jack one, and we could give it ta ‘im.”

    Crutchie smiled at the boy’s innocence. “ Sure Eddy, I think that’s a great idea.” He flipped through the paper until he got to a page with some blank space.

    “You ready?” Eddy nodded. “Dear Jack,” Crutchie started, reading aloud as he wrote, “Greetings from the Refuge.”

TAGLIST:: (Let me know if you want to me added or removed)

@romeo-in-a-trenchcoat @klaineharmony​ @americasfavoritefightingthot  @stripeconlon​ @jd-sammy  @wingedprunepsychiclawyer @nerdgirl453 ( @waitin-makes-me-antsy​

#Newsies #Newsies fanfiction #Newsies fics #Moment Fic #Crutchie #Crutchie Newsies #Newsies Live #DustyWrites #What a Moment Can Do #tw:Physical abuse #tw: verbal abuse #tw: blood #tw: ableism

[rosesisupposes]

Watch Them Run

Part 5 of Another Goddamn Hero Story

read on ao3

Chapter Pairings: Platonic & Romantic Analogical, Romantic Royality, Pre-Romantic LAMP, Romantic Remceit

Chapter Warnings: Violence/fighting; allusions to smut; some miscommunication

Word Count: 4,981

Taglist: @residentanchor​ @royally-anxious​ @bewarethegrammarpolice​   @jemthebookworm​ @arandompasserby​  @sparkly-rainbow-salt​ @astral-eclipse​​ @thelowlysatsuma​ @monsterinatophat @turtally-pawsome @um-yes-hi-hello @idkaurl

Chapter Notes: Can you tell I love writing the boys as gay disasters? Can you also tell that I am in love with Remy? Fun fact: I have a playlist for this AU of 24 songs, 11 of which are Panic! at the Disco. I regret nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Air rushed by Virgil’s ears as he flew over Harmony City. It was truly lovely in the twilight, when the first pricks of silver light were appearing in the indigo sky and the last rays of the sun were glinting off rooftops. And the moon had risen early tonight, shining bright and full above his head. He was flying slowly, making the rounds of his regular patrol. He was currently somewhere in the southwest, near Sycamore Heights, and knew Logan was in the north covering his quadrants. He was alert and aware, but not on edge - tensed to move and defend at any moment, but passing birds and bats didn’t make him jump.

What did make him jump was a sudden buzzing at his wrist.

The coordinates flashing from the HATCH alert sent him wheeling north. It could just be one of the ordinary villains they faced on a regular basis - all the supers in the region seemed to flock to the city sooner or later. But some sixth sense told him it would be the terrifying pair from the week before. He hoped Logan would arrive at the same time - he didn’t want the speedster to go up against both villains alone.

The coordinates led him to the middle of the city, right on the street that divided the north and south. There was a construction site here, some government-funded building, but Virgil couldn’t remember what. A children’s hospital, or a school, something along those lines.

He stayed in the air, hovering, blending in with the darkening sky. He didn’t have enhanced vision, but unlike his bespectacled partner, he had pretty decent eyesight naturally. He peered into the shadows of the building skeleton that was slowly being built up in the crater of some past super fight. There. Movement. And occasional flashes of red light. It was them.

He flew down slowly, scanning the streets. No sight of Logan yet, but he couldn’t be more than a few seconds away. And they’d devised strategies for situations just like this. It was Virgil’s responsibility to start them off before Logan arrived.

He flew down and alit silently on the tallest beam to watch more clearly what the villains were up to. Gale Force said something to the Marauder, then floated away to the perimeter. The Crimson Marauder was creating constructs again - another bomb, by the look of it. What was it with these villains and wanting to blow shit up?

He landed heavily and knocked the red-and-black-clad man back with a single blow to the chest. The Marauder fell back, his constructs immediately vanishing as he stumbled. Virgil froze for a moment - had he used too much force? He didn’t want to be cruel, not even to an attempted saboteur. But the man rose with a grown and sent a huge ruby fist the size of a small car hurtling back at him. Virgil crossed his arms and braced, letting the impact hit and dissipate without harm. He straightened again, and made eye contact with the villain. The Marauder stared, open-mouthed.

“What the hell, that didn’t even phase you?” he asked.

Virgil shrugged, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. “I mean, maybe you could actually try this time, Princey.”

The Marauder stiffened. “What the fuck did you call me,” he snapped.

“Oh, sorry, was that rude? Didn’t mean to pop the whole ‘reinvention’ bubble you’ve got going on here,” Virgil offered with false sincerity. “Though I gotta say, love the new outfit compared to the old one. Very Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge.”

Virgil was answered with a yell as psionic constructs came flying towards him, accompanied by the villain himself. Swords, bats, and what looked suspiciously like a keyblade flew harmlessly passed him as he dodged swiftly and grabbed the Marauder by the front of his uniform. He pulled him close, halting the villain’s momentum, then pinned him up against a partially-built wall. The Marauder seethed, scowling at the hero who kept him trapped as constructs blinked into existence and faded again.

“You know nothing about me, you posh-ass hero-boy! With your fancy suit and your cushy support of the city and your beautiful hair!”

Virgil cocked an eyebrow. “Aw, you dig the purple? Always nice to be appreciated by my fans. And I’m sure I’ll be getting to know you very well, once you’re all cozy and locked up.”

“You’ll have to catch us first!” a voice rang out. Gale Force was hurtling towards hero and villain, winds funneling around him as the pressure knocked Virgil entirely out of the way.

Virgl landed hard on the ground. It didn’t hurt, per se, but the shock left him almost winded.

Gale Force patted the Marauder’s cheek. “You all good, Roman?”

“Yes, my dearest Patton. Go get him.”

Roman and Patton, Virgil thought, fixing the names in his brain as the wind manipulator sent a small hurricane whistling towards him.

A dark blue blur came into being around Gale Force, a matching tornado that spun faster and faster. Virgil smirked. Logan’s timing, as always, was impeccable, and the speedster was turning Patton’s trick from HEARTS against him.

The villain stumbled and started to choke, then toppled over. Logan came to a halt just in time to catch the villain in his arms.

Excellent, caught him, he thought to himself, when his thoughts were suddenly diverted by an entirely new train. The villain’s blue eyes fluttered open under ginger curls that appeared to be constantly bouncing in the wind. Partially passed out, the man’s freckled face looked so… open, and vulnerable, and lovely, and what was happening to him?

It was at that moment that a huge excavator arm made of glowing red light plucked the grey-and-blue-clad villain out of Logan’s arms as the Marauder recovered his partner. Logan scowled, mind back on the task, and sped towards Roman. The construct holding Patton didn’t disappear as a ramp sprang into being right in Logan’s path, sending him running straight into open air. Without hesitating, he used his momentum to land on a beam of the partially-constructed building, then leapt across to another. The Crimson Marauder, still holding Gale Force, began flying up, but that only brought him to Logan’s level. The speedster leapt across from beam to beam again, landing a blow on the villain’s cheek. It sent the man spinning and caused him to drop the just-waking Patton. The wind-raiser caught himself before he hit the ground and threw himself once more at Virgil. Prepared this time, Virgil leapt into the air to dodge the attack, then came slamming down with a punch to the villain’s jaw. Patton staggered back and tripped, but remained conscious.

“Getting a little hot, Pattycake!” Roman cried from where he dodged and weaved around Logan’s quick jabs.

“Just like you, Romano Cheese!” Patton called back. He took off into the air, spinning a wall of air to knock Logan back. The moment gave Roman enough time to gain altitude above where Logan could reach from the growing building. Virgil flew up, ready to follow, but Logan shook his head. Instead, Virgil hovered in the air by his partner as the two villains flew off once again, much slower this time.

“We got them away from their target without anyone else getting hurt. That’s what matters,” Logan commented. He looked up at Virgil. “Is something the matter? What did Gale Force do to you before I arrived?”

“Lo, you might not believe this, but this Patton guy is actually tough enough to match me. I didn’t hold back at all.”

Logan looked worriedly at his partner, but was surprised to see some mix of awe and excitement on Virgil’s face.

“V? You okay?”

“I’m great,” the hero replied with feeling. “For the first time ever I don’t need to worry about pulling my punches. I can just… cut loose.”

And over the following weeks, he did just that.

The villain duo were tricky - they never seemed to go for the traditional targets of huge gatherings of people or grand openings of buildings. They continued a string of sabotage attempts around the city, along with a host of thefts and small vandalisms. Logan and Virgil had officially become the on-call heroes for them. All the others on the HATCH call were too easily flustered by Gale Force’s unnerving dichotomy of viciousness and wordplay or by the Crimson Marauder’s distracting showboating and flattery.

Patton was loathe to admit it, but he was growing accustomed to their recurring opponents. They weren’t friends, of course not, but they were… familiar. Almost comforting in that familiarity. There was Reflex, powerful, huge, and yet Patton could tell he consciously chose to not punch the less-durable Roman with all his strength. The ginger man may have needed glasses, but he’d have to be fully blind (not to mention deaf) to not be aware of how attracted his partner was to the hero despite their opposition. And Patton… was not unmoved. He wasn’t one to lie about his feelings, even when it was an impossibility. A hero with a villain? Particularly this hero, the strongest one the city had, with these villains, the scourge of City Hall?

And then there was Doctor Vectorious. The speedster. Curse him and his muscled thighs and the way his forehead crinkled when he was frustrated with their latest scheme. The tiny sighs and barely-concealed smiles whenever Patton told yet another pun. It was incredibly rude of the hero to be this endearing when he was the worst of his kind. Maybe it was his black-and-white goggles that gave him such a dichotomous view of other supers: either active hero, or villain. No in between. Which was rich, given that the ‘active’ heroes were never enough to save everyone. How many times had Patton wished he could have been just a little faster that fateful day, and now a man who could have been thought he was in a position to judge?

Patton had thought he was alone in his frustrating attraction to the short hero until the villains were relaxing in their home one lazy evening. Stretching out dramatically over Patton on the couch, Roman had proclaimed, “These heroes will be the death of me.”

“No they won’t, my Crim-sunshine. Because I’d kill them first!”

“No, my love, not actual death. Just… gay death.”

“Oh, yeah,” Patton hummed sympathetically. “That last time Reflex pinned you, I knew I had to get you free before you started moaning. They don’t need to know how loud you are.”

Roman flushed. “It’s just so rude. His nickname is ‘Flex and that’s all I want to see him do.”

“It’s okay kiddo, you’re a gay disaster. I love you anyway.”

“It’s not okay!” Roman wailed. “Because the Doc was monologuing the other day and he pushed his goggles back and his hair was all windswept and I tripped over my own construct.”

Patton flushed. “You… think he’s pretty, as well?”

Roman looked up from where he’d face-planted into a pillow to make eye contact with his partner. “Pat! My dear Gay-le Force, hater of all speedsters, finding our resident Doc Vectorious pretty?”

“No!”

“Ooohhhhh, you totally have a crush on him!!” Roman teased.

“No more than you do!”

Roman giggled. “Darling, you said it yourself, I’m a disaster, that means nothing. My influence has been grand. You’re officially a gay disaster, too. Although in your case, maybe you’re a gay natural disaster. Like, Hurricane Gay-trina.”

Patton grinned brightly at the pun, and kissed Roman on the cheek. “You have more experience with this, what do we do now?”

“Oh my dearest Pat,” Roman said with a smile, “now we scheme harder.”

“Why will that help us with the fact that we now both have crushes on the heroes who fight us on an almost-daily basis?”

“Because,” Roman declared, standing into a dramatic pose, “now we will scheme with debonair grace! We won’t just steal riches, we will steal their hearts!”

At that moment, the police scanner in the corner crackled to life. It had taken many tries, but Roman had finally found a way to tap into the hero channel, real-time reporting of the system they used to summon heroes in response to villain activity. And now, even through the static, the current report made him frown.

“...respond...Reflex…-torious...Antiques…Shadow…” a voice read out through crackles and pops of a shaky signal.

“Flex and the Doc?” Patton confirmed aloud.

“Sounds like it, my sweet summer breeze.”

“But they’re our nemeses!”

“Well, we should go join them then, shouldn’t we.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since he’d been notified by the Mayor’s office a month ago, he’d been awaiting this moment. Logan sped through the city, focus narrowed only on his speed as he arrived at Something Borrowed Antiques in seconds flat. He knew Virgil was coming as well, but this was a case where it was Doctor Vectorious who was truly needed. As strong and powerful as he was, even Reflex wasn’t immune to the unique powers wielded by the villain known as Moonshadow.

Logan came to a halt at the corner across from the storefront and adjusted his goggles. He’d built them up to include tech of his own invention, including, on this occasion, binocular focus, night-vision, and heat signatures. He peered across at the building. Moonshadow was likely inside, but had they brought a lookout? A small movement above the door answered that question for him. It looked like a lizard - a chameleon, perhaps? - was crawling inside.

“Ah, so you’re looking out for them again,” Logan murmured to himself. He adjusted his goggles back to regular distance and sped across the street, entering the building and zipping through the grand halls in a barely-perceptible blur. He zipped and zagged through glass cases filled with dainty porcelain and around stately showrooms of gilt-encrusted furniture. He knew where he’d find the villain he sought, and it would be…

Ah yes. Right there. On the actual throne of some bygone ruler.

The villain was lounging across the velvet seat of the throne, admiring the jewel-encrusted rings that adorned every finger. There was a lot of them to lounge, though at least half their height was made up by impossibly-long legs. An antique tiara perched on top of their head in sharp contrast to their artfully-mussed hair and ever-present leather jacket. Today, the jacket was paired with form-fitting leggings and a crop top that read “Royalty” in bedazzled purple and gold letters. As he ran closer, Logan could see the glinting rhinestones and jewels reflect in the sunglasses they wore even now, indoors and at night.

God, they were so- what was the word Virgil had used?

They were so goddamn extra.

Without letting his attention waver, without a single pause in his speed, Logan raced up to the reclining form and pulled them up roughly, pinning their arms behind their back and holding their torso pointed firmly away from himself.

“Good evening, Remy. Having fun?” he asked politely.

“Doctor, babes! How’s it been?” Remy asked, twisting as they tried to look at the hero holding them firm.

“In the month since you broke out again? Adequate, for the most part, but Corbin, of course, misses you.”

“Aww Corbie, what a sweetie. I knew he cared under all that bluster of ‘No I can’t let you out’ and ‘Do the crime, serve the time’,” Remy drawled. “I suppose I’m going back to visit him again?”

“Yes, Rem. As a reminder, not that it ever makes a difference, this,” Logan said, free hand gesturing to the stately room, “is theft. That’s when you take something that isn’t yours without asking or paying for it. Much like that bank heist you pulled off last month.”

“But Logan,” Remy said earnestly. “No one’s using it, why can’t I have it? Finders keepers, right? C’mon, just let me take some bling. It’ll be funny.”

Logan used both hands to hold the villain now, rolling his eyes. He supposed that it was only fair that the one villain who knew part of his secret identity was the one he’d been capturing and re-capturing for three straight years now.

“Rem, put the rings back on the throne. All of them.”

“But Lo, baby, honey, sweetie,” Remy pouted. “I look so good in them, right? Like, I know I make the tiara work, but hun. You should see me in a crown.”

Logan sighed pointedly as the villain fidgeted in his grip.

“C’mon, it’s not like anyone told me to leave,” they complained.

“Remus, I truly do not know how to explain it more clearly than I did last time: if you use your ability to make people forget they’ve seen you, that does not count as consent for you to continue doing whatever you’re doing.”

“But consider this: it’s funny.”

Ignoring him, Logan adjusted his grip, freeing one hand to send a message to City Hall. “Is Damon here tonight? I thought I spotted him outside.”

“You know I would never break our national no-snitching policy, babes.”

A clatter from outside, followed by an angry hiss that dissolved into a string of swears, made Logan quirk a smile.

“Ah, I see Reflex has arrived. That must be him and Damon now.”

The villain in his grip sighed contently. “I love our little catch-ups, Lo, but you know I always love to see my boi ‘Flex.”

“I will have a hold on you, so you will not be seeing anyone. Don’t you try anything on him,” Logan warned.

“You never want to share anything,” they pouted. “Or anyone.”

“Reflex, we’re in here!” Logan called, ignoring the captive villain. “I’m holding them away from the door.”

“Thanks, Doc!” Virgil called back. He entered the room, carrying a skinny man of medium height over one shoulder. “How’re they?”

“Better now that you’re here, ‘Flex,” Remy called, unable to turn towards the hero. “Are you manhandling my boyfriend again?”

“No, I love being carried like a sack of potatoes,” the man replied from Virgil’s shoulder. He wore a yellow and black bomber jacket. Unlike his partner, he actually wore a mask that covered his eyes and half his face and was attached to a black bowler hat. The eyes underneath it had reverted back to their normal hazel, but scales were still visible in spots on his face and hands. The multi-colored chameleon scales still matched the wall color, sticking out starkly against the puffy burn scars that protruded out from under his mask.

“Put him down!” Remy complained. “No hands on the boyfriend unless it’s an open invitation for us both.”

“Yeah this is definitely the time and place for that offer, babe,” the man drawled.

“Doc, is containment on the way?” Virgil asked, ignoring the couple’s back-and-forth.

“Yes, they should be arriving… just about now, actually.”

The two heroes towed their captives towards the front of the building, where Logan’s sense of timing had not yet failed him. A green truck was parked outside, labeled ‘City of Harmony: Enhanced Ability Containment Unit.’

A tech in green coveralls approached the heroes cautiously. “I’ve got the stasis cuffs, Doc, you ready?”

Logan nodded, and shifted his grip to hold Remy’s head towards the building. The tech came forward and snapped cuffs around their wrists. Virgil deposited the man he’d been carrying on the ground.

“Does he need cuffs too?” the tech asked.

“Technically, as a lookout only, he’s not guilty of any crimes-” Logan started, but was interrupted.

“Yes, I definitely do, I am very much guilty. Send me to lockup. Preferably right next to that one,” he said, gesturing towards Remy.

The tech frowned. “That’s… not really how this works?”

Virgil shrugged. “I mean, we could say he abetted an attempted burglary. Even if the real crime is just watching out after his partner’s dumb ass.”

“I heard that,” Remy called out. “And I’m flattered you’ve finally noticed my ass.” A tech had cautiously removed their sunglasses, revealing eyes that looked like marble orbs. Finally able to move on their own, they turned to face the heroes and their boyfriend.

“What can I say, when the man’s right, he’s right,” the boyfriend in question replied with a shrug.

“Damon, you love me, right?”

“Nope, not at all,” Damon replied, walking up to his partner. He cupped the villain’s cheek in one hand that was still dotted with slowly-fading scales. “Love is definitely not a term I would use.” He kissed them softly on the nose, and then on the lips, smiling as he did so.

“Well that’s gay,” Gale Force commented from the building’s roof.

“Not as gay as me,” the Crimson Marauder pointed out as he landed on the other side of the small group assembled by the truck.

“Fuck,” Virgil said with feeling. “Quick, get Rem- get Moonshadow into the truck,” he told the techs.

“What about the Viper?”

Virgil quickly glanced behind him to see Damon kissing Remy firmly, than suddenly shrinking as he transformed into a chameleon once more.

“Let him go, he’ll turn up soon,” Logan called out as the reptile skittered off into the shadows. In less than a breath’s time he was back-to-back with Virgil, both keeping eyes on the two newly-arrived villains. Without needing to speak, both heroes moved out into the street, away from the civilians.

The Marauder strolled closer, towards Logan. “So, less than two days from our last encounter and you’re already hanging out with other villains?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Sorry to break it to you, but it’s true. There are others. So many others. It’s almost like it’s our job to stop acts of violence from anyone who tries it.”

“Are we just not enough for you anymore? Have our schemes lost their charm? Do I need to scheme harder? I swear by Barbra Streisand I will scheme harder!”

Virgil caught himself smiling fondly when he noticed a slight movement and heard the rush of air coming from Gale Force. He was moving immediately, grabbing Logan as he leapt away. The targeted gust hit the pavement where they’d been standing hard enough to dent.

“Look at how fast you move!” the ginger villain beamed down at them. “This is why we’re so well matched, kiddos!”

Virgil set Logan back down on his own two feet before whirling to face the air manipulator again. “What do you want? You two don’t usually drop in on us, we just stop you,” he demanded.

In a flash of red, the Marauder was lounging on a floating platform just above Virgil’s head. “Would you believe me if I told you it was to just to get your attention?”

“You’ve had our attention,” Logan remarked drily. “You’ve yet to retain our interest.”

Roman sat up with a gasp, one hand splayed on his chest, the other draped gracefully across his forehead. “Cads, the lot of you. My honor has been besmirched, my loveliness impugned, my-”

“Wow, you really are unbelievably extra any chance you get, aren’t you.” Virgil said, deadpan. He flew up into the air to dodge another wind attack.

“That appears to be a theme today,” Logan commented, casually side-stepping Roman’s recovery as he lunged at the speedster with a glowing red sword. “I believe I used the word correctly to apply to Remy earlier.”

“See, I told you the flashcards would help,” Virgil said earnestly, grabbing both of Roman’s arms with one hand and pinning him to his own platform.

“Wait, you have flashcards?” the villain asked, incredulous. He lifted his head from where Virgil casually held him trapped. “What a Microsoft nerd!”

“Now Ro, we don’t need to be mean,” Patton admonished. Roman let the construct platform disappear so that he could fall out of Virgil’s grip, and Patton sent a breeze swirling through to buffet the tall hero back, allowing his partner's escape. “There are just so many new terms these days, what with the kiddos and their ‘moods’ and ‘yotes’ and ‘wiggles.’”

“Looks like I’m not the only one who needs vocabulary cards,” Logan muttered, running past Patton to spin the man’s body into dizziness.

Roman was just standing from his cushioned fall when a force pushed him back down. He was knocked flat on his back as Virgil’s weight trapped him there. Before he’d processed the fall, a hand grabbed both his wrists and pinned them above his head. He looked up into Virgil’s masked face, only a foot away from his, eyes boring into his own. All his constructs promptly faded as his fighting mind went blank.

“‘Flex, darling, you could have just asked,” he murmured. It appeared the only brain function remaining was Excessive Flirtation. “It’s not like we haven’t both been thinking it.”

And Reflex… didn’t immediately scoff. A slight smile quirked at one side of the hero’s mouth. Roman wasn’t sure what he’d done right, but he was not above trying to press his advantage.

“You know, the city may label me the villain, but it’s clearly you on the wrong side of the law.” Letting his eyes travel very obviously up and down the hero’s body, Roman continued with a grin. “It must be a crime to look this good.”

Virgil snorted, his free hand coming up to cover his smile. “Really? Pick-up lines? That’s where we’re at now? I thought-”

A sudden cry of pain ripped his attention away. His head snapped up in time to see Logan sliding to the ground from the wall Gale Force’s winds had thrown him into. Without thought, Virgil was in the air, streaking towards the villain to keep him from hurting his partner again. His fist crashed into the grey-clad man, knocking him back ten feet in a single blow. Eyes blazing, he followed after, ready to strike again.

Gale Force whirled, sending twin tunnels of wind from each hand. One sped towards Virgil’s chest, the other towards where Logan shakily stood up once more.

“NO!” Virgil yelled, his voice booming out in a shock wave around him. Gale Force suddenly froze, his eyes wide. The Marauder, too, was frozen, but in mid-air as he flew towards standing hero. Logan, twice as far away, was unaffected as dusted himself off. Virgil raced over.

“Lo, are you okay? Any broken bones? Is your back alright? God, that was such a hard blow, I’m so sorry, I was distracted, I wasn’t protecting you-”

“Virge, I’m okay. It’s okay. I’m fine. A little bruised, but I was able to cushion the impact.”

Virgil grabbed the shorter man to him and hugged him, holding him tight. “Thank god. I’m still sorry. I should have been over here. Gale Force is clearly the bigger threat, and I let myself get distracted.”

“Distracted?” Logan asked, raising a single eyebrow. He glanced over at the still-stunned Crimson Marauder, and back at Virgil.

The tall hero flushed under his mask and released Logan. “Oh wow, look at the time, better get containment here before the freeze wears off,” he muttered, tapping at the communicator on his wrist.

“Gentlefolk of all genders, observe carefully,” Logan said, smirking. “You’re witnessing a truly historic event. Virgil ‘Reflex’ Skylar appears to, for the first time ever recorded, have been affected by another man the way he affects everyone who likes men.”

Virgil’s blush deepened as he nudged Logan with an elbow. “Very funny. You know it’s not the first time.”

Logan’s eyebrow rose again, this time quizzically.

Virgil half-smiled, still blushing furiously. “You know. You.”

“What?”

“Wait, did you not know?”

“Know what?”

“Lo, I’ve had a crush on you since the moment we met. I thought I’d been, like, pretty fucking obvious?”

Now it was Logan’s turn to blush as his brain, normally so quick, struggled to catch up. He opened his mouth to reply just as the same green trucks from before pulled up.

“I- we can discuss this later. Once we’ve gotten these two safely secured.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337397

Classification: M.2.ii [Secondary Tier Neutral, Acquired Powers]

Name: Moonshadow

Status: INACTIVE

/////////Reason: Incarceration

Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: CONFIDENTIAL] Remus “Remy” Dormions

Affiliation: Villain

Partners/Sidekicks: DI#337500 - The Viper

Primary Foes: DI#337255 - Dr. Vectorious

Powers: Short-term memory manipulation

/////////It was previously thought they had invisibility powers, but security cameras have shown us that they can just cause onlookers to forget seeing them until they’ve passed from view

Costume: N/A

/////////They just wear a leather jacket and sunglasses even when it’s not necessary, like when it’s raining or nighttime or indoors

Age: 25

Height: 6’5”

Pronouns: They/Them

H.E.A.R.T.S. Class of ‘15

Note: Started neutral - more chaotic than evil. In the words of DI#337255 - Dr. Vectorious, “They’re not motivated by evil, but they just don’t seem to understand you can’t just take whatever you want.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337500

Classification: M.2.ii [Secondary Tier Neutral, Acquired Powers]

Name: The Viper

Status: ACTIVE

Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: CONFIDENTIAL] Damon McLeggan

Affiliation: Neutral

Partners/Sidekicks: DI#337397 - Moonshadow

/////////Less super-partners in the traditional sense, more he’s occasionally dragged along with them and tries to keep them out of jail

Primary Foes:  N/A

Powers: Shape-shifting [reptile forms only]; Poison secretion

/////////While shifting to reptilian forms can happen almost instantly, some quirk of the mutation means the shift back takes much more time. We’ve recorded a lag of over 24 hours after a shift.

Costume: Black and yellow bomber jacket, bowler hat with attached mask

Age: 23

Height: 5’7”

Pronouns: He/Him

H.E.A.R.T.S. Class of ‘12

Note: Inciting incident: some memory loss regarding exact details, but apparently was forced to be bitten by a snake that had been genetically manipulated by DI#265333 - The Mystic Magician; Rescued in the raid on MM’s lab, but sustained severe burn scars from MM’s attempt to blow the lab as the heroes invaded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#Roses Writes Fanfic #Another Goddamn Hero Story #aghs #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #superhero au #ts roman #ts patton #ts virgil #ts logan #ts deceit #ts remy #ts sleep #could be lamp #LAMP/CALM #remceit #receit #nonbinary remy #gay disasters #the lot of them #just a bunch of superpowered gay disasters #remy is goddamn Kween #and i love them so much #next up: breaking the heart

[cameronomicon]

I Dream of Jeanie

This blog begins like everything else: with the supernatural. A ghost story. Well, it’s a story about two ghosts: one is corporeal, flesh and bone, hungry. He haunts his own life and the lives of the people who love him. That ghost is me, Cam, a career alcoholic, prescription amphetamine and nicotine addict, and struggling adult human. The other ghost is haunting him. And others. In Orange County, California, of all the world’s god-forsaken places. 

It’s September 2, 2018. I have just emerged from medical detox in a treatment facility in Mission Viejo, California, where I was admitted the evening of August 30. 

The days and weeks preceding this were a blur of teary eyed calls with friends and coworkers, vomiting, tremors, all-day drinking, zero rest, little food, and, finally, an evening drive south to rehab with a very patient friend. I had my dog in tow. The vomit he had saved for over an hour an a half was his parting gift for my friend and her car’s interior as we pulled into the driveway of our suburban destination. 

She is a very, very patient friend. 

The first thing I remember at the facility was the cops showing up to deal with a violent intake who screamed at the graveyard shift tech relentlessly about getting their medication. For the next two and a half days, I staggered around the in an Ativan-induced fog. I managed to execute a supervised grocery run, though I have no recollection of this event. 

After detox, I was driven to one of the houses where I would undergo residential treatment for the disease that has ruled my life in one manifestation or another since that first, boiling-hot, high-school-sized swig of whisky in the Wyman family back house all those years ago. It was, frankly, magic. Alcohol activated something in me that finally allowed me to feel comfortable in my own skin, around others, and as a part of the world. 

A few days passed, and I began to emerge from behind the benzodiazepine cataract. I woke up early one day, as I did every day, and stumbled about in my coffee-making and dog-letting-out routine. I stood outside with a steaming mug amidst the low fog of the costal marine layer, which enveloped palm trees in a smudgy gray that, especially in the golden sunlight of the hours which follow, always seemed eerie and alien. That’s when the graveyard tech walked out to join me. 

“Morning, how you feeling?” he asked. 

“I’m ok.” My dog set off across the yard at a full clip to pursue a rustle in a bush. “Slept like shit, though.”

“Oh really? Must have been that woman screaming.” He laughed.

“The what?” I was incredulous. It was too early. I turned away and watched the fog lick at the clay rooftop tiles of the ascending rows of identical homes on the ridge that kept us from the sea.

“You didn’t hear it? I hear the screams every night.”

*

Over the next few days, residents and staff alike compared notes. All who heard the screaming said it happened late at night, around 3am, and they could not pinpoint the source. Some said it came from across the street, others swore it they heard the scream coming from down the hill. Some of the staff had contemplated calling the police. 

I never heard the screaming because I went to bed too early to be a witness. But there were the nightmares. Horrifying, vivid nightmares the likes of which I’d never experienced before. Graphic visions of being sexually assaulted, of torture, of humiliation and suffering. Horrible, paralyzing dreams that would interrupt my sleep several times every night and continued to haunt me well into my waking hours. The following is from my journal, slightly edited:

“I had a dream last night that I was violently raped by (someone) ... who I was sent to ... as punishment for making a rug dirty. (They) screamed at me and laughed while (they) did it and when I cried (they) made it worse ... Then I was surrounded by empty beer bottles in my childhood bedroom and voices kept saying 'I thought you quit.’”

At the time of this writing, I feel that the whole, unedited content of this and the other dreams I experienced is too graphic for me to feel comfortable sharing. 

This happened to me every single night for over a week.

*

When we told our reiki practitioner about the screaming, she was unfazed. 

“That sounds like Jeanie,” she said matter-of-factly before she began our sessions. “Jeanie died here. Fell out of her bed one night.”

Reiki is a dubious energy healing technique that was offered as a part of the suite of care in our treatment center. Having experienced it myself, I can say that reiki seems to be at best a meditative aid and at worst some psychic hoodwinkery. What we learned is that our reiki master had also serviced the patients in palliative care at our house when it was still a hospice, which was not very long ago at all. She had treated and came to know Jeanie, whose spirit she immediately and authoritatively claimed was the source of the screaming. 

That we seemed to have inherited both reiki and a restless, screaming ghost was a lot to digest on a warm, dry Thursday afternoon in rehab.

What most people don’t know about Orange County, if in fact they know anything at all, is that it is the treatment capital of the world. There is a massive drug and alcohol rehabilitation industry here, with facilities dotting suburban neighborhoods and costal communities alike. Many, such as ours, are indistinguishable from other homes from the outside. Only when you go inside can you spot the differences: no locks on the doors, cameras everywhere, California-required hazard signs and fire extinguishers, motivational-adjacent but woefully empty wall platitudes. 

“Don’t dream your life...live your dreams!” taunted me in perfect cursive from its place on a kitchen wall. In that moment, if I lived my dreams, I’d be in the worst hell I could imagine. Most mornings I simply ignored it as I avocadoed my toast. It was ultimately harmless and forgettable, though I admit I got a mildly satisfying kick out of sneering at it. 

Having administered both reiki and information about our ghost, the master left. We living residents of the house all sat together outside on the back patio to discuss what she had told us. The others smoked or vaped as they speculated about what it could all mean. I crammed a few handfuls of candy in my face, and then I told them about my dreams. 

“Holy god in heaven,” one of my friends cried out. “Now that’s some sick shit.”

Eyes downcast, faces ashen, I could tell my information had affected the others and added a gravity to the situation that hadn’t been there before. We did not speak of it again. 

That night, I dreamed about someone I loved once who couldn’t love me. I saw her across a crowded dance in a school gym. She was made up beautifully, wearing a blue dress, her hair cut short, colored blonde and bouncy. She smiled and reached out to me. I tried to grab her hand, but she fell back into darkness, crying out for me, falling farther and father out of reach, her eyes filled with fear. 

That was the last dream I had at the house. We found out suddenly the next day that we would be moving to a different location, and that the facility we were leaving would be transitioned into a detox. 

Of all the nightmares, this felt the cruelest somehow. I woke up at 3:30am and just sobbed. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. And this was on top of all of the other challenging work of getting sober. 

But I never had another bad dream after we moved. And the screaming did not follow us.

* I would find out later that a common side effect of Seroquel, along with fugue-state ambulation and sleep-eating, is nightmares. This drug is often prescribed to patients who are in post-acute withdrawal from drugs and alcohol to treat insomnia. Seroquel is what I started taking when I moved into residential treatment. 

Graveyard shifts are notoriously hard on the human body. Inverting the natural  sleep rhythm can do an absolute number on the brain, and often leads to chronic insomnia. Anyone who has stayed up all night can attest to how significantly it messes with your internal systems. I have stayed up multiple consecutive nights before, and have hallucinated. I have heard screaming when there was none, I have seen shadows morph into human forms and vanish just as quickly. 

This is all to say that there seems to be a perfectly logical explanation for the dreams, for the screaming. The reiki master could have just been having some fun with the unruly and obnoxious adult children that were her clients. She could just be full of shit. Night shift guys could have just heard things, or maybe it was a coyote. An owl. Someone actually screaming (hey, maybe it was a detox patient at another facility!) One morning I awoke earlier than usual to find one of the graveyard techs standing in the dark, staring at a street lamp. He was transfixed by a silvery form hanging below it in the yellow light.

“Is that a goddamn bat?” he asked, horrified.

It was a spiderweb.

But...I continued to take the Seroquel after we moved houses, and the nightmares never returned. The other house, Jeanie’s house, became a chaotic mess for the staff. Patients in detox were found fucking in multiple rooms, people disappeared in the middle of the night and others showed up suddenly in the morning...the entire detox program of this treatment facility seemed to be plunged into unmitigated bedlam, and it wasn’t like that before. Sure, there is always going to be some drama at places like this, but techs said they’d never seen things so bad. Anywhere. Additional workers were hired. Others quit without notice. And I have to wonder.

So, this story also ends like everything else: with the supernatural, with the unknown. Life ends with a big fat question mark, and that’s ok. One thing I’ve grown to appreciate is not having all the answers, to accepting the unknown and allowing myself to dip a toe into superstition. Human beings are no strangers to faith, but faith is especially vital for a person like me: faith in myself that I can stay sober, faith in redemption, faith that there is something, somewhere, greater than me that can save my ass. Faith in good friends, faith in good dogs. Faith in a life worth living well. Faith that Jeanie will find whatever she needs to cease her wailing, and faith that one day I’ll be there in time to stop somebody’s falling.

#addiction #ghost stories #nonfiction

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: Man Without Fear, Part 2

And we’re back! Check out Part 1 for my thoughts on this miniseries as a whole; in this second half, we’ll meet Elektra and Fisk.

Content warning: sexual abuse of children is threatened but not executed.

When we last left Matt, he’d settled in at Columbia and befriended Foggy. What Foggy doesn’t know (well, maybe) is that Matt likes to go running in the middle of the night to burn off excess energy. Which gives him an excellent opportunity to become obsessed with a wealthy, mercurial classmate who likes to lead him on wild goose chases and take off all her clothes:

...Sigh. Yeah. Manic pixie dream assassin time, guys.

By day, Elektra’s just kind of a rich bitch, but Matt’s into that too:

I just...siiigh. I think I’ve mentioned before that the longer Miller wrote Elektra, the less human she became. Before her death she was a person - scarred and closed off, but still human. Literally nothing she does in these pages makes sense. Does she not feel cold? Why would anyone want to drive around in a convertible with the top down in the snow? Why would anyone with a brain take their shoes off in Central Park in the 90s, where hypodermic needles go to die? I get that it’s supposed to be “sexy,” but, like, I’m concerned about her.

Matt’s adventures with Elektra - driving around in the snow in a convertible, chasing her across rooftops, jumping off of cliffs - don’t go very well at first:

I love the body language in that last panel so much. Foggy just exudes disapproval (and Matt exudes unhappy wet cat). Although what the hell kind of dorm are they in with a huge private bathroom like that? I didn’t have a dorm like that at CU.

The only Elektra moment in this mini I really like is after she finally lets Matt catch up to her, and Foggy returns to the dorm to find the door locked. After a lot of knocking and calling for Matt to let him in, Elektra sashays out:

Guys you broke Foggy’s lamp, that’s not cool. (No seriously, Matt’s sprawl makes me laugh every time.)

Elektra, for her part, works off her post-coital glow differently:

Elektra gets naked again (whyyyy) and murders all those people (whyyyy) because she’s a bad, bad girl, I guess. You see what I mean? She’s nothing but a collection of pathologies and a lot of (admittedly great) hair in this book. WHAT IF YOU LET HER BE A PERSON, FRANK. WHAT IF THAT.

(She does try to tell Matt about the murders and he’s like “You’re so funny, babe, you would never do that!” so like #men but seriously, Stop Letting Dudes Write Elektra Natchios 2K17.)

Anyway, Matt and Elektra’s romance is doomed, of course. Her father’s death plays out pretty much the same as it always has, and she’s off:

Yes, Matt, Elektra’s father died and she left you because you accidentally killed a prostitute. Women’s pain is all about you. You figured it out! Gold star!

*barfs*

Anyway. Matt graduates from undergrad and - this is an interesting departure from all other versions of this story, and one that as far as I can tell has been 100% ignored by all subsequent writers - goes to Harvard for law school, leaving New York and Foggy behind. He graduates, passes the bar, becomes a low-level grunt at a major firm, and is sent back to New York on a case.

Meanwhile, Fisk is rising through the ranks of the NYC underworld:

That creepy Larks guy in the back is another element that’s never made it into other retellings, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he turns up in Season 3, considering how much the writers love both Easter eggs and Miller. We’ll get back to him in a minute.

Meanwhile, Matt wanders through the old neighborhood, stops in at Fogwell’s, and makes a new friend:

Her name is Mickey and she tells Matt she’s a runaway, although it’s more of the “got bored and went exploring” variety because she has a home with loving parents and no serious issues. He teaches her to box and she thinks he’s just THE COOLEST, which is not at all true but warms my heart anyway. BRING BACK MICKEY. BRING BACK DARLA WHILE YOU’RE AT IT. LET THEM BE BEST FRIENDS.

During his sojourn in New York, Matt overhears a familiar voice:

Foggy, don’t eat pastrami on white bread with mayo. Please. I’m begging you. ANYWAY LOOK HOW EXCITED AND CUDDLY THEY ARE, AW, BEST FRIENDS.

Meanwhile, Fisk apparently has a child pornography division of his organization? And he doesn’t have enough kids for it? So he tells Larks to lean on the producer, who sends some low-level junkies out to kidnap some more kids? Ugh, it’s gross:

Naturally, they kidnap Mickey (whose parents are frantic, of course). She’s convinced that Matt will save her, though:

Yeah, all the kids in the warehouse are singing, it’s very atmospheric.

Larks tries to salvage the situation by taking off with Mickey, but Matt, having beaten everyone else up, pursues and finally corners him:

Matt slowly Inigo Montoyas his way forward (seriously, this is like a four page sequence), and an increasingly terrified Larks finally panics and shoots at him:

Yeah, so Matt straight-up murders this dude. And he knew what would happen when he batted the bullet back at Larks (say that five times fast); that’s why he actively begged Larks to let Mickey go. (Side note: this is 100% the WORST way to deal with a hostage situation, do not let Matt Murdock into the FBI.) So, like...that’s a thing? I have no idea if this is supposed to be considered canon for current Matt, but...that’s a thing. (I personally don’t have a problem with Matt killing to save a little girl from being tortured and killed, but considering his No Killing Ever lectures...)

Matt saves Mickey, but staying in New York long enough to do so means he gets fired from his Boston job. Luckily, he has a backup plan:

<3 <3 <3

Aw, how heartwarming! The creepy old man who stalked and abused Matt, only to abandon him at the worst moment of his life, is back to affectionately tease him! Seriously, Stick is garbage.

But! Matt has decided to become Daredevil! Because...killing Larks was so satisfying, I guess! *shrug*

Hooray!

Next up: Matt and Steve take on some l33t h4x0rz! Also, Matt has a mental breakdown. (Again.)

#daredevil #daredevil 101

[dontshootmespence]

Always

A/N: Kind of felt compelled to write a follow-up to After All This Time and then I had a couple people request it. If the title of the last one didn’t tell you where my head was at, the follow-up definitely will. @coveofmemories

                                                          --------

Head or Heart?

If he listened to his head, like he knew he should, he’d turn right and go home. He’d been going through this periodically since he and Y/N broke up three years ago; he’d gotten through it before, so he could definitely get through it again. The question was, did he wanted to get through it?

But he wanted to listen to his heart. His heart was telling him to run the two blocks to Y/N’s apartment and confess that he couldn’t understand why they broke up, that he loved her, and that they’d wasted three years of their lives over what probably amounted to nothing. 

Before he knew it, his feet shuffled slowly toward the left. What would he say to her? Would he go all and out and tell her that after three years he was still heart sick over her? Would he just ask how she was doing - say he’d been in the area and wanted to check in on her?

Honestly, he had no idea. All he knew was that his feet were moving in one direction while his brain was attempting to pull him backwards. This was insane. She probably didn’t feel anything after three years. Who would? Except, lovesick him.

When he walked up to her apartment building, he could feel his heart jump into his throat. Closing his eyes, he picked up one foot and placed it in front of the other, barely able to keep his footing as he walked up the steps. 

After a few flights of stairs, he was at her door, still debating whether or not he should turn back, but he knew he couldn’t. His hand was moving up to knock on the door of its own accord. The hollow knocks resounded through his head and suddenly he could hear the dull sound of footsteps shuffling up to the door. He actually felt like he could drop dead from anxiety as she walked up to the door. 

As the light from her apartment shone onto his face through the sliver of door that had opened, he wondered if it was a good sign. There was a peephole in the middle of the door, so she’d seen him and decided to answer anyway.

“Spencer,” she breathed, a tiny smile creeping to the corner of her mouth. “It’s great to see you.”

“It’s really great to see you too,” he replied. He really was glad to see her. The way the moonlight has highlighting her hair, reminded him of the first time they’d kissed on the rooftop of his apartment building. “I was just in the area...” Great, that’s what he was going with. He felt like a coward. 

“Do you wanna come inside?” she asked, fully opening the door and motioning toward the couch. She’d only gotten this apartment after she’d been cheated on by her last boyfriend, but it looked very much like the set-up in her apartment. 

With a small smile, Spencer walked inside, turning around and taking in the layout of her apartment. This hadn’t changed. He wondered if everything else about her had remained the same. “How have you been?” he asked. He’d been in on and off hell, but maybe she’d been better. He’d hoped she was. Even if it meant not being with him, he wanted her to be happy.

“It’s been...meh,” she chuckled softly. “I’ve been cheated on for the second time in my young life recently, and I kind of want to kick him in the balls so hard he’ll never have children.”

He laughed, leaning back on her kitchen counter. “I have a gun. If you want I can shoot him...just maim him a little.” They both laughed. The feeling in the air was simultaneously relaxed and natural, yet tense. Then his true reason for being there blurted out from him. “What happened...to us? Why did we break up?”

“I-I don’t remember,” she said sadly, her lip quivering as she walked into the kitchen and leaned on the opposite counter. “Do you remember?”

Spencer shook his head. “No. I can’t remember.” He really couldn’t. “Neither of us cheated. We didn’t have money problems. We both wanted the same things. We both love out jobs...”

“That was it,” she interjected, a look of recognition flashing across her face. “I picked a fight with you because you were always gone on a case.”

That was right. When she’d called him out on it, he’d gotten pissed and yelled at her. It had blown into a huge fight that didn’t need to happen. “And I blew up at you. I’m sorry I was never home.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel guilty when you were just trying to do your job,” she said, an unexpected tear falling from her eye. “It was stupid.”

“And I didn’t bother to make priorities,” he responded. “I’m sorry.” 

“Me too,” she breathed. The question - the elephant in the room - hung in the middle of the air.  “W-What do we do now?” For the first time since he walked in the door, she looked directly into his eyes. For the first time in three years, he felt lighter and hopeful. Slowly, gauging her reaction, he walked across the kitchen floor and gathered her in his arms, pressing their foreheads together.

“Do you think we can try putting this behind us?” he asked. “Start over? I’ve missed you so much.” 

As he started to cry, she brought her lips to his, tasting the salt of his tears. She closed her eyes and snaked her arms around his neck. “Do you think we can work together? I’ll work on not making you feel guilty for doing your job and we can both work in tandem to make each other a priority?”

Nodding, he brought his hands to the sides of her face, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. “I can work on that.”

“You’ve missed me after three years?” she asked, gently taking his lips in her own once again. “After all this time?”

“Always.”

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