#under the influence of fear gas

[fatasmagoria]

Coming back from the dead to propose a s@w-themed rapid fattening prompt.

Imagine a lithe and slim individual, probably a personal trainer or fitness influencer, who takes pleasure in mocking and bullying their larger clients and any fat person they see on the street. One night, they go to sleep and wake up in a dirty room, their hands bound above their head and a trap door under their feet (although the trap door seems a little stiff.)

A TV in the corner switches on, revealing a creepy puppet with a garbled voice.

“I’d like to play a game. For years, you have ridiculed those larger than yourself. As a fitness coach, you should be inspiring and uplifting, but your mere presence brings shame and embarrassment to so many. You seem more than eager to prescribe fad diets to people and shill your services, so why don’t you give a demonstration?

Under your feet is a trap door that will only open once a weight limit has been reached. You must reach the target weight of 300 pounds in ten minutes. Your progress will be shown via the scale in front of you. If you fail to hit this goal, even by a single pound, the walls will collapse inwards and you will be crushed to death.

A funnel will drop from the ceiling once this recording has finished. It will provide you with the necessary calories to grow.

Live or die. Make your choice.”

Sure enough, a plastic tube emerges from above the influencer and a timer starts on the wall. The scale shows a small figure: 130lbs. A perfect weight for their size. At first, they try screaming, thrashing around and tugging at the restraints to no avail. They try jumping on the trap door. Nothing. Staring at the tube in disgust, they knew they had to bite the bullet.

Oh well. Their metabolism would deal with all this, wouldn’t it? It’s not like they would just magically digest hundreds of pounds of food instantly.

Food, as it turned out, was an overstatement. It was more akin to sweet, fatty slop. They grumbled at the taste, but their fear of death kept them focused. Their belly rapidly expanded to hold all of the liquid, popping out of their tight tank top as if they were pregnant. But strangely, the bloating subsided almost instantly. Instead, their belly started to feel warm, before softness overwhelmed their middle in two small rolls, growing larger with every gulp.

They closed their eyes, despite their horror and anguish, but that didn’t stop them from feeling the effects of the liquid. Their body felt warm all over as it expanded like bread dough in the oven. Their slender figure evaporated, swaddled with layers of softness. Stick-like thighs melted into jiggling slabs of meat, and their cheeks started to rise, squishing their mouth together over the nozzle of the feeding tube. Their ass become two powerful globes of flab, wobbling as they guzzled relentlessly. Their pubic area swallowed their genitals with ease.

At that point, their clothes gave up the fight, seams popping and ripping. Holes in their clothing gave room for even more growth. And the crown jewel of their body was their newly grown belly that was already beginning to sag with the excess weight. Flabby tits rested lazily on top of it, already burst free from the confines of their tiny shirt.

The numbers on the scale were almost tipping 300. Almost. The trap door was creaking under their feet, unable to take the pressure.

280…

281…

A sudden rush of gas flooded their guts, and they leaned back from the tube to belch. At the same time, their legs were getting tired. Gone were the days where they could easily run a marathon. Fully nude, save for the underwear wedged tightly in between their ass cheeks, the former fitness trainer began to feast from the tube again, weeping as their once-skinny body was destroyed.

294…

295…

Almost done…

As the scale hit 300, lots of things happened at once.

Exhausted, their knees gave out, and they thundered ungracefully to the floor, shockwaves rippling in their gelatinous fat. The restraints that were once holding their wrists exploded from the sudden pull of weight, and they noted how puffy said wrists had become, alongside their thick, sausage digits.

The trap door sprang open, and they fell heavily into a pit below. Another juicy burp pushed its way out of them. They looked up to see the room above collapsing, the walls pressed together. Dazed, the newly-formed fatty watches dumbly as the mastermind of the trap strides towards them.

“Congratulations. You are still alive. I would say that you should appreciate life more now, but, ah…”

The mastermind rubbed his face exhaustedly.

“We might need a forklift to get you out of here.”

#fatty #feedisn #female wg #male wg #wg teasing #wg text #wg story #rapid weight gain

[plainiack-arts]

Plainverse! scarecrow

(Under the cut TW: uncanny valley, gas masks, Morse code)

Professor Jonathan crane runs a small illegal radio station out of his doomsday bunker, if you happen to tune in you’ll hear music with Morse code in the back, and you’ll get to hear him talk about the war on Gotham and the death and decay it will lead to.

Bringing warmongers back to his bunker and spraying them with fear toxin, talking to them and influencing them to see his vision of a better world.

#art #fanart #cartoon #jonathan crane #scarecrow #the scarecrow #Batman #DC #dc comics #plainverse

[vinelark]

okay it’s not tuesday quite yet but ao3 is down and so is my brain so why not!! @burins tagged me for Temptation Tuesday, which is where you list ideas distracting you from your current WIP.

i actually have been working pretty steadily on the current WIP (buy back the secrets ch4) but i do have these kicking around the back of my head:

a “what is and what never should be” bruce & jason & tim au where some magic user traps bruce’s mind in a world where jason never died, but the cracks of reality are starting to bleed through and bruce ultimately must decide if he should stay in this “better” world or try to wake up. tim is also stuck in the illusion and catches on much quicker, and meanwhile in the waking world the real jason is trying to save them both. brainstormed this with @90kon last year and it’s still rolling around my brain

a concept @cairoscene and i brainstormed where when jason (or damian) arrive in gotham instead of attacking tim they lay a curse in the foundations of wayne manor that causes everyone’s feelings about tim to just—disappear. the bats no longer hold any affection for tim, and they don’t even dislike him, they just feel a deep apathy toward him. jason (or damian) see this as a kindness, because hey the alternative method of kicking tim out of the suit is way bloodier, right? obviously this is still not a great time for tim, and jason (and/or damian) are exempt from the curse and end up being the ones to intervene and try to undo it.

a fic set in tim’s early robin days where bruce gets hit with a new hatter x scarecrow special gas that makes you verbalize the worst fears of the people around you. batman and robin don’t know what it is yet, though, and bruce says some horrible things to tim under its influence; tim, based on what he hears, concludes that this has to be some sort of truth gas and operates under that assumption for weeks until the misunderstanding comes to light and bruce sets out to fix it.

the timkon-centric sequel to @cairoscene’s “send to all” fic where kon decides he and tim better, you know, Practice just in case tim gets hit with ivy’s pollen one day. just to be prepared! just to hone a potentially life-saving skill! cue idiots to lovers figuring things out in more ways than one.

tagging anyone who wants to do this!!

#i’d never heard of this what a fun concept #genuinely don’t know if any of this will ever get written but they’re fun to think about #these and the super complex epic-length AUs i make up for my bedtime stories that are definitely never going to get written #and the [redacted] au for @timdrakeflipzine that’s technically complete! but i keep thinking about it #my fic

[smolmakerel]

I decided to do it. I'm writing a full story. Let's hope I can complete it. 😂

Edit: I have a name for this au.

Home on the Range

Part(s) 1 . 2 .

■■■■■

“Mami?”

“Tara, I really don't want to hear your excuses anymore.”

Tara sunk down in her seat, shoulders up to her ears in shame. Her rumpled clothing pressed uncomfortably around her skin, no doubt leaving behind the indent of the inseam of her clothing. She gave a small tug at her shirt collar and wrinkled her nose at the pungent vodka dried into the fabric.

She took a glance at her mamá and ducked her head to keep from catching her eyes. Her face was carefully set, her eyes staring at the empty chair across from them. Her silence was loud, Tara was uncomfortable.

“You just had to go out after I specifically told you not to. Do you know what something like that does to this family?”

Tara scoffed, anger rising. “What family?”

The squeak she let out was of fear when Mamá snapped her head to the side to glare daggers at her.

“Don't talk to your mother that way,” Mamá snapped. “You don't get to talk to me like that after all I've done for you.”

Tara felt a flare of pride, or maybe it was remaining liquid courage. Either way, she was unfiltered and wading towards the danger zone rapidly.

“You haven't done anything for me! Look at where we are! You think this is what you call good parenting?!”

Mamá's face grew red. Before she could yell some more or worse, hit Tara, the door opened and a man in sleek khaki dress pants, white button up shirt, and a loud green tie stepped into the room. He barely paid the two women any attention before sitting down at the empty chair.

“I've looked at your case,” the lawyer started slowly, and Tara and her mom shared a look. “The police want to charge you for driving under the influence. Now, from what I've seen evidence-wise, your fingerprints weren't on that tank of gas, so arson won't be added to your charges.”

Tara let out a sigh of relief.

“But that doesn't mean the other charge is going to drop.”

Mamá hummed. She twisted the ring on her thumb slowly, intimately. It was nauseating.

“What are our options?” Mamá asked sharply. Tara flinched despite herself.

He sighed. “If you plead not guilty, you'll end up serving time in the county jail before being moved to a state prison. CCTV footage shows you and your friend leaving that building intoxicated and you getting in the driver's seat. And the police didn't like a fellow policeman's daughter being involved with troubled youths; especially one who supposedly set fire to that same building. Luckily everyone inside was okay.”

Tara winced. No, that's… They've got it all wrong.

“The jury won't appreciate the raw evidence contradicting what you said. You're not guilty? They won't believe you,” he said. Leaning forward, he rested his chin on her folded hands. “I have another option.”

Mamá sighed. “Out with it, then, I don't have all day.”

Tara rolled her eyes. This was probably the first time she's been decently sober in years, she's probably having spasms.

“You plead guilty.”

Tara froze. Mamá froze. The lawyer stared cooly at the 2 women processing this information.

It should be funny but it's not. Innocent little Tara Carpenter arrested and charged with a DUI and probably arson, too, managing to escape the actual fire but not the police. Graduated top of her class as valedictorian, shoved down to the bottom to grovel for mercy.

She was no better than her.

Tara grit her teeth at the mere thought of her.

“I will not have a daughter with a criminal record!” Mamá stood suddenly in anger. Her chair screeched and clattered back to the floor. “She's 18, she can deal with it herself!”

Fear filled Tara's body. “No, Mamá, please don't leave!” She turned back to the blank lawyer and shook. “Tell - Tell me what would happen if I plead guilty. Please.”

He quirked his lip. “You take a hit to your record, of course, but it can be requested to be expunged later down the line should you take probation seriously.” He waited for Tara's hurried nod before continuing. “You will stay in county jail for 5 days before being let out on probation in compliance with California's laws.”

Tara looked at her mamá, but the woman stood where she was with her arms crossed and face hardened. Swallowing, the teenager turned back to the lawyer.

“A-and the laws are..?”

The lawyer tutted, eyed her with distaste. “18 and you don't know the laws of your state?” Tara fought back her scowl. This lawyer was the worst. “For the entirety of your probation, you will need to be near this city where the sentencing will take place. I assume you live close by?”

… Oh. Oh no. Mamá was going to kill her for real.

Mamá set her hands on the table. “No, I don't. But…” Tara jolted at the word, confusion growing. “I do have someone just thirty minutes north of here with decent traffic. She lives on a farm by herself, but I'm sure she'd be glad to help out.”

Tara shakily breathed while the older adults were speaking.

What was her mamá talking about? Since when did she know some strange farm woman nearly 3 hours away from Woodsboro? She hoped it wasn't another Tía Isabel who she was pretty sure wasn't actually related to her.

“There is one more condition.”

“What is it?” Tara warily asked.

The lawyer smiled.

#I'm trying something new lol #I'm not an expert at the californian state laws so I decided to read up and then bend them a bit #For the plot to happen #scream #scream au #scream 2022 #scream vi #tara carpenter #sam carpenter #my writing #au: home on the range

[plaguedocboi]

The Eyes of Andros

The Bahamas are best known for white sand beaches and shallow turquoise seas, but what many people don’t know is that there is a hidden underworld beneath these picturesque islands. The largest island in the Bahama chain, Andros, is home to over two hundred “blue holes”.

Blue holes can occur in the sea or on land, and form when the tops of caves collapse inward to produce a sheer-sided sinkhole full of water. On Andros, these blue holes are all connected by a series of tunnels and caverns that stretch for miles, linking the interior of the island with the open sea far beyond. Most of these caves have never been mapped, but estimates put many of them up to a thousand feet deep.

Called “the eyes of Andros”, these caves appear to be murky portals, evoking curiosity and fear as to what may lie beneath the black surface. It is little wonder that the legends surrounding these blue holes are just as dark as their waters.

There are a number of reported deaths in the blue holes that involve swimmers being dragged under by unseen creatures, never to resurface, and the bodies never recovered. Some claim this is the work of the Lusca, an animal that is half-shark, half-octopus, who pulls its prey down into the dark heart of the island to devour them.

Not only are they the potential home of terrifying monsters, they pose a very real threat to swimmers and divers as well. While oceanic blue holes are often full of life, those found in the interior of Andros are toxic. With limited tidal influence, and no currents to mix the water, the caves are highly stratified. The first few feet of the water column is stagnant freshwater, hiding denser saltwater below. This saltwater is devoid of oxygen, and is instead full of another, very dangerous, gas; hydrogen sulfide.

With no oxygen and a plethora of toxic gas, one would assume these blue holes can harbor no life. But the opposite is true. The deep caverns are inhabited by prehistoric extremophile bacteria, and the diversity is staggering. A sample of five blue holes across the island revealed that they contained no shared species; that is, every hole represents its own isolated world, and the bacteria that thrive in each are completely unique.

Some scientists liken the seawater deep in the blue holes to the primordial soup of early Earth, and research is being conducted on these bacteria to supplement our understanding of how life might evolve on other planets. Thus, divers who brave the depths of the caves here are stepping into another world, one fundamentally unlike the one above. This place is hostile to us, and to life as we know it.

So, then, this begs the question: if the the eyes of Andros are toxic to complex life, and the only things to be found are primeval, alien bacteria, then what exactly is plucking swimmers from the surface and consuming their bodies without leaving a trace?

#water rating #bathophobia #caves

[captain-lessship]

Trick

Growing up meant changes, one that upset you was the assumption that you were no longer allowed to trick or treat on Halloween. Even though you could probably get away with it if you took a younger cousin, you decided it wasn’t worth the hassle.

It wasn’t all bad though. Not trick or treating meant that you could spend Halloween at your boyfriends house.

That’s exactly what you were doing. Dressed in your slip dress and worn makeup from your long day at work, you breathed in the comforting air of Eddie’s trailer. With a lit cigarette, You looked at the VHS tapes, looking for a good horror movie while Eddie was getting the snacks ready.

“Eddie! Do you want to watch Poltergeist or Christine first?” You called to him, looking at the only two titles that intrigued you as you balanced your cigarette on the brown glass ashtray.

“Whichever you want, babe.” He answered back. You huffed, that was unhelpful.

“I think we should do Poltergeist first, Christine is less scary.” You said as you pulled it from the shelf and slipped it into the VHS player.

“Don’t you hate the scene where the guy peels his face off in a hallucination?” He asked, walking into the living room from the kitchen while holding a bowl of popcorn in one hand and two drinks in the other.

“Yeah,” you took one of the drinks from him before sitting down on the couch, “But you’ll put your hand over my eyes so I don’t have to see it.”

Eddie sat down beside you, nestling the popcorn in between the two of you. “Will I?”

“You better.” You smiled as you put your head on his shoulder.

You were almost in Eddie’s lap due to fear, you know what was going to happen but still. A loud knock jolted you up and broke Eddie’s attention from the TV.

He looked at you, “You did tell your parents that you were here, right?” Even though you were grown, it was common courtesy to let them know so they wouldn’t think you were dead in a ditch.

“Yea.” You said, trying to get your nerves under control.

After removing you from his lap, Eddie got up and walked to the door, opening it slightly. A recognizable voice came from the other side.

“Henderson? It’s getting late, what’re you doing?”

The poor boy was breathing heavily, “I thought this would be our last year of trick or treating…” he huffed, “And it was good til that guy who lives in the end of Seventh Street-“

“Mr. West?” You asked, now up and walking to the door.

“Yeah.. him.”

You rolled your eyes, “He’s always been a bitter old man. One year, he put a candy apple candle in my bag. Imagine my surprise when I bit into wax.”

“Sounds like a delightful guy.” Eddie said, “Well, we got a couple options.”

Dustin walked in the trailer, standing beside you as Eddie walked back to the kitchen. You looked at him, “Ever egged a house?” You asked.

“No?”

You grinned as you grabbed you jacket and picked up your shoes, “It’s never too late to learn.” You zipped the jacket up halfway and slipped your shoes on

Eddie walked back into the entryway, armed with a carton of eggs, “It’s all I got on this short notice.” He handed them to Dustin as he reached for his own shoes.

As you walked to your car, you quietly talked to Eddie, “Are we bad influences?”

“Well, I mean look at us. You bleached your hair with peroxide in a gas station bathroom and I sell weed.”

“True.” You said as you opened the drivers side door. The car started up and you pulled out of Eddie’s driveway.

You had to admit: you were not a lawful driver. Speed limits are just suggestions. You zoomed down the backroads, only slowing at the places where you knew cops liked to hide. Poor Dustin, your back seat didn’t have seat belts, all the poor boy had was the ceiling ‘oh shit’ bars.

You slowed to a stop a few blocks from Mr. West’s house, looking at the two boys. “Okay, we can walk from here. Got the eggs?”

#fanfic writing #fanfic #romance #x reader #october #halloween #halloween fanfic #fanfic 2 #stranger things fandom #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson x female reader #horror movies #dustin henderson #bad drivers

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Could you write some Bam x m!reader or even gn!reader? No specific requests,, smut fluff hurt/comfort I don’t care I just need more non f!reader Bam ficsssss 🥲

Bloodletting

A vampiric earl in ‘1880s London discovers a taste like no other, and an alcoholic surgeon finds someone who doesn’t mind the smell of death that clings to his clothes. It’s a win- win for both men.

Bam Margera X Masc!Reader

(Vampire!Au, Fluff, Angst)

6k Words

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, alcoholism, scent kink, biting, blood, injuries, descriptions of Victorian-era surgeries, vomiting, corpses, manipulation, bullying, kissing, possessive behavior, jealousy, slut shaming (metaphorical)

An: Thank you so much for the request! What is it with me and writing fanfiction about Bam and vampires? I also noticed that most jackass fan fictions are for fem!readers so I can see where you’re coming from! I always try to make an effort to write fics with Gn!Reader but I really do think I should write more Masc!Reader, so feel free to send in any requests you may have for this! Also the manor Bam lives I’min this fic was not so sneakily modeled after the one on the cover of Bara No Seidou by Malice mixer (bc their music also rly influenced this fic!) lol anyways thank you for the request and please keep them coming! :)

It's not uncommon to hear people say that their careers drive them to drink, but you were sure that you were the only man in London who could honestly say that yours was entirely responsible for your drinking habit. Three months ago, you graduated top of your general surgery class at St Damian Medical School and you had just now come to realize the kind of stress that came with the job. Who knew performing autopsies and amputations day in and day out isn’t exactly easy on the mind? Despite that, you couldn’t complain about the pay, not the great company you found to share a pint with down at the local pub. Well, a couple pints, and some gin, and maybe some whiskey if you had to break out the leeches that day. Point is, they didn’t seem to care nor notice the cadaverous smell of death and formaldehyde that seemed to linger around you once you got off work. But after all the fun ended, you would have to make the long, stumbling walk back to the East End slums you lived in by only the light of the gas lamps that lined the River Thames and try to get enough sleep to function the next morning.

This was one of those nights. Just as the AMs lazily rolled around, you decided to depart, waving goodbye to all your friends and starting out into the cool, yellow painted misty night. Laughing to yourself at something one of the fellows said earlier, you were already pretty dizzy as you trudged through the streets, eerily quiet save for the clammy winds that blew in from the riverfront. The water that collected in the cracks of the cobblestone rippled under your boots as you dragged your feet, drunkenly unaware of what was around you. But despite everything in your surroundings pointing to you being completely alone, you got the very strange feeling that something or someone was watching you. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you ignored the hairs that stood up on the back of your neck as you passed a dim alleyway, trying to ignore the shadow in the corner of your eye.

Out of the dense fog, a pair of strong arms that suddenly wrapped around your torso and pulled you off your feet put it in your mind just how bad a decision that was. Drawn far away from the reach of lamplight, you were too slow to react as your body fell back against a firm torso and you froze in fear. A dark, leather gloved hand seized your jaw and wrenched your head to one side while an arm snaked around your waist, holding you snugly against your assailant. A low, predatory chuckle rumbled out of the chest of whoever was holding you, breathing little puffs of white smoke against your skin as he leaned in close to your neck and took a deep inhale, much like how one would relish the scent of a delicious meal. There was something that came over you as you were trapped in the clutches of your captor that made your head swim that made it so you didn’t so much as thunk to squirm as you felt what seemed to be two needles just barely scrape your jugular vein before plunging deep into your neck.

The lascivious suckling and laving noises echoed against the brick walls of the alleyway as the man who had you in his arms pinned you to the rough stone. Pupils blown, your body trembled at the blissed out groan in your ear, entirely helpless as your knees went all weak and your heavy eyelids threatened to fall shut. Just as you were about to fall unconscious from blood loss, blood permitting your clothes, you collapsed backward against your captor and he placed a sloppy, open mouthed kiss to your still bleeding wound before unceremoniously letting your limp body fall to the ground. Staring down at the body at his feet, a dark, lustful glint flashed through his eyes as he licked up the rich, savory liquid that dripped from his lips.

The next morning, when you woke up in the alleyway without any memory of falling asleep there, you chalked it up as a nightmare. Simply standing up, you brushed the fronts of your trousers off and headed home to clean up before your next shift. Your pounding headache that you were sure resulted from drinking made your wince as you splashed water on your face, not noticing the two, swollen little marks that remained on your neck nor the blood that stained your collar that you were pretty sure was there before the previous night. With the work you had cut out for you that day, you couldn’t afford to be late that morning. For the past two weeks your superiors had been breathing down your neck about those bodies that had been washing up in the river- prostitutes, mostly, but there were some urchins in the mix as well. After ending up in your hands, the cause of death for the cadavers was impossible for you to identify no matter how many times you went through the list- no signs of a struggle or trauma, but no bloating from drowning. However, since you were a fresh face in the medical field, the last thing you wanted to do was discredit yourself, so you reported the cause of death as the latter.

As you hurried down your front steps, a large ship drifted down the river in front of your apartment, the hand painted script on the back indicating it was a part of Earl Margera’s cargo fleet. Rumor has it his family got their old money fortune from the opium trade, but that did nothing to halt business for him. If you were a person in London that needed to move things, he was the man to call. Recently, you had gotten word that the Earl would be holding another one of his yearly lavish galas at his manor that he lived in with his council (the group of men that advised his business decisions) and that all of London’s finest would be invited- the only reason his eccentric lordship would bother to make an appearance. Making your way into work, you thought about how women would throw themselves at his feet, almost literally sometimes, but the Earl would pay them about as much mind as he did to the men constantly trying to win his favor to get their hands on his vast fortune, a constitution you could respect on some level.

Blinking hard and trying to pull yourself together, you were tying up your stiff, blood stained surgical apron as you got ready to slice up the body of the day, when one of your coworkers came excitedly running up to you. He thrust a piece of paper into your hands, “Y/N! Y/N! Have you seen this?” Speculatively, you scanned over the yellowed, crinkled letter, your eyes widening at what you read. That gala- yes, the one at the Earl’s house- was not only a charity gala, but a charity gala for the hospital. A bewildered smile spread across your face as you processed the news, “Oh my…This is incredible!” Your mind went wild as you thought about it- perhaps with the money, you could afford to finally purchase a new set of surgical instruments or switch to chloroform for sedation instead of relying on alcohol! Oh, this just couldn’t get better. According to the letter, the ball would be held two weeks from that day, giving you ample time to receive your paycheck and purchase some formal clothes for the event.

The air was thick with tension as you stood in the Earl’s front room with all the other dignified guests, the sweet scent of Acanthus and Hemlock blossoms drifting in from the garden through the wide open front doors. Above you, a large, crystal chandelier hung from the peak of the ribbed vault ceiling, cascading light onto the tall columns that held up the balcony of the second story. The manor really was grand, in every sense of the word. While you were taking all this opulence in, the room fell silent at a high pitched whistle from the top of the staircase and everyone shifted their gaze towards the sound. You did too, just in time to catch the Earl hoping up to slide all the way down the long wooden banister of the staircase. Not exactly the entrance you expected of him, but when his Edwardian oxfords touched solid ground and everyone all rushed to have the first chance to speak to his lordship, you were more surprised to see him completely ignoring them, parting the crowd as he walked towards…you? Shocked as everyone else, you weren't sure how to respond as he reached out a waiting, gloved hand towards you with a smile, “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Doctor.” You were suddenly stricken by the realization that he really was as handsome as all those women said, not to mention charming. Quickly taking his hand, you searched your mind for an appropriate response, “A-An honor? Oh, my Lord- it is a privilege for me to make yours!” There was a look of satisfaction on his face at your social blunder, glancing around at the patrons crowded in the room.

With one hand, he gestured for the large pair of heavy, wooden double doors at the far end of the room and they opened towards the great hall as the Earl glanced over to you with those crystal blue eyes, his voice entirely level, “Walk with me. Let’s talk about those funds for the hospital.” Following at his heels, you felt like a man prostrating himself before a king, “Really, it cannot be understated how much your generous donation means to us, my Lord.” There was something so enamoring about his generosity that just swept you off of your feet. The sounds of the festivities echoed through the empty halls as he showed you around the palace grounds, the suits of armor and sarcophagi and all the other eclectic relics he had collected over the years littering the halls. “Oh, ten thousand pounds is nothing. It’s the least I could give.” There was something about him that made you feel so comfortable in his presence, and you started to let your guard down, just slightly.

“You know, something about you is really quite…familiar. Have you visited St. Thomas’ lately?” Musing, you walked at his side through the grand, tapestry lined halls while you thought back to the faces you regularly saw at the pub, now blurred by alcohol, as if he would ever find himself there. Your eyes wandered towards the skull of an animal you didn’t recognize that sat on a shelf and was being used as a bookend as his expression turned sour like it was an improper thing to suggest, “Oh. I don’t go to hospitals…But” There was this knowing glint in the Earl’s eye as he continued, speaking with a tone that suggested a double entendre, “I’ve spectated on the operating theater in the past, if that’s what you’re asking. I am…morbidly curious about the fragile balance between life and death, myself. I'm sure you could understand, doctor.” Oh, you had no clue. All those nights he spent in the shadow cloaked corner of that pub you so loved to frequent, sitting there with a pint and a rare steak in front of him while you were at the bar, whining about your job to whatever drunk sod was humoring you that night, watching…listening…waiting in anticipation for you to head home for the evening- thinking about the desert that would follow his meal.

The two of you paused in what appeared to be a study. On one end of the room was a large, hand carved wooden fireplace, the mantle of which sat a candlestick holder that, if you had a less keen eye, you wouldn’t have recognized as having been fashioned from a human spine, and a glass vase containing an arrangement of roses, lilies, orchids, and irises, all white and all having seemed to have gone off a while ago. Above the mantle was where your focus was drawn, this large, regal portrait of the Earl, looking all serious and wistful in clothes that cost more than your year’s salary. Fascinated, you turned to study it in awe for a moment, but silently, and unbeknownst to you, the Lord had been carefully observing you in the study, like a hungry wolf watching a rabbit. The proximity of your bodies went completely unnoticed by the Earl in favor of the now exposed patch of skin below your ear. Oh, this was too good. He could practically hear your heartbeat thrumming from where he stood- feel the blood coursing through your veins. It was all so…tempting. Tremoring a little, he had to exercise the highest of restraint not to seize you right there- it would be so easy too, just to wrestle you down onto the velvet chaise lounge you were standing next to and bury his face into the space between your chin and shoulder. Boarding on fantasy, the Earl let himself get lost, imagining the way your squirming and whining would ease up once he’d gotten done lapping up all the warm blood squirting from your wounds. Clearing his throat together, Earl Margera cleared his throat, “We should, um- we should get going. I believe dinner is being served.”

The meal you ate was the height of decadence. Brimming trays of succulent pheasant, rare steaks, and legs of mutton larger than your head ran down the long table in between centerpieces of Nightshade and Lavender, flanked by crisp salads and potatoes with steaming baskets of dinner rolls served with butter and honeycomb, not to mention the assortment of trifles and puddings the waitstaff rushed to the table on ruby red Cape Cod glass platters. It was more food than you had seen in one place in your entire life, and yet you found your attention so drawn to the man sitting at the end of the table- so much so that you hardly cared that your meal was getting cold. He told these grand, winding stories of his world travels that all his suck up guests tried really really hard to be interested in, but you couldn’t help yourself from hanging on every word. Sipping wine from the silver chalice that sat in front of you that always seemed to get topped off when you looked away, it was like your mind was lost in some seductive trance you couldn’t seem to break free from, but you were of sound enough mind to remember quite a few details from that evening. Namely when his Lordship approached you personally and asked you, for the sake of ease of communication, to forgo all the formalities that came with his title, and that he would prefer you call him by his given name, Brandon. More than that, he would like to meet you again- one on one, to further discuss those donations for the hospital. You suggested lunch. He said he would prefer dinner.

There was something so enchanting about the Earl that kept you in high spirits far after your first encounter and well into the next week at work. You must have been quite a sight for any onlookers, seeing a man performing an autopsy with a lovesick smile plastered on his face. Before, you could hardly complete an operation without needing to flee the room halfway through to vomit, but now you had no problem with the whole thing. The waterlogged woman Scotland Yard lugged to your table still had her stockings on as you started the external examination, thinking back to that evening while you examined for physical trauma on the neck and arms. Feeling cold skin under your gloved hand, you recalled that the Earl- sorry, Brandon had made mention of an affinity for Blackcurrant pastilles, which you thought was sweet, though it was strange for a man- wait a moment. Leaning closer, you noticed something- two small, hollow marks on the woman’s neck, as if made by a seven gauge needle.

More disturbing was the resemblance it bore to the very same marks you had been waking up to on your neck. The operating room suddenly felt much quieter than you remembered. Swallowing hard, you took out your clipboard and, with a shaking hand, went to write it down before hesitating. A cold sweat collected on your brow and it was like some instinct inside of you told you not to- it could have been a mole or something- maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you. Yes, that was it, your late nights were catching up to you. Steadying your hand, you put down the pen before reaching for the hand saw that sat at your side and made a mental note to visit the library after work. Maybe you could find some medical textbook that could explain all this away as some biological reaction or benign infection or something reassuring that you missed back in school. You also made note to purchase those pastilles while you were out.

Just as you went to leave work, someone stopped you with a hand on your shoulder, and as you were distracted with thoughts of your dinner that night, you jumped a little at the stern voice of your coworker, “Y/N. Where on earth are you hurrying off to?” Turning to him, you were still a little shaken up as you stammered, pulling your apron off, “Oh! I’m, uh- I’m headed off to dinner.” His expression seemed to soften a little at that, almost looking amused, “A date- is that right? You know, for a second I thought you were off to see somebody else.” Despite his calm words, the look in his eyes gave way to the jealousy sitting just under the surface. You had noticed people at work had been treating you…differently after you went to that party. Even the pat on the back you got from him felt ingenuine as he spoke stiffly, “Well, good luck with your lady friend.”

When you knocked on the double doors of the manor’s entrance dressed in your finest, you suddenly became conscious of the way you smelled of work. Usually, all that it took to get it off was a hot shower, but somehow tonight it seemed to cling to you more than before, but before you could think much of it, a member of the Earl’s council opened the door. He was a young man- well built and tall, with dark hair and eyes obscured by a pair of tinted glasses. He seemed a little too eager to welcome you in, watching you as you stepped through the door, “Oh, you must be the guest Bam was talkin’ about!” Bam? You recalled a mention of it being the childhood nickname of the Earl, but didn’t know his council would address him so informally. The American accent of the man who answered the door struck you as peculiar, but you brushed it off as something else caught your attention. There was a stack maybe a meter high of boxes, all varying sizes, that sat haphazardly tossed next to the door, all addressed from women. Upon further examination, you noticed that they were all boxes of blackcurrant pastilles, just like the ones you brought for the Earl. It was common knowledge that he had quite a few lady admirers, but this seemed excessive.

When you looked up, it seemed your arrival had brought quite a bit of attention to yourself as, from seemingly nowhere, you had attracted a crowd. They must not get a lot of guests around here, you thought, swallowing hard and trying to ignore how you felt like a zebra that had just stumbled into a den of ravenous lions from the way they were staring at you. But just at that moment, that’s when you felt a hand grab yours and quickly tug you away to safety. “Doctor! What a pleasure to see you again.” You couldn’t explain the wave of relief that washed over you when you heard his voice because you didn’t feel that you were in any danger in the first place, but there was some instinct in you that told you otherwise. “Are these for me?” Walking in step with you, Brandon peered curiously at the green silk wrapped box in your hands and you nodded. “You are too kind.” Taking them, he placed them on a table away from the other boxes, and just out of your sight, flipped a crude gesture at his dejected councilmen who were all disappointed they didn’t get to you first.

The Earl seemed more comfortable with you now than he was at your first encounter as he ate with you in the smaller, less formal dining parlor that was shuttered off to most guests. On the table was a more simple but nonetheless impressive meal- a spiced ham, mock turtle soup, Yorkshire pudding, and a treacle tart served with custard. The mahogany dining table was lit by a candelabra, the only light in the room since the heavy, purple velvet curtains were pulled closed. The striking details of his face looked even more alluring in the shadows, refined- like it was chiseled out of alabaster by some great sculptor. Sipping from the black crystal glass in his hand, Brandon raised an eyebrow at you from across the table, “Any stories from the ward, doctor?” Perhaps it was the wine, but the way he addressed you by your title made your heart flutter. Still, you composed yourself, clearing your throat, “Well, in fact, I do. For weeks now, the police have have been discovering these- these bodies in the River Thames,” Hesitating for a moment, you debated if this was appropriate conversation for dinner, but you took the fact he hadn’t stopped you as encouragement to continue, “and I still haven’t been able to deduce the cause of death!” Brandon simply nodded, watching you with half lidded eyes. Using one finger, you gestured towards your neck and continued with a slight tremble in your voice, “The only thing they have in common are these…odd marks that usually sit right above the jugular vein. And get this- I have observed similar marks on myself! I am led to believe I’m the only surviving man in London with these…” You didn’t notice the little glint in the Earl’s eye as you tilted your jaw to the side, revealing how Ecchymosis had painted your skin in these exquisite blossoms of purple and green that were previously hidden under your collar.

“Oh, how odd...” Bam wasn't really listening to you talk, but he did a damn good job at pretending he was looking at you and not just what was throbbing right underneath your skin. Maybe it was the alcohol content, but there was something so intoxicating about your blood, better than any opium or wine or sexual perversion known to his lordship. It was the taste, something far superior to any other human Bam had laid his mouth on- sweeter than dark treacle and richer than custard, an exotic, tender savor only enhanced by the intoxicating aroma that clung to your hair and clothes- that titillating stench of death. Oh, and the way you fought. Your little struggles were so useless- so benign to Bam that they were cute, in the same way a mouse thinks it can escape the jaws of a python by squeaking. You were an absolute feast for the senses. If his mouth never left your neck and the only thing he did all day was to suck from you, he would be the happiest man in the world. Alas, you were both men with careers and people that would notice if they suddenly stopped appearing in public. But that could always change.

Maybe you weren't as sneaky about your drinking habits as you thought you were based on how often the Earl ordered your glass to be refilled. The longer the night went on, the more and more you felt that your inhibitions were slipping away until it was time to leave. Standing up, you were unsteady on your feet and wobbled a bit, lightheaded from the alcohol. Brandon rushed to your side, placing one hand on your waist and his other hand intertwining his fingers with yours to steady you. With how he was holding you so close to his body like one would hold a lover, it was some sort of instinct that led you to lean towards him, pressing your lips together. But he didn’t seem shocked that you kissed him- in fact, the Earl almost seemed pleased as you staggered backwards, flushed as the wine taste of his tongue still lingered on your lips. “Oh my…! I apologize for being so, uh- so forward, sir.” Hushing you softly, his voice was perfectly level as he spoke, taking a step towards you, “There’s no need to apologize, doctor.” Brandon’s gloved fingers met your chin as he gently tilted your head to get you to meet his gaze, “Let’s say this feeling is…mutual.” And he smiled at you- a smile you weren't sure was comforting or predatory. “Now, you should be getting home.”

Bam wanted to kiss you more- from your feet to the tips of your ears, he would worship your body if he got the chance. Delectable in every sense of the word, this doctor was just too good to be true, he thought. This pliant, innocent man was almost literally sticking out his neck to him. Your every action was so perfect, so delicate in the Earl’s eyes, and to put it simply, he was addicted to you. He could drain you completely- gulp down every last ounce of blood you had in you and dump your body in the river like all the others he’d had his fill of, but more than how sinfully delicious you tasted, Bam loved the game- the hunt. Watching you stumble over your own feet as you walked home from his high perch on the roof of the manor, peering out from where he sat on one of the flying buttresses that held up the roof of the manor, Bam licked his lips. You were fun to play with, what with how easily he could make you blush and stammer and just surrender with the slightest of efforts, and more so how you hadn’t a single inkling of suspicion as to how he could sway you so easily. The mingling of saliva and blood may be the highest form of connection in Bam’s eyes, but what he had with you superseded that. And you hadn’t a clue.

They had stopped talking to you at work. You didn’t pay much mind to the glares of the bitter murmurs of ‘lapdog’ and ‘lickfinger’ you caught in the halls of the hospital from people who were once your friends, but even your superiors were avoiding you like the plague. Still, you had bigger things to worry about- those bodies, namely, of whom you had started coming to a conclusion about. After nights in the library spent studying books upon books, there was this creature you had come upon- from China and India and Greece, the walking undead that feasted on the vital essence of human man. Moreso, those marks on the necks of the victims and yes, yours as well, matched up with the scars one may bear after an attack by one of those beasts.

With no more friends to speak of for arbitration, you received your summons in the post: you were needed at the Earl’s manor the next day as he had fallen ill with consumption in the two weeks since your last meeting. More than that, he had requested you by name. Clearly the situation must be dire, given his lordship’s distaste for hospitals and the fact many people see surgeons such as yourself as a last resort, saved for only the most grim circumstances. There was something in you that made you nervous at the thought of seeing him again that you couldn’t explain, like how a maiden may feel about seeing her suitor. Perhaps it was just nerves, or you were just unsure about being the sole person responsible for saving the life of such an influential, wealthy man. Perhaps.

If you thought the Margera Manor looked impressive from the bottom of the hill it sat on, you were absolutely gobsmacked when you looked at it head on, and if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought you were entering a cathedral, what with all the pointed windows and spires. Your steps echoed on the stone terrace as you looked around at the garden, now far less cheery as fall had stolen the green from the trees and plants, leaving them skeletons that were perfecting roosting places for crows whose loud caws made you jump as you went to knock. The front door was…unlocked, swinging open under your slight nudge. Dressed in the extent of protective garb with your leather bound medical kit in tow, you crept into the seemingly empty mansion and realized just how empty it felt without some party or dinner to fill the halls. Sure, the knives of this and masks of that the Earl had picked up in his travels still hung on the walls, and the opaline glass oil lamps in the hall were still lit, but there was something profoundly empty about the manor. Slowly walking the wooden staircase, past the large portrait paintings that hung on the walls, you made your way upstairs.

“Hello, sir…?” Slipping through the Earl’s bedroom door, you expected the worst of consumption- open sores, weeping lesions, coughing up blood mucus, etcetera, but even from across the room the worst symptom you could discern was a light sweat on his brow. Sure, he was deathly pale, but he was always that pale, and you recalled the darkness around his eyes as having been there from your first meeting. Lit only by the red silk lamp in the far corner of that room that smelled of clove and patchouli, he looked rather beautiful for a man, almost fragile- but nothing like the people on death’s door that you saw at the hospital. Brandon’s half lidded eyes met your and he coughed slightly, his voice raspy and weak, “Doctor.” Moving to his bedside, you placed your leather case of medical instruments on the nearby table next to a small stack of Penny-Dreadfuls that sat there and helped him to sit upright with your hands under his arms. “What sort of symptoms have you been experiencing as of late?” There was this odd feeling that came over you as you touched his bare torso that you couldn’t place as your eyes scanned over him, fixating on the strange design that sat low on his hips, right where the silk linens pooled around him- a tattoo of sorts? The swirling, dark ink was beautiful, drawing your eyes to his Apollo's belt.

“I am just…terribly famished.” Brandon sighed under your touch, and as you continued feeling his skin under your fingertips, that’s when you noticed something- he was cold. Deathly cold, and his body bore no evidence of the telltale wasting consumption brought on. Disturbed, your eyes went wide but you made no other mention of it as you reached into your bag and retrieved your stethoscope. Be professional. Tend to the patient. But as you pressed the circular end to the left side of the Earl’s chest, you were shocked to hear…nothing. The lack of mucus in his lungs did not shock you nearly as much as the complete absence of a heartbeat. The only sound in the room was Brandon’s soft breathing as he studied you, expectantly leaning over your hands as you worked. Watching. Waiting.

You doubted it at first. It seemed the stuff of fairytales, that the Earl could be something other than human, but it was all consistent with the lore you had been reading up on. Part of you was curious about him- after all, you dealt in the morbid, so it made sense for a scientific mind such as yourself to find his case fascinating. But on the other hand, it chilled you to the bone to know that this man you had been growing so close to, could be some sort of monster- some creature that delighted in feeding on the blood of men. You cursed yourself for not realizing this sort of thing sooner as a chill ran through your bones at the situation your trusting nature had gotten yourself into. Quivering, and against all your better judgment, you slowly looked up to meet his hungry, nearly salivating gaze.

And before you could think to react, he grabbed you by the shoulders and you were underneath him, back pressed against the bed. Heart nearly thumping out of your chest, your body was caged in, absolutely captured by the Earl’s as he leaned over you and in your mind there was absolutely no doubt of his intentions. Warm breath gracing your skin, his too sharp canines grazing against where sensitive nerves and thick, tender arteries run just below the skin felt so tantalizing, but Bam hesitated. Why aren't you fighting? In all his fantasies about this exact moment, you would be writhing about like a scared and wounded animal right about now, all squealing and wriggling and begging for him to oh please please spare you, but you were entirely willing, perfectly still and silent save for the swell of your breathing. However, the promise of satiating his hunger was just too alluring and he couldn’t not resist, sinking his teeth into you anyways. Your breath hitching in your throat, this foul, sweet smell rose up from where his fangs had visceraly penetrated you and Bam nearly moaned at the exquisite taste of the sanguine amber that trickled slow and thick from you. Hemorrhaging there, all tangled up in the red silk sheets of the Lord’s bed and, in addition, entirely sober, you couldn’t escape the realization that this actually felt somewhat…enjoyable. In fact, you really could get used to this. Eyes glazing over, you stifled a groan at the feeling of him flicking the tip of his tongue against one of the little dribbling slits as you began to teeter on that romantic, presyncopic border between consciousness and sleep, limbs tingling while you slowly drifted off into twilight.

You blinked awake in that very same four post baldachin bed with a distinct chill which you would come to attribute to the wide opened double doors of the Earl’s balcony. Long, white marquisette curtains billowed in the night as the moonlight cascaded in so brilliantly. Silhouetted by the moon’s opalescent glow, there he stood- naked and beautiful. Sensing your stirring, Bam turned toward you, the toned muscles of his back flexing as he studied your expression. Slowly, he approached where you lay, looking down at you with those piercing blue eyes as he stood at your bedside. “Ah, my prince is awake.” There was a distinct tone of amusement in his voice as he spoke to you with newfound affection. Sensing your apprehension as you looked up at him with those wide eyes, Bam sighed, reaching a hand out towards you in an empathetic gesture, “I’ve been in your shoes before, Y/N. I know exactly how you feel.” Gently, very gently, he caressed your cheek fondly as he mused. “You have…nothing. Life has no meaning anymore, does it?” You shook your head and the Earl smiled. “I can fix that.” Leaning down closer to you, he spoke low, in a voice as smooth as whiskey and just as sweet, “Would you like me to?” And you nodded.

#jackass #bam margera #johnny knoxville #jackass fanfiction #jackass fanfic #fluff #jackass x reader #bam margera x reader #i listened to a LOT of Depeche Mode while writing this #cough cough #songs of faith and devotion

[merkavahpartyvan]

Talking to scientist ghosts from the modern era

So, for the last... year and a half or so, I've been (largely unknowingly) exposed to enough methane gas to cause someone to have massive distress and very vivid, often anxiety-fueled hallucinations, many of which were beyond anything I've ever experienced in my life. And that goes for the other occupants of the house. This was like when a whole town gets mass hysteria without realizing it because their wheat got ergot in it. There were a lot of times that I couldn't really tell what normal was or couldn't realize that I wasn't having a sane life experience.

The thing is, while this was happening, I was also practicing a lot of magic and doing a lot of spirit work. So you know those initiations where you do a lot of some hallucinogenic herb and then receive visions of the cosmos and learn to talk to spirits and animals and connect with some sort of spirit companion or guide? Well I did a lot of that, because I was sort of stuck in the house with nowhere to go, a lot of magic books, a lot of art supplies, and the ability to predict when a specific nuclear scientist's estate went on auction on ebay. I now own basically his entire nuclear papers and library.

So like now I talk to a nuclear scientist's ghost on a regular basis. Now that I'm in the new house WITHOUT the magic stinky gas in it... I can hear him BETTER.

I don't really know how to talk about Jerry and the experience I've had communicating with him, but I do want to talk about it. Not to prove anything, but to share a kind of experience that I don't think a lot of people are able to openly share these days, for fear of stigma. Honestly, after all the weird crap I've said on this blog, sometimes under gaseous influence, I think you all can take me going on about protons for a bit.

Jerry likes to explain his favorite science to me a lot, so I hear him go on about newtonian physics, astrophysics, particle physics... and philosophy too, since he got his degrees back in the days when nuclear physics was in the philosophy department. It's part of why I keep watching so many science videos and talking so much about nuclear stuff on my blogs. He's really interesting and he's helped me do research much faster than I think I would have managed on my own. He used to design nuclear submarine propulsion systems and he also had a specialization in how crystals form on an atomic level, so in my opinion he was probably one of the most interesting people on the planet when he was alive.

Nowadays he's a very interesting ghost who wants to teach me (and anyone else who will listen) about how hard it is to hit a proton when you need/have to. Also he can rattle off quite a lot on nuclear policy and diplomacy and he keeps telling me which companies in the nuclear space are just hyping theoretical models instead of actually having a working prototype. Every time I look up what he says it's correct. (After research I personally wouldn't invest in NuScale. This is not financial advice. I am not a financial professional and Jerry was not either.)

The thing is, there should be a lot of ghosts out there like Jerry. Not just because nuclear stuff makes you psychically weird and therefore more likely to project a force ghost (or whatever astrals are), but because all manner of sciences came about in the turn of the 1900s and their degree programs solidified in the early decades of the 1900s. So there should be a lot of ghosts out there who know like, 'modern' science. And other people besides me must be talking to them.

[soleminisanction]

An earlier ask reminded me that there’s still one sequence of Batgirl (2009) that I’ve always wanted to break down because my frustration with it is palpable so…why not. This is as good a time as ever. Let’s talk about Issue 24 and extended fantasy sequence that makes up the very end of this series.

See, apparently—and I have not been able to find a first-hand record of the interview that confirms this, so take it with a grain of salt—Brian Q. Miller decided that, since the universe was getting reset in the wake of Flashpoint, his Batgirl was getting canceled and Stephanie was getting retconned out of existence for the New52, he would use a fantasy sequence in the final issue show off all the wonderful ideas he never got to do because of editorial meddling or whatever. Which is… fine. Y’know? I get it, it’s utterly self-indulgent but not an invalid way to deal with your book getting canceled before you can finish all you set out to do.

The thing is though, sequences like this don’t just exist in the vacuum of their Doylist explanation. The entire narrative point of fantasy sequences like this, whether they’re fear gas, or lotus eater machines, or especially the Black Mercy, isn’t just to have a cool spectacle for the audience to look at, it’s to take a part of the character’s inner life and put it on display for everyone to see.

So the question I’m asking here is: what does a Watsonian reading of finale sequence say about Our Heroine, Stephanie Brown?

Quick primer for those of you who may be unfamiliar: the Black Mercy is an Alan Moore creation, originally introduced in the story he wrote with Dave Gibbons for 1985’s Superman Annual #11 – “For the Man Who has Everything.”

If you’re my age, you may be more familiar with this story as a fantastic episode of Justice League Unlimited, which has the notable distinction of being the only Alan Moore adaptation that the old warlock actually likes. The basic story of both is the same: Batman and Wonder Woman (and, in the comic, the Jason Todd Robin) arrive at the Fortress of Solitude for Superman’s birthday, only to find that Mongul has trapped Supes under the influence of the Black Mercy, a magical alien parasite that digs its vines into its victim’s chest while trapping their minds in an illusion of their ideal perfect life.

“For the Man Who has Everything” is regarded as one of the best Superman stories ever written so it’s honestly kind of a surprise that the Black Mercy has only shown up a handful of times since then. But I’m not complaining, because it means the concept hasn’t been diluted much… with this appearance in Batgirl being a notable exception, in weird ways that make me really wonder what was intentional and what wasn’t.

See, this whole thing starts when Steph confronts her father, Arthur Brown, alias the Cluemaster, in his prison cell. And Arthur—a second-rate Riddler knock-off whose only experience outside of Gotham was an extremely brief Suicide Squad adventure to Iceland where everybody died—just, has a Black Mercy, an incredibly rare and dangerous magical alien super plant, sitting in his prison cell. As you do.

Arthur then puts Steph under the Mercy’s influence to cover his escape from the cell, but he doesn’t subject her to the Black Mercy for real, he crushes one of the blossoms and blows it in her face, which his dialogue implies is something he regularly does to himself as a recreational experience.

Which means that, despite the following pages making a big freaking deal about “spores in her system” and Barbara gushing about how special Stephanie is for being able to, quote, “fight the Mercy and win,” it’s all a load of shit. Arthur didn’t need to be rushed to the hospital every time he took this drug, so it would follow the Stephanie doesn’t either.  

That would actually make a lot of sense for Arthur as a character—for all his faults, he’s usually written as caring for his family and not wanting Stephanie permanently hurt (a sentiment she generally doesn't return). Hell, his last appearance before this one was trying to get revenge for her death. If that was intentional, it would mean that in the above panel, Stephanie knows that Barbara’s conclusion about her “fighting the Mercy” is full of shit and just, isn’t telling her.

I have no confidence that it was intentional—given the rest of the series I think it’s far more likely that Miller & Co. just didn’t want the icky flower vines to mess up Steph’s boobies and thus came up with a convoluted alternative that they immediately forgot the rules for—but I wish it was because it would actually be an interesting character turn. Black Mercy stories usually hinge on the emotional climax of the enraptured hero choosing to give up the beautiful illusion of a life they can never have in order to return to the hard world where they have real friends and heroic responsibilities waiting for them. Just ask anyone who still cries over this scene:

Stephanie not getting that moment and only escaping because it’s a temporary drug would imply that she’s still very susceptible to her own desires. It’s a way that she’s fallen short compared to others who’ve been subjected to the full Black Mercy experience. And who knows, maybe she could’ve pulled herself out of it if the illusion had lasted longer… but maybe she wouldn’t have. She can’t know. And that doubt could sit with her.

It doesn't. But it could, in a better story.

And then there’s the illusion itself. Keep in mind as we go through this, this montage, in-universe, represents Stephanie’s idea of her ideally perfect life. Just for comparison, in “For the Man Who has Everything,” Superman’s ideal life has him living on Krypton as a normal man, married with children, happy and content in his normal life. Batman saw his parents’ murder foiled and the life that could have unfolded without that tragedy to define it. Green Lantern (Hal Jordan), in another story, saw a world where his parents never died, his family is happy together, and his mentor Sinestro never turned evil.

Stephanie? Stephanie sees herself as Batgirl, posing dramatically and beating up random street thugs in a metaphorical continuation of her current status quo. Then there’s a sequence where she’s fighting the Queen of Fables alongside the four female heroes, all of whom except for Supergirl literally appeared out of nowhere in the last issue with no explanation because we need to pretend that Stephanie is very popular and well-liked and not a stuck-up loner who rarely leaves Gotham City and almost never talks to anybody but her boyfriend when she does.

But y’know, this scene makes sense right? Steph dreams of being a successful superhero and fantasizes about going on grand superhero adventures with other superheroes, fine. That’s all well and good.

Then comes the Blackest Night page which is just... ugh.

I am so glad DC vetoed this idea because it’s genuinely embarrassing. I get (finally! it several painful re-reads) that what Miller has been trying to do with Stephanie this entire book is pretend that she can be Captain America or Superman: a character who doesn’t so much develop or change as they do lead by example and inspire others to have hope for the future just by being themselves. So of course when he hears that Blue Lanterns are powered by hope he neeeeeeds that for his precious Batgirl—an idea that he apparently carried over to the Smallville Season 11 comics, but we’ll come back to that in a moment.

The problem of course being that Stephanie had never been that kind of character before Brian Miller decided she should be, and he did absolutely nothing to work his way up to earning her that status. So shit like this comes across as, frankly, blatant attempts to turn her into a Mary Sue, especially with how badly he refused to deal with her actual history and established character.

But again, remember: in-universe, this illusion isn’t being imposed on Stephanie, it’s being created by her, by her mind. This is part of her greatest desire. So where other heroes long to be safe and happy, surrounded by their families, Stephanie, apparently, wants nothing less than to be a literal Messiah figure. And I’m not exaggerating there—Blue Lanterns are supposed to be the holiest beings in the universe.

Just… the ego that implies. Yeesh.

After that comes a black-and-white photograph implying a time travel adventure where the three Batgirls (presumably from different eras in their own timelines) go back to 1944 to fly with the (male) Blackhawks. I’m not going to post it because there’s not really anything to say about it and this is already a long post but Stephanie’s stupid utility garter belt is drawn so HUGE it takes up her ENTIRE THIGH almost up to the crotch and it’s super distracting.

Then comes this scene.

Which mostly just drives home how much Steph hates her boring average school life given that she’s fantasizing about being attacked by supervillains at her graduation so her secret identity can be exposed to her entire graduating class. Thing is though, you’d think this should be a nightmare. Her identity has been exposed! She’s being attacked out in the open by supervillains and she doesn’t have her gear or weapons! Her classmates and—explicitly up in the audience—her mother are in danger, because Stephanie is Batgirl!

But because this is a Black Mercy illusion, we know it’s not a nightmare. This is, explicitly, something that Stephanie wants to happen. It’s part of her fantasy life, her greatest desire. And yeah, if we’re being generous, she probably isn’t thinking that people are going to get hurt. In her fantasy, she probably just gets to show off and save the day and be venerated as Gotham University’s Great Hero, like Buffy getting crowned the Sunnyville Class Protector. But even that, the most generous of readings, implies that she has never internalized the lesson that she should have learned back in War Games re: the great power of being a superhero coming with great responsibility. It absolutely flies in the face of anybody’s attempts to insist that no really, she’s only doing this whole superhero thing because she cares about other people SO MUCH.

Following that is page of what’s clearly Neo-Gotham, flashing forward many years into the future, where Steph is wrangling some kid into bed (while wearing her wedding ring on the second knuckle because otherwise you wouldn’t be able to see it and that might imply she’s a single mom) with the Batsignal shining out the window.

Which leads us, at last, to the page I have the most to say about, and the one that is my biggest inspiration for make this post:

I. Hate. This page.

I hate it because it gets regularly reposted without context on Tumblr and Reddit so the Steph simps can gush over how much they wish it was real and how Stephanie should get to be every single member of the Batfamily because she’s just so awesome and not one of them ever stops to think about what any of it would or should actually mean in-universe or out.

This page exists because Brian Q. Miller was originally a writer on Smallville. He joined the team around Season 5, served as showrunner for Season 10, and used the connections he made there to get some comic book jobs, including Batgirl and the spin-off comic Smallville Season 11. In “Season 11,” they finally showed the Smallville version of Gotham City and Batman, who is accompanied by only a single sidekick: not Robin, but Barbara Gordon as an (adult) female Nightwing who eventually becomes a Blue Lantern (hence the Blackest Night page earlier).

Now again, I cannot find the original source for this so I’m going off fandom rumor and wiki trivia, but supposedly, Brian’s original pitch was that the Smallville character would also be Stephanie, making her the only Batfamily member to ever exist in that universe. DC’s editors supposedly made him switch to Barbara instead, which was smart of them, because it’s way more likely that the people picking up the Smallville comic would be excited to see her, one of the most famous pop-culture characters ever invented, and not a satellite character like Stephanie who’s only familiar to a niche market. (This for the record is the same reason Babs is the Batgirl in Gotham Knights.)

So that’s the out-of-universe explanation for why Brian would stick this idea here, but stop and think about this for half a second: why the fuck would Stephanie want to be Nightwing?

Nightwing is not like Batman, Batgirl, or even Robin, it’s not a larger symbol with a legacy behind it. If you say the word Nightwing in the DC Universe, you’re referring to only one of two things: either you’re Kryptonian and you’re referencing a legendary figure from your lost planet’s mythology (either a god or a culture hero depending on the continuity), or you’re talking about Dick Grayson. Every other character who has ever taken on the name in a non-Kryptonian context has done so because of their relationship to Dick: either to piss him off (Jason), because they were inspired by him (Cheyenne Freemont, the Nightwings, Nite-Wing in a negative capacity), or in memoriam/penance after his death (Damian in the first Injustice game).

But Stephanie doesn’t have that kind of relationship with Dick. At this point in her career, they’d barely spoken, and all of their meaningful interactions had been with him as Batman. Nightwing means nothing to her. She has no emotional connection to identity, not even the desire to be “part of the legend” that drove her to chase Robin and Batgirl. So then, why? Why is this part of her fantasy?

Well… because if Batgirl isn’t the second-most popular superhero in the franchise after the Big Bat himself, then Nightwing is. And all Stephanie has apparently ever wanted is to be everybody’s favorite superhero, loved and adored and told how she’s so very special and wonderful, forever.

---

In Conclusion – As you might’ve noticed back in the panels where Steph was getting dosed, Brian Miller actually calls out his own bookending, having started the story with a climax where Steph got exposed to a fear-gas-based-anger drug and ended it with one where she encounters the Black Mercy. Like I’ve said before, the narrative purpose of hallucination sequences like this are to lay the characters’ psyches bare and show us who they really are on the inside. 

In issue 3, Stephanie’s anger/fear gas exposure (and the resulting philosophically frustrating speech) presents Stephanie as someone whose primary motivation is her own self-interest, the sense of control and personal triumph she gets from being a superhero. All through the series, the way she handles her rare rescues (and, even more tellingly, the few people who don’t immediately recognize her greatness) only backs that up.

And now, the Black Mercy sequence, the very last thing to happen in the entire series, just solidifies it: after 24 issues, she hasn’t changed. Her only desire, the only thing she cares about, is that she gets to be a badass superhero who goes on adventure after adventure without worry or care for anyone around her, even after multiple people have literally died over the course of just this book. Who cares? They’re not Stephanie, so they don’t matter. It’s all about her. 

I will never understand what anyone saw in this series.

#stephanie brown #batgirl #batgirl 2009 #meta #dc comics #dc comics meta #stephanie brown critical #batgirl 2009 critical #brian q miller #my writing #my meta #and with this I may finally have this series out of my system #at least until I decide to string all my various essays into a video or something lol

[rickgrimesdoingrickthings]

✰ Character Info Sheet

name: Richard "Rick" D. (Daniel?) Grimes

name meaning: "Fierce brave ruler" Richard: Means "brave ruler", derived from the Old German elements rih "ruler, king" and hart "hard, firm, brave, hardy". Grimes: Originates from the Norse-Viking pre 7th Century personal name of “Grimr” which is both an Old Danish and Old Swedish name as well, appearing in both of these ancient languages as “Grim.” In England, this surname of Grimes was popular due to the influence of Scandinavian settlements. Grimes is a surname that is believed to be of a Scandinavian, English, or Irish descent, that means Masked Person, Fierce.

alias/es: Sheriff, Officer Friendly, Helicopter Boy, Ringleader, Fearless Leader, Consignee Grimes, Mother Goose

ethnicity: North America, United States (British, Irish or Scandinavian descent probably).

one picture you like best of your character: (I'm a rebel, I will put 2).

three h/cs you've never told anyone:

He's actually quite clumsy, specially if he's not paying attention or overload with worry or emotion.

He likes and writes poetry, loves to draw, loves reading novels, but he seems to only do those things in private when he's alone, he's very reserved. He also can play the guitar but that's a secret to most people.

Still has schizophrenia symptoms once in a while (when he's not okay), but doesn't tell anyone.

three things your character likes doing in their free time:

Building or repairing things or organizing things, he will do out of pleasure when he has energy.

Reading

Playing with his kids

eight people your character likes / loves: In canon, everyone he considered his family. (Lori, Shane, Judith, Glenn, Maggie, Beth, Daryl, Carol, Hershel, Jessie, Michonne...) Verse dependent: my Rp partners muses / OCs for sure.

two things your character regrets:

Not listening to his son Carl back at the gas station about recruiting Siddiq and being less moved by hatred and more by compassion (which lead to Carl going back to recruit Siddiq, where Carl got bitten, resulting in his death).

Not solving the emotional conflict with Lori before she died. Rick thought he would have more time to make amends and approach his wife Lori again (she was sleeping with his best friend and got pregnant). He never stopped loving her, despite their arguments, despite being so emotionally distant for a while.

two phobias your character has:

1- Potentially developed a fear of confined spaces (claustrophobia) with large crowds (enochlophobia), due to the tight and dangerous situations he often encountered (Prison reckon, being kidnapped by Jadis, being stuck in a tank). Rick doesn't panic- he can stay calm if he's exposed to the phobia, but he would rather not- at the prison, he would rather sleep outside or in more open indoor areas with windows etc. Isolated crowds in the open or isolated confined spaces are less stressful, I think that what gets Rick is when both are combined.

2- He seems to have a fear of heights (needs to be very high height) specially if it's a place he can potentially fall from. When Michonne climbs a very high tree, he keeps asking her so many times if she's okay, and keeps pacing under the tree as if she were doing something very dangerous- to someone who kills zombies every day, Rick seemed to be overreacting a bit. Rick doesn't seem to have any problem climbing things that aren't too high, like fences, or things he can feel safe while climbing (the top of a building, or something he has firm structures to grab). If he had to face high heights, he would though. Rick normally won't let his phobias stop him from acting.

Tagged by : @sxbaist Tagging: My rp partners (who wants to do)

#character analysis #rick grimes #rick twd #twd #the walking dead #twd rick

[miseries-mistress]

I'd like to think that sometimes Crosshair fights against his chip.

It could be voluntarily or involuntarily, maybe it's to get the voices to stop, but he does it. 

I'd like to think he calls out for his brothers, distraught as he's alone and scared. He doesn't usually feel fear, so it freaks him out even more when he realizes he's alone. 

I'd like to think he's frantic in the room stripped of his brother's influence, but it's also so achingly familiar, like deja vu. Maybe in his panic, he wonders where his brothers are, if they're safe.  He cares more than he will admit, about them and their wellbeing, so when there's no traces left of his vod, none of Wrecker's booming voice, none of Tech's datapads, none of Echo's supplies to clean his mechanical parts, none of Hunter's clothes scattered about, nothing to cling to of their existence, his steady, controlled hands start to shake.

I'd like to think that his emotions overwhelm him because he's never experienced anything quite like it. Fear, dread, sorrow, regret, it weighs on his chest, threatening to break every bone and expose his raw and bleeding heart.  

I'd like to think that in his panic, he can't control the influence of the chip, and he feels it slowly crowding his thoughts like a thick cloud of poisonous gas, and amidst those thoughts, before they are buried under the inhibitor chip, his frantic mind falls to a question. 

Why is he alone?

Maybe Crosshair even screams their names, clinging onto his last wisps of hope that they can get rid of the voices. That they can save him. 

I'd like to think that in his last moments before he is pulled under the chip, he thinks of his family, the ones who protected him throughout his childhood, stood by his side, defended him, protected him, saved him. 

Then he blinks, and those thoughts are gone, reduced to a bad dream, and CT-9904 is left staring at that exact spot in the wall that Clone Force 99 used to tally their missions, the cascade of voices now a familiar buzz in his mind. 

I'd like to think that CT-9904 wonders what happened to his old squad, and maybe that's the barest influence of Crosshair in his head, but he shakes it out because, to him, it doesn't matter. Good soldiers follow orders. 

I’d like to think Crosshair is still in there, maybe hidden underneath the tangle of CT-9904, but  waiting for his brothers to return to him, to save him, and bring him home.

#here is an absolutely devastating thought i had about crosshair #tbb crosshair #crosshair #crosshair bad batch #crosshair headcanon #the bad batch #tbb #the bad batch crosshair #bad batch #sw tbb #crosshair the bad batch #inhibitor chips #.𖥔 ݁☄˖ 𝓂'𝓈 𝓉𝒷𝒷 𝒽𝒸

[nancywheeeler]

"your cosmic call sign" inspiration bible

it was very strange not writing yccs this week and knowing i wouldn't have a new chapter to post tonight, so i've finally organized the media influences and playlist i promised! under the cut are the many different movies / episodes / podcasts / music that inspired "your cosmic call sign." another huge thank you to everyone who came along on this intergalactic adventure with me!

MOVIES

The biggest influences on YCCS were Super 8 (alien vs. a pack of teenagers and their camera) and The Vast of Night + The Fog (small town vibes and radio broadcasts as a narrative device). While I recommend all the movies on this list, The Vast of Night and The Fog deserve more love! The Vast of Night is atmospheric sci-fi, reminiscent of 50s radio dramas, and The Fog is atmospheric horror. Both are 90 minutes and make for great Sunday night watches, especially once it's dark outside.

The Vast of Night (2019)

Arrival (2016)

Super 8 (2011)

Adventures in Babysitting (1987)

Explorers (1985)

Starman (1984)

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)

The Fog (1980)

Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)

The Blob (1958 & 1988)

Invaders from Mars (1953)

It Came from Space (1953)

The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951)

TWILIGHT ZONE EPISODES

Where Is Everybody? (S1E1)

Time Enough at Last (S1E8)

The Hitch-Hiker (S1E16)

The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street (S1E22)

Will the Real Martian Please Stand Up? (S2E28)

To Serve Man (S3E24)

Death Ship (S4E6)

PODCASTS

Conspiracy Theories: Montauk Project Pt. I & II

Mile Higher: The Montauk Project Conspiracy

YOUR COSMIC PLAYLIST

[asterisks: songs explicitly mentioned in YSSC]

Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft {Carpenters}

Always Something There to Remind Me {Naked Eyes}

Owner of a Lonely Heart {Yes}

Radio Ga Ga {Queen}

The Passenger {Iggy Pop}

Oh! You Pretty Things {David Bowie}*

Symptom of the Universe {Metallica}*

Interstellar Overdrive {Pink Floyd}

Ticket to the Moon {Electric Light Orchestra}

Planet Caravan {Black Sabbath}

Space Oddity {David Bowie}*

Captain Jack {Billy Joel}*

Midnight Special {Creedence Clearwater Revival}*

Since I’ve Been Loving You {Led Zeppelin}*

Comfortably Numb {Pink Floyd}*

What’s Happening?!?! {The Byrds}*

Vienna {Ultravox}

Moving in Stereo {The Cars}

More Than This {Roxy Music}

Memory Motel {The Rolling Stones}*

Satellite of Love {Lou Reed}

Take It to the Limit {Eagles}

‘39 {Queen}

Everybody Wants to Rule the World {Tears for Fears}

Hazy Shade of Winter {The Bangles}

Moonage Daydream {David Bowie}

Twilight {Electric Light Orchestra}

Mr. Spaceman {The Byrds}

This Time Tomorrow {The Kinks}

Across the Universe {The Beatles}*

Rocket Man {Elton John}

Goodbye Stranger {Supertramp}

Drive {The Cars}

Starcrossed Lovers {Siouxsie and the Banshees}

Because the Night {Patti Smith}

Radio, Radio {Elvis Costello & The Attractions}

You Can’t Always Get What You Want {The Rolling Stones}

This Must Be the Place {Talking Heads}

Stand By Me {John Lennon}

Darling Be Home Soon {The Lovin' Spoonful}

Starman {David Bowie}*

Eclipse {Pink Floyd}

#my writing #(technically more like my writing's inspirations but i don't know what else to tag this) #(i'm proud to have only cheated once on the playlist; starcrossed lovers came out in april 1986 but other than that all period accurate) #(it's actually pretty 70s heavy but that's david bowie's fault)

[fox-the-artist-fruit-canid]

Toxik's realation with the other 3.

Transcription and more explaination to this(also ignore the existense of my hand),kinda more based on the others view on him but eh.

---

The realation with sai could be translated as a silent and not very problematic kind,tho sai is judmental over him,afther all he knows the most part of his crimes.

But don't bother to ask how he does,not even mis himself knows afther all he never told him anything,maybe if becuse of him being able to detect chemicals,drugs or blood on him at a single toungue blep.

He is the embodiment of this image taking that in count.

Still sai says nothing but is more than worried over his younger brother being around him,anoys him usually when entering or going out of the quarantine stacion but nothing more.

At his eyes he's a very dangerous and a very bad influence to Take,still he wouldn't take him seriously so he straight up dosen't bother.

---

Meanwhile kira...oh kira,where do i beggin with you?

Well first of all two big things to keep in count,kira is both an mantis and a cannibal,and together to that kira is part of the medical department.

With that clarified well it kinda resumes why kira will try to at least bite toxik without hesitation nor fear,especially if alone and unsupervised.

Afther all belive me when i say that in terms of strenght and speed toxik will lose,not for nothing kira is an more than skilled and oportunistic hunter with a lot of tactics under his sleeves,and an almost 95% success ratio.

Still why? Well thats becuse for toxik bad fortune the smell of the drugs and toxins on him make kira's hunger and hunt instincs go bonker's,even if its not visible unless you chose to take a very close look to his body language.

Still they wouldn't kill him they will at least try a good pice of meat,afther all toxik is both his youngest and oldest (in some way) brothers friend and even with Mis not caring as much as Take probably will,they wont kill him becuse of his brother's friendship with Toxik.

Leaving this as the only card saving Toxik of being devoured alive by the diva natured mantis.

---

While Eco is a whole diferent history afther all at first eco donsen't detect him as bad she does detect the drugs,toxins and chemicals al over Toxik's body all becuse of the sensors on her antenae.

She's usually really nice towards him being a total ray of sunshine like always,tho she's truly worried for him specually his health afther all she reconizes the gas mask fabric,and with him always wearing it something probably isn't right.

Also due to the closenes of him with his bros (despite kira just wanting to eat him)and the recurrent frecuense in wich she feels him she started taking him as a kind of far family member.

She detects him kinda like a cousin that dosen't shows ofthen but that comes every now and then to pay an obligated visit the rest of the family.

Still that dosen't mean she does not feel a bad aura coming from him and a kinda stabbing feeling of danger and dread that come from him,and a hunch on her heart over him being a posibly bad influence for take.

Tho she tries to ignore it it a bit hard when hers perceptions dont include her visions and is more based on fellings and accidentaly hearing some conversations in betwen the eldest of the 4 and toxik.

---

Anyway this was created on my especulations over posible relationship dinamics or more like the view of the other 3 brothers on FFPO over Toxik an important character on DF in general

Toxik and Take both are @stingerking's oc's

Anyhow ill soon be uplouding kira's oficial and more extended info and full desing.

Have a nice day,evening or night remember to go out,see the sun,hug a tree or touch some grass,remember to also drink water and to try to be happy.

Crow out

#toxik the chemical killer #oc's #my art #defective lotus au #iz au #iz oc #mis the defective #friend oc #four for the price of one au #take the sniper #kira the medic #eco the historian #oc talk

[climatecalling]

“Millions of viewers week after week will be able to watch Julia Child as she stirs food simmering over a gas flame,” read an October 1978 article from the The American Gas Association’s monthly trade magazine. This was a continuation of a larger campaign called “Operation Attack.” Launched by the AGA in the late 1960s, it employed at the time some of the same experts and public relations firms as the tobacco industry to fend off growing threats to gas. The nation was becoming more environmentally conscious; the fossil-fuel industry feared heightened scrutiny from the newly formed Environmental Protection Agency, and energy price shocks had begun to make alternative fuels more appealing. To make matters worse, new research raised questions about gas stove emissions and impacts on public health. Gas was losing ground to electric competition, but the industry had plans to fight back. ... As part of a larger campaign, the American Gas Association established a “Hollywood Bureau” staffed with agents whose job was “obtaining publicity favorable to the natural gas industry within the national media of television and motion pictures,” according to AGA Monthly, the trade publication. ... Decades after Child’s glowing endorsement, gas appliances have come under scrutiny in light of new evidence that they produce pollution linked to asthma and cancer, especially when not vented properly. Climate activists have also put pressure on lawmakers to pass local and state-wide bans on expanding gas infrastructure, to curb harmful emissions driving climate change. ... Since at least 2018, gas interests including the AGA, which represents the vast share of the industry, and the American Public Gas Association have hired influencers — though not quite of Julia Child’s caliber — to promote gas stoves on social media like YouTube and Instagram. ... AGA and gas utilities also seem to perpetuate disinformation. When the Department of Energy proposed new efficiency regulations for stoves, a process required by law, AGA suggested this spring it amounted to a de facto ban. In reality, a limited number of older, less efficient models would be phased out after 2027, with no effect on existing gas appliances. Even so, this June, House Republicans passed a bill prohibiting the federal government from issuing any kind of regulations around gas stoves, which would interfere with the Department of Energy’s ability to set new efficiency standards.

#climate crisis #climate solutions #natural gas #fossil fuels #cooking with gas

[jerseyluck]

Batman (2016) Vol.3 Annual #1 Readthrough

Tis be the season, and in the spirit of that we are going to look into some holiday comics. And we are going to start with Batman Annual #1, a Christmas anthology.

The book opens with the most famous tale of the book: Tom King and David Finch’s Eisner winning Good Boy.

The story opens with an example of the damage that the Joker does on a daily basis. In this case, Joker left a bunch of dogs behind to go feral, and only one has survived: a hound in an Ace mask.

We then cut to best butler, Alfred Pennyworth, going to the dog pound to adopt the surviving dog. The book then cuts to an amusing scene where Bruce is ambushed by the aggressive dog and is mildly annoyed. Bruce doesn’t seem to think that the dog can recover from the trauma that Joker put him under.

But Alfred isn’t one to give up! Before the Christmas season, the butler spends time trying to train the dog. And slowly but surely the dog starts to behave and is willing to trust.

In a heartwarming moment, Ace comes towards Batman after a rough night out. By Christmas, it has gotten to the point where Bruce is giving the dog a bat mask. And in a hilarious moment, Bruce asks Alfred what his Christmas present is not realizing Ace is the present.

This is easily one of the best stories Tom King ever wrote and is the best story in the annual. David Finch does some decent art that makes the story work. However, there is some better art in this annual.

And one of the stories with better art is Silent Night by Scott Snyder and Ray Fawkes with art by Delcan Shalvey.

The story opens with an exploration of how Batman is able to respond to crimes so fast. Bats has tapped into Gotham’s 911 call centers, with a computer listening to key words. If there are enough context clues, Batman gets an alert to go to the call.

We cut to Gotham’s Time Square analogue where a group of people dressed in trench coats arrive. This being Gotham, citizens call it in, and Batman shows up thinking that this might be a terrorist attack.

But as a pleasant surprise, the group happens to be street performers to some fancy acrobatics. In a true Christmas miracle, Bruce actually gets a moment of peace because there isn’t any trouble in Gotham that requires Batman.

Next is The (Not So) Silent Night of Harley Quinn by Batman legends Paul Dini and Neal Adams. And it is just a riff on the classic tale where Batman carols with the police and no crime happens because of his influence on Gotham.

In this version, Batman captures Harley after she tries to sneak in Gordan’s holiday party. Bats drives Harley out of Gotham while Harley does some singing in the Batmobile. As this is happening, we get to see hijinks where things almost happen but through acts of little madness, everything turns out all right. My personal least favorite story from the bunch.

Next is Stag by Steve Orlando and Riley Rossmo. And this story is actually a lead into the pair’s then upcoming Batman/Spirit mini. Before we go any farther this has my artwork in the annual.

The story opens with Bruce, Commissioner Gordon, and new character Barry O’Neil opening a winter wonderland for Gotham. But then we get a Steve Orlando classic of using an obscure character, Mister Blizzard shows up to cause trouble because … he wants a new ice age?

Anyway, we get a good moment of Bruce leaving to get into his Batman gear. And very quickly, Batman takes Mister Blizzard. We then get a discussion from O’Neil, regretting that his attempt to bring joy to Gotham’s children went that badly.

The story ends with Bruce lamenting to Duke Thomas that O’Neil has been a charitable icon to Gotham since he was child. As Bruce wonders what Gotham would be without O’Neil, the old man is assassinated by a mysterious figure.

The annual ends with The Insecurity Diversion by Scott Bryan Williams and art by Bilquis Evely.

This story opens with Gotham under attack chemical anxiety-causing gas (ala Scarecrow’s fear toxin). We also got a new villainess, Haunter, at Arkham’s holiday party. And because this is a short story, both factors lead to Haunter escaping the asylum.

The book explains that Haunter has the power to kill people from their DNA, and she is pals with the Scarecrow. The fear-loving crook did Haunter a solid and let her escape.

However, Batman comes to stop the pair of villains. He exposes the villains to a nerve-toxin to capture the pair. And that is the end of this forgettable story.

Overall, this annual is a fun read. While there are some stories that are better than others, there isn’t a bad one in the bunch. Art throughout the book was spectacular.

7.5/10

#dc comics #batman #commissioner gordon #alfred pennyworth #harley quinn #scarecrow #tom king #david finch #ace the bathound #christmas #christmas comic #anthology #read through

[coyote-nebula]

Get up bambi, barbed wire, pine box boy??

from this ask game

14- get up bambi “ —poiler. Come in. Spoiler.” It didn’t sound right, muffled and quiet. She fumbled around on the floor for the volume. “Spoil— Stephanie.” “Wh,” she breathed. -- Unsurprisingly, that scene from Bambi with his dad has my undivided attention every time I watch the movie, and I want a fic inspired by that (@batbirdies also adopted this idea; I think she's further on it than I am lol). The premise is "Batman remotely coaxes a robin through escaping a deadly situation while injured," and Steph seems like a fun choice. Bruce trying to find the sweet spot of commanding and cajoling?? Desperately agreeing to mumbled negotiations for daily coffees and private islands in exchange for feet and inches of crawling?? Stephanie going above the limits of human endurance out of sheer spite??? Could be good...

19- barbed wire Would you believe that is a little Duke Thomas and Jim Gordon whump thought?? lol Basically, Jim stumbles upon Signal, who, under the influence of some hallucination-inducing substance like fear gas, has gotten tangled up in some barbed wire at an unattended construction site. I don't know if I'll ever come back to this one, but it's a neat thought I might work into something else sometime.

22- the pine box boy the backwoods au nobody asked for Ooh okay so, this is more of thought that I like to vibe with sometimes than a wip haha It's a historical fiction/southern gothic kind of batfam au. It's centered around Jason's inexplicable return to the land of the living, but it's set in the pre-1850 east texas area. Bruce's occasional vigilantism is related to this local drama of the time (not necessary to understanding this premise, but there's the historical orientation) This came about because of listening to The Pine Box Boys, purveyors of bluegrass murder ballads (I suggest preparing to listen ironically because it might be an acquired taste lol. Otherwise, the gist is that the songs are typically upbeat, ironic horror stories in which there are horrible occurrences). To borrow a phrase from this article, I think the Batman/Gotham mythos shares their "molten core of avant-garde freakishness" and so adapting Batman to a corresponding setting gives me intriguing thoughts. Most of those thoughts pertain to the Joker as some guy who lives in a shack and is a community menace, Ra's as another some guy who's the topic of mystical rumors since it seems like he should have died a long time ago, Jason and Bruce on his Red Hood character arc, and Bruce getting no rest because he insists on raising a weird little found family in the same woods as bona fide crazies.

thanks for the ask!