#spike’s whole origin is about not fitting in with society

[greypetrel]

I genuinely can't remember if I sent a prompt yet! If I haven't (and if I am understanding the list right):

[ lay ] for Aisling (and maybe Maria?)

Hi Mo!

Yes you did actually asked it and I threw down some ideas but… If I can use Maria?? Ok well I jumped at the chance. It got… Longer than I would but I just had to include a little experiment. (which was loosely inspired by an experiment of the Mythbusters. The original involved a frozen turkey, but I guess Aisling would be firmly against wasting food, even for science.)

Not gonna lie, I’m pretty nervous about this and I really REALLY hope I got her right and did her justice! Thank you for letting me play with your lovely baby, it’s been so nice to see them interact!

Tis the prompt list

Three Cards Trick (🎶)

[ lay ] for your muse to come rest their head in mine’s lap or against their shoulder

It took her a while to warm up, and in hindsight, it took the both of them surprisingly little.

At first Aisling tried to kept her distance from the Champion, keeping exquisitely polite in a shy way but at the same time never being the first to start a conversation or look for the other’s company. She had mixed feelings towards the woman, truth to be told: she had only admiration for her, from what she read in Varric’s book and heard from him. The first impression she had was of a kind person that knew her boundaries very well and didn’t back up if she had to protect the people she cared for. And she admired that in her.

And yet, speaking with Cassandra left something deeply bitter in her throat. It was all but ten days since the Seeker rejected her feelings, and hearing the woman say out loud that if Hawke had been at the Conclave, the Divine wouldn’t have died. That they planned on having Hawke as Inquisitor, not her… It hurt. It hurt her more than she would care to admit, and she felt like a plan C at best, an obliged choice at worst. It didn’t help the fact that as Aisling was struggling with adapting to a whole set of things that were wildly new for her, Hawke seemed to navigate everything with ease and charm. Hawke knew how to behave in high society, Aisling barely knew how to properly behave with commoners, and even then there was something that didn’t fit well. Hawke didn’t seem to struggle with socks and closed shoes for formal events, didn’t need to pay attention to every single step because she felt constantly slipping, even if the shoes were flat and securely tied on her ankles with ribbons. Hawke was Andrastian and surely she wouldn’t have been feeling the stab and her mouth sour, and a deep sense of betrayal every time someone called her the Herald.

And yet, Hawke was kind and gentle. Hawke helped her during a formal dinner escaping the clutches of an overly-enthusiast Comtesse that kept talking and talking with Aisling about the latest fashion in Orlais -which Aisling knew nothing of and cared for even less. She appeared and charmed the Comtesse enough to let her slip the Inquisitor away. There was no blame, just solidarity between girls thrown in positions they never dreamed of having as children, that they were never prepared for. 

“You’re so better than me, at this.” Aisling slipped out, tired of hiding it. She didn’t specify how she meant more than just the formal soirèe.

Maria stopped, right in front of the dais. The throne loomed over them, imposing and red. Aisling hated it and its spikes, and hated herself for having made the Champion frown like so at her.

“You’re good. It’s just all new, it was displacing for me as well the first times I was amongst nobles… And it was just Kirkwall and I was just serrah Hawke, before being the Champion. And I am Andrastian.”  Maria told her, as convinced as she was before. “You’re doing great.”

Aisling felt even guiltier, and sorry for blaming her and for wishing their roles were reversed, even if for a minute. A smile of encouragement from the other woman, a gentle squeeze on her arm, and she was suddenly sure of what to do next, warmed up by the exchange and decided to make amend and show the other she was welcomed. She smiled at her, it was the first sincere smile of the evening, and nodded, in a silent thank you.

“I heard there was some urgent business in the Undercroft, I received word before the Comtesse blocked me.” She told her. “Would you like to join me, Champion?”

Her smile brightened, and lit her up. “I would be glad, Inquisitor.”

Aisling timidly slipped her arm to hook with Maria’s once again -she was happy to see that the woman answered readily to the gesture- and it was her turn to guide her towards the small side door. A look left and right just to see that they hadn’t all the eyes pointed on them, and they both slipped in the door, to meet with Dorian and Dagna, waiting for them down there with tiny sandwiches and a cake.

Maria revealed to be even better company than just in a boring soirèe you need saving for. Aisling felt the click, and all it took was a cospirational exchange of whispers in each other’s ears with Dorian, just for show and some flare, to have her invited for afternoon experiments. Particularly after Dorian struggled with a term in Tevene that he just couldn’t remind the translation of and Maria showed that she understood in his language.

And from there, all went into place, any bitterness was left in the far back of her head, casted away by how nice of a person Maria was and how refreshing it was to talk with her, and how she seemed to rely on touch as much as Aisling was.

From then, all their experiments were done in a trio, no more just a duo.

---

The Western Approach was, in spite of everything, the first time since Haven when Aisling felt really, truly in control and like she wasn’t a ruse in the role she covered.

It was considerably close to everything she was taught and knew, and she felt considerably more at home than she ever did since leaving her clan. The desert wasn’t the easiest environment to navigate, but it wasn’t her first time. Working over time to teach the others and give some much needed advices (convincing Varric that just going shirtless was not the wisest course of action, not if he didn’t want to become a roasted dwarf with how fair a skin he had was a feat by itself) didn’t feel like that much of a burden. She was happy -when she wasn’t stressing over a tell-tale lack of letters from a certain Commander she had revealed maybe the wrong anecdote to- and in her field, and finally she stopped feeling like a fish trying to climb a tree.

Having Maria there just added to her confidence, adding one friend more, and the one friend that she could communicate the best with, save Dorian. She really liked her, she was funny and charming, and having another person that was touchy-feely was a bliss.

In spite of the darkspawn, the Venatori and the varghests that sought them off even if Aisling guided them well out of the way to avoid them (she knew they were aggressive… She didn’t know how stubborn and insisting the creatures could actually be, following them until they engaged)… In spite of all that, she felt some respite.

That is, until they finally made their way to the Ritual Tower and met with Magister Erimond. He was so kind as to reveal his plan to them (Aisling looked at Dorian with a silent question in her eyes, but the Altus just shrugged and told her he had no idea why he had just spilled everything to them), and… And it was enough to leave the party with a chilling feeling about them, and crash the good morale that had formed in the past days.

They made camp in a chokehold not so distant, between old ruins watching over a minor canyon with a river on the bottom and a steep rocky formation. Easy to defense and easy to spot approaching enemies.

She was writing some reports to send back to Skyhold, sitting on the wicker matting that covered the floor of her tent. She had the luxury of having one for herself, which doubled as her sleeping spaces and war room. In her letter, she explained the situation in a code that Leliana taught her and that hopefully would have told just the Spymaster to accelerate the preparations and get the army there quicker than they initially had planned to, with no one else the wiser. All she had to do, now, was clean the area enough for the army to travel there safely… And hopefully, freeing the big fortress that loomed on the horizon to house the big bulk of the Inquisition forces. Her tent was growing considerably hotter and hotter as the sun travelled up in the sky, the light cloth shading the inside not enough to provide much freshness. Luckily enough, tho, she was a mage, and she was skilled with spells that dealt with weather and air.

So, she just concentrated and wove her hand mindlessly in the air, weaving a spell to keep the air inside the tent cooler, slowing down the tiniest particles that formed the air, just short of creating clouds. Definitely better. She sighed and kept on writing, biting the back of her quill in concentration thinking of the best way to word a sentence, and minding to keep her cursive as readable as possible.

Five minutes later, someone cleared their throat just outside.

It was Maria, something harsh in her expression that Aisling couldn’t quite place. She made space beside her, and let her sit with their back resting on the wooden frame of her cot. If both of them weren’t able to fall asleep, they may as well keep each other company. Particularly, Maria noted with a little resentment just for fun, if the Inquisitor’s tent was so fresh.

Aisling laughed and explained her the spell. It was nothing much, she said: she had always a knack for spells that meddled with air and the water within. That’s why she went for Storm spells, and it was really another way to bend that specialization. She explained how the air, if you concentrate enough to feel it, is but made of tiny, tiny particles that you can move and bend as you wish, drawing from the Fade. It’s all a matter of movement and drawing some fire and scattering its heath around when needed, or dragging out the Fade particles that were calmer and thus cooler. Dorian could surely explain the theory better, she told the other women: she was just good with the practice and on knowing how things work and how to make them work, but the one with actual explanation was the other science bro.

Maria didn’t seem to mind much, tho. Maybe it was the endless chattering Aisling always fell into when she talked about things she liked or was passionate about, maybe it was the gentler temperature of the room. Maybe it was, for both, finding a moment of breath and lightness after the punch in the guts that had been the Ritual tower and the battle that followed. Maybe it was that, but the moment, sitting there shoulder to shoulder, felt cozy and warm enough.

“I don’t know how you do it.” Aisling told her again, without the bitterness of the first time around.

“What, this time?”

“I think I would be running around screaming or just frozen in a corner, if I knew my brother could be sacrificed to call demons forth. It’s just…” She snorted, furrowing at her hand clenching on the wood. “… I know I am not exactly the right person to condemn magical experiments, but that… That is just wrong.”

A sigh from her left, and a head resting on her shoulder as the hand slipped in the crook of her elbow and rested there. It felt a request for comfort more than an offering for the same, this time.

“I’m here because of that.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You’re helping and… Thank you.”

Aisling let the writing board and her letter down. She knew it was urgent and every hour that passed was precious… But she didn’t have it in her to prioritize politics and strategy to a friend in need. And that was what Maria had become in those weeks. A friend.

She bent her arm and rested the opposite hand on hers, making herself more comfortable, leaning ever so slightly towards the other to make her presence known and felt. It wasn’t the most comfortable position ever, but it was good enough for a nap, she thought. Se gently inclined her head to lean over Maria’s, as she would have done back in the clan. Her hair smelled really nice, she noticed.

“It’s going to be all right. We’ll save how many Wardens we can, I promise.”

“A hard task, with those trebuchets your Commander seemed so fond of in the last War Council.”

“Mh.” Aisling didn’t mind the bitterness. She never really questioned Cullen, and all that passed between them was that he treated her well.

But it was true that he had been excited -in a very composed and suppressed way- about the trebuchets they had been gifted by a wealthy Fereldan Arl. She rolled the idea in her head, back and forth, thinking about what she read about siege machines and trebuchets in one of the book he lent her. Thinking about how they worked and how could they come to meet different needs. After all, the real issue was that they were charged with rocks. Maybe something else, if launched at a speed that could be calculated, with some spells to affect just rocks and not people…

She poked Maria’s arm with a finger to catch her attention. The Champion, who was dozing off on her shoulder, opened her eyes with a humm of complaint.

“I think we can find a solution for that.”

---

“Watch out!!”

Came a voice from above the battlements, and before anyone could register what was happening, a big roundish sack of jute was falling down at full speed from up in the battlements of Griffon Wing’s Keep.

Soldiers and scout shouted and ran away to safety, and the only two people left in the close proximity of the upcoming boulder were the Inquisitor and the Champion, both looking up at their supposed incoming death, arm in arm and shading their eyes with their hands. A third figure was sitting in front of them, sitting on the ground. Someone screamed at them all to move.

But the two mages didn’t move, nor they met their fate.

With a loud, dull thud, the boulder collided on the sitting figure, seams tearing at the impact and letting out its content on the poor being that didn’t even try to move.

When the cloud of sand that the fall had sent flying deposited back down, all there was were two mages still at their spot, and a mound of a mixture of sand and other scraps of softer materials. Wood chips, some cabbages of cloth, loose feathers that shone purple in the golden hour scattered here and there, too big to belong to birds.

Cullen was awake and around the camp since too little to cope with whatever shenanigan they conjured this time, but nonetheless he approached them anyway, decided to be certain of what exactly was going on and why on earth they decided to throw stuff from the battlements on the head of a poor sould nonetheless. He never thought the day would have come when he would have missed the science bros when they were just two. At least the only damage they ever did was to themselves (and Solas, when they went flying on a cart with wheels), and to the carpet in the rotunda, which never really recovered after taking too much indoor rain and had to be substituted.

“What’s going on?” He asked to both women, who finally had let go of the other -whenever he saw them, they were always connected. Arm in arm, sitting close to each other, one resting her head over the other’s shoulder or napping on the other lap as the other read or wrote, Aisling braiding Maria’s hair. Not that he noticed, or that he was jealous of not having the same amount of attention from the elf, and for being the only one, apparently, that she was shy of touching.

However, they were finally separated, and rummaging through the debris, looking for something.

“We’re in the final phase of the new ammunition experiment.” Aisling reported, without looking up. “If we can just find Bonnie…”

“Bonnie?”

“Found her!” Maria declared, with too much cheer for a person who was hauling up from a mound of sand and wood chips a skeleton’s foot by its ankle.

Aisling whooped in joy and ran to help her unearthing what revealed itself to be a skeleton, not fully cleaned by the desert, which had been dressed with an armour. Between the two, they dragged it out and brought it sitting against the wall of the keep. Maria started to examine it, moving joint after joint and thoroughly examining the bones and the armour with a critical eye, as Aisling get back to digging, crouched down and using both hands. Noticing somehow she was still being stared at, she casted him a glance from below, smiled reassuringly and started to explain as she worked.

“We just need to make sure these will just stop the Wardens and prevent them to fight us any further, without killing them on the spot.”

“But it would be risk-”

“AH!” She exclaimed, lighting up as she pulled hard and extracted an helm from the sand, upside down. She righted it, shaking it to get rid of all the sand inside. “Yes it would be riskier, but…” She declared, turning the piece between her hand, squinting. “…We could save more lives that could be convinced to surrender. It will give us the time to come and ask them… And if they won’t, the killing blow would be easier to impart. Maybe not all of them are into the plan, and they need the chance to get out, don’t you think? Catch it.”

The helm was tossed at Cullen, who stopped it when it collided with his breastplate with a loud clang. He sighed, bringing the helm up and examining, turning slightly on his spot so he could catch more of the gold sunset light. It was bumped and indented on the top, where it was hit, and slipping a hand inside to touch the exact magnitude of the blow was easy enough. It gave him time to think and evaluate pros and cons.

“It’s damaged, but not enough for the skull to break.” He declared, begrudgingly as he still wasn’t fully convinced of the plan. “And it is a commendable aim, but I think that if you want the siege to go quick-”

“Curly’s right, the skull is not broken!” Maria declared, a smile in her voice, as she undid the buckles to Bonnie’s armour and started examining the bones inside. “And nothing else seems broken, the ribs are good.”

“A success with flying colours!” Aisling declared, raising up and patting sand away from her trousers, a big smile on her face as she approached Maria. “It’s a small scale experiment, but it bodes well, doesn’t it?”

“Considering that the Wardens hopefully will have some better armour than poor Bonnie did, I’d think so. Depending on where they fall, at least, but I think it’s the best we can do.”

“So? Did it work? Is Bonnie ok?” Came Dorian, running out from the Keep with Rylen at his side.

Cullen felt a headache coming, and he really, really missed when there were just two mad scientists to deal with… And when they weren’t helped by his second in command. Second in command to whom he launched a glare.

“Don’t look at me.” Rylen defended himself, raising his hands in surrender even if he was still grinning mischievously. “It was an order from the Inquisitor herself, and the Champion of Kirkwall.”

He groaned at him, in all reply, and returned to the bigger problem at hand, still clutching the helm in his hands without thinking much about the exact owner of said garment, and that it was on the head of a random skeleton they found… He didn’t want to know where they found it exactly, since when it had been there, and why they decided to give it a name. The trio of mages was crowding over the skeleton, conversing between them in a mix of Common and Tevene Maria adapted all too well to. Cullen somehow was sure that they just needed the army because they didn’t have enough time to take Adamant by themselves. Because he was very sure they could have, with enough time to guess a way to make the entrance door explode.

“You forgot a detail.” He interrupted them, and he was met by three pair of eyes that turned toward him, stopping abruptly to talk.

They were huddled so close together, Aisling hugging Maria’s hand and resting her chin on her shoulder and Dorian with a leg casually resting on Aisling’s shin, that when they turned they look more like a three-headed creature from a legend than a simple group of mages.

He cleared his throat.

“That projectile will be absolutely pointless against the bastions. We may as well throw just a bunch of feathers alone.”

The three-headed creature smiled at him, some more sarcastically, and one with more affection. Rylen snickered behind him, and Cullen could distinctly hear him muttering a “Oh, blissful innocence...”.

“Cullen… We’re not Circle mages.”

“I know, but-”

“But-” Maria interrupted him. “-We had a month here to experiment and to think about the problem outside schoolbooks. The big ruin filled with Darkspawn didn’t free itself, you see.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning-” Aisling turned to look at Dorian with a silent question in her eyes.

He considered it, twirling one of his moustaces in his fingers, concentrated.

“It’s still a little bit rough, I’d need to review the numbers a couple of times more and do a couple more trials before calling myself satisfied, but the calculations are correct. Yes, it’s doable, at least on paper. Hawke?”

“The scale we have here is not the most precise thing ever, but with a little approximation I can make it work, yes. If Aisling can attach her little weather enchantment to avoid the gas to spread…”

“Easy as pie, it’s just a couple of runes that won’t interact with the rest of the spell.”

Aisling smiled and turned to the Commander, a glint in her eyes still from above Hawke’s shoulder.

“… Meaning, that we can make the boulders explode on contact with stone, but be mostly harmless for living creatures. It still leaves the problem of the demons, but we’re not sure normal boulders could affect them anyway, so…” She shrugged. “It’s worth a trial, isn’t it? We have the mages to activate the projectiles, after all, it’s an easy and safe enough spell. And they will be way lighter to transport either.

It made sense. Not anything Cullen would have remotely considered, but it was true that they had the mages… And that the three of them had been using magic unsupervised for all their lives and nothing ever happened. It went against all his instincts, but he couldn’t find a way to counter the reasoning. Not if he wanted to savage his friendship with Aisling -and he wanted to, if he could. So, he just took a deep breath and nodded.

“I have one last question.”

Maria rolled her eyes, but Aisling was not phased.

“What is it?”

“Why Bonnie?”

A trio of snickers.

“Why, doesn’t they have the face of a Bonnie?” Dorian asked, moving the skull left and right.

“It’s in her bones!”

Aisling concluded, and all three had such a big smile that the joke for a minute sounded less freezing than it actually was.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da fic #here lies the abyss #ficlet #writing petrel #aisling lavellan #maria hawke #dorian pavus #science bros #I am so nervous about this hahahahahahahaah #It was VERY fun! But THE PRESSURE #RIP Bonnie

[annyankers]

train tell me about your xander 👀 (please?) (also hi)

XANDDDDERRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!

OKAY SO--- for one thing I have a tag for him on here that’s xander (train’s version) (we see a pattern here lol) also my old rp blog for him is @andhaert  which has some things like headcanons and aesthetics. 

For starters I use Liam James, especially in his role as Billy Bennett, for my actor for Xander for a few reasons:

1. It helps mentally separate this version of Xander from canon!Xander who we all know is Very Contentious whether you think he should be or not, also helps to separate Xander from the actions of his original actor Nicholas Brendan. This is kind of a standard practice in the tumblr rp world (swapping out your actor when you find out the original is Kinda Yikes) where I started to develop my Xander Concepts more coherently and it’s stuck.

2. I think Liam works really well as an actor for Xander both in looks and acting and his role as Billy really highlights it as they’re similar characters.

3. It’s probably his most prominent role atm that I know of so it’s the easiest to get content for. He also works for me as Xander with his normal brown hair but the mohawk is the dominant look.

Moving on from there I really just like..... think about Xander in terms of what we know about him factually and textually and then separate that from the Whedon and 90s teen male tv character taints. Whedon has said that Xander is like, mary sue-ish self insert of his high school self and i feel like it shows and frankly holds his character back a LOT. I’m actually a rabid Xander stan I think he has a lot of potential and good in him. I just feel like both the writers and the fandom don’t really uh..... wanna actually engage with it or his character lol.

We know canonically that Xander comes from a poor, abusive and unstable household. We see in the show evidence of verbal and emotional abuse and heavy neglect. There’s literally a scene somewhere in S1 or S2 that I don’t wanna spend and hour finding in the transcripts where he has to remind his own mom she has a son which is played for comedy but is like um... WOW. It’s implied both of his parents are alcoholics and honestly I think his father is physically abusive (I can’t remember if it’s actually canon or not but it just you know, the Vibe is There).

I don’t think we really see? A lot of that? In how he acts? Like we do see some of it but say, compared to how much the show loves to gorge itself on Buffy’s trauma the amount of time spent on Xander’s trauma and struggles at home is laughable.

So I tend to write Xander as the true ADHD  loser burnout he is and things like the dyed mohawk, ratty clothes, punk shirts and bands and skater energy Billy has just like.... Works™ for Xander. Same with the ADHD energy. Xander strikes me as a kid from a bad home with learning disabilities who’s given up on school and has turned to staying out of the house as much as possible, weed/substances, and acting out for attention as ways to cope with his shitty life. He’s sad and desperate and begging for someone to care about him and the only person who does truly give a shit about him when we meet him is Willow with whom he’s in a kinda co-dependent clingfest with because of the huge amount of insecurities they both have.

I’m genuinely sad we didn’t get skater!Xander for the whole high school era and i’m making it happen for society. It fits in soooo well with the whole Vibe the show is going for. Also I made him worse and now he likes Ska because it’s the 90s and also just look at him. Ofc Xander would like Ska. It also adds in some interesting shit with the Xander-Spike dynamic to have Xander more on the ska/skater/burnout end of punk and spike on the more trad/this is a sociopolitical statement/i’m here for the ART side of punk. It does NOT give them an immediate middle ground but it DOES give them the ability to clock each other in 0.00005 seconds. Like Spike sees him in a Descendants shirt and is like “oh I immediately know everything i need to know about you now”.

I also just think it’s more real????? I find generally with people/kids that part of why they get into subculture and special interests and such is to Cope with things. I will never forget when this dude in high school basically told me he was so in the paint for sonic the hedgehog because it was the only thing keeping him fucking sane and it altered my whole fucking concept of life and reality. I physically cannot look at sonic the same now and every time I see it I think of him and all the other people who’re into it and I’m just like “godspeed mother fuckers may you find peace in those fucking emeralds”.

Even while trying to remove the elements of his character that I think are like, creator or era taint that tends to end up skewing the conversation around him from actually being about him to being about Other Shit I don’t remove his dogshit creeper energies in like, high school, especially 1x1 to 1x6. They get better over time sure but I think it’s important to show that side of him. His dad is the Worst and Jesse-- one of his ONLY friends-- is a Massive Creep and he’s a Teen Boy. It’s really not that shocking that when he’s like 16 he just.... Sucks So Bad. All teens Kinda Suck, it’s literally part of growing up. It’s things tho like The Pack that help to start not just him changing but galvanizing others into looking out for him more.

(including the gifs as breaks in the behemoth lol kill meeeeee)

For one thing I will die on the hill that XANDER WAS ALSO A VICTIM OF THE HYENA POSSESSION AND THE SA ATTEMPT. That’s not something he’d do, want to do or ever try to do and it occurred while he did not have full autonomous control of his actions. I’ve seen some REAL DOGSHIT TAKES ON THIS ONE AND I WILL SHOOT ON SIGHT OVER THIS.

I tend to see him trying to cover it up as him trying to compartmentalize and repress the trauma of it instead of whatever the fuck THAT was in the show. I also think it really only works for so long before he loses it because I don’t think he can look Buffy in the eye without mcfucking losing it because he just feels so awful about it. Which is what prompts like..... the only moment of Giles giving a shit about Xander because he talks to him about it and helps him find a way to get some help (be it Giles himself or whatever professional-ish help they can get him given his situation and the desire to keep his parents out of it).

And that’s one of the huge differences in My Xander™ just like, he fucking-- he fucking SEES the fucking guidance counselor or some shit for you know, THE CHILD ABUSE, NEGLECT AND SA TRAUMA. Which I mean... he probably should’ve been already give how guidance counselors work but dskjghsdkfj shhhhhhh. It’s then with that, friendship, dating Cordy and Time that he starts to get less and less shitty and more Baby Boy Little Guy Meow Meow Deluxe. He still cheats on Cordy and says shitty stuff but like... there’s a noticeable overall improvement in him over S1 to S3. He’s not getting full on grade A therapy and all that but like, he’s being given a sounding board and some tools and the thing is that Xander at his core IS A VERY GOOD AND SWEET PERSON!!!! So really it’s just all about getting him to a place where all the bullshit beaten into him by his dad and SoCieTy is out of the way so he can Be A Good Boy™.

I maintain his crush on Buffy and his struggle with it over the years but I also have it kinda Die finally around S4 and then not hang around as a weird Complex for the rest of the fucking series. Seeing how he absolutely fumbled his whole relationship with Cordy and then how his relationship with Anya is going in Some Kind of Direction it all helps to finally shut the door on that for him and he really whole chestedly embraces his role as best friendboy after that. I think especially around then when he’s being a MANIAC trying to save up to gtfo out his parents’ house and Buffy’s having a Crisis about like... being a votech gal in academic world they really hardcore bond. They’re both smart but neither of them are really made for academics or classical office vibe jobs and it’s just something people like Willow and Giles will never get. It’s basically ADHD kid solidarity and they’re finally able to achieve their final friendship form without his pining issues out of the way.

I think also to make Spike’s Yoko Factor Nonsense make ANY sense Xander should actually BE SEEN CONSIDERING JOINING THE MILITARY and it’s ENTIRELY because they have that whole recruitment thing of like “join up and we pay for your education/board/etc” and he’s DESPERATE to get out of his shitty home life. Like he cannot get a half decent job for more than a fucking week, he’s desperate for money and stability and idk he didn’t die that one time on halloween and he monster hunts w/o dying either so maybe he can handle this???? and finally Escape????? but then there’s a lot of Classic Xander Strife around the choice and a genuine fear that if he leaves they’ll just... get on with their lives just fine. which would be crushing for him, that he contributed so little they just kept going with out a hitch.

Season 5 to Season 7 is really where Xander for me comes out to be just like.... the carebear godsend hero that he’s supposed to be. Like he’s talked about as the Heart of the Scoobies and Buffy’s metaphorical heart but while he does do a solid job mirroring/expressing/etc her heart he’s kind of a shitty one for the group. Like if he’s supposed to be the MOST EMPATHETIC SCOOBY IN THE GANG THEN JFC YIKES. 

By S5 everyone else’s lives are like, officially starting to fall apart while Xander’s is getting more certain and more together. He’s like, Maturing. Like a fine Faygo. And even better he’s finding the balance between being Goofy Silly Mohawk Nerd Xander and like, Adult Big Boy Xander. I think that Xanya and Spuffy should be even BIGGER parallels especially in this season with Xanya being like the more wholesome human/demon romantic relationship dynamic-- basically PROVING that it CAN work-- something that can then be used to lampshade the issue in S6 when Spuffy enter toxic hookup hell. What Spike is asking for ISN’T insane, Xander and Anya ARE DOING IT!! wHaT’s ThE pRoBlEm BuFfY?!?!?!

But Anya’s human you say!!! it’s totally different!!!

Shut the fuck up she was a demon for 1,000 years, had a soul the whole time and never once feels bad for her past actions. She’s in the same boat as Spike you’re just a sheeple falling prey to the broken ass soul propaganda.

It’s also an opportunity with the solidification of his relationship with Anya as like Something Real and not young adult horny relationshiping to show how he really is as a person. Less of the belittling “helpful” comments and more him just like, genuinely LISTENING to her and LEARNING her language like we see him do when he’s Suave!Xander in 5x3. like he Hears her and then is able to almost IMMEDIATELY understand what she’s actually saying/where her anxiety is coming from. I love the idea of Xander basically always being the most kneejerk reactionary to all situations and sometimes saying Dumb Shit because of that but then also being the only one who’s brave enough to then circle back later and reevaluate his stance.

Like he’ll say something that hurts someone’s feelings then be willing to circle back unprompted and look at himself with harsh honesty and see what he did and what’s going on with him then act accordingly and adjust/apologize/reconsider his stance/etc. Basically if Buffy is a bleeding heart then Xander should be too and the thing that makes him The Heart™ and not Buffy is that unlike her he is unwilling or unable to close off his heart to anything. Buffy can face off against the hordes of Hell but will collapse under the threat of emotional honesty with even herself. Xander was raised in Hell and not unlike Angel tbh, has to constantly reevaluate his like Whole Existence to make sure he’s not becoming what he hates-- the very real and human monstrosity that his parents represent.

His whole goal in life is to not be his father. His superpower that not even Buffy has is that he’s so incredibly brave in the face of human evil, human cruelty AND emotional vulnerability. He’s been mocked, ridiculed, bullied and tormented his entire life and he’s still stayed big hearted and intensely kind when it counted his entire life. He’s open, thoughtful, understanding, empathetic and more than willing and able to put himself in the other guy’s shoes. Something none of the others can manage like... at all lol. His relationship with Anya should be in part about showing us this and it only fails because he’s like what... 21? and still working through all his bullshit around his shitty family. Not because they were a broken couple which is more the show vibe no matter how they wanna pretend like he wasn’t a shitty boyfriend to Anya for 2 seasons lol.

I think it’s important in the back end to have at least one of them still semi-functional and Xander’s already been living in “I have to do something about my life bc otherwise I will Become That Which I Fear” hell since high school. He’s the furthest along on that road and the emotional anchor of the group so ofc he fucking sam gamgee carries them all up the side of mt doom for like 2 solid seasons lol.

my depiction of Xander is always about healing, growth and the power of empathy, love and kindness. I feel like making him more subculture-y and with a certain amount of substance abuse (weed and booze mainly) makes sense given his history. I think he’s the foil to Angel and Spike (and Giles in someways) and their own explorations around toxic masculinity and masculinity in general. He unpacks the damage done by his father way more efficiently than Angel ever does and he learns how to be more emotionally open without reflexive retaliation when hurt than Spike does. He’s very much trying to get to this place where “I am. And that is enough.” sits well in his chest and permeates his life. Which is more than anyone else in either series can say LOL.

Also just like.... make the whole Xander vs the trio toxic nerd boy culture meta discussion thing actually WORK.

He also highlights in the narrative the idea of there always being another option. He’s not living the expected college life. He’s not acting or dressing like society thinks he should. He’s also found a way to thrive via construction/carpentry and finds a happy place between growing up and not giving up all the things he likes that can be considered childish or lame. He also hasn’t compromised his personality or identity to “be more mature” or “act like an adult”. He refutes the ideas that Giles keeps expressing about what he (Giles) has to do as an Adult or what Buffy should now be capable of as one by just like being a Cringey Little Dude and also Pay Taxes On Time. Like Spike he’s living and working in defiance of a society that has done nothing but hurt him but unlike Spike he’s coming from a place of optimism and compassion. 

Xander SHOULD be friend shaped. He and Tara SHOULD be the go-tos on all things emotional. He should be kind, creative, open minded, empathetic, and loving all while also being Kind of a Dick sometimes. When the writers talk about how when they wanted to make the audience upset/riot they’d just put Willow in danger or emotional distress -- by the end of the show that should be Xander!!!!!! by S7 I should be RIOTING if Xander is in danger!!!!!

Also the faith-xander victims of child abuse self recognition via the other vibes oh god the faith-xander victims of child abuse self recognition via the other vibes

 He’s just a silly little guy!!!! just a fun little boy!!!! just a harmless little fun-time boy!!!!!! you wouldnt sentence a silly harmless little fun-time boy!!!!! its his birthday!!!!!!

GOD THIS ISN’T EVEN ALL OF IT BUT I LOST MY TRAIN OF THOUGHT AND THIS IS SOOOOOOO LONG ALREADY FUCK

(last gif for the road bc this is massive Xander/Cordelia energy)

#train.txt #xander (train’s version) #answered

[sunnydalebimbo]

time for he/they Spike supremacy hours

#he’s gnc and i will die on that hill #spike’s whole origin is about not fitting in with society #gee i wonder what that sounds like #he/they spike he/they spike he/they spike he/they spike he/they spike #buffy the vampire slayer #spike

[sideblog-666-thousand]

A long bitch of an interview with Euronymous, from Orcustus zine in early ‘92.

What is Orcustus? Orcustus was an early 90’s black metal ‘zine run by none other than Bård “Faust*” Eithun— murderous pretty-boy, and o.g Euronymous simp. I think he might have also played drums in a band called Emperor... but I’m not sure! Its full name is actually “Orcustus— The Shadow of The Golden Fire”, and no, I’m not making this up.

This particular issue here opens up with a quote from a short story called ‘The Doom That Came To Thomas Parkes*’.

Assuming the reader hasn’t read the story, Faust explains that the quote is in reference to what happened to the titular ‘Thomas Parkes’ when he tried to raise spirits. Faust then admits that he’s unsure of his own ability to ‘raise spirits’, but says he hopes that he’ll raise some fists in agreement that there’s something wrong with the underground scene. Ironically (you’ll see why this is ironic very soon), he doesn’t like that certain bands, namely Entombed, are selling so many copies of their LPs.

After a brief diatribe on just that, he goes on to explain that he was in a rush to get this mag out because of problems with the printer. Then, he tells anyone who doesn’t like the fact that this ‘zine only features black metal that they can fuck off, with three exclamation points.

Finally, we get to the end of the opening page, where Faust pulls what can only be called an early form of the Twitter exposed thread. It reads as follows, with absolutely no changes to the text:

“I would suggest you to not do any business with that sucker Evil Ludo from France. He have riped me and several others off, by not return what we ordered. I suppose he’s a medical sensation, as I didn’t know it was physical or psychical possible to live without a brain”

Why am I telling you all of this, when this is only meant to be a transcript of an interview with Euronymous, you may be asking? Because I find it funny, that’s why.

Anyhow, the Euronymous here acts and feels very differently from the Euronymous of the last interview I posted. However, I hope you’ll still enjoy it, and I hope you’re able to appreciate the tiny glimpses of humanity talking to a close friend allowed him, even though they both behave like complete asses. Even though it’s hard to sympathize with him at points.

Like last time, any (sparse) commentary will be between (parenthesis) and in bold. Without further ado, let’s get into it.

.

F: Well, how in hell shall one be able to come up with an intro worthy enough for this band? The words I wanna describe Mayhem’s music with, is not yet created, and it won’t be created either, because no one has really experienced the real darkness and pure brutality with lays behind Mayhem’s hellish sound, but I suppose you all are familiar with this band anyway. Well, in the first place, I hadn’t really thought to enclose this band in this issue, because if we look away from rereleases of old demos (“Pure Fucking Armageddon”) and live tapes, it’s a pretty long time since their last release (in ‘87 that was). I thought I rather should interview them when they released their forthcoming album “Dee Mysteriis Dom Sathanas”, but due to the circumstances, I realised the time was right for an interview now. I won’t bother you with any history shit, but I could tell a bit about what has happened last year. You all know that their vocalist Dead comited suicude in April ‘91, that was a bigg loss for the underground, and I suppose I don’t need to say that this mag is dedicated to the memory of that infernal man. Anyway, Dead was replaced by Cultòcùlus (back then called Occultus), but due to different problems within the band, he left the band in January ‘92, but let’s not say more about that, as Euronymous didn’t want me to say anything about it at all (but Euronymous, you must admit that it has sounded pretty artificial if I hadn’t mentioned it at all). So now, the band consists of Hellhammer (drums) and Euronymous (guitar (and probably bass too)). I know the singer of Tormentor (rip) from Hungary (Esihar Attila) is interested in singing on the album, and also even moving to Norway, so it seems like Mayhem got some sort of predilection to foreign vocalists, but this Hungarian guy happend to be a good one as well, so never mind that. But I don’t think this is official, so don’t tell anyone you read it here, ok? Well then, it’s an honour for me to dedicate the next following pages to one of today’s most legendary and infamous bands......... THE TRUE MAYHEM!!!!!!!

F: First of all Euronymous, I know you and Dead live/lived totally for the old black metal attitude. Is your hate now total to young and trendy bands after Dead’s suicide?

Euro: YES, we have declared WAR. Dead died because the trend people have destroyed everything from the old black metal/death metal scene, today “death” metal is something normal, accepted and FUNNY (argh) and we HATE it. It used to be spikes, nites, chains, leather and black clothes, and this was the only thing Dead lived for as he hated this world and everything which lives on it. If we had the economic possibility to do it, we should meet up at concerts and beat up ALL trend people ALL the time untill they would be too scared to go to concerts at all, now we need to suck their money instead. It’s impossible to stop the trend no matter how much we want, we have to do the best out of it and sell lots of trend shit to them. (I don’t need to tell you that that’s totally not why Dead killed himself, right?)

F: In the spring of ‘91 you started up a shop in Oslo which sells all sorts of music within metal. Is there anything you can tell us about the shop (ideas? plans?)?

Euro: Well, the original idea was to make a specialist shop for metal in general, but that’s a long time ago. Normal metal isn’t very popular anymore, all the children are listening to “death” metal now, I’d rather be selling Judas Priest than Napalm Death, but at least now we can be specialized within “death” metal and make a shop where all the trend people know that they will find all the trend music, this will help us earning money so that we can order more EVIL records to the evil people. But no matter how shitty music we have to sell, we’ll make a BLACK METAL look on the shop, we’ve had a couple of “actions” in churches lately, and the shop is going to look like a black church in the future. We’ve also thought about having total darkness inside, so that would would have to carry torches to be able to see the records.

F: Well, how is the situation all in all in the Mayhem camp right now?

Euro: Difficult as usual, but we’re closer than ever to record the Mayhem lp. Almost all the material is completed, then I and Hellhammer will record the whole thing with 3 guitars, 2 basses and so on. It will be very massive. Who’s to sing on the lp is not yet decided, we’ll wait and see what happens. We have several people who can do the job very well.

F: As Metalion of Slayer mag* said: “it seems like you at certain times lives on the edge of starvation”. Have you ever been on the thought to just give up the whole band and become a normal 9 to 5 person, or is this a completely stupid question to ask?

Euro: It has been very hard at times, but I am not a normal person anyway so it would just not be possible to do that. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why things are as they are (this answer will be long) (that’s okay for me/Ed). The reason why we don’t have any money, is because of hardcore. We have for too long been following the “underground” rules, which say that you must hate money, you must not think you are anything, you must be open-minded, you might have a lot of attitudes and so on. Extremely stupid. But the situation has been that if you don’t follow these rules which are made by hardcore pigs, you are not accepted as a death metal or black metal band! Then you MUST be signed by some big label to be able to make some money, and we’ve never wanted to do that. Then you would anyway be labelled as “commercial” by the HC pigs. This has caused that after 8 years, we are still as broke as ever, while the HC pigs themselves are controlling all labels, and they sign only the bands which fit into their own idiotic world, that means “death” metal bands with society lyrics and jogging suits, and this is what the people see when they grow up. They don’t see any EVIL bands with spikes, as we did. Well, I’m tired about being broke, just to be “underground”. I’m tired of not having money to eat for just because tons of people will call you a “rip-off” if you don’t write 20 letters each day. It’s time to say fuck off to the whole system, which is built to strangle the evil bands in the birth. We must start taking inspirations from the ancient ones, from Venom and their likes. They did their thing BIG, and they never had to think about any idiotic underground rules. They did it big and so must we, but it must never become a trend, it must become a CULT. This is why we have started on a brand new policy with the band and the record label. It’s about time that someone makes a label for black metal and other grim music, and STRIKE BACK. There is NO reason why DSP shouldn’t be as big as Peaceville or Nuclear Blast, if we can just get the business on its feet again and get good distribution. That’s the only way to compete with the HC labels. It’s about time we start taking control over our own scene. We must spread the EVIL bands and pervert people’s souls.

F: What about the Norwegian scene then? Don’t you think that something is terribly wrong when it have gone so far that we have a christian “death metal” band here (Crush Evil)? Advices on how we should kill them?

Euro: First of all— the Norwegian scene is the BEST. There are a lot of GREAT bands (yet with no album out) and of course some shitty trend bands, but nothing as in Sweden. There you have 2-3 good bands out of 100, while here we have a few shit bands who hardly have made even a demo, while all the great bands will make records in the near future. Such as Darkthrone, Burzum, Immortal, Thorns (I’m flattered/ED*), Arcturus, Enslaved and newer bands like Malfeitor and others which I have not yet heard. BUT— when it comes to bands like Crush Evil, we must take serious action. It’s bad enough to have a couple of society bands, but a CHRISTIAN band is too much. But don’t worry, we have plans. They will not continue for a very long time.

F: And now over to something more humouristic....yes.... snuff movies. Who had been the perfect actor for a snuff movie, and why the hell aren’t they legalized? Don’t you think that every video-store should have its own section with snuff-movies?

Euro: Actually I think it’s great that movies like that are forbidden. If they were legal and easily accessible, all the small trend children would be watching them, and then it would not be something extreme anymore (I’m not sure if I agree with you here Euronymous. Snuff movies are usually too raw and brutal for the people with their “peace and life” infected minds. Remember the HC rules/ED) (shut the fuck up, Faust*) It’s just the same what happened to death metal— it became something everyone could buy in every store, something normal and accessible for everyone. All the mystic and evil atmosphere is GONE. I do not think snuff-movies are funny, I think they are DARK. I’ve seen people laugh at them, but that’s probably because they will not be mentally able to take the PAIN and EVIL on over themselves. That is the best way to watch such a movie, to try to FEEL the actual pain of the victims. It becomes much more gruesome then, and that’s great. One must be alone in the darkness and suffer with the victims, if you watch it with other people, they will often talk, laugh and so on, and then you get more distanced from it, it’s not supposed to be funny (death to fun), it’s much better when it’s depressive.

F: Through the years you have been talking about releasing bands like Samael, Rotting Christ, Master’s Hammer, Tormentor, Matricide, Imperator, Massacre etc. on Deathlike Silence Prod., but now some of these bands have released lp’s on labels which only have money in their eyes and know that black metal sells. Doesn’t that frustrate you, and don’t you feel it like the time is running out for you?

Euro: It’s a bit frustrating, but it is also a result of trying to be “underground” which is a suicide policy. Anyway, the main thing is that these evil records get released at all, and not who’s releasing them. We will probably release a record with Tormentor, they’re split up, but they still want to make their Anno Domini demo on vinyl, and we’ll try to fix it within the summer. The time is not running out, because there are a lot of really evil bands around. — most of the Norwegian bands which other labels haven’t heard about. Burzum is ten times better than all the bands on Earache together, and so are Thorns and Arcturus. So there is no problem, really. As for bands like Rotting Christ and Master’s Hammer, we might do something in the future instead. I’ve never been talking with Samael about any deal, but I wish I had as their album is FUCKING GREAT.

F: Almost all bands in the underground today says that they think they got their own style and originality, but the fact is that 95% of the bands sounds totally the same. What is an original death metal band today?

Euro: There exists no death metal bands today. There are only a handful of (mostly great) bands (in case someone hadn’t got it right— black metal has nothing to do with the music itself, both Blasphemy and Mercyful Fate are black metal. It’s the LYRICS, and they must be SATANIC. If not, it is NOT black metal) and what we choose to call LIFE METAL bands. Take a band like Therion. Their music is quite ok, it’s actually one of the best Swedish bands (even though that doesn’t say much) but their lyrics STINK. They are about society and pollution, what the fuck has that got to do with DEATH? If a band cultivates and worships death, then it’s death metal, no matter what KIND of metal it is. If a band cultivates and worships Satan, it’s black metal. And by saying “cultivates death”, I don’t think about thinking it’s funny, or being into gore, I’m thinking about being able to KILL just because they HATE LIFE. it’s people who enjoy to see wars because a lot of people get killed. How many bands think that way? Not many. I can’t think of one.

F: You’re maybe not the most active band when it comes to gigs, but at least you’ve managed to tour Germany and Turkey. What can you tell us from the tour, and is there any new gigs planed?

Euro: That tour was a big mess, we’ll NEVER take the train again! We lost quite some money, but still it was great to get to East-Germany and Turkey. The memories of the tour consist mostly of the starvation and idiotic custom officers, but still I wouldn’t like to have missed the opportunity. We don’t have any concrete plans, we’ll see happens in the future. We don’t like to play for a lot of trendies in jogging suits, so we prefer to leave it be.

F: What do you think of the fact that death metal has been on MTV?

Euro: It sucks. But it isn’t death metal anyway, so....

F: I know that you will soon release the debut album of Abruptum on DSP, so, what can you tell us about it?

Euro: It’s EVIL. It’s PURE EVIL, they were torturing each other in studio DURING the recording and you can HEAR on the music how they SUFFER. It will be the most demented record EVER, and it’s NOT for normal people. This is music which NEVER can become trendy, because normal people won’t be able to understand it. And that’s great. The price for the album it’ll be the same as for the BURZUM lp, which should be somewhere else in this ‘zine*. It’s called “Obscuriratem Advoco Amplèctere Me”, and stay away from it if you don’t like pure DARKNESS.

F: Don’t you think that people in the underground should respect others ideas and views more? I mean, it’s not accepted to spread unpopular thoughts. It seems like there is some sort of guardians of morality and most people keep in mind not to say or do anything which is not accepted by the public.

Euro: I don’t think people should respect each other. I don’t want to see trend people respecting me, I want them to HATE and FEAR. If people don’t accept our ideas as their own, they can fuck off because then they belong to a musical scene which has NOTHING to do with ours. They could just as well be Madonna fans. There is an ABYSS between us and the rest. Remember— one of the HC rules is that you must be open-minded (except for themselves), so we must be careful and avoid being open-minded ourselves. The HC pigs have correctly made themselves guardians of morality, but we must kick them in the face and become guardians of anti-morality.

F: You say you want your riffs to have a dark mood and really sound evil, but what if you came up with a riff which just sounded good, but not evil. Would you use it then?

Euro: Well, if a riff sounds good to me, it mostly means that it sounds evil too. At least when I make the music myself. Haven’t really thought about this about this before.

F: Do you think you’ve been playing this sort of music today if it weren’t for those old bands like Mercyful Fate, Venom and Hellhammer?

Euro: It’s impossible to say. Venom and the other ancient ones have been fundamental influences on Mayhem, and also the direct reason of the band’s existence. We like to think that if they hadn’t started up this, we would have, but who knows? Doesn’t really matter anyway, we hail ancient Venom as the CREATORS.

F: Ok, no more questions at the moment. End the interview in what way you want......

Euro: Perhaps it should be mentioned that well re-release the MAYHEM mini-lp “Deathcrush” VERY soon. We also have t-shirts available now. People should write for prices on things. Be EVIL, not open-minded.

Ok, I suppose some of you already know that Euronymous started up a shop in Oslo in the spring of ‘91. The shop is called “HELVETE” (which is Norwegian and means “HELL”) and are specialized within underground stuff and death metal in general (though he also have some other styles of music there). As he said in the MAYHEM interview, the shop really have a black metal look, so if you ever visit Oslo, I really recommend you to visit “HELVETE” as well. I think it’s good that people take the initiative to start up with such things, because if everyone were just passive, we would all get ruined by poser-shops like Hot Records where they take 140 NKR for the Earache albums (which you in “HELVETE” can get a CD for the same price). Euronymous also sells though mail, so write and ask for a list or something: HELVETE, Schweigaardsgt. 56, 0656 Oslo. NORWAY.”

That’s all! :)

And now for the things I put in asterisks, in order of their appearances.

*If for some reason you actually don’t know who Faust is, he was the drummer on the Emperor LP and “In The Nightside Eclipse” but you might also know him from other great hits such as “threatening to kill Mortiis from prison whilst simultaneously attempting to plead murder of the secondth degree”, “I’m glad the people Euronymous ripped off won’t get their money back because he’s dead hA hA!”, “I got fourteen years for murder because I’m a socially inept virgin— oops” and “bad... bad lyrics who’s quality somehow don’t improve with the passing of time”. All jokes are done in good humour— if it seems like I dislike him, it’s not that at all. I just find him easy to make fun of.

Here is another short bio, this one less sarcastic: he was born in Trondheim, lived around Kvikne, and Lillehammer, worked at Helvete, was a close friend of Euro’s, and has his sun in Taurus.

He also beefed with Glen Benton for dissing the Party City cape (Note: of course I’m being extremely reductive) he and Euronymous seemed to share. Here are a few pictures of Faust:

Here is the infamous Party City cape:

*This was surprisingly hard to find. I think he read it in a mag or something. Here’s a link to where you can find it: https://issuu.com/davidgamble/docs/paranormal37/3 page 64-65.

*Slayer mag was another zine, this one by a bloke named Metalion, who was Euro’s best friend.

*Faust (who felt the strange need to make a distinction between himself, the editor, and himself, the interviewer) also played in Thorns (well, Stigma Diabolicum), under the hilarious moniker: Fetophagia✨

*He’s being a fucking idiot, what was I supposed to say? It should be noted that Faust actually went down for the snuff films too.....

*In case you’re interested, for whatever reason, the prices for the Burzum LP were as follows:

Norge— 130 NKR

Norden— 100 K

Finland— 60 FN

Island— 1000 IK

Europe— 15$

Outside Europe,

Overseas— 15 $

Air— 22$

East Europe— 10$

By ‘norden’ he presumably meant ‘northern Norway’, and “Island” is the Norwegian word for Iceland. Notice the way he doesn’t include Sweden! (Edit: Originally I thought he didn’t include Finland because there was a black metal war with them as well, but it seems as though that feud came a bit later or had already passed)

That’s all, for real this time!

Legal disclaimer: I am absolutely, in no way shape or form, claiming that the stupid cape you see them wearing is literally from Party City. From my limited research, I’ve gathered that the Party City chain hasn’t yet opened its doors in the beautiful and glorious country we know as Norway— Norge. However, I am saying that the cheap, dinky piece of cloth covering their backs and shoulders are of the same kind of shitty quality you’d expect from a Party City Count Dracula costume and that maybe Glen had a point about how stupid Euronymous (and Faust) must’ve looked.......

#black metal #euronymous #mayhem #emperor #euronymous interview #interview #Faust #Orcustus zine #true norwegian black metal #my transcript #Bard Faust #look at these fucking dorks

[vicious-vixxxen]

Mermaid!Kirishima X Male Reader

((Lost the original ask who prompted this, but here’s a little Mermaid!Kirishima to start the prompts off here! Thank you again for being the first to send in an ask, I appreciate it so much! And such a fun and interesting one to kick things off with, so manly! <3))

You’d almost fallen asleep. Again. Jesus Christ. Groaning, you stretched your limbs out as far as they’d reach- stifling a cry as your joints popped, and you became a puddle against the wooden dock you were laid across. The soft plap-plap of the waves beneath you very nearly lulling you under once again. Opening your eyes finally, you raised your arm to block out the harsh mid afternoon rays, and to check your watch for the time. Nearly four. He was late. “Where the hell are you, sharkboy,” You grumbled, sitting up, and stretching your arms out for a second time, stretching them for all they were worth, before slumping over and scrubbing at your tired eyes. Wincing slightly at the soft burn of your palms against your cheeks. Fuck. No sunblock. Of course. You’d be confused with a lobster by the time you went home and scooped up in a net for dinner if you didn’t apply any. Chancing a glance around the open ocean around you, spotting hues of blue after hues of blue- but no red- you sighed, tugging off your sweat soaked tank top- shoving it into your bag with the rest of your things, before retrieving your sunblock, and squirting a liberal amount into the palm of your hand. Slapping them together afterwards to smear it around, before hiking a leg up to begin applying it. The soft scent of coconut filled the air around the dock, and mixed with the salty scent of the seafoam below the dock, it reminded you of Kirishima. How enamored he’d been the first time he spotted you out here, doing just as you were now. The scent, the sight. Long tanned legs, short board shorts, no top. He’d been drooling, it was a whole adorable thing. Of course, you absolutely flipped your shit the first time you saw him. He wasn’t exactly the most subtle creature to catch a glimpse of, especially when he reared up to apologize- fins fanning out, causing you to nearly have a heart attack. You knew of mer-people, of course, but no one had seen any in these parts in decades. You certainly hadn’t. Not in your lifetime. First time for anything, though, you supposed. He’d wandered too far from his pod, and gotten curious of the handsome human male spread out like a buffet on the docks. If there was one thing to be said about Eijiro, it was that he was too curious for his own damn good. Something that both endeared you, and frustrated the fuck out of you. You hardly noticed, so caught up in your thoughts of the creature, the sound of the water breaking- the soft creak of the dock straining beneath the merman's grip as he hoisted himself up quietly, laying flat on his stomach just a few feet away. Eyes wide as saucers, red irises glinting mischievously as he tried to stick to his plan. Thwarted only by all the bare expanse of skin you were showing off. Tan, and soft looking. Soft to the touch, too, Kirishima thought suddenly, mouth too full of saliva as he recalled the feel of your skin beneath his webbed fingers. Shaking himself from his awed stupor, Kirishina grinned- all sharp teeth, as he shimmied across the dock, long tail swishing excitedly beneath the water, where it hung low from the dock. Already aware of his tardiness, Kirishima wasted no time lunging for you when he was close enough- laughing boisterously as you shrieked, and began swatting blindly at him. “You asshole! How many times have I told you /NOT/ to do that?” Y/N Shouted, initial panic already seeping away, as he was rolled over beneath Kirishima- the merman's soggy red spikes haloed by the sun’s rays, making him look….positively angelic. The fucking heathen. “You’re an absolute menace to both land and sea society Kirishima- no, no don’t fucking kiss me, I’m mad at you. Take your fishy kisses somewhere else, they will not be accepted here!” Y/N continued to shout, laughing suddenly as Kirishima nuzzled and raked his teeth along the soft expanse of your neck, webbed fingers digging just this side of rough into your sides, to elicit a fit from you. “L-Lemme g-go you smelly s-sardine! Ah-ahah! S-shit, i’m gonna p-piss myself if you don’t-ah!- stop! Kiri, please, mercy, mercy!” You cried, tears in your eyes as Eijiro wrapped your legs around his broad hips- shifting his scales downwards, as to not scrape you. Cradling you in his arms, his elbows against the dock, to shift you both upwards just a bit. Toothy grin as bright as ever as he gave in, and finally looked at you. Kirishima swore he could look at you forever. Your bright, twinkling E/C eyes, the soft, sun bleached tips of your hair. The curve of your nose. The curve of your /lips/. Especially the curve of your lips. “You can’t just show up late and expect me to be all hugs and kisses, that’s not fair,” You pouted, despite the smile you couldn’t help forming on your face. Ankles hooked just at the small of Kirishima’s back, where waist met scales. One hand splayed across the creatures back, the other finding its way deep in the crop of damp hair atop his head. Fingernails digging gently into the base, in that sweet spot that always had Kiri mewling if you scratched long enough. “Mm, i’m sorry, baby shark,” Kiri cooed, snickering at the eye roll he could practically sense, as he dipped his face back down against your neck, and kissed. “-It was my turn to lead the roundup for dinner. You know how long it takes to completely swarm a school of flounder? Little bastards shoot off in different directions. So yummy,” he paused, nipping at your earlobe, causing you to tense, “-but so difficult to catch. Like, but also kind of unlike, another little fish I know.” “A man of a thousand sweet talks.” You were already putty in the merman's hands, and you both knew it. Didn’t mean you had to advertise it. “I am sorry, baby shark. I tried to hurry, but you know how Denki can be. He gets a little zapped if he exerts himself too much on the hunt. We all gotta get him back to the cove in one piece after that, and he’s such a squirmer, so...ya know,” Kirishima shrugged, arms tightening just barely around your middle, as he leaned back, smile less predatory, and more sincere now, as he pressed your foreheads together gently. “Apology accepted...I guess,” You mumbled finally, breaking the creature's gaze, only to flick your gaze down to his plump, bitten lips. One drop of saltwater still clinging to his cupid's bow. “I missed you, dude,” Kiri whispered finally, blush painting his pale face, as he pressed chaste kisses to your cheeks, and chin. Peppering them all over afterwards as you began to giggle. “Missed you too,” You sighed, closing your eyes, and angling your head to catch Kirishima’s lips in a soft kiss. Just a press of them together, no real urgency. You had the rest of the evening, and long after sunset to spend together. There’d be plenty of time for rough, heated kisses below the docks. When you lost your trunks, and Kiri started losing control of the sharpness of his scales. Leaving small pricks and scrapes over your inner thighs, from how you’d going to his hips. Only to have the merman lay you out on the dock under the stars, and kiss them all better. Webbed hands spread wide over your stomach, your hips. Trailing down your thighs, up, and around… “Whoa now,” Kirishima whistled, pulling back to glance down between you, and you huffed. “Don’t get cocky, asshole. I haven’t seen you in almost a week, give me a break.” Hooking your chin over the merman's shoulder, you rolled your eyes once more at Kirishima’s little giggles. Mesmerized by the expanse of muscle in his back. Gaze trailing down between Kirishima’s shoulder blades. Down the small of his back, where his hips dipped first inwards, then back out. Hips filling out below his scales, bright red at the tips, and a deep obsidian at the base, where they met his flesh. Similar to the hair atop his head. Unhooking one of your feet, you ran your toes down along the soft, slippery surface of his tail, as far as you could go, before bringing it back up. Noting the shiver down Kirishima’s spine, and grinning. “Never gets old, does it?” “No, nope. Absolutely not. You make my tail feel like it’s gonna shake right off,” Kirishima groaned, planting his plans on either side of you now, caging you in as you rested back against the dock. “Should probably get that checked out by a doctor.” “Asshole.” “See if I give you the gummy worms in my backpack now.” “....did I mention how much I love you yet?” “That’s what I thought, seaweed brain.” You laughed, flinching back with a frown as Kirishima nipped at the air in front of your face playfully- reaching back for your brag, to draw out the large bag of gummy worms you’d already opened, when waiting for the merman to arrive. Grabbing one out of the pack, and holding it up between two fingers for Kirishima to slurp up. Humming contentedly as he chewed, and you simply smiled. “Love you,” You whispered, feeding him another- watching as he slowed in his chewing, before gulping audibly, and leaning down close. “Love you too. Beautiful boy.” ((Thank you again to the wonderful prompter who asked for this, I had a blast writing it!))

#eijiro kirishima x reader #eijiro kirishima x male reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima x male reader #bnha x male reader #mha x male reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

[lizzy-williams]

𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞 | 𝐛.𝐛.

༄Warnings: Smut, blood/gore, language, mature themes, 18+, minors DNI

༄Masterlist

༄Summary: You're a creature as old as time. And Bucky is entranced by you. (vampire!reader x Bucky)

The moment that Bucky saw you, he was completely enamored. Looking at you was seemingly a gift. You were dressed like an angel, a white cocktail dress with shoes and gold hoops to match. Simple, and yet would be like a beacon of light; a flame and Bucky was nothing but a mere moth just like the other gentleman whose prying eyes made his blood boil.

Possession was all he could feel as he finally made his decision to get up from his sulking corner and go out on the dance floor, where you were surrounded by men who were desperate to get a taste.

Grabbing hands, tentative stares, and desperate body language surrounded you as you danced without a care in the world. As if there was no one watching, your own little world surrounding you.

As Bucky finally pushed his way through the crowd of horny and otherwise intoxicated men, he finally was able to see your body in full view. To say the least, he liked what he saw.

Finally, he slid up behind you, making a bold move and placing his gloved hands on your hips. The moment your eyes locked with his was the moment he knew that there was no escape, and maybe he was okay with that.

You suddenly turned around, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled you close, swaying to the beats echoing through the building. Other men looked to him in envy, but Bucky couldn't care less, not when he was staring at one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

Your skin was flawless, your hair perfect, your curves fitting against his hands like a puzzle piece. The lights blared on around you two as you felt him press himself as close as he could to you, your touch like a drug.

You then caught sight of his dangling dog tags against his red Henley, and you smirked as you looked at him, "What brings you here, soldier boy...?" you tease as you look at him intently for an answer.

Bucky stuttered on his thoughts as he tried to think straight, "Uhm, I was just with a couple of friends, and I think I'm kind of just... on my own now...," he admitted, "What about you?"

"Looking for someone to pass the time with." you admitted truthfully, and of course he would never understand the gravity of your response, barely anyone ever could.

"Well, look to farther," he smirked, pulling you closer to his hulking form.

You suddenly pulled away and slipped out of his grasp impressively quickly.

"Where are you going?" he called over the blast of the music.

You turned around, giving him a playful smirk, before calling back, "Going to get a drink!"

And like a moth drawn to a flame, he followed closely behind.

"You're so full of shit!"

Your laughter was music to Bucky's ears as he leaned against the bar as you sat in a seat, sipping of a Gin & Tonic with a bendy straw.

"It's the truth," he put his hand over his heart with false sincerity.

"There's no way you stayed in Wakanda and met the king. Interesting story, but I doubt it," you jabbed back.

"Believe what you want to believe, but I have." he swore, taking another swig of a bear he knew he couldn't get drunk off of, "Alright then, Miss Cynical, what have you got in the arsenal. You've had to have had some sort of misadventures,"

She paused but only for a second. She has seen many, many things. If only he knew.

"Umm... let's see... I've traveled to 72 of the 195 countries in the world. Lived in Romania for 4 years, France for 2, but I figured after being in the U.K. for 12, I thought it was time to come home."

"So your American?"

"Originally, yes."

"Huh. It's just that you have an accent and... I just can't quite seem to place it."

Bucky would know. He had traveled many years as well. More than he'd care to remember.

You brushed it off, "I take it you've had your fair share of 'misadventures'?" you jabbed back.

"If only you knew."

The hours passed quickly, and by 2 in the morning, people began to filter out one by one, and finally, you decided it was time to take your leave as well.

But you really didn't want to. You had the most interesting conversations you'd had in decades. He was truly a man out of time. Literally. He let it slip about the Avengers, and to say the least, it opened up a can of worms.

He was oddly open about most things. How he was with the Avengers, how he was taken in the snap (you, however, weren't), and how he really did stay in Wakanda. But he spoke of nothing farther back than that.

You decided not to pry. If you knew one thing, it was that people had secrets, and they could get very good at hiding them.

Finally, the two of you decided to shuffle your way to the door, and once you swung it open, you immediately regretted not getting an uber before getting there.

It was pouring rain, the thunder now clearly heard now that there wasn't any blaring music to block it out. Bucky looked at you suggestively.

"It's fine, I... I can call a cab or something," you tried, but Bucky wasn't having any of it.

"Come on, doll, I can give you a ride home."

The two of you quickly ran out into the rain as he used his jacket to cover the both of you, and yet despite the rain, he still walked to the passenger side with you and opened the door, a gentlemanly smile on his features.

Once he got in, he reached to turn the car on but was stopped in his tracks. Next to him, he saw you looking up out of the windshield on the end of the sheet, watching the rain as it fell and slipped down the glass. You had seen rain millions of times before. But every time you did, it made you pause and remember the life you had lived; the things you had seen.

You felt a pair of eyes staring, and you pulled your gaze away from the water droplets to look at the culprit.

"What?" you asked, and Bucky just grabbed you, your lips meeting his, the sound of the rain hitting the metal of the car making the moment that much more special.

You made the bold decision to mount his lap, your tongue mangling with his as you just... felt. It had been a while since you had done that.

The kiss seemed to last for eternity as you softly ground on his growing erection, his breathing picking up. You started to go lower, your lips meeting his jaw as you took a desperate inhale of air against his flesh.

"I can smell the sunlight on your skin," you finally muttered, your hands on his biceps, "You smell so good...,"

"I'm flattered," he nervously chuckled.

Finally, you pulled back, and Bucky gave you a confused, otherwise terrified glance. That was when you noticed that your fangs were out, the moonlight outside the tinted windows of the car.

"Are you scared?" you muttered, knowing that you were going to get what you wanted whether he liked it or not. But you would rather him be conscious and willing.

His look of confusion morphed into something more. Something darker. Lustful. Taking his thumb, he reached up and pushed your top lip up and exposed your canine at the root. He then looked you dead in the eyes, shaking his head 'no' softly.

He then took one of his gloves off. Soon enough his whole jacket was off, and he revealed a harsh metal arm that beamed just as brightly. Who were you to judge? You refused to pry. You knew what it was like for society to hate you because you weren't what they wanted you to be. You move your hands up and down the sleek metal, the plates shifting as your fingertips grazed it.

You gave him a compassionate smile, leaning over and whispering "It'll only hurt for a second, but it'll start to feel good, I promise."

You went lower before giving a gentle kiss to a spot on his neck —a warning — before biting deeply into his neck as he let out a pornographic moan.

His blood was intoxicating. Like plums, whisky, and a sharp spike of mint. His flavors were vivid, addictive, and you let out a verbal moan as you tasted him on your tongue.

You suddenly jerked your head back, a gasp leaving your mouth as your lips parted, your eyes searching his, "What are you?" you pried, confusion etched across your face, your hands now holding his face.

"I'm whatever you want me to be."

That was true. At this point, even he didn't know what he was, everything that he was, a blurry memory. A soldier. A lady's man. A best friend. A fighter. Now he didn't know what he was. He was hoping that you could help him figure that out.

Assuming you weren't going to get a definitive answer, yet at least, you brushed it off, pressing a loving kiss to his forehead, before leaning down and sucking more of his sweet, addicting blood from his veins, another groan leaving his mouth as he leaned his head to the side, giving you more access, your hungry tongue probing and licking.

His hands wandered eagerly, grabbing whatever it could on your body as he tried to catch his breath, his body suddenly relaxing, his body no longer feeling pain but rather absolute pleasure.

His head was now cocked up as he gasped for air, feeling as if the air was sucked from his lungs, not in malice but in pleasure as he felt his body well up with heat.

You pulled yourself away from him, pricking your finger on one of your teeth and rubbing it on his bite marks, the gashes closing up almost instantly.

Bucky then weakly reached up, now cupping your face in his hands, speechless.

"Can I keep you?" you whispered in a hushed tone, your crimson-red eyes meeting his crystal blues.

Bucky nodded, enveloped in your gaze.

The words that came out next slipped out before he could stop them:

"Wanna head back to my place?"

The kiss was sloppy and uncoordinated as you fell through the opening doors of the elevator of his apartment complex. You stumbled down that hall in an unsynchronized jumble of needy grabs and touches.

Bucky finally reached the door, grabbing his key and trying to put it in the lock, missing the mark completely and dropping his key to the ground.

Begrudgingly he broke the kiss and frantically shoved it in the lock, unlocking the door and slamming the door open, the two of you tumbling inside and letting your lips lock once again.

You were able to catch a glimpse at your environment when you broke the kiss, noticing how Bucky must have truly been a minimalist.

"Nice place," you joked, smirking at him.

"What can I say? I like a tidy home."

He then wrapped his hands around yours and pulled you to the bedroom. Your dress almost disappeared like a rabbit in a hat, you didn't even feel it leave your body as he tore it off, the only indication was the cool temperature hitting your skin.

Bucky was delighted to find you weren't wearing a bra as he leaned over you, his lips immediately finding your exposed chest. You mewled as his tongue probed at your nipple, using his flesh hand to tweak and pinch the other.

You felt yourself get hotter despite your normally cool temperature, and you loved it. You had spent so long looking for a man like Bucky to make you feel like a little girl all over again. To make you hot. To make you feel like maybe your life was taken from you just so you could meet him.

You bucked your hips up to the erection he had been sporting since you pierced his neck. He let out a primal growl, taking off your panties, leaving you completely nude.

"So fucking gorgeous, like a goddess," he praised before driving in between your necks, wasting no time licking a wide strip up your sex, making you whine in surprise.

Your attempts to make him go faster here futile as you bucked your hips, gripping his hair like a vice. You verbally whined as you tried to get him to do something— anything— but your patience began to wane.

Even though Bucky's go-to tactic was to tease his women until they couldn't take it anymore, he had never met you.

Before he knew it, you moved quickly, standing him up and flinging him on the bed face-up, your hips over his face in seconds, your hand stroking his hair gently.

Bucky stared up at you in shock and awe, nobody has ever thrown him around. He certainly wasn't opposed. His shock turned into pure, unfiltered lust, his hands placed on your thighs, hungrily pulling your pussy to meet his lips, where he then ate you like a man starved.

Using his hair and an anchor, you ground yourself over his eager tongue, your moans only queuing him to lick and suck at your precious pearl even harder than before.

"Fuck Bucky! So fucking good, baby," you praised, throwing your head back as your fangs made their presence known with a smooth 'pop'.

Your hands changed tactics as you moved yourself to lean back, one hand gripping at the headboard, the other sat on his textured abs, your nails making the skin under red and sensitive.

Before you knew it, you were on the edge. Your body was screaming for release, your hormones going into overdrive as you went harder—faster— praying that your coil would snap.

"'M gonna cUM— Bucky fuck!!" You gasped as you finally slipped into your state of nirvana, your body buzzing.

You shook in your ecstasy, perfect noises slipping from your lips as you felt Bucky lick up everything you gave him. Meanwhile, he was in heaven, suffocated by your thighs as he lapped at your ambrosia. You were the most delicious pussy he had ever had.

After Bucky finally detached his mouth from your core, he looked up at you lazily, and you moved your hips down, your dripping pussy hovering over his painfully hard erection.

"You're amazing, Bucky...," you muttered, your lips meeting his in a passionate kiss. Something more than lust or infatuation. You were ready to make him completely and utterly yours.

You reached down, lining him up with you, and kissed your way down his jaw and to his neck. You suddenly sunk down, your teeth piercing his skin as he let out a lewd moan, pleasure coursing through his veins as you began to move on him, bouncing your hips at a sensual pace.

You sucked at his life force with volition, your pace never faltering as it increased, your body nothing but a thief, and at this point, Bucky would let you take everything he had.

You pulled away to look at him, smirking as you felt his blood surround your mouth, coating your teeth as you continued to bring him pleasure.

"Mine," you growled, "All mine."

Bucky nodded in his daze, "Yours. Promise."

Your lips met in a sloppy kiss as you felt him tense up, knowing he was close. Mischievously, you took his flesh hand, placing it where you needed him most. You wanted nothing more than to cum with him.

"I can feel you," you groaned out, "So fuckin' deep,"

Bucky was in a submissive daze, nodding to whatever you said as his mind blurred in pleasure and need. His skin was almost electrifying as you felt his blood run through you.

"So come on. Cum for me. Cum inside me," you moaned, Bucky watching as your breasts bounced with every movement of your hips, "Wanna cum for me, Bucky?"

"Yes! Please, I want it! I want it, please," he whined as you smirked, you couldn't have asked for a better response.

"Cum," you commanded, as you felt your body tense up as well, and just like that you came the hardest you had in almost a decade, your world going white.

You felt yourself scream out as you collapsed on top of the man below you, your body limp as he continued to thrust up into you, letting out a guttural, filthy moan as he came inside of you.

You felt him fill you up, your eyes open as you tried to center your vision, your mind scrambled as you listened to Bucky's adorable little noises.

You rode out each other's highs, your lover panting like a dog, his eye closed as he tried to gather himself as well. When he eventually caught his breath, he couldn't help but look down at you in amazement.

"Absolutely incredible," he murmured as he put his hand to your face, stroking gently.

If you had blood pumping in your veins, you would have blushed, "As are you."

"Can you turn into a bat?" Bucky looked up at you with the curiosity of a child as you gently stroked his hair.

You had spent hours taking him apart, so it felt only right that you held him in your arms and on your lap, stroking his hair gently as his eyes hazed over with sleepiness.

You let out a light-hearted chuckle, "No. I can't. Although that sounds fun, no?"

"What can you do?" he continued to question as he held you a little bit tighter.

"I can... move at rapid speeds, but you already knew that, didn't you?" You jabbed, Bucky letting out a hearty laugh, "I'm immortal, I have a strong influence, I can even sense people who have drank my blood."

"Sense as in how?" Bucky didn't know why he was suddenly so worried.

"I can sense your emotions. I'll know where you are so I can find you quickly," you explained.

"What am I feeling now?"

You paused at the question, a sense of slight pity crossing you as you looked down to him. You closed your eyes, closing everything out in a means to feel him. A stream of consciousness crossed you.

"You're...," you paused, "You're feeling affectionate. In love. Vulnerable." you started, "But you're also feeling unsure... skeptical..."

Bucky liked knowing what he felt. Being told what he was actually feeling. Some days he felt as if there was nothing left. A void where his feelings once were.

"How old are you?" he questioned suddenly.

"Exactly or a rough estimate?" you joked.

"Exactly."

You sighed with a smile on your face, remembering the memories of the past.

"I'm 207 years old. I was born in 1813."

Bucky sat up. He had never met anyone that much older than him. He thought he was one of the oldest living fossils on the planet. But you were just full of surprises.

"D-Do you remember Steve?" Bucky questioned, tears welling in his eyes.

"Rogers? I mean... I saw him in posters in the '40s. Even saw one of his performances. But something told me he wasn't a fan of showbiz. Then after he got out of the ice, I saw him on TV. Mostly news channels."

Bucky winced. If you had seen Steve on the news, there was no doubt that you had also seen him on the news, and that-

"I know you aren't a bad man, James."

Bucky winced as you used his name, but nonetheless, the statement brought more tears.

"Say it again...," he pleaded, closing his eyes as he heard your melodic voice say what he had been wanting to hear for centuries.

"You realize I can't let you go now, right?" He cupped your face gently in his hands as if he might break you, but even with his super-soldier status, you were the one who should be worried about breaking him.

"I couldn't imagine you doing any different."

#bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #fatws bucky #vampire!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #vampire #bucky barnes x reader smut

[askanonbinary]

OOH omg wait it’s the headcanons anon again and I wanna hear about agender Buffy and aliagender Spike too!!! if you’re up for it. if not, no worries <3

MORE!!!

Buffy: Buffy is agender because I mean... When you're a slayer do you really need gender? lol but also I just, again like I've said with Mer and Dean now... it's this sense of defying the norm breaking the cycle being an enigma. Buffy isn't a typical slayer. She doesn't fit the slayer mold. Never has, never will. In my headcanon, Buffy herself transcends the need for gender as a whole. The concept of "gender" is below her. Do I have canonical reference? Nope! But that's my vibe and I'm sticking to it!

Spike: So here's the thing.... Spike is the poster child for Dichotomies! When I originally reached out to the original owner of this blog in a conversation that ended in the coining of aliagender, I did so because I was looking for a word that expressed a feeling of a non-specific gender identity outside of the "man-woman" spectrum completely. I wanted something that was "othered" from the binary. We chose "alia" because it means "other" in latin. And like..... Isn't that Spike? Othered. Separate. Outside the system. I wrote a post about this headcanon years ago where I said "i mean but think about it… aliagender Spike with no true pronoun preference but a lean towards they.  He gets used most often because they’re not getting rid of their hot ass style to try to “prove” to be outside the society’s oppressive gender norms and ideas." and I mean........ but think about it........... there's so much potential there with his character to just say and do really incredible things!

#mod zoe leo #trans headcanons #buffy #spike #I LOVE THIS ASK ME MORE

[bellatrixobsessed1]

World Of Winter

Ayyy kicking off @foulharlequin’s gothtober off with my favorite goth, Icy!

Day 1: Trad Goth Fandom: Winx Club Ship: N/A Summary: For Icy goth is more than just a manner of dressing and winter isn’t just a season.

Dressing herself is an ornate and complex ritual. It has been for a long time--since she tugged on those fishnets and stepped into those studded combat boots. She still remembers the first time she had done it. It was, perhaps, the first time she had felt comfortable in her skin when she was still growing to fit her own body.  When she was still awkward and lanky. It was the first time she felt right, felt powerful and intimidating. Like she could step over and on anyone instead of the reverse.

And in the style she feels a comfort, a confidence that she hadn’t felt before. One that isn’t so surface level. She feels it within and it comes to the surface when she styles her hair and straps a spiked choker on.

And with the right makeup brushes and brands she can do wonders. She can contour her face to her satisfaction. Can make soft features look wicked. Imposing. Sinister. With the right tools she becomes someone worth being.

Dress and demeanor have long since become a lifestyle, and in time they have shifted from a sense of security to a sense of confidence.

And from a sense of style it became a lifestyle, a way of doing things that ran significantly deeper than just putting on some leather and winging her eyeliner with dramatics.

Goth, in its most traditional form, is her saving grace. A small community on the very fringes of society. The outcasts and the pessimists. The rebels and the darkly optimistic folks who can see something alluring and lovely in that which is wicked and forlorn.

They are few in her realm. Her planet, a place that is so dead and unforgiving. A place with plenty of gloom and grey to fill in the places untouched by the white. A place where trees branches rise like the hands of skeletons desperate to shake the dirt off of their bones. A place where nights cling to the sky and the sun is dim when it does crack through.

There is a very special kind of melancholy in the winter. A special kind of lonely quietness. And for this, she thinks that autumn has stolen the reputation that winter should don. Sure, autumn has a crispness it has a creeping death, an air about it that thrills the witches, the goths, and the odd folk. But it is winter that has the desolation, winter when death is in full bloom. Winter that more closely embodies the bleak silence, the beautiful glittering sorrow, and stately curiosity of the gothic soul.

So where then, are the others--the witches and goths? She sees mostly faeries. Faeries who see the snow as fluffy and light-hearted. For them it is different; for them the world of winter is enchanting, magical, wondrous, and carefree.

They don’t see the brutality of a Solarian getting lost in the tundra. They don’t see the truth of the season. They don’t accept their planet the way she does. They don’t love it the way she does.

They don’t dress the way she does. Icy supposes that she is fine with that. There is poetry in isolation and something special in embracing it to the fullest. Something that makes her feel profoundly connected to the frigid world she treks. It is deeply quiet out here where the

She thinks that she can hear the moon. Such is the depth of the quietness that she thinks she can hear the whisper and hiss of the lights above as they fold and unfold in curtains of teal and purple. They speak to her in delicate voices and in languages and tones like death rattles trapped in a crypt.

Sometimes she thinks the lights, in spite of their vivid colors, were the original goths. That winter as a whole was the original goth. Post punk and autumn be damned! It is here in the unforgiving snow that her platform boots and fishnet tights fit the most comfortably. Here in her world of winter.

#Gothtober #Winx Club #Winx Icy #Fanfiction #One Shot

[bumpytoad]

I'm not trying to look "cool" or be "cool." I'm not like those kids who used to look a little bit edgy and grew out of it. I never wanted to be one of them as a child as much as I just wanted to be uniquely me. Sometimes I was lumped with them because I looked different and they were the closest thing to compare me to, but I was a whole different category to what they were trying to do. Hanging out in groups and fitting in wasn't even anything that interested me, though I mostly stayed with the Special Ed/emotional support kids if you can call that a group.

I was always one who was truly different, not just trying to be "edgy cool." Some might even think I look stupid -- I don't know. How should I know? I'm just saying that I'm not trying to be "cool" in the least.

I actually want to look weird and truly bizarre and different, if that's what NTs want to think I look like. After all, what's wrong with being different, no matter how different? That might mean that I look like a freak to many in society. But this is my expression -- it's who I am and want to be.

I admire folks like Elaine Davidson. I like excess. I like flamboyantly expressing myself. My makeup is my favorite way of truly expressing myself when I want to be truly put together.

For clothing, I like to wear what I like, such as tshirts with themes involving science or animals like sharks, toads, insects, slugs, mushrooms, Earth Day tshirts and such. I like black capri sweatpants, camo joggers, black loose drawstring pants, and joggers that are black with flamboyant or interesting prints, iron-on patches, and chains, straps, spikes, safety pins, etc. I am a koumpounophobe -- I hate to wear buttons or snaps. I like Tripp pants a lot and therefore I have some (You can hide the snap or button enclosure.) but I prefer something more stretchy (Meaning no buttons or snaps) and less heavy, but with the style of Tripp pants. I always wear a black headband and a frog beret hat, a wild boar tusk necklace and a wolf teeth necklace. I wear a bracelet all the time that's made of yak bones, and other bracelets made of ox bones, a shark tooth, and a deceased scarab beetle or spider.

I love whiteface and red down my cheeks or very thick black eye makeup that forms points down my nose and temples, and black lipstick. I love looking like a creature and I love B-grade science fiction horror films about creatures and animals. I love extravagance in my cosmetics. I am Autistic and don't want to look "cool" -- I want to look weird and Autistic. It's an Autistic form of expression of who I am. It's authentic, like how tribal paint is raw and real, and not putting on a "cool" twist to it.

And I'm not saying that all alternative identified folks are Autistic-- but we are definitely neurodivergent and see things differently. We are different, and we therefore identify differently.

I embrace being truly different and I'm proud of it. It's not about being shocking or for attention, either. I don't care if you think I'm an eyesore just because I'm not trying to be Gothic while still reflecting a lot of mainstream beauty standards.

It's not about being rebellious, but I have to rebel and take a stand when who I am is threatened.

I'm not "trendy edgy." It's offensive to me to be thought of this way. I don't want a bunch of cool seekers to be part of it (Well... I don't want this to be the impression that identifying in this way garners.). Actually, they can do what they want. Everyone can do what they want. Just let me have my dignity and respect.

I like real freaks... those who are proud to be different and not in the "cool" way at the time. I don't do it to impress anyone.

If I'm Gothic, I'm like the originals with the whiteface. I'm not some toned down hybrid. I was always the weirdo that got laughed at. I don't have "cred." I'm not "cool." I'm socially awkward and strange.

It's the mainstream that made it "cool." They were conventionally attractive and Neurotypical, and they stole it from us who are truly different. They made it into something of their own. I don't want that.

I don't like the boring bland Instagram makeup that's meant to pass as Gothic. If you like it, I'm not judging you and just because you like it doesn't make you part of the problem. But I prefer more creative and wildly different makeup, more whiteface, SFX makeup, and a DIY approach to makeup, face paint, and body paint. Go as wild as you like -- self-expression is extremely important.

I like stuff like out of side shows, not "different in a cool way." I prefer Nosferatu to Dracula, though I'm not big into vampires -- I'm just using an example to illustrate my point. I prefer the supposed "disabled look." Looking "like a retard" or "stupid" (The reason I'm using these insulting examples is because I've actually been called these things before.) is not an insult to me -- well, yes, it most certainly is, but I'm just saying that I don't want to look like a "cool" Neurotypical. I'm cool just the way I am.

For my idea of alternative or Gothic, I don't want it to have a contemporary twist, or look like the hot new thing that's actually a watered-down version to appeal to the fashionable. Just stop.

I want acceptance and respect, but I want it as I am. There is a real deal identity that I have. I'm not just a trend hopper. I like the original true expression that wasn't meant to be polished up and NT. Please don't confuse me for that.

I have a marginalized identity. It's not that I like being marginalized, but I'd rather be true to who I am. I have to admit the truth that alternative identities are and/or have been marginalized. Don't marginalize those who are different. Don't call us freaks. I'm not advocating or embracing the term or trying to reclaim it. I'm only using words like "weird" and "freak" and "bizarre" to make a point. Respect alternative identities.

Being different is a positive thing and words like freak are thrown around like slurs towards those who look very different from the norm. It's offensive. I am against lookism and alterophobia. We need to fight for our rights to be ourselves. We need a movement to be able to express ourselves any way we like (as long as we're not committing hate speech through our expressions) without fear and shame. Being alternative is an identity.

While there was a fad for a while mostly with Gothic things, those who are alternative as an identity are a very small minority and always have been. When the media latches onto something as fresh and new, it becomes a big thing for a while with folks wanting to be relevant by being part of it. After the hype dies, they grow out of it. The media reinvents things that have been around for a long time as fresh and new. The media also takes alternative identities and hypes them up and creates a demand -- a commodified culture. The media can be very harmful.

Many of us who are alternative have multiple alternative identifier labels. One individual can be alternative in more than one way. And Autistic folks are more likely to be alternative as well as any kind of identity that is less common.

To sum up, I want my dignity. My way of being is a civil and human right, and is not up for debate. All I ask for is respect. Try to understand -- please have some empathy.

#goth rights activist #alterhuman #gothic #alternative #Freak #Autistic #actually autistic #dark alternative #Dark Culture #marginalized groups #marginalized people #Dignity #Non-Traditional Identities #Self-expression #flamboyant

[dailydianakko]

Diana vs. The Webcam

I’m back, and with another one-shot! This is kinda a gift for Mod Nightly! Also I do recall getting an ask about Diana struggling with technology, so I guess this fits? Kinda? Anyway, this is my longest fic yet, clocking in at around 2,600 words. A big thank you to R5H for helping me edit!

Diana booted up the old computer in her study.  While she waited for the old thing to finish starting up, she let her eyes roam over the old room. Had it not been for the perfectionist tendencies of Anna, Diana figured the whole study would’ve been covered in dust. Much of it was as she had left it. This room had been her hideaway last school break. Anna may have cleaned it, but the books had been meticulously put back in the same skewed positions as Diana had left them. The obvious overflow of the literature made Diana make a mental note to either find better space, or perhaps put the lesser used books back into the family library. Tapping the mouse in a staccato beat, her eyes ran from the bookshelves to the paintings on the wall. Diana wasn’t attached to the multiple portraits of fruits; perhaps she would replace them with more personal pictures soon. She doubted it though, this room stayed the same. She may claim it would be renovated, but in the end she found that she rather liked the room and its timeless charm. It would always look the way she expected it to be. Like grandmother’s study.

A chime interrupted her thoughts and her attention turned back to the screen. The blue glow caused her to squint and quickly turn on the desk lamp. It eased the strain on her eyes and allowed her to log into the old contraption. The keyboard was bulky and grey, making loud clacks as the password was hastily typed in. Now to hook up a “webcam” as Akko had called it. The stubborn brunette had refused to allow Diana to purchase her a crystal ball and instead had presented Diana with a box. Inside had been the “webcam”. Akko had demanded that Diana “Get her head out of the 1800s and learn how to be a modern witch”. Diana let out a huff as she recalled that particular spat. Although, she was planning on looking into modern technologies anyway. Just in case Croix tried something again that would put Akko at risk.

Diana cracked open the webcam box, and flipped foremost to the instruction manual. As she quickly skimmed through the pamphlet, small disgruntled noises fell from her lips. “What in Beatrice’s name is a MicroSD, and how does one insert it into a computer?” This may take longer than she originally thought. Diana snapped the hairtie she was wearing over her wrist and pulled her hair up into a high ponytail. After rolling up her sleeves, she removed her wand from the holster she kept on her hip. Muttering a quick chant and performing the proper wand movements, she summoned a wispy green spirit. “Please tell Anna that I request some tea and refreshment to the southern study.” The tiny spirit saluted and Diana covered her mouth, lest she let out a giggle and draw the ire of the small fae. With a nod, Diana dismissed the spirit and watched it zip through the door.

Once the spirit had left, she turned back to the task at hand. She wanted to at least have some sort of an idea before Anna saw her in this miserable state of confusion. This was why crystal balls were superior to mundane tech; you didn’t have to add anything. All it required was the right sort of spell. Although, now that Diana had a proper moment to reflect, Akko would most definitely have a harder time conjuring the required spells. While the excitable witch had made progress in leaps and bounds, the magic that required more finesse still left the brunette floundering. If Akko was trying hard in the more magical aspect for Diana, Diana could try hard in the more mundane aspect for Akko. Diana figured she had at least forty minutes for proper snacks to be made and for the tea to boil. She wouldn’t confirm nor deny knowing that the snacks meant for this evening had disappeared rather early today after she had passed by the kitchens.

Thirty minutes later Diana was feeling rather frazzled. Small curses she would never be caught dead uttering were flying from her mouth at an astounding rate. Her hair was messy, her back ached from frustration, and nothing was going right. Anna was due in the room at any minute, and Diana would rather she uphold her current reputation as a level headed and intelligent witch. She counted her blessings that O’Neill wasn’t here, lest the obnoxious redhead never let Diana live down her inability to hook up a webcam, and saying ‘fuck’. It had been uttered at least twelve times now. 

“Fucking hell” 

Thirteen.

Sitting up and taking a breath, Diana tugged on one of her loose bangs. She was an intelligent witch. She could do this. She twirled the desk chair once and got comfortable. Squaring her shoulders, she picked up the accursed instructions and gave them another look. As she was absorbed in sifting through the obscure text, a knock softly rang through the room in a pattern. One, two-two, one- one, one, two. “Come in, Anna,” Diana said as her eyes continued to scan the page. She absentmindedly waved her hand .

Her nursemaid glided into the room, tea tray in hand. It was piled with cucumber sandwiches, scones, and assorted tea cookies. An elegant teapot with a gilt rose design and matching teacup sat elegantly in the middle of the tray. Anna stood next to Diana and gave her a look of rebuke. The young heir was sprawled in the chair, one leg draped over the armrest, the other on the ground. Diana was using that leg to make tiny half revolutions as she slouched in the chair, one hand holding the instruction book, the other tugging her bangs. Anna cleared her throat, and Diana didn’t even flinch. Her hand flailed around, grabbed a sandwich. She began gnawing at it irately as she focused harder on the task at hand.

“Lady Cavendish.” Anna’s eyebrow raised and the frown lines on her face deepened. “Please refrain from such behavior.”  Diana froze mid bite into her sandwich. With a scramble of one moving for their life, she quickly straightened her posture. Smoothing her hair and practically tossing the sandwich back onto the tray, she faced Anna. The instruction manual fell abandoned at her feet. Diana would rather she not make a fool of herself trying to grab for it. Nine knows she had made a fool of herself already.

“Anna. Thank you for the refreshments. I ask that you forgive my behavior, I have been,” Diana glanced at the computer screen. It had gone back into sleep mode some time ago. “Rather occupied.”

“Of course, Diana. I only ask that you emulate the behavior of a lady when necessary. It would not do for you to show a sloppy side in front of those of a lower station.” Anna rested the tray on the desk and gently straightened Diana’s messy hair with a gentle hand. “Now, may I inquire what has you so distressed?”

Diana’s faced flushed as she glanced at the fallen manual. She cleared her throat in an attempt to buy some time to formulate an answer. “I wish to add a webcam to my computer, but much of this does not make as much sense as I wish it would.” Diana kicked the evil pamphlet gently. Her arms wound themselves around her torso and she pouted slightly. “I just want to video call my dearest friend, Akko”

Anna did a quick sign of the cross and muttered a Hail Mary at the mention of Akko’s name. She straightened up and gave Diana a faint smile. “Together we can puzzle through this, Diana. May I offer my assistance?”

Diana gave a tiny nod and quickly moved out of her seat. She wrapped Anna in a quick blink-and-you-miss-it sort of hug, and then flashed back into her seat. Anna let out a nearly inaudible chuckle at her young charge’s affection. Diana didn’t often like to be vulnerable. Weakness was easily taken advantage of in high society. Diana had caught on that regrettably quickly after the passing of her mother, Bernadette. Anna had done her best for her young mistress in a house absent of love. Seeing Diana smile more and act like a child was refreshing, even if it was improper. Anna crouched down and picked up the manual. “Now let’s take a crack at this together. Please eat while I go over and see what you could’ve missed.”

It took a full two hours, one and a half pots of tea, and at least ten cookies before the two had finally figured out the problem. As soon as the proper window had finally popped up, Diana let out a joyful cry and latched onto Anna, giggling. Anna couldn’t help but smile, and she indulged a minute or two in her almost adoptive daughter’s embrace. All too soon she extricated herself from Diana’s grip. “I’ll bring a fresh plate of cookies, Diana. Why don’t you call your friend?” Diana’s eyes lit up even further.

“That would be acceptable. I shall call Akko right now.” Diana practically wiggled in her seat. She then froze as if coming to a realization. Frantically she tidied her desk area and clothes. She took out her ponytail and grabbed her wand once more to cast a spell to neaten her hair. She had to look her best for Akko. A quick look to the wall clock told Diana it was about 9:25PM in Japan. Surely Akko would still be up. Anna hid a smile and quickly exited the room. Diana still had some cookies on her plate, and Anna wanted to leave the two girls alone for a bit.

Diana hastily booted up the program and went through the steps to call Akko. She waited with bated breath as the dots loaded across the screen. She looked as if she was in a silent prayer, hands clasped as she chewed on her lip.

“Konbanwa….” A messy haired Akko filled Diana’s screen. The hair that usually was stowed away in her little pigtail was practically sitting straight up. “Oh! Diana!” Akko’s accent had gotten even thicker during the few days she had been at home. The brunette rambled a few more words in her native tongue until she caught herself. “So!” Akko ran a hair through her adorably spiked hair. “Finally got the webcam up, huh, Diana?”

Diana blinked. She had been caught up in memorizing Akko’s cute bedhead. “Yes, it was quite a simple matter once I figured the instructions out. Took merely minutes to install.” Diana flicked her hair away from her face and stared Akko right in the eyes.

“Diana~ Your teeth are gonna rot from telling lies! You only ever do that hair thingie when you’re not being honest! I bet it took you hours. Did someone help you?” Akko flicked her screen and her picture flipped. “Oops.” The brunette deftly righted the mistake and began teasing Diana with that little smirk of hers.

“I’ll have you know-” Akko spun around in her chair, stopping mid spin to pull a face at Diana. “Confound it, Akko!” Diana dissolved into giggles. Akko looked on utterly smitten as Diana laughed. She missed this. Akko was so carefree, truly a breath of fresh air in Diana’s stagnant life. The rapid shutdown of the school due to the virus had sent Akko on a one way plane back home. Away from Diana.

 After Diana managed to compose herself, she noticed Akko had switched positions. Her hand rested her cheek, supporting her head as she looked at Diana in a dreamy manner. The slight knocking noise in the background clued Diana into the fact that Akko was swinging her legs under her desk. It was just like Akko during classes at Luna Nova. She could never truly sit still. Quarantine had made them both a little stir crazy. Seeing each other like this made things seem okay again.

“Atsuko, I truly missed you.” Diana’s eyes had a melty quality to them as she said this. Akko thought they kinda looked like the water in the Fountain of Polaris. Except while the waters in the fountain were cold, Diana’s were warm. Akko wanted nothing more than to give Diana a hug.

“I missed you too ,Diana. But! Guess what, you can finally see my room!” Akko slid her rolling chair away from the computer with a flourish, she gestured to her room. It was smaller than Diana imagined, and quite messy. The bed hadn’t been made and clothes were strewn about. The empty chip bag poking out from under Akko’s bed was especially incriminating. Of course, Diana also saw Shiny Chariot posters and collectibles littering the walls and bookshelves of the room. She noticed some other unknown cartoon characters, and made a mental note to look them up later. Akko’s birthday was coming in three months, and Diana wanted to send a care package to her.  The room was overall warm and lived in, just like Akko herself.

“It’s just as messy as I figured, Akko.” Akko let out a squawk and jerked her head to actually give her room a good look. Scrambling up from her chair, she jerked her sheets over the messiest bits of her bed and kicked her clothes out of view.

“Look, it doesn’t normally look like this,” Akko began to make a gaggle of excuses, each word coming out faster than the last one. She had turned back towards Diana, and was standing in the middle of the room.

“Oh? Now who is the one lying, Atsuko?”  Diana teased gently, a small giggle bubbling forth from her lips.  Akko paused in the middle of her wild gestures.

“I like it when you say my name, Diana.” Akko’s eyes gave a quick blink as her brain caught up with her mouth. Diana began to slowly turn red as she too processed what Akko had said. “I mean-what I want to say is-uh, etto, I really like the sound of your voice.” Akko covered her face and curled in on herself, wiggling from side to side.

“Akko,” Diana said softly, “I like it when you call my name too. I love your voice as well.”

Akko let out a muffled scream and wiggled harder. Her feet stomped lightly on the floor, tiny thuds accompanying her shriek. Diana felt her hands cover her face as well. She wasn’t usually as honest with her feelings as she was now. Akko tended to make Diana do crazy things, like venturing to the top of the stratosphere to stop a giant missile. Or like telling her things she swore never to say. Or actually giving people physical affection.

Akko peeked out from her hands, only to see Diana practically mirroring her embarrassment. “You’re cute, you know?” she blurted out. If Akko was going to die tonight, she might as well make sure she’d be six feet all the way under. It was Diana’s turn to let out a little squeak, so adorably uncharacteristic. “When this is all over, can I take you out to Blytonbury sometime?” Akko crossed her fingers, practically praying whoever was up there to let this work.

Diana peeled her hands from her face and took a deep breath. Looking a nervous Akko in the eyes, she gave her answer. “I suppose I would not be remiss in indulging on an outing with you at a later date. However, perhaps we can do something sooner? I’ve heard marvelous things about the internet.”

Akko let out a cheer and jumped into the air, only to scream as her foot slipped on some discarded shorts she had missed in her mad dash to ‘tidy’ her room. “Daijobu” a weak groan came from the floor as Diana let out a guffaw that evolved into full blown laughter. Akko watched happily from the floor. She would make Diana laugh more in the coming video calls, she hoped.

“So, how about a movie?”

#lwa #little witch academia #akko kagari #diana cavendish #dianakko #diakko #my writing #daily speaks #i know some parts have a weird POV switch #im just strange like that #edit bc anne is actually ANNA #motherfuck

[themusicplayedherlife]

Of Warmth and Growth

pairing: dick grayson x f!reader characters: reader, the team, dick grayson word count: 7.7k+ warnings: angst, self doubt, and boat load of fluff summary: dealing with a broken heart isn’t easy, but your friend megan is hoping to get you out of that fink by inviting you to her holiday party where you meet someone that might help you move on. a/n: there’s a whole story behind this--originally this was started as a requested oneshot, but i couldn’t bring myself to finish it, so i revamped it and wrote a different story that i posted some time ago. fast forward to november, i made it my goal to finish this before the new year, and i was so close, too, but family took priority. there might also be a disconnect, but I really tried smoothing it over, hopefully I did well. anyway, better late than never, though?

Happy Harbour

December 7, 2019

“Sometimes it’s very hard to move on, but once you move on, you’ll realize it was the best decision you’ve ever made. You’ll see.”

You want to laugh bitterly at Megan’s words, but her sympathetic smile and warm gaze are holding you back from doing so. She’s only trying to help, you’re reminded by your conscious as she continues to spew words of healing and bullshit. Utter bullshit. 

Your bitterness wins and you say, “I know,” wanting nothing more than for her to shut up. 

Her smile turns sheepish and she pats your hand affectionately before excusing herself to get more coffee, or to get away from you. You wouldn’t blame her if it was the latter, you haven’t exactly been good company to keep around since your break up.

Sighing, your eyes trail to the world on the other side of the small cafe’s window. It’s bustling and full of people with shopping bags, all of them preparing for the holidays. It really is a different world outside, you muse. Everything inside the coffee shop is warmer and cozier—quieter compared to the outside. It almost, almost makes you forget about your broken heart that was ripped and stomped on by the person you thought loved and cared for you, things that you still, unfortunately, feel for them.

Your red-haired friend comes back with two styrofoam cups instead of one, and she sets one down in front of you, taking her seat across from you once more. “I got you another earl grey.”

You pick up the warm styrofoam, enjoying the heat against your palm. “Thank you.”

Megan doesn’t say anything for once, instead she watches the world with you, letting only the soft jazz of the cafe to envelop you. You can tell she’s going over something in her mind, she’s never this quiet unless she’s thinking, and that’s—usually—never a good thing, at least not when it pertains to you. 

It’s not until you’re halfway done with your drink that she finally speaks, having grown restless with her thinking. She’s looking at you, her eyes narrowed and a little shaky, never really making contact with your own, but still facing your direction. “Sooo, I was thinking,” she drawls, “Conner and I are inviting some of our old friends over for a little get together this weekend and I thought, hey, maybe I can convince my best friend in the whole universe to finally meet my other friends, you know, I want us all to be friends and—“

“You’re rambling.”

“Right; sorry. It’s not going to be a huge thing, just a few of us watching crappy movies and drinking spiked eggnog, maybe play some games or something.” She reaches for your hand holding your drink and finally meets your eyes. “And I really want you to be there. What do you say, huh?”

“Megan,” you start warningly.

She raises a hand as a peace sign. “I know, I know! You said you wanted to keep a low profile this holiday season, but I really want to introduce you. They’re really nice people, a little odd, but so am I and you’re still my friend!”

You purse your lips, mulling over the idea. “Are the girls going to be there?”

“Yes! Well, Karen will be, I’m not sure about Wendy, yet. Should probably ask her tonight.”

Again, you think it over. Not only will you be in a small, confined space with a lot of people (she might have said it wasn’t going to be huge, but you and her have different definitions for small and huge), you’re going to be stuck in a confined space with strangers. It doesn’t sound very pleasing, but then again, you haven’t been very pleasant and there’s no denying that you always dodged her past intents to get you and her friends to hang out, and yet, she’s still here, trying to cheer you up. 

You owe it to her. 

“Okay, I’ll go.” She immediately squeals. Loudly. Blushing, you look around the cafe, and just as you feared, everyone in the small cafe is looking at you. You sigh, lifting a hand to stop her from over exerting herself—and from embarrassing you any further. “Just don’t expect me to bring anything.”

“That’s fine! That’s fine! As long as you bring yourself, I’m content.”

You’re going to regret it, you just know it.

Happy Harbour

December 14, 2019

You tug at the hem of your outfit, uncomfortable. You could hear the loud laughter of the people inside accompanied by the soft hum of Megan’s holiday playlist. In your hand is a Tupperware full of brigadeiro, a Brazilian dessert your grandma used to make for the holidays before she completely quit eating sweet things (in front of your mom anyway).

Fingers tighten around the container. Maybe you should go... You could always deal with an angry Megan later. 

“Are you going to go in or are you just going to stare at the wreath all night?” A deep, amused voice registers in your mind and your body jerks in response, almost making you drop the Tupperware if it weren’t for the steady hand holding you against their strong, chest. “Whoa, there!” he exclaims, warm air fanning over your neck. “You all right?”

He doesn’t allow you to pull away until he steadies you, making sure you’re upright before letting you go. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you breathe out. “Thank you.”

He chuckles and you whirl around to meet your assailant and savior—and holy fuck is he gorgeous. They were gorgeous, too, but in that average kind of way. Nothing about them stood out to people, but to you? They were the most beautiful person you had ever seen. But this man in front of you, you had to be stupid not to notice how gorgeous he is. Striking blue eyes peering into you, a mischievous glint in them and matched by the lopsided smirk adorning his face; unruly black locks in waves and falling to one side as he runs his fingers through his hair. There’s something distinctly boyish and alluring about him that it renders you speechless.

“Megan never told me she had such a gorgeous friend,” he suddenly says. Or maybe not so suddenly because you’re sure his mouth had been moving before you allowed yourself to fall under his spell.

Hold on. 

Wait a second.

Gorgeous?

Did he really just call you gorgeous, too?

Your throat closes and your eyes widen, hopefully not comically or at all because holy shit. A really gorgeous man just called you gorgeous. The last person to ever compliment was your mom. But she’s your mom. She’s supposed to think you’re pretty good looking. And before that it was them. And realizing it now, they probably never even meant it. So this? This is new and weird and what the fuck are you supposed to say to something like that to someone like him. “I—“ 

A draft of air hits your back as the door is swung open behind you. The Christmas music that Megan has been preparing since June is louder than before without the door closed.

“You’re here,” she squeals, wrapping her arms from behind you, her chin settling on your shoulder. “I’m so happy you came!” She kisses your cheek messily and something sweet and alcoholic fills your nostrils. “And you brought something!”

“Yeah, yeah! Don’t make it a thing.” You laugh, pulling away as she makes a show of having to let you go. “How much eggnog have you had?” 

“Not too much.” Her eyes turn to the other guest and her eyes brighten. “Dick!” Dick? What kind of name is Dick? Was his mom angry at his dad? Noticing your stare, he smiles down at you, amusement never leaving his face before he turns to Megan. “You’re here! Wally and the others are already here.” She moves away from the door to let you both in.

Dick gestures to the inside of her apartment. “After you.”

Blinking owlishly, you thank him and enter the loud apartment full of people you don’t recognize—well, mostly of people you don’t recognize. There’s Karen and Mal by the Christmas tree talking to a redhead and a blonde, who Dick makes his way over to after excusing himself. Wendy is with Marvin by the snack table, the two arguing—really it's Marvin arguing—about which dessert is the best for the holidays, and a few other really gorgeous and fit people. Why are all of her friends ridiculously good looking?

“You okay?” Megan asks, her hand settling on your shoulder and squeezing lightly.

Your head swivels in her direction. “What?”

“You were frowning,” she says softly. “Hey, if I forced you to be here—“

“No,” you interrupt her quickly. “No, I’m glad you invited me, I just—I’ll be okay. I promise. You were right about me having to move on. I can’t avoid society forever because of a broken heart. I just need to get used to… this,” you say, moving your eyes around the party of people that seemed to already be coupled off.

She smiles gently but doesn’t seem all that convinced. “I’m right here if you need me, okay?” She takes the Tupperware from your hands. “Come on, let's say hi to everyone.” When you bristle, as you take off your coat, she laughs. “In moderation.”

An hour into the party and you’ve already become acquainted with mostly everyone at the party. You meet Wally and Artemis, the couple who were with Karen and Mal when you first arrived; Raquel and her baby boy, Amistad. Cassie and Tim; Jaime and Bart; Gar and some really weird guy who keeps glaring at Conner; Kaldur, who looks strangely familiar—and only smiles when you mention it before being pulled away by Megan—and Barbara, who eyes you momentarily before flashing you a warm smile. She’s a little intimidating, if you’re being honest.

There are still a few more people you have yet to meet, but you seriously need a break, and you say as much to Megan.

“You said a little party,” you say accusingly, as if you hadn’t known this was her definition of small.

She laughs, her arm hooked around yours as she pulls you towards the spread of food and drinks. “It is little!” She lets go of you, opens the treats you made and places them between all the others. She then grabs a clean cup to fill it with eggnog before handing it to you. “Here! Conner and I made it, so it might not be… good.”

You take a tentative sip of the thick liquid made out of egg and spices and doused with alcohol and holy fuck do you regret it. “You and Conner made this?” you sputter, the taste of bourbon lingering strongly on your tongue.

She pouts. “The recipe called for a ton of bourbon to counteract the sweetness!”

You pull the cup away and eye the liquid with scrutiny. “Did you put a whole bottle of Bourbon from Costco in here?”

“Yes?” she answers, a little unsure. “Probably. I don’t actually remember.”

Conner comes up from behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. “Enjoying yourselves?” 

She tilts her head to kiss him on his cheek continuously and smiles. “Always.” 

You avert your gaze. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Conner addresses you after they’ve had their fill of small pecks. Honestly, you don’t blame them for being so affectionate and in love. It wasn’t that long ago that the two finally decided to give each other another chance after a falling out that Megan still doesn’t want to talk about. And again, you don’t blame her. You don’t want to talk about the reason why you and your ex broke up either, let alone think about it. 

You hum and reluctantly move your gaze back to their interlocked embrace. You manage a smile. “Same to you. Been a while hasn’t it?” 

Before he can reply, Gar interrupts with a call of their names. He’s standing near the fireplace with Bart, leaning over something. “Come check this out!”

Megan wiggles out of Conner’s hold and instead grabs his hand to lead him towards the boys. “Don’t go anywhere!”

Conner flashes an exasperated glance at you over his shoulder, which you return, before he wraps his arms around Megan again—the two laughing and joking about who knows what as they close the distance between them and the boys.

Sighing, you take another sip of the eggnog and your face scrunches in response to the liquid coating your tongue. “Bleh.”

“Fell victim to the spiked eggnog, I see,” a voice cuts through your thoughts as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eyes snap up to meet the familiar, amused gaze of Dick. “Uh, yeah.”

He offers you a different mug and you eye it suspiciously. He chuckles. “It’s just apple cider, I promise.”

You reluctantly relent, taking the mug he offers as he takes the one you had been drinking. You take a sip, and surprisingly enough, it really is apple cider, no alcohol at all. “Oh, god, thank you.”

He flashes you a pearly smile, and takes a sip of the eggnog without grimacing. “So, how did you meet Megan and Conner?”

“Oh, um, from school. We went to the same high school.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I was a year below them, but I became friends with Megan when she joined the cheerleading team. My friendship with Conner just followed naturally after that.”

His eyes brighten, as if what you’re saying is actually interesting. “Really?”

You curl a piece of loose hair behind your ear. “Uh, yeah. What about you? How did you meet them?”

“Oh, through our families,” he supplies, a little detached, as if it weren’t really important. “Most of us met like that.”

You frown, but try to hide it behind the rim of the mug. “Wow. Then you must’ve known Megan for quite some time, then?”

His eyes flicker to your lips and his turn upwards. “Actually, I’ve probably known her for about the same amount of time as you.”

Wait. If that's true…“Does that mean you went to the Halloween disaster of 2016?” You remember Megan telling you she would be inviting her friends to the dance, and you heard that she did. Maybe he was among them?

He snorts. “Is that what they’re calling it?” You nod eagerly, hoping to hear his side of what happened that night.

“No.” You deflate, and he huffs a laugh. “I wasn’t able to go, had plans that night. Did you?”

You pout, the disappointment you felt at missing that night coming to mind. “Unfortunately, no. I was sick, but I heard from Marvin and the others that it was a night to remember.”

You don’t get to ask him more questions because as soon as you open your mouth, the front door opens to reveal a beautiful girl with dark, raven hair in delicate waves and bright blue eyes entering the room. Immediately, everyone (excluding you, Marvin and Wendy—wtf Karen?) recognizes her and greet her with a loud exclaim of her name, “Zatanna!”

Dick turns to you and you already know that he’s about to excuse himself. “Do you mind if—“ 

You shake your head interrupting him with, “No, no, go ahead.”

Surprisingly, he reaches for your arm and squeezes gently. “I’ll be right back.”

You blink after him and mutter, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Be right back” doesn’t happen. He stays by the pretty girl’s side, the two of them being overly familiar with one another—tight hugs, continuous small touches, long eye contact, leaning against one another. You wouldn’t be surprised if they dated at some point, to be honest; or maybe they are dating—ugh. Why does the thought of it bother you?

“You all right?” Wendy softly asks, her kind eyes full of worry and briefly moving to Karen by the entrance.

What’s that about?

You try to keep from frowning. “I think I just need some fresh air,” you assure her.

“Do you want me to come with you?” 

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just be out for a moment, besides—“ you flick your eyes to Marvin by the dessert table stuffing his face with walnut bread—“I think you’d better stay to make sure Marvin doesn’t eat all the walnut bread.”

“Oh—damn it, Marvin!” She sighs ready to chastise her boyfriend, but she pauses to look at you. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

You hum in agreement and watch as she saunters over to Marvin before turning on your heels and stepping out through the sliding doors leading to the balcony.

The cold winter air bites your skin, your long sleeved turtleneck not enough to combat the cold, but just thinking about going back inside makes you try to suck it up. You cover your mouth with your sleeve as you lean against the railing—Happy Harbor lights glinting brightly in the dark. 

Maybe you should leave. You’ve been here a good amount of time to deem acceptable, right? You’ve met some of Megan’s friends and even talked to a few of them for a while, and you didn’t show an ounce of disgruntlement—as far as you know—so you should be good right?

An ache fills your chest, pulsing slowly as you let out a long sigh. God, what happened to you? You weren’t always like this. So closed off and unwilling to spend time with your friends. You’ve practically been unconsciously ignoring Karen and Mal, attaching yourself to Megan when she is alone, or staying with Marvin and Wendy because they act least like a couple compared to your old classmates. And the moment the one person you’ve talked to for an extended period of time at the party joins his pretty friend, you become bitter about it! 

You need help.

Something heavy lands on your shoulders and back, strong cologne filling your nostrils and making you jump.

“Woah, easy, it’s just me.”

Startling blue eyes twinkle with mischief and your shoulders drop, heat combatting the cold air. “Anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

He just grins and settles in the space beside you, eyes sweeping over the town you grew up in. “My job kind of requires that I do.”

You slip your arms through the sleeves of his coat, ignoring the fact that it’s not exactly your size. It’s warm anyway. “Thank you.” You lean forward, tightening the coat to fit you snuggly. “What kind of job requires you to have ninja like stealth?”

He chuckles, meeting your gaze. “I’m an officer at Bludhaven PD, trying to become detective.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Bludhaven? Really?”

He hums, elbow resting on the railing and cupping his cheek.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Gotham has its norierty, but so does Bludhaven. It was basically untapped, scandals and crimes hidden behind a veil created by corrupt officials, until a couple of years ago when it all came to light with Nightwing’s arrival.

“Yeah,” he drawls, mulling it over, “but what isn’t? Anything can be dangerous if you think about it.” He leans closer to you. “Where do you work?”

“Happy Harbour Times, Opinions.”

“Then you must have to deal with a lot of angry readers when you write about something they don’t agree with, right? Threats and angry phone calls and letters. Those can be dangerous, too, right?” he asks cheekily.

You laugh, ducking your head. “I guess you’re right.” There’s still no comparing writing articles to police work, no matter how light of a situation Dick is trying to make it. “Why police work, though? It’s not many people’s first choice. Especially in Bludhaven.”

He shrugs. “Always been interested, I guess.” He leans back, hands holding onto the railing and causing his blue cable knit sweater to wrap tightly around his arm muscles. “My guardian…” Now, that’s an interesting choice of words. “He was—is a fan of mysteries.” His voice is far off, stuck in his jar of memories. “When he took me in, we’d used to solve cases together, most of them taking place in Gotham, where I was raised.” He chuckles. “And I guess from there I just… I just decided I wanted to be a cop.”

“I see... And you decided not to become a cop in Gotham?”

“Gotham has good people looking out for her already.”

“She could always use more.” He cracks a smile, blue eyes twinkling with the city lights as they find yours, and you return it shyly. “But I get it. Bludhaven has become yours, in a way. Separate from your… guardian.”

“In a way,” he repeats, and you have to look away from or else your heart will stop. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

He nudged your shoulder with his. “Happy Harbour Times?”

“Ah.” Your breath comes out in a puff, the night air still growing colder by the hour, but you don’t mind it. Dick doesn’t seem to mind either. “Well, when I was a kid, my third grade teacher told my parents I was a really good writer. So, they got me into workshops and short story competitions,” you recall, remembering the constant competitions your parents would sign you up for without your knowledge sometimes. They did it with good intentions, hoping to help hone your skill, but it was too much sometimes. “Truth is, I hated it. Never really liked… fiction, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, give me a good fiction novel and I will read it for days, but… it… it just wasn’t me,” you confess locking your fingers in place. 

“I was about ready to give up on writing when my tenth grade English teacher assigned us a topic to write about and I guess I fell in love with the research and being able to go out and interview people.”

“Yeah? And what was it that you wrote about?”

You bite your lip and find Dick staring at you, a curious glimmer in his eyes. “Don’t laugh?” He promises he won’t. “Robin.”

He chokes on his saliva, eyes growing in disbelief. “As in Batman’s Robin?”

You tuck strands of hair behind your ear, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yeah, um, the prompt was about vigilantes and I chose to write about him instead of the Flash, Batman, Wonder Woman and whoever else everyone wrote about.”

“Why?”

You shrug, trying your best to mask your embarrassment with a blase attitude. “Fighting crime with Batman? That was pretty cool, you know? He was living every kid’s dream.”

“Was he?” he asks, voice soft.

“He was!” you confess, smile blooming on your face as a memory of you and your friends playing as the superhero sidekicks comes to mind. It’s some of your best memories from elementary school. “But I didn’t want to just write about the good. He was a kid seeing some fucked up shit, after all.” You pause to look at him, only to find he’s not looking at you, but at the city lights. There’s something… wistful and forlorn in those blue eyes of his, and you wonder if he’s thinking back on his time in Gotham, seeing Boy Wonder up close and personal. “Being Robin must’ve taken its toll on him, both mentally and physically. 

“And I wanted to write about that. Even had my parents drive up to Gotham for the weekend so I could do some snooping, maybe even find Boy Wonder myself.”

Finally he reacts, lips twitching as he turns to look at you. “And how’d that go?”

“I learned that the citizens of Gotham really hate being asked questions.” He chuckles and you smile. “But those who did answer... you can tell they were grateful for him and worried about him. The kid really touched people’s hearts, whether they agreed with his nightly activities with Batman or not.” You tilt your head, watching his eyes light up with your words. “It’s just a shame I didn’t get to interview Robin himself.” You grab hold of the railing and lean forward. “But I’d doubt he’d have given me the time of day if I had gotten the chance to ask him. Probably too busy saving babies and punching villains with Batman.”

“I’m sure he would have made time for you.” Your fingers slip from the metal to turn to look at him, unsure of his sincerity. “How could he not?” His cheeks have become flushed with the cold, nose bright and blue eyes stark against his skin.

You smile, but you’re sure it looks more like an awkward grimace. “You’re just saying that.” 

“I’m not.” He frowns, sincere eyes knocking your breath away. “I know if he knew someone as sincere as you wanted to ask him some questions for their article, he would have dropped whatever he was doing to help you.”

You don’t know why you stand there, waiting for him to laugh in your face and say his punchline. You don’t know why he just stands there and stares back at you, quiet and shining with sincerity that he’s trying to penetrate into your being. It’s weird and totally unnecessary, but maybe a part of you is desperate to know if he’s really being sincere and a part of him is desperate for you to know he is.

“Hey!” Megan’s voice break through the trance you’re both in. Her head barely poking out into the cold and green eyes narrowing. “Get in here before you both catch something!”

Dick chuckles, attention moving from her to you. “Should we head in?”

You nod mutely, smiling tight lipped.

As you follow Megan inside, the only thing on your mind is that you might have already caught something.

Bludhaven

December 15, 2020

“You’re really not coming home for the Holidays this year?”

Megan is pouting on your computer screen, but you hardly pay her any attention. You have an article on Bludhaven’s growing homelessness due in the morning and you still have some revisions to do. Your little mishap earlier today took time that you were reserving for this article and now you’re running behind.

“‘Fraid not,” you tell her, your voice accompanied by the clicking of your keyboard. “I’ve been overloaded with a ridiculous amount of work this month and I need to get it done before the end of the year.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see her scavenging through boxes of decorations. “Won’t your mom be disappointed you won’t be coming home?”

“Nope,” you pop the “p” as you rewrite a fragment. “She’s coming down to see me instead.”

She stops, head lifting like a prairie dog on alert. “So it’s just going to be you two this year?”

“Maybe. Dick said he might stop by, but he’s not sure.”

“Ooh,” her teasing rings through your quiet bedroom and you roll your eyes.

“It’s not like that, Megan.” You wished it were like that, but it’s not, and maybe it’s for the best. Dick became one of your good friends since the party last year and one of your best friends after you volunteered for a transfer to Bludhaven’s Times earlier this year. You don’t want to mess with what you have, not right now when your life feels perfectly balanced.

“Don't let the person who didn't love you keep you from the person who will,” she says, sounding serious as hell and making you snort and pause in your typing. “Hey! Don’t laugh at my words of wisdom!”

“This has nothing to do with them, Megan. When I said I was finally over them, I meant it.” The moment you were able to look at an old tagged picture of you and them on their friends’ Instagram and you felt nothing, no numbness, no anger nor sadness, just a strange vagueness as if they were a stranger, you knew you were over them. “Dick and I… we like where we are.”

“Boo.”

Conner appear on screen and shakes his head as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t listen to her. I respect your decision.”

She rolls her eyes, playfully pushing his head out of the screen. “I respect your decision too, doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

“Heckling does not equate respect, babe.”

You laugh at their antics, their displays of affections no longer bothering you. Now, when you see them you just feel happy, happy for them and for you. Bitterness long gone from your bones, and there’s one person you can thank for that.

Your phone on your desk dings.

Dick 🥳🤩: Chinese food 2nite?

You: only if you promise to get extra egg rolls 

Dick 🥳🤩: Got’chu, omw.

“You’re smiling! Why are you smiling? It’s Dick, isn’t it? It’s totally Dick.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your face neutral but knowing you’re doing horribly at it. “I have to go, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait, is he coming over?” She gushes, and Conner is back on screen, trying to wrestle the phone out of her grip.

You laugh when you hear a curse from Conner. “I have an article to finish, Megan.”

“You can’t just leave me hanging like this—“

All right, you’ve had enough. “Bye, Megan!”

Megan🧡: 😨 You hung up on me?

Megan🧡: 😡😡

Megan🧡: Expecting deets tomorrow ❤️

You: goodnight, megan!

It doesn’t take long for Dick to arrive and for you to shove your article aside—you’re almost done with it anyway, nothing wrong with a little break.

The door jingles and as you begin to clear your coffee table—where you and Dick usually eat dinner—of your paperwork, it opens to reveal Dick still wearing his uniform. You smile up at him briefly, gathering everything and taking it over to your round, small dining table that could probably fit four people if you really tried to squeeze them in. “Hey! Let me just grab some plates and we can—“

Before you can finish your sentence, or head into the kitchen, a hand wraps around your wrist, worried crystallized blue eyes staring into you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were almost mugged?”

Ah, hell. 

The crack in his voice makes your heart drop to your stomach and your eyes fall down to his ugly black shoes that you make fun of every chance you get just to hear his laugh. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Which isn’t a lie. Since you moved to Bludhaven, Dick has been checking up on you more often and even picking you up from work if he has the chance—“Bludhaven isn’t like Happy Harbor. It’s… tougher and harder,” he had said after offering to teach you some self defense moves. You had laughed and said you could handle yourself, but accepted it anyway if it meant spending more time with him.

Today was just bad luck, he was on the other side of the city and you had chosen to take the bus to work that day and hadn’t been paying attention. Next thing you know, you’re being threatened to give your purse up.

His warm fingers leave your wrist and instead they find your chin. Gingerly, he lifts your head to force you to meet his gaze. “When Rohrbach called me on my way here to check up on you because she was worried, I swear my heart almost stopped.” His eyes shine with worry and there’s a twisting in your gut. “What if Louie hadn’t been nearby, huh?”

“I’m okay, Dick,” you reassure him, wanting nothing more than to lean against him, maybe have his lips press a kiss on your forehead. “I handled him pretty well. Used those self defense moves you taught me.” It was why you were able to shake him off and run to the nearest officer for help. Dick inadvertently saved you.

He finally smiles. “Yeah, Rohrbach said you left him pretty bruised up.” His hand under your chin moves to smooth out your hair before cupping the back of your head and pressing you against him. “I need you to be more careful, sweetheart. Need you to be safe.”

Your heart bursts in your chest at the pet-name and you wrap your arms around his waist, fisting the jacket of his uniform tightly. His cologne makes you dizzy—ginger and spices for the holiday. “Only if you promise to stay safe, too.”

“I’ll do my best.” His soft lips land on your forehead briefly before he’s pulling away and you restrain yourself from chasing after him. “Let’s eat? You must be starving.”

“A little,” you admit, and let him pull you toward the couch. “Eating out of the cartons today?”

He flashes you a grin. “Why not?”

As you both settle next to each other on the floor, back being supported by your old couch and you turn on your television as he pulls out the food he bought, you can’t help but think that even if your relationship stay like this with Dick, you wouldn’t mind it.

Bludhaven

December 31, 2020

You check your watch for the umptenth time.

He’s late.

Everyone around you is celebrating, filling the bar with laughter and talk, most of it incoherent over the loud music and the inebriated state most of them are in. You’re only a few hours away from the New Year and people are already drunk out of their minds—this doesn’t spell trouble for the night whatsoever.

Dick 🥳🤩 (7)

7 outgoing calls, all unanswered and completely unlike him. Sure, sometimes he doesn’t answer your calls when he’s busy, that’s a given, but he always sends you a message if he’s going to be late or apologizes for not being able to answer your call. This just not like Dick. 

You try calling one more time, covering one ear with your palm  to hear the ringing, but just like before, you get sent to voicemail. Worry begins to over take your annoyance. You grab your bag and quickly make your way out of the crowded bar, not caring about the warm bodies complaining.

Driving to his place takes you about thirty minutes with traffic, and you occasionally find yourself cursing at other drivers and yourself. It’s a miracle you don’t get into an accident or pulled over. With his garage key that he gave you, you open the gate and make your way to the space that has become yours over the last couple of months with how much you visit him. 

Locking your car with a simple click of the key fob, you power walk to the elevator. One last time, you try calling him, hoping he’ll answer and apologize for being late, but once again it sends you to voicemail just as the elevator doors open on his floor. 

“Please be okay,” you whisper to yourself.

Taking out your copy of the key, you slowly insert it and tentatively call out to him as you open the door.

No answer.

You strain your hearing as you swear you hear some shuffling and thumping, but that noise could just be coming from down the hall. He does have some noisy neighbors. 

You enter the apartment and close the door behind you. “Dick?”

There’s a crash and you jump, your heart in your throat, but the familiar string of curses eases your fear. You follow the noise and come face to face with a wide eyed Dick shirtless covered in nasty forming bruises in the middle of his bathroom.

A whimper escapes your lips and you rush forward, cupping his face in your hand. “What the hell happened to you? I thought you managed to get the night off?” You turn his head this way and that, and then push him back by grabbing his shoulder to look at his torso and back. Only letting go when he winces at a particularly hard tug. “Oh shit! I’m sorry!”

He grabs your wrists not allowing you to give him space. “You’re not blushing,” he says cheekily, his eyes twinkling even with the slowly forming bruise.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Why would I be—“ Your eyes drag down to his naked torso peppered with old wounds and spanking brand new bruises and you immediately feel a wave of heat spreading through your body. “Oh.”

He laughs softly, chuckling almost, low and a sweet timbre. 

But when your eyes fall lower, you’re doused in cold water, black, almost skin tight material—unitard?—and a black holster wrapped around his right leg greeting you. This isn’t his police uniform! What is he wearing? And why does it look like kevlar? “Why are you—“

You’re not allowed a moment to ask because Dick pulls you towards him with a tug of your wrists and you fall against his chest, barely bracing yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, large hands flat against your back.

“Dick?”

“I’m okay,” he murmurs airily into your hair and you don’t know what to do, you’re pretty sure he can feel and hear your pacing heart. 

You repeat his name, trying to pull away from him to look into his eyes. He doesn’t let you. 

He inhales. “Just give me a moment and I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

You sigh, warm air brushing against his bare skin, and the hands that braced yourself on the kitchen sink wrap around his torso loosely. “What happened?”

Circles are traced on your shirt, one hand climbing higher to cradle the back of your head. “Remember the guy who tried to rob you?” You nod and hum, remembering that crooked nosed, pale skin idiot who thought you’d be an easy target. “He escaped during transfer today with the help of some of his friends, and I went after them. Off record.”

You pull away from him and look up at him with wide eyes and slack jaw to find his serious gaze on you, lips pulled down into a thin line. “What do you mean off record?” Your throat closes and the back of your nose stings—he went after them ‘cause that man tried hurting you? “Dick, what if something happened—”

His eyes bore into you and his thumb find purchase on your face, tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “It's just a couple of scratches and bruises. I’m okay. I promise.”

You blink back your tears and lean into his touch. “You still shouldn’t have gone by yourself!”

“I didn’t,” he says softly. “I went with a friend.”

Your nose scrunches, your eyes still watery. “Rohrbach?”

He shakes his head. “No. Better, Robin.”

“Robin?” You try to remember if he’s ever mentioned anyone named Robin at the precinct, but you’re pretty sure he hasn’t—“Wait. Robin? As in Batman’s Robin?” His gaze doesn’t change, it remains serious and your heart leaps in your chest. “You really know Robin?”

He finally cracks a smile and you’re half expecting him to say he’s joking (you don’t know which is worse, him joking about knowing Robin when he’s aware how much admiration teen you had for him or finding out that he really went after that thug and his friends on his own!), but instead he answers with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Dick, if you’re—“

He chuckles, his thumb that had been tracing your cheekbone dragging down to your bottom lip, slowly tracing the swell. You would have melted if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. “I’m not playing with you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fall to his torso and down to his pants and the hanging arms of his unitard and they snap back up, alarmed. “Are you—does this mean you’re also a—“ you can’t even form a proper sentence, the rushing of your blood flowing through your head and ears drown out your thoughts and voice.

His hands drop from your frame and you take a step back as he adjusts the unitard, slipping into it only to have you gasping at the familiar symbol on his chest—Nightwing.

Without waiting for his permission, your fingers trace the symbol, the material under your fingers soft and somehow firm. A deep ache blooms in your chest, your nose wrinkling and Dick reacts quickly, cupping your face with his now covered hands, and you’d laugh any other time at the fact that his suit is falling forward and down his arms, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself from crying.

It all makes sense now! His double shifts and all the injuries—gods. How could you have been so blind?

He rubs the corner of your eyes and coos gently, worry swimming in his eyes and honestly, that’s not fair! You’re the only one allowed to be worried right now! “Hey, hey, why are you crying, huh? What’s wrong?”

Your head falls forward and Dick leans down to press his forehead against yours. “This isn’t going to make me worry less about you, Dick.” Your fingers wrap around his thick forearms. “You promised you were going to try staying safe and this,” you pause to sigh, refusing to meet his eyes, ”this isn’t going to keep you safe.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the space between you. “I’m sorry I’m going to make you worry. I’m sorry I’m making you cry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you say with a sniffle, because it doesn’t. You don’t care that he didn’t tell you he was Nightwing or that he allowed you to gush about Robin when he’s always known who that is. What matters is that now you know Dick is out every night as Nightwing risking his life and you’re not happy about that. That’s what matters.

“But I won’t break my promise.” You squeeze his arm. “I promised you I would try, and ever since that night, I’ve done my best to keep to that, and I always will.” His nose bumps against yours, trying to get you to look at you and you do, suddenly aware of the lack of space between you. “I have someone to come home to now.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and your heart pounds against your rib cage. You’re no longer okay being just friends with Dick, not when he says things like that and when he’s looking at you like this either—like you’re the only thing that matters and all he wants is to keep you trapped in his arms (you wouldn’t fight him if he tried).

Before you can voice anything, coherent or incoherent, your mouth is sealed shut by a paid of chapped lips. It’s a small peck, but it’s enough to send a tumble of acrobats into a frenzy. And all you want is to feel his lips against yours again, and so you meet him halfway after a shallow collection of breath.

Lips move in tandem, heads tilting this way and that and it’s all very much like the passionate romcom movie kisses you’ve seen over the years, the kind you’d dream about every time Dick would kiss different parts of your face and never your lips. It’s all fire and sweetness, like fireworks on a hot summers’ day and watermelon juice dripping down your chin.

A loud boom echoes in the quiet night and you jerk away from Dick, eyes snapping to his bedroom entrance, the windows covered with blinds allowing the bright flashes of light to filter in.

“Did we miss the countdown?” you find yourself asking dumbly, a little breathless and mind still reeling from his intense kiss.

He presses another one to your temple, chuckling. “Does it matter?”

“It’s the New Year!” 

“Could really care less,” he grumbles, voice coming from deep in his chest as his lips dragging from the corner of your eyes to your lips, pulling you away from the firework show outside. “Too busy trying to make out with my gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” you tease in between kisses.

“Mhmm, have been trying to make her mine for a couple of months now, but she’s pretty clueless. ‘S supposed to be one of the best reporters in all of the tri state area, too.”

“Should’ve said something, Dick. I’m not a mind reader.”

He chuckles, pulling away from your lips for just a moment. “There’s something else you should know.”

“What?” you ask, a little hazily.

“I was Robin.”

And before you can ask him to elaborate on that or you’re allowed to be embarrassed, he closes the distance between you once more and kisses you senseless.

To think you thought you’d regret going to Megan’s a little over a year ago; if only the you from then could see you now, happy and moved on.

#dick grayson x reader #richard dick grayson x reader #robin x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #reader insert #young justice #titans #fanfic #young justice fic #titans fic

[norristheundying]

2, 7, 20, 31, 35 for hwan and/or olie? 👀

(Original Post)

Kissa you dude ❤️

2. What is the thing they feel the most guilty about?

Hwan: This bad boy can fit so much guilt in himself smh. In current events he feels very guilty about how he had been treating Piers. For many years in the past, he regretted not contacting Bane after he was dragged away by the executioners. And he feels a constant guilt of working under the government’s orders, just to survive.

Olie: Probably an event they caused that indirectly affected workers’ lives negatively. Like hacking a firm’s / factory’s database to justify treatment, but it backfired.

7. What feature (physical or otherwise) do they hate most about themselves?

Hwan: His horn, evidently, since he’s repressed for his heritage.

Olie: They have gender (and identity) dysphoria, so they cope with cybernetics and other implants.

20. Do they consider themselves unloveable?

Hwan: Very much so (: He is constantly reminded of his „worth” in Zuian society. Even with friends on his side he thinks their love is undeserved.

Olie: They have a very hectic relationship with the subject...

31. Do they have self-confidence or self-image issues?

Hwan: With a rank and goal in mind, he has been keeping up a very confident presence, but his doubt comes in spikes when questioning the motives behind his actions. He has to juggle between a fabricated authoritan figure and a repressed personality, which leads to inner conflicts a lot.

Olie: Self-image issues are definite. They try to coat it with fake confidence.

35. If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

Hwan: Some days he wishes he didn’t bear the dragon’s mark, but then he would feel guilty about it, for turning his back on his kind.

Olie: Their whole body? Their brain?? They don’t even know!!!

PS.: I swear I give them good things too, honest!!

#ask meme #Hwan #Olie #rustydroid

[aion-rsa]

Helstrom: The Comic History of Marvel’s Son of Satan

https://ift.tt/33Vbv3V

On Oct. 16, Hulu will be releasing the latest Marvel tie-in series Helstrom. It’s not so much like one of those upcoming Disney+ MCU shows that feature high-profile superheroes telling stories that will be important to the overall fictional universe. It’s more like Daredevil or Runaways where quality be damned, you’re never going to hear anyone in the movies make anything close to a reference to it, but it counts as part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe anyway.

The series is about siblings Daimon Helstrom and Ana Helstrom, who have seemingly normal lives, but oppose demons and evil people on the side. Their mother is institutionalized, which is fairly true to the comics, but their father is also referred to as “a powerful serial killer.”

In the comics, things are a bit grander. Their father isn’t just any serial killer, but a variation of Satan. Marvel has a bunch of guys whose identities are “basically Satan, but not really.” Instead of suits and turtlenecks, the two have comic adventures where they dress like they shopped off the sexy Halloween costume rack at Party City.

Daimon Helstrom (played by Tom Austen) gets both L’s in the comics as Daimon Hellstrom, but also has the rad nickname of Son of Satan. Shockingly, he’s a good guy! Mostly. Even when bare-chested with a glowing pentagram over his torso. Even with a magical pitchfork as his weapon of choice.

Son of Satan and his sister Satana are essentially the Marvel versions of Dante and Vergil from Devil May Cry. Both are half-human/half-devil and they lean on opposite sides of their genetics.

So let’s say you want to get into Hellstrom’s comic book exploits. Well, you’re in luck because we have a list of his main character runs since showing up in 1973.

The Early Spotlight (1973-1975)

Hellstrom made his first appearance in Ghost Rider #1. In the first two issues of that series, Hellstrom was hired as an exorcist to help deal with a missing woman who had been possessed. Interestingly enough, they never gave a clear look at Hellstrom in those two issues other than the demonic birthmark on his chest.

Initially, Hellstrom had a Jekyll and Hyde gimmick to the point that he told the woman’s loved ones to lock him up in a dark room and not let him out no matter what he said. Unlike the supporting characters in Young Frankenstein, the bozos didn’t take that to heart and let Hellstrom’s more maniacal personality Son of Satan loose.

Sidenote: His adventures were originally going to be called “the Mark of Satan” with more emphasis on Satan as the antagonist, but doing comics focused on Satan was deemed a little over-the-line, so they changed it.

Second sidenote: I did not hit her, it’s bullshit, I did not hit her, I DID NOT! Oh hi, Mark of Satan!

Read more

TV

How Helstrom Became One of Marvel Television’s Last Shows Standing

By Alec Bojalad

Son of Satan’s adventures continued into Marvel Spotlight #12-24. It didn’t take long for Marvel to realize that giving him a double-identity was kind of a lame idea and instead had Satan Sr. magically handwave that away and make Son of Satan just one dude. Definitely for the better as he no longer felt so blatantly like Marvel’s answer to Jason Blood/Etrigan.

Hellstrom continued to fight against ghoulish enemies while opposing his father’s ways and dated some generic woman whose name I couldn’t tell you if you paid me a million dollars. It all culminated in a really strong finale issue where Hellstrom fought against and with his sister Satana, but maybe ignore the part where Hellstrom had a dream about the two of them making out.

Striking Out Solo (1975-1977)

Son of Satan had his own self-titled ongoing series that only lasted eight issues. From the beginning, Hellstrom went to Hell to basically tell off his dad as a way to say that this series wouldn’t be about their rivalry. Instead, it was Son of Satan dealing with a bunch of random villains that nobody would ever really remember.

There was one ridiculous enemy named the Possessor (not to be confused with the Elder of the Universe) who wore a mask to hide the fact that he had demon faces where his ears are supposed to be. Too bad he never showed up outside of this series.

It was a trippy outing, but ended before it could find its footing.

Demon Defender (1981-1983)

The Defenders are, of course, the bundle of heroes who don’t quite fit in with the Avengers, Fantastic Four, or X-Men but need people to hang out with. Guys like Hulk, Dr. Strange, Namor, Valkyrie, etc. Son of Satan became a regular ally in the team’s early days, appearing to help out every now and then. Most notably, he was part of a storyline where the Serpent Society kidnapped the Defenders and Clea put together a second team to rescue them, featuring the likes of Son of Satan, Daredevil, and Luke Cage.

Then again, the only thing anyone truly remembers about those issues is a very bizarre and legendary scene of a random guy getting killed by an Elf with a Gun.

As the series reached its 92nd issue, Hellstrom finally joined the team. On one hand, having Son of Satan on the team meant the Defenders had to take on the occult more than usual. On the other hand, Hellstrom soon fell in love with fellow Defender Hellcat, who was regularly dealing with constantly being possessed and turning into a scantily-clad demoness.

When Defenders hit its 100th issue, they did a really climactic storyline where a handful of the various Marvel Devil guys invaded Earth and Son of Satan had to take on Father of Son of Satan for the fate of Earth. The conclusion is rather surprising.

Prince of Lies (1993-1994)

Okay, so Daimon Hellstrom and Patsy Walker have been married for ten years (our time). It’s a fairytale romance where they’ve made a few guest appearances here and there, but have otherwise retired, happily ever after. What could POSSIBLY taint such true love?

90s comics. That’s your answer.

Welcome to Hellstorm: Prince of Lies, a 21-issue ongoing series where every issue looks like a Nine Inch Nails video and they try to see how much lanky nudity they can get away with showing in a Marvel comic. Like, holy crap, there has to be a world record for shadowed-out junk in this series. They even edit in some obvious, hastily-drawn underwear on characters at times as if the editor has realized they’ve gone too far.

It’s a gritty and grimy series that you’d expect from a 90s comic where much of it is written by Warren Ellis and the main character is Satan’s son. Lots of spikes, sharp teeth, long hair, suffering, insanity, and so on. It’s most definitely a product of its time.

Plus it’s called “Hellstorm” instead of “Hellstrom.” Scout’s honor, I didn’t notice the difference until my editor pointed it out.

Maximum Hellstorm (2006-2007)

Ah, Marvel MAX. The days when Marvel decided to give R-rated comics a shot and just threw everything at the wall. Hellstorm: Son of Satan was one of them, going for five issues. By this point, we’re in the mid-00s, so Hellstrom has a more down-to-earth look and is constantly talking to his father on a cellphone and tries so hard not to remind us what he looked like in the 70s and 80s.

But because it’s Marvel MAX, it means that his adventure is filled with lots of curse words, ultra-violence, gross demon boobs, and explicit Jesus imagery you normally wouldn’t see in a comic like this.

While the whole “Hellstrom messes with Egyptian underworld deities” storyline is a bit high concept, it still feels more like the new Hulu show than anything else.

Zombie Slayer (2009)

Speaking of gritty Marvel trends, there’s Marvel Zombies! While the initial Ultimate Fantastic Four storyline and the first two volumes of Marvel Zombies dealt with the happenings of a doomed universe, the next few volumes went slightly more uplifting. After all, sometimes you need to have people to root for who can back it up.

In Marvel Zombies 4, the Black Talon and the Hood (under the influence of Dormammu) try to use the decapitated head of Zombie Deadpool (otherwise known as Headpool) to bring forth the zombie apocalypse in the regular Marvel universe. Yes, we actually have canon stakes this time.

To prevent this, we have the Midnight Sons, made up of Son of Satan, Morbius, Jennifer Kale, Werewolf by Night, and Man-Thing. It’s an incredibly badass group working through an incredibly badass adventure. Too bad the team doesn’t last.

On a similar note, around this time there was a miniseries called the Last Defenders where Son of Satan was a major character. It’s just that by the time the team came together, they were an immediately-forgotten afterthought, so there’s no use in giving it its own entry.

Ghost Riders in the Sky (2009-2010)

Jason Aaron had a really, really, really great run on Ghost Rider. Most definitely read it. It’s pure grindhouse and I love it.

The whole run finished with Ghost Riders: Heaven’s on Fire. This culmination featured Johnny Blaze and Danny Ketch working together against a corrupt angel, the anti-Christ, and a group of villains from earlier in the run teaming up.

At least they have Daimon Hellstrom there to help out. Unfortunately, Hellstrom looks outright goofy with a bald head and Fu-Manchu mustache. The story brings back Jaine, his EXTREME love interest from the 90s series who he ended up with after his relationship with Patsy went very south.

Anyhow, Jason Aaron’s Ghost Rider run. Read it!

Strikeforce (2019-2020)

Much like how X-Men had X-Force as the team that would do the really dirty work, Avengers had a spinoff team called Strikeforce. Made up of Winter Soldier, Angela, Blade, Spider-Woman, Wiccan, and Spectrum, the team soon brought Hellstrom into the fold. Which is just as well, since he was working for Baron Zemo for a little while and really needed to get his head back on straight.

Unfortunately for Hellstrom, 1) he retained his bald look from Heaven’s on Fire and 2) the series didn’t last all that long. Only nine issues, sadly. Eh, it was fun while it lasted.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

At least he’s joining the Savage Avengers next! And they’re giving him his hair back!

The post Helstrom: The Comic History of Marvel’s Son of Satan appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/31dX5KF

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[mist-chance]

Informant!Dabi | Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics | Pre-slash | Canon-divergence

Summary:

“So what do you want?” asked Eraser, after Dabi’d given a brief overview of why he’d come in and laid out his offer.  “Someone like you wouldn’t do this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Hey, don’t make me sound like a bad guy for wantin’ somethin’ in return, Eraser.” Dabi held his arms out disarmingly. “My neck’s gonna be on the line here. Don’t pretend you or some other Hero’ll rush in to ‘rescue’ me if things go south.”

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

There was a crack in the table, a starburst of pale brown on darker brown that looked like a firework, or a spider web, starting from a central point. Like ice put under too much heat, too much pressure, too much of either or both too quick until it had no choice but to shatter—

It was driving Dabi fucking insane. Problem was, he had nothing else to look at in the goddamn room other than the empty chair across from him, on the other side of the table. Interrogation rooms were probably designed that way on purpose, to suck out all common sense and thoughts of “being difficult” from the sorry fucks who got dumped in them. The room didn’t even have a goddamn smell, which was more disturbing than the emptiness of it. Dabi glanced up at the one-way mirror behind the empty chair, skated his gaze over his face — he still wasn’t used to the scars and staples, after all these years — and focused on the crack again.

Fucking Heroes and law enforcement, with their goddamn “protocols” for dealing with “suspicious individuals.” If Dabi stared at the chair instead of the crack, he’d start second guessing himself. He’d rather go slowly insane with the ghosts of his past pre-Dabi, than start thinking that maybe, just maybe, he should try biting the bullet and let himself go Villain.

He looked up when the door next to the mirror opened with a soft click. A plain-looking man, remarkable only because of how fucking bland he looked, like the human-version of a cardboard box, stepped into the room. His scent was just as bland. Beta. Not surprising, since it wasn’t hard to peg Dabi as an alpha. Cops were usually more useless than not, but they weren’t completely stupid when it came to the basics. It was always safer to send in a beta to deal with potentially difficult alpha or omega persons of interest. It was possible he was masking his scent, but Dabi doubted it. Cardboard Man didn’t seem the type.

Cardboard Man had to be a detective though; cops, the “grunts” of law enforcement, all wore the same uniform and wore stale coffee and cheap food like cologne. Detectives had their own uniform — business-casual — unless they were those undercover shitheads who tried too hard to be bad.

Dabi was ready to dismiss Cardboard Man by just his scent, until he locked eyes with him. Cardboard Man had a glint in his plain, black gaze that spoke of a moral compass that never wavered, with a steel spine to match it. Dabi added a point of respect to Cardboard Man for that alone, and another when he didn’t stare or flinch at Dabi’s face.

“Sorry for the wait.” Cardboard Man actually sounded sincere as he apologized. He even dipped his head briefly. After shutting the door, he sat across from Dabi and placed a folder and a blank notepad on the table. It hid half of the crack from view. “I’m Detective Tsukauchi. I appreciate you taking time out of your day to stop by. The receptionist said you had information on— ”

“Not you,” Dabi said, curt. He was too on edge to play up his usual asshole mask. Besides, Cardboard Man’s — Tsukauchi’s — sincerity didn’t raise his hackles, which usually had him acting like a douche. It helped that he was a beta, too. Dabi was tempted, briefly, to settle for Tsukauchi. He idly scratched his wrist, and a flash of pain pulsed where his nails had snagged at the staples there. It reminded him why he needed to stick to his original plan. “Told that lady up front I’d only talk to Eraser.”

Tsukauchi kept a level stare on him, trying to call his bluff. When Dabi didn’t budge, Tsukauchi nodded.

“Eraserhead will be here soon. In the meantime, may I ask you a few questions?” Tsuakuchi flipped the folder open. “You have the right to refuse answering any and all questions, of course, but there are a few pieces of information I need to file the correct paperwork.”

Dabi slouched further into his chair and flicked his hand in a careless wave.

“Thank you.” Tsukauchi slid a pen out of the front pocket of his shirt. “What should I call you?”

“I go by Dabi.”

Some questions were easy to answer, like his name and age. Others, like his job or where he lived, he either refused to answer point-blank or gave a smartass comment to distract from it. Tsukauchi took Dabi’s bullshit in stride, not looking the least bit surprised when the more personal questions weren’t answered. Everything about him was steady: his expressions, his voice, his scent. Dabi was getting more suspicious, restless, the longer Tsukauchi stayed level-headed and unruffled.

Before he could decide whether he wanted to test Tsukauchi’s patience or not, Eraserhead slipped into the room, dragging a second chair behind him. Eraser set his chair next to Tsukauchi’s and slouched into it, making the metal feet scrape against the concrete floor. The short screech it made rang wrong in Dabi’s ear. Despite the uncaring slouch and looseness of Eraser’s body language, Dabi could tell the Hero’s dark eyes were alert, watchful. The asshole was testing him. Dabi scented the air discretely, but wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t make out Eraser’s dynamic. Like most Heroes — the ones who weren’t Endeavor — Eraser wore a scent blocker.

It didn’t really matter. Two could play that game.

Dabi leant back in his chair and languidly spread his legs under the table. He let his eyelids slip half-shut, and cocked his head to the side as he met Eraser’s gaze head on. The silence grew thick across the tabletop between them, and almost started to crackle the longer it stretched on.

“Enough,” Tsukauchi said, sounding exasperated as he sliced through the silence. “I called you here for a reason, Eraser, and it wasn’t so you could act like one of your students.”

Eraser's shoulders rose, and he seemed to bristle at Tsukauchi’s dig like an angry cat.

“And you,” Tsuakuchi turned his sharp eyes onto Dabi, “Dabi-san. You don’t seem the type to come to the police if you have other options. So let’s cut the bullshit and get down to it.”

Dabi clicked his tongue in annoyance but nodded, while Eraserhead grunted.

"All right then.” Eraser stayed slouched in his chair, but lost the tense, confrontational set to his shoulders. “You have my attention.”

“Heard you were lookin’ into Stain,” Dabi said, eyes locked onto Eraser’s. “I think I can help you out.”

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

The Hero Killer had made waves with his “bring down the false Heroes” propaganda, even after he got arrested. That was the annoying part of this whole clusterfuck. The underground, where the “dredges of society” — people who couldn’t fit in, in a society where the odds were stacked against them — lived, existed in a fragile balance between fanatics like Stain, and those who were just trying to survive, like Dabi. Stain had tipped the balance towards the psychos pushing for a complete overhaul of society’s current status quo — Hero-based society — no matter the means, or the cost. It was already a pain to survive day-to-day, but Stain had made it worse, with the psychos actively recruiting for dumbasses to use as cannon fodder for their so-called “revolutions.”

It wasn’t that Dabi didn’t get where Stain’s ideals came from. Hell, anyone part of the underground got it: the prejudice, the hypocrisy of their current society, was obvious to people like them. But he didn’t buy into Stain’s cause. Society was fucked up, it needed to be fixed, but killing off the fake Heroes fucking everything up wouldn’t solve anything. Killing them off was too easy on them. It gave fake Heroes the chance to stand for something good, to be martyrs. They didn’t need any more power handed over to them. The fake Heroes needed to suffer, needed to have their names and reps dragged through mud and shit until they were hardly recognizable. That was the revamp society needed.

Dabi seemed to be the only one who realized that, but he had little motivation to go about starting his own revolution. He had a different target in mind. Sure, his target was one person instead of society as a whole, and his goals were probably short-sighted and selfish. Petty, even. But Dabi knew exactly what he was — a selfish asshole. He wasn't afraid to embrace it.

The biggest “fuck you” he knew he could give the shitty old man would be to find a good, strong mate, have a handful of pups with Quirks ten times stronger and better than the flaming asshole’s, and then let them take the Hero Rankings by a storm. It was just his fucking luck that nobody could take a hint and leave him the fuck alone, so he could actually go about finding a mate. Dabi knew his chances weren’t great to begin with, just from his appearance. But having to chase off all the idiots trying to recruit him hurt his chances just as much.

Four different factions headed by Stain-wannabes had already scouted him. He’d brushed them off easily; a sarcastic comment, a sneer, a flash of flame and a spike of pissed-off alpha to his scent sent them scurrying away. 

But then, a few days ago, a professional had scouted him. Giran was a sleazy fuck, but he knew things. Worse, he knew people. He had a rep for connecting no-name street rats like Dabi with groups that either had established reps, or promised to be big. Giran also had a rep for never backing the wrong group. Dabi suspected Giran was working for the up-and-coming League of Villains group, the group Stain had reportedly been a member of.

Bullshit.

Dabi’d never met Stain, but the rumors surrounding the Hero Killer and the bodies he’d left behind spoke volumes. Stain was a single-minded individual who only cared about following his goals. No way in hell would somebody like that buy in to a newbie group that seemed like a hot mess.

The thing was, Dabi’d also heard rumors about the actual mastermind behind the League of Villains. Not that hand-covered, mopheaded freak Shigaraki. Nah, the real boss was an actual threat, some guy who was supposed to be hundreds of years old with just as many Quirks in his arsenal. Dabi didn’t know how much of those rumors were true, but he believed this boogieman had the ability to take and give Quirks at will, and had access to those black monsters that’d swarmed Hosu. And that boogieman had sicced Giran on him.

Dabi hated Heroes. He hated the society that let the old bastard he had to call his sperm donor be the Number Two Hero; the society that had destroyed his family. But if he had to choose between two evils, he’d take his chances with the devil he knew. Forward thinking and long term planning weren’t Dabi’s strong points, but he wasn’t too far gone in his hatred of the flaming asshole to want complete chaos.

So when word came through the grapevine that an Underground Hero was looking for some info on Stain, Dabi paid attention. The cops and Heroes should’ve gathered all they needed on Stain; there wasn’t any need to beat a dead horse. If they weren’t actually looking for information on Stain, that meant they were looking into something else. Something beyond Stain.

Dabi had the sneaking suspicion that "something" was the boogieman behind the League of Villains. Which meant the Heroes needed an in with the League. Dabi was willing to consider being an informant, if the Heroes could give him what he wanted in return.

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

“So what do you want?” asked Eraser, after Dabi’d given a brief overview of why he’d come in and laid out his offer. His face, from what Dabi could see of it in the gap beneath Eraser’s long, messy bangs and above the high set of his scarf, was carved from stone. His dark eyes glittered knowingly, but he still said, “Someone like you wouldn’t do this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Hey, don’t make me sound like a bad guy for wantin’ somethin’ in return, Eraser.” Dabi held his arms out disarmingly, hands open. “My neck’s gonna be on the line here. Don’t pretend you or some other Hero’ll rush in to ‘rescue’ me if things go south.”

“Answer. The. Question.” The words were dragged out of Eraser’s mouth like teeth.

Even though Dabi had gone through all this bullshit, he still hesitated in saying what he wanted. It felt too vulnerable, too much like a confession. It rankled, made his alpha’s hackles rise, to show the slightest bit of weakness.

“…A mate,” Dabi bit out. “I don’t care about appearances,” he continued, brusquely, before Eraser or Tsukauchi could say anything. “I just want a mate who’s kind, sensible, and has a powerful Quirk.”

Eraser and Tsukauchi stared at Dabi, faces unreadable. But because their faces were unreadable, Dabi could read their silence and their scents. The silence was too stiff, while Tsukauchi’s scent, at least, read “discomfort.”

“Fuck,” Dabi snorted, amused. “You already have someone in mind, don’t you.”

“Well— ”

“No,” Eraser cut off Tsukauchi. “Not going to happen.”

“He’s not a child anymore, Eraser,” Tsukauchi said, exasperated again. “You can’t make decisions like this for him.”

“I’m one of the alphas in his life,” Eraser shot back, keeping his glare steadily on Dabi. “I can make decisions for him if I think they aren’t important enough to bother him with.”

It didn’t take much to figure out what Eraser was being pissy about.

“Actually,” Dabi broke in, “you do have to tell this guy about the decisions you make for him. Otherwise, you’re no different from every other domineering asshole of an alpha in the world. Right?” he said with a sly smile.

Dabi could tell Eraser was ready to lunge across the table and strangle him. He let his smile widen.

“Eraser. We can let them meet, at least.” Tsukauchi seemed to take Eraser’s stony silence as permission, since he turned to Dabi and said, “Yes, we do have someone in mind.”

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

This is my first time writing something with A/B/O dynamics. I also really liked the idea of Touya-as-Dabi choosing to be an informant, instead of going Villain. I had fun writing this, so I might continue it either as a multi-chap fic or a series.

Thanks for reading!

#BnHA Fanfiction #MHA Fanfiction #Dabi #Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics #Aizawa Shouta #Tsukauchi Naomasa #Canon Divergence #My Fanfiction #My Writing #Informant!Dabi #Todoroki Dabi Theory #Dabi is a Todoroki #Dabi is Todoroki Touya

[intransigent-boy]

My Top Ten Films of The Decade.

10. Her

Okay, so whether you like it or not, this movie is about the present. This movie tells a very powerful story with an embarrasingly personal narrative. You feel sorry for the main character, it makes you so uncomfortable. And the reason is, because we are all in some sense are like this guy, Theodore. We have better relationships online, and with our advices, than with real people. It’s a really bizarre conception, but we should face it, and ask ourselves: Where is the limit?  The script is just brilliant, but also has very controversial scenes. Joaquin Phoenix is simply the perfect choice for a lonely man, like Theodore. Melancholy everywhere, and great visuals. Arcade Fire made the music for this, and it was pure melancholy. Very interesting film.

9. The Place Beyond The Pines

Derek Cianfrance is an exceptional director. He can wonderfully create an atmosphere with great lighting techiques, unique musics, and of course with talented actors. This movie has a linear, but quite unusual story-structure. The main theme haunts you after you watched this. Legacy! 

8. Nightcrawler

Louis Bloom is something of a loner who is unemployed and ekes out a living stealing and then reselling copper wire, fencing and most anything else he can get his hands on. When late one night he comes across an accident being filmed by independent news photographer Joe Loder, he thinks he may have found something he would be good at. He acquires an inexpensive video camera and a police scanner and is soon spending his nights racing to accidents, robberies and fire scenes. He develops a working relationship with Nina Romina, news director for a local LA TV station. As the quality of his video footage improves so does his remuneration and he hires Rick, young and unemployed, to work with him. The more successful he becomes however, the more apparent it becomes that Louis will do anything - anything - to get visuals from crime scenes. The conception is just brilliant, and screams to your face, what kind of society are we living in. I think Psychopathy is going to be one of the biggest issue in our generation asides with mental illneses. And this movie reflects perfectly. You understand the character, which is geniusly performed by Jake Gyllenhaal. 

7. Inside Llewyn Davis

The Coen brothers' exquisitely sad and funny new comedy is set in a world of music that somehow combines childlike innocence with an aged and exhausted acceptance of the world. It is a beguilingly studied period piece from America's early-60s Greenwich Village folk scene. Every frame looks like a classic album cover, or at the very least a great inner gatefold – these are screen images that look as if they should have lyrics and sleeve notes superimposed. This film was notably passed over for Oscar nominations. Perhaps there's something in its unfashionable melancholy that didn't hook the attention of Academy award voters. But it is as pungent and powerfully distinctive as a cup of hot black coffee. This movie is about sacrificing everything for your art, directionlessness  (is there such a word?) , and finding the right path. Existential theme, with surpisingly good acting from Oscar Isaac, Adam Driver, and Justin Timberlake. This is an Odyssey-story from the 1960′s America. What more you could ask for? 

6. Dunkirk

Reinventing a genre is quite exceptional. And Nolan did it. The best war movies of the last 20 years, including Saving Private Ryan and Hacksaw Ridge, have also placed viewers in the centre of battle. Nolan has not reinvented that immersive approach, but he comes close to perfecting it. The story structure is-again- brilliant. There’s no main character in the movie-just like in a war-but only  scared people. They want to go home. But they can’t. We’re with them with their struggle, and fears. We’re in the air, land, or water, it’s just a haunting terror.  And the soundtrack from Hans Zimmer is really remarkable. You hear it, and you recognize the movie. That’s what I call a score. Reflects perfectly, and holds the attention throughout the whole movie.

5. Hell or High Water

Another genre-twister masterpiece. This Neo-Western is just pure art. Hell or High Water is a film about a criminal  who commits the ultimate offence of putting his gorgeous and much nicer brother in a ski mask for several minutes of this film. Okay actually it’s about a career criminal brother and his he-wasn’t-but-he-is-now criminal brother who team up to commit a series of small-scale bank robberies across Texas, with the aim, finally – after several generations – of lifting the family out of seemingly inescapable grinding poverty. The part of Texas they live in is dying on its feet so career criminal is pretty much the only career left open that doesn’t involve serving in a diner or herding the few remaining cattle. It would’ve been easy for Hell or High Water to to turn out a cliche-ridden double bromance as there are quite a few movie tropes in this love story / revenge thriller, so it’s a tribute to director David Mackenzie that it’s actually a very touching, at times funny, at times quite brutal story. With a bit of grudge-bearing thrown in at the end to stop it being too redemptive. Memorable scenes, great acting, and a deromanticized western-feeling. After this film, you want to live in Texas, where everything’s slower, but sometimes you can chase criminals. It’s nice, isn’t it? 

4. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Martin McDonagh’s fiercely written, stabbingly pleasurable tragicomedy stars a magnificent Frances McDormand; watching it is like having your funny bone struck repeatedly, expertly and very much too hard by a karate super-black-belt capable of bringing a rhino to its knees with a single punch behind the ear. He’s a scriptwriter genius, it was shocking, how perfectly the dialouges and the actions were constructed. It is a film about vengeance, violence and the acceptance of death, combining subtlety and unsubtlety, and moreover wrongfooting you as to what and whom it is centrally about. The drama happens in a town with an insidiously pessimistic name – Ebbing, Missouri, a remote and fictional community in the southern United States, where the joy of life does seem to be receding. There is a recurrent keynote of elegiac sadness established by the Irish ballad The Last Rose of Summer and Townes Van Zandt’s country hit Buckskin Stallion Blues, a musical combination which bridges the Ireland which McDonagh has written about before and the America he conjures up here, an America which has something of the Coen Brothers. The resemblance is not simply down to McDormand, though she does give her best performance since her starring role as the pregnant Minnesota police chief in the Coens’ Fargo in 1996. It was brutal, controversial, and violent. 

3. Midnight in Paris

The definitive poem in English on the subject of cultural nostalgia may be a short verse by Robert Browning called “Memorabilia.” The past seems so much more vivid, more substantial, than the present, and then it evaporates with the cold touch of reality. The good old days are so alluring because we were not around, however much we wish we were. “Midnight in Paris,” Woody Allen’s charming film, imagines what would happen if that wish came true. It is marvelously romantic, even though — or precisely because — it acknowledges the disappointment that shadows every genuine expression of romanticism. The film has the inspired silliness of some of Mr. Allen’s classic comic sketches (most obviously, “A Twenties Memory,” in which the narrator’s nose is repeatedly broken by Ernest Hemingway), spiked with the rueful fatalism that has characterized so much of his later work. Nothing here is exactly new, but why would you expect otherwise in a film so pointedly suspicious of novelty? Very little is stale, either, and Mr. Allen has gracefully evaded the trap built by his grouchy admirers and unkind critics — I’m not alone in fitting both descriptions — who complain when he repeats himself and also when he experiments. Not for the first time, but for the first time in a while, he has found a credible blend of whimsy and wisdom.

2. Beautiful Boy 

This supersensitive and tasteful movie is all but insufferable, suppressing a sob at the tragedy of drug addiction afflicting someone so young and “beautiful”. It is based on what is effectively a matching set of memoirs: Beautiful Boy, by author and journalist David Sheff, his harrowing account of trying to help his son Nic battle crystal meth addiction, and Tweak – by Nic Sheff himself, about these same experiences, the author now, thankfully, eight years clean. Steve Carell does an honest, well-meaning job in the role of David and the egregiously beautiful Timothée Chalamet is earnest in the part of Nic, David’s son from his first marriage. This is like a modern-day Basketball Diaries. Honest, and Raw. Most underrated movie of the 2010′s, with an unquestionably important topic. 

1. The Social Network

Before Sorkin wrote the screenplay, Ben Mezrich wrote the book based on Mark Zuckerberg and the founding of Facebook titled: The Accidental Billionaires: The Founding of Facebook, A Tale of Sex, Money, Genius, and Betrayal. It was published in July 2009, and most of the information came from Facebook “co-founder” Eduardo Saverin, who in the film is played by Andrew Garfield. The screenplay that Sorkin wrote was blazing, he wrote the characters like they were in a William Shakespeare play, with a story full of lies, jealousy, and betrayal. I especially love how Sorkin balanced the story between 2003, 2004, and then 2010. It goes back and forth between the past when Facebook was just an idea for Mark, and in the current day when he is being sued by Cameron & Tyler Winklevoss for, in their minds, having stolen their original idea, and by his former best friend Eduardo for having him pushed out of the company. In fact, some of the very best dialogue (and the film is full of great quotes) happens during the deposition scenes. Well-recognizable, rapid-fire dialouges, wonderful directing, with Trent Reznor’s greatest soundtrack. The movie’s probably going to outlive the Facebook itself, and that’s just great. 

#oscars #films #academyawards #2010s #best #movies #cinema #art #top ten #movies of the decade #soundtrack #cinematography

[vulpinmusings]

Ski’tar and Friends part 6: Pit Crew

The adventures of Ski’tar, Vemir, and 6 continue as we begin the process of becoming official Starfinders.  Our first goal?  Help a teenage brat win a pod-race.

Chapter the First

Chapter the Previous

Before Captain Arvin sent us off to decide what to do with our vastly increased credit accounts, he told us to expect to hear from someone else in the Starfinder Society about initiations the next morning. It was only at this point that I realized I’d agreed to a fair bit more than I thought I had.  Vemir, Sixer, and I weren’t being kept on as contracted freelancers; the Society intended to actually make us full members.  Vemir and Sixer didn’t appear to put-off by this, and I decided to play along under the assumption that if I didn’t like where things were going I could just quit.

After shopping around for some better gear – I got myself a superior knife, stronger frag grenades, and a suit of Carbon Skin armor with jump jets, Sixer finally replaced some of his weapons, and Vemir bought himself a venom spur biotech augment along with some tools – Vemir invited us to join him at a bar for a post-mission drink.  He said it was one of his Traditions, but I can’t imagine why he’d slap that label on such an ordinary activity.  We found an establishment that wasn’t down in the Spike but also wasn’t too high-class.  The three of us may have come into a lot of money, but we couldn’t possibly have fit in at some quasi-noble brewery in the Eye.  Vemir got himself some tequila and Sixer went for whiskey or something equally hard, while I just got a simple beer.  When the bartender tried to coax me into getting something harder, and more expensive, I made a vague reference to the time when I let my attention lapse and blew my own arm off.  Everyone assumed I’d been drunk at the time, and I didn’t correct them since it got the bartender off my case about my drink order.

As we chatted, I learned that Sixer was originally from Akiton, like myself, but we’d unsurprisingly never crossed paths.  He’d been built as the personal assistant to some big-wig and, through a great deal of very detailed references to the dangers of Akiton, implied he’d killed his former owner.  Given our fairly public location, both Vemir and I silently agreed not to press for more details. Vemir told us he had signed up with some mercenary group while on his Tempering, lost one of his arms on a mission, then quit the mercenary life to become a bounty hunter and never bothered to go back to the Idari to officially finish the Tempering.

The bartender asked us about our day, and when I mentioned we’d been working with the Starfinders, he was surprised the Society was still functional.  Apparently, the Society had recently suffered a catastrophic loss, far beyond the mere seven people who died on Ulmarid.  The common estimates said the Society had lost 80% of its people in a single disaster that was being called the Scored Stars Disaster.  Suddenly, Arvin’s willingness to entrust the search for the Unbounded Wayfarer to a trio of random folk off the streets made a lot more sense to me, as did our being fast-tracked into joining the Society.  The three of us mulled over the information and decided to hold off digging into the Scored Stars Disaster until we’d at least made some progress through the initiation process and earned the trust of the Starfinder Society. Or at least what was left of it.

The next morning, our comms received a message from something identified only as “Guidance,” giving us directions to a particular room in the Lorespire Complex.  Upon arrival, we were greeted by a hologram of a middle-aged human woman which instructed us to provide genetic samples for identification purposes, gave us sub-dermal ID markers, and then a long run-down of what our initiation would entail.  To put it simply, we had to complete some task for each of the four sub-factions within the Starfinder Society. Our first mission would be given to us by the leader of the Acquisitives, the sub-faction dedicated to maintaining the Society’s public image and handling temporary contract jobs.  The Acquisitive leader, Ratazan, works out of an office in the middle of the Eye. So, us three products of the slums and borderline-legal society went marching through the most elite section of Absalom Station, listening for interesting gossip and only hearing about some upcoming pop music sensation and the latest drama on the Junk Racing circuit.

Ratazan’s office was about as bland and sterile as you could imagine; it seemed a minor miracle that there was any furniture in the place.  Ratazan himself was a Vesk in a state of extreme agitation.  Once we’d introduced ourselves, he wasted no time getting to the point: some young punk of a Starfinder had spoken critically of the mechanical skills of the current Junk Racing champion, Rat-rod, and the champ had insisted the Starfinder put her credits where her mouth was by taking part in the next race.  For our initiation task, Ratazan wanted us to hike all the way back down to the Spike and help the young Starfinder, Laboni, win the race and preserve the reputation of the Society.

It sounded like a lot of hullabaloo over nothing, but I’d never been able to get into a designated Junk Race course before and I’d always been curious what could be scrounged from one.  And at any rate, the task sounded perfectly suited to my skills and entailed little personal risk since none of us would be expected to actually take part in the gun-encrusted demolition derby that is a Junk Race.

Bearing badges and caps that marked us as official Pit Crew, Vemir, Sixer, and I made our way to the Junk Race circuit and past a couple of robots programmed to keep the fans out of restricted areas and to ensure that every race participant knows every rule of Junk Racing.  It was useful information, don’t get me wrong, but the delivery method could’ve been less… monotone.

Laboni was human, and little more than a teenager, which explained precisely why this whole situation had come about.  She at least had the good sense to know she’d put herself and the whole Society in a tight spot, so I didn’t begrudge having to help her too much.  Then Rat-rod himself came over to trash-talk, and the fact that he was a fellow Ysoki did nothing to quell the fire he stoked in me to take him down more than a couple pegs.  Once Rat-rod had left to see to the final preparations on his racer, I threw myself into doing everything I could to improve Laboni’s rusted heap of a vehicle.

While I was tinkering, Vemir went around to chat up some of the other racers and try to arrange for some assistance during the race.  Turns out Rat-rod is not well-liked among his fellow racers, mostly due to his attitude but also how he uses technomancy on his vehicle. Technomancy isn’t illegal in Junk Racing – little actually is besides firing into the audience – but Rat-rod’s application of it apparently makes him a nightmare to deal with on the course. Vemir’s first target, a gnome technomancer with an apparent obsession for putting unnecessary bits and bobs on her vehicle, was particularly helpful in detailing some of Rat-rod’s tricks and promised to help interfere with him if we could ensure her a second-place finish.  Vemir relayed what he’d learned to me, and I took particular note that Rat-rod’s racer was capable of absorbing energy weapons fire and converting it into performance boosts for his vehicle.  I made sure to install a kinetic gun onto Laboni’s racer and told her to use it and not the energy gun already installed.

Vemir next spoke to a Lashunta who took a lot of pride in the appearance of his racer (I’ve made it a small personal goal to see to it that he gets at least a few scratches to the paint-job) and was easily convinced to distract everyone with telepathic visions of how nice his racer is.

While I was working, Sixer tried to make himself useful by running off to search for scrap I could use.  He came back with a barrel.  I asked him pointedly what he expected me to do with a barrel, and he came up with some silly idea of rigging a way to launch it at Rat-rod’s head during the race.  I decided to just stick with the kinetic gun I’d already picked out to install.  Vemir came up with another use for the barrel: he’d use it to sneak over to yet another racer and stick a detonator on some critical part that would be debilitating but not deadly if it were to fail.  Liking that plan, I prepared one of my detonators for him.  Vemir climbed into the barrel, kicked out the bottom so he could walk inside it, and proceeded to trip and roll into the vehicle he’d planned to sabotage.  The driver was less than amused, and Vemir had to book it back over to us before anything violent happened.  I reclaimed and disarmed my detonator, and then we had to get off the track before the race started.

As we went, Laboni handed us a remote she’d rigged up to let us take control of her racer if we felt it was necessary.  From the look on her face, it was clear she fully expected us to “feel it was necessary” for the entirety of the race.  So, feeling much put-upon, we withdrew to a good vantage point and started discussing how the three of us were going to manage remotely piloting a Junk Racer with only one remote between us.

#ski'tar #Starfinder #Vulpin plays