#SO YEAH NOW I AM A PENGUIN AND NOT A CROW
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Ok, I need to say something and get it off my chest while I actually have some energy.
I know what I want to change for the new year…even though normally I don’t really care for the idea of resolutions because to me there is no guarantee that the turn of a year implies change. I just think everyone should grow at their own pace and transform when they are ready. But my current catharsis just happens to be taking place now, so I’ll make it a resolution. A resolution about creativity.
My energy as a fandom creative has been incredibly low this year, which is weird for me. I have been in quite a few fandoms over the years, but the ones I actively decided to participate in were always fun outlets for me to improve things like my writing and actually make room for my energy. I used to write absurdly long analyses and metas in other fandoms for my own enjoyment and get into in-depth discussions with people about lore, story, themes, or whatever else would come up because that’s where I thrived. I was always the essay spammer lol. I miss the energy that was fueling me then. Something happened to it, and I wonder if it’s because I changed from “writing for myself” to “writing for the fandom” at some point.
Don’t get me wrong, I always loved supportive communities that help you grow and develop in some arena of art. I need that as a person because as isolate and introverted as I can be about my interests, I do have this side that craves the thrill of sharing passion and excitement with others. I love when I create something and other people like it too…I mean, who doesn’t?
That’s a huge part of fandom and of course I am here for that support system, but I don’t want to make my goal to be about supplying content for a fandom.
Just about a year and a half ago I started messing around with drawing for the first time in my life. I had attempted to doodle and scribble as a kid, but it was stick figure stuff. I never was serious. But the urge to depict specific pictures in my head was overpowering. I had to buckle down and watch some tutorials to get anywhere, but I did get…somewhere.
I don’t draw even slightly near the level I want to yet, but I’m glad I practice and learn new little tricks every so often. I just need to break down walls, especially the walls I have been hitting recently. These walls stop me from getting better. They kill my interest in writing. I have trouble responding to people and their conversations with me in fandom…when people express interest in my opinions, I shut down and hide. I don’t put the effort I used to into analysis or research. I am stuck and it is smothering my creativity.
My drawing and writing won’t improve until I stop being scared about challenging myself or being willing to branch out.
That’s my resolution. I need to stop doing stuff for a fandom. I need to smack myself upside the head and genuinely draw whatever the fuck I want and not to create content like a YouTuber. The reason I used to write metas or get into long lore convos with people so confidently is because I was passionate about it and not because I was trying to put something on a platform.
It’s not necessarily that I have been doing this YouTuber thing all year, but I know for certain that the stupid fandom idea of “having a role” or “being The Guy for a certain character” has craftily snuck itself into my head. I adore Bloodborne, I love my Bloody Crow, but I also fucking love Dark Souls, I love Demon’s Souls, I love Elden Ring, I love LOTR, I love Arcane, I love FF7, I love dozens of other films, books, shows, stories…
…I love so much and I want to draw stuff for all of it, I want to write for all of it, I want to express my thoughts on it. I am a subtle participant in plenty of fandoms if they aren’t too toxic, but I have restricted myself to Bloodborne because I felt “safe” about “creating content” here. I also felt a necessity at times.
But truthfully? I am going to suffocate if I force myself to restrict my creativity to one fandom forever. No, I don’t intend to leave it, because I do love it here and I want to still enjoy the community. I also still want this blog to be Soulsborne oriented while my sideblogs are for other fandoms, but that’s just for the sake of my own interest in organization, not because I have to. That’s because I fucking love Soulsborne and its fandom and I want to stay here to share and create. Not because I have to.
I have been hanging around the Soulsborne community for over ten years now…it’s just an infinite vat of creativity and inspiration. I want to contribute because it’s fun. I need to stop limiting myself to the ONE game though. It’s killing the ability to improve my drawing because I don’t truly always want to draw everything from this game. Sometimes I just want to draw knights from Dark Souls.
Sometimes I want to practice drawing armor and not Bloodborne style get-ups. I just want room and space to explore. There is plenty of variety in Bloodborne yes, but it has to be variety I am passionate about or I will half-ass it. I need that option.
It’s the same with writing. My writer’s block has been horrible this year because once I actually started sharing my fan-fiction for the first time, I felt that pressure of having readers and I wanted to make sure everything I put out was perfect. This kills my motivation. It’s utterly deadly. I actually am fine with my writing normally and am very comfortable with improving it through practice, but whenever I succumbed to the likely nonexistent external pressure, I suddenly couldn’t finish editing to save my life.
I need to be free of this and be able to enjoy my fandoms. I need them. 2023 was one of the hardest years of my life. I was so miserable so often, and it’s during those times when I really want a safe space to run and create. It helps me “regenerate.” But if I’m polluting my own safe space with pressure and worry, then what do I have left?
And so yeah, that’s my goal for this next year and the years to come. I want my old energy and passion back, to use this little online outlet to grow and learn more about drawing, writing, and whatever else catches my fancy. I won’t pressure myself about this either, but I hope it comes naturally if I take it slow and try to unlock my brain from the narrow way of thinking.
No more playing into a role. I just need to be free and enjoy myself.
#SO YEAH NOW I AM A PENGUIN AND NOT A CROW#lmaooo#i’m kidding#that would be hilarious#just taking a different role after abandoning one (help)#no but see crows are just ME#that’s different xD#It’s funny because 90% of me has never cared about fandom expectations or roles#but with the bb fandom there was so much drama once upon a time that i got caught in the trap of taking up a role as a form of armor#now that it’s kind of in the past…i really need to move on#fandoms are supposed to be fun…not warzones and i need to stop restricting my creative endeavors to them so much#because even though bb is peaceful now…if it ever happens again i can’t fall into this routine a second time#there is a lot here#but i’m glad i’m thinking about it#personal#new year#fandom stuff#CrowNotes
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You Don’t Know Me, But I Know You 1
Chapter 1 out of 6
5 times Tim showed he stalked Robin + 1 time Jason did
Inspired by this post of @thecrazyleader
On AO3.
Ships none
Warnings: none
~~~
1. A Familiar Goon
It’s sometimes easy to forget that Tim used to stalk the family he’s now a part of. However, in his more judgmental or know-it-all moments, it’s hard to ignore. Still, since he questioned his place in the family a lot, it’s not until they’ve all solidified themselves as a unit that it begins to show.
Like right now.
They’re trying to take down one of Penguin’s plots. It’s not as much dangerous as highly tedious, since it was just a power grab. The only thing that sucks is the amount of goons that are spread out about the city that they have to stop.
Suddenly, Tim groans loudly: “Ugh, not this fucking guy again.”
“Who is it?” Batman immediately demands to know, being on the other side of the city where he assigned himself to capture all the goons.
“Chuck Irkhouse,” Tim replies with disdain.
“Ugh, I fucking hate that guy,” Dick pipes up. “He’s not, like, the worst, but he totally is the worst. I don’t know, he’s just annoying. Doesn’t he run with Mr. Freeze?”
“Nah, he used to. Switched to running with Black Mask,” Jason says. “Me and B took him down back in my Robin days. Fucking annoying asshole, he was. He got ‘bout seven years, must’ve gotten out recently.”
“Wait, if you took him out and he’s only gotten out recently, how does RR know him?” Steph asks.
“Because he was always – and I mean always – stationed on the East side of the harbor where Batman’s patrol route passed. I think he was put there, because Black Mask knew what a prick he was. It used to be one of my spots where I’d hide to get the good pics, but I switched it up after a while, because Chuckie there just sucked so much,” Tim answers. “Still sad I didn’t get to photograph him during his final arrest.”
It’s quiet for a beat over the coms and a confused Tim asks: “What?”
“I always forget what a creepy stalker boy you used to be, Replacement,” Jason says, breaking the quiet.
“Shut up,” Tim complains, while snorts and laughter echo over the coms. They might be spread all over the city, but they all know he’s pouting even without seeing him.
“Oh my god, you’re such a fucking loser,” Steph crows.
“Hey, you dated me!”
“Ugh, don’t remind me of that mistake,” Steph rolls her eyes.
“Rude. And I still have to go fight Irkhouse, isn’t that punishment enough?” Tim sighs.
“Don’t know, haven’t met the guy,” Steph says.
“Hope you never do,” Jason tells her. “He truly is the worst.”
“Yeah, am I glad RR got that part of the city,” Dick agrees. “If I have to fight that guy one more time, I’m hanging up the mask. Hope he gets another seven years.”
#rr writing#batman#tim drake#jason todd#red robin#red hood#bruce wayne#dick grayson#stephanie brown#stalker tim drake#batfam#batfamily#c#dc comics
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pissadoomedyuri au: brainrots
@finnitesimal
1) can we acknowledged how huggable Phil looks in this au? I’m like 95% sure the second anyone realizes or has otherwise been confirmed that they have permission to hug phil they MIGHT end up attached because soft but absolutely can yeet you in a pool woman, yeah?? can you hear me??? Missa getting carried?? hugging phil a long while???
2) how many times do you want to bet Missa finds a way to slip/give Phil lunch or snacks or something? Because if Missa notices Phil is lacking food Missa is gonna go ham making Phil five course meals, panic about if Phil thinks she overdid it, then pack each course for the next school week for Phil and her to consume “together”(unknown exactly HOW depending on how mentally ill you wanna imagine them Missa could be absolutely happy just knowing they’re both eating the same meal she made)
3) okay, bit of a personal thing- I personally am overly and I mean OVERLY empathetic, to the point I can tell if a friend in FRANCE despite bing in USA ARIZONA is UPSET or a week before someone’s family member almost gets HURT- so trust me when I fucking say when I assign someone a plushie and buy one for them I’m working 100% with the intention of giving my friends and family hugs and forehead kisses even though they’re who knows how far apart, okay now now, IMAGINE Missa and Phil do this- hey maybe not like ACTUALLY doing it for eachother but overly empathic Missa who has to be careful otherwise holy shit she can get mentally MAIMED by INTERACTING with people she doesn’t want to/need to x Phil who loves getting plushies, holloween, crow, skeleton, weird animal fusion looking baby stuffied animals(we HAVE seen and accounted 3 of these fuckers- a ram that looked like a penguin body and limbs, a zebra that DEFINITELY looked like it had a hippo skeleton, and a cat that texture wise reminded us of a pig (especially in the tail and ears) than anything else) for every event and acknowledgment of friends and hills she climbed like the first time she beat someone bloodied, and hey, if it means some cute charms to acknowledge the cute girl she saw? well- only Phil will ever know,
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Get to know me!
tagged by @elveny, let's see if I can get this done before I have to get out of bed (someone play me the world's smallest violin)
Share your wallpaper: So my PC is set to cycle through my XIV screenshot folder as its wallpaper, so here's my Chromebook (where I do all my writing) and my phone (where I do all my blogging) wallpapers instead!
A lovely comm from thetictactician on Twitter on my Chromebook!
and this amazing comm on my phone from Hollycircling on Twitter, I can't believe she indulged me and went this fucking hard but she did this. In a week.
The last song you listened to: Warrior by Beth Crowley (this is such a Jess song tbh)
Currently Reading: Ok... so... I actually haven't read any sort of published novel since... 2011, with A Storm of Crows I think? So I used to read a shit ton, but it was 11th grade and my friends were like 'You're still reading kids books? Read something for grown ups instead' (I was rereading Percy Jackson at the time, my beloved). So I gave it a try with a 'grown up' fantasy series and... fuck GoT it was awful and I decided if that's what adult literature was like, I didn't want any part of it. So I quit reading entirely.
Last Movie: Bullet Train, months ago. I don't like watching movies - I'm huge into the behind the scenes stuff, cinematography, lighting, direction, costume design etc etc so it makes it hard to watch movies when my brain won't stop analyzing and criticizing everything (honestly modern cinema is so full of people just 'sending it' for the next big paycheck, the heart is just gone). But my husband insisted I watch this one and you know what? It was actually really well made, I was impressed.
Craving: More time. More time to finish these cosplays (Twelve have mercy the con is in a week and a half), more time to write, more time to decompress. Also craving a Chromebook/laptop/portable writing device that doesn't freeze when I type more than 5 letters in a row...
What are you wearing right now: My nightgown! (still in bed) It's got penguins on it and it's fucking adorable.
How tall are you: 5'5, idk what that is in the rest of the world. Americans, y'know.
Piercings: None, but I bought some super cute Ascian earrings last year and I've been really tempted to get my earlobes pierced.
Tattoos: None, not my thing but totally cool for everyone else!
Glasses? Contacts?: Lasik! Totally worth if you can do it.
Last drink: Choccy milk (I am an adult)
Last show: Last narrative-focused show? Uhhhhhh.... I watched the first season of The Walking Dead in 2012 and I legit can't think of anything more recent. I just don't enjoy watching things much, I'd rather be doing something, and I'm such a snob when it comes to screenwriting/characters that most things just don't appeal to me. Other than that the last non-scripted show I watched was Restaurant: Impossible.
Last thing you ate: An oatmeal chocolate chip cookie my sister made last night.
Favourite colour: Wine/burgundy! That deep, dark, blood red with just a hint of purple (in case you couldn't tell since it's the color my WoL wears in every outfit)
Current obsession: FFXIV lol
Unrelated Obsession: Unrelated? I'd say writing but that's kind of related... So, horses? I mean that's just always my obsession.
Any pets: Uh... yeah. I myself have two horses. And then... we have a shit ton of cats. So in 2020 strays kept showing up at our house and then they'd have babies, eventually we managed to catch them all and get them fixed and now some of them have chosen to move in. Shelters are full all across the state, rescues and fosters are full. So now we have... 10 cats that live inside (it's a large house) and then another six/seven that are still feral outside but fixed at least. Nothing much we can do about it, but keeping them inside keeps them safe and saves the wildlife outside, too.
Do you have a crush on anyone: An eternal crush on my husband. He's just amazing. Soft. Adorable. Handsome. Perfect. Goofy. Gorgeous. Smart. Creative. Loving. So many more words. 12 years together in May!
Favourite fictional character: Assuming player characters/WoLs don't count, Elena Fisher from Uncharted. She was the first female character I encountered who was just... normal. Not a token female, not sexualized eye candy, not walking boobs without a personality, she was... a real person, a real character in her own right, whose gender didn't change who she was. And I fell in love with that back in 2007 (I was in middle school then, so it was kind of a big deal for me). She only got better as the years went by, I still love her.
The last place you traveled: Depends on your definition of 'travel'. On a literal sense probably Portland, but since both that and Seattle are practically in my backyard I don't really count those. Other than that, Philadelphia I think, for a wedding.
TAGGING! Oh so many people should do this. Off the top of my head, if you'd like to... @ainyan, @mimble-sparklepudding, @boggleoflight, @tallbluelady, @humblemooncat, @dragoon-mid-jump, @otherworldseekers, @aethericfist and now I'm out of time and have to get ready for work so anyone else who sees this! Sorry I was tagging in a hurry, I know a lot of you are character/RP blogs so feel free to ignore.
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Okay I am interested in ALL your WIPS, but the ones that most intrigue me are the Molina!Penguin one, Cop!Reader and Doc Ock, and Big Boss Oogie Boogie! If it isn’t too much, could I have a sneak peek of those?
Ohhhhhh so many, alright: Let's start this off gently
Molina!Penguin x Hero!Reader
He looked like he was in his mid 50s, with crows feet meeting his eyes and a plump face that looked squishable. He was no means ugly, in fact you caught yourself blushing how he wrapped his cupids lips on a cigarette stick and inhaled, letting out smoke out of his crooked nose with a thick scar across the bridge. His black hair with a white streak on the side of his bangs groomed back with style and his eyes-
‘Oh man, those are the biggest pair of beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen…’ You think, giving him a look over again. He was dressed to the tens, no elevens. The silkiest tuxedo you’ve ever seen.
Ok, so this is the Penguin. Huh, he does look like one.’ You think as Batman walked right up to the table.
(Side note, this is my version of Molina! Penguin)
Doc Ock x Cop!Reader
Your hand immediately rests on top of your gun holster as you strain your ears to listen to that sound, a sound you’ve heard before on your job. One from a bank robbery, another when you were part of a squad to back up a hostage situation.
The air was cold, nearly empty from the lack of people. Smell of leftover car exhaust linger in the air along with the smell of snow and… smoke? You take a deep whiff as you slowly step back, drawing your eyes towards an empty alleyway to your left. Yeah, that's smoke. Something expensive, something from a cigar….
Oogie Boogie!Big Boss x Elf!Reader
You let out another scream when you look down to see bugs of many sizes and shapes skittering all over the floor, some on your green shoes and almost crawling up your red and white stockings.
Immediately, you stomp and kick at them when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. With a snap, the room began to glow bright and the bigs seemed to be repealed by the light. Within seconds, they disappeared into the cracks of the walls before you.
“Don’t pay them too much, little lady. They are only takin’ a good look at cha.” Said a deep, southern voice behind you.
AAaaaaannnnnd that it for now!
Happy readings =D
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Poorly describing my versions of the Gotham rogues:
Joker: “yolo” in its most dangerous form, def is writing a slow burn enemies to loves fic about him and Batman. Gay and homophobic 💯 The other rogues don’t invite him to pride celebrations anymore cause he’ll keep calling people slurs “as a joke”. Him and Edward have longterm beef, like schoolgirl levels of petty drama.
Harley Quinn: would describe herself as a “girlboss” unironically while committing heinous crimes. tweeted “clowns aren’t funny” after breaking up with Joker (ended up causing a huge scandal). The OG “I can fix him” girl. Is sort of the rogues free underground therapist (god knows they need it) cause they can’t get professional help without being sent to Arkham.
Poison Ivy: Breaking News: Cottagecore lesbian commits mass murder cause her plant wilted. She’s what republicans think environmentalists are. Would get in a fist fight with that vegan teacher cause “plants have feelings too”. Has beef with most of the male rogues, supports ‘kill all men’ without realizing it’s a joke (she prefers ‘kill all humans’ but figured she had to downgrade because the Gotham city sirens are humans technically).
Cat Woman: “OH NO! It appears I’ve gotten stuck backwards in the bank vault step-Bat 😏😏😏😏😏😏, looks like I’m not stealing any more diamonds today 😰😩”. Mad respect for Selina, she just wants diamonds and bat dick, no tragic backstory or complex motivations needed. I personally like to headcanon her as wearing a straight up cat costume (ears and a tail like a true furry) cause it’s way funnier to imagine a sophisticated rich woman dressing up as a cat to steal shit than whatever bullshit DCs up to these days. Trans catgirl supremacy 💎👍
Scarecrow: That one guy who gets angry at people because “Halloween costumes are meant to be scary 🤬😡😑😒”. Doesn’t even attempt to express emotions, is the human embodiement of this emoji: 😐. His presence is more jarring than threatening, his intimidation levels are somehow underwhelming and overwhelming at the same time. The other rogues have collectively decided that he’s asexual under no assumption other than that they don’t want to imagine Jonathan having sex. Overtime Jonathan has become basically fearless (he smokes his own fear gas like vape just to feel something). Jonathan and Harley became good friends when they both worked in Arkham, their dynamic is surprisingly wholesome.
The Riddler: Didn’t get hugged enough as a child and is now making it everyone’s problem. Would hold a bank hostage to show Batman his third grade spelling bee medal. Is the only autistic rogue that gets accommodations in Arkham because he won’t stop bugging the guards. FTM trans ofc (his names Edward Nygma for Christ's sake). He ran away from home at seventeen and faked his own death (his deadname is legally dead lmao). Uses the terms “alpha, beta, and omega male” unironically.
Two Face: “Yeah, I mean, I didn’t wanna blow up the orphanage either, but Y’know the coin said-” The other rogues talk to Harvey as if he’s constantly at his breaking point, which is half true. Harv is a stone cold mf, he’s the rock that’s holding Two Face together tbh. Edward calls Harvey and Harv Jekyll and Hyde cause he’s that original. All the rogues have at least a sneaking suspicion that Bruce Wayne is batman and use Harvey as their little primary source (being ex besties and everything), until they find out Selina and Bruce are a thing of course. No matter how much evidence he’s faced with Harvey will never accept Bruce Wayne is batmam, he’s not ready to consider that one of the only positive people in his life has been duking it out with him this whole time.
Penguin: He’s the rest of the rogues chill gay gangster uncle I don’t make the rules. The iceberg lounge is like the Batman villain equivalent of The Central Perk from friends (aka: its their default place to hangout). Oswald always makes a fuss about them not making reservations ahead of them but at this point it’s just performative. Everyone’s 99% sure Oswald and Edward fucked at some point (Edward always makes a show of flustering Oswald when he needs a loan). Ossie always takes care of the others belongings when they’re in Arkham (he has a special place in his heart for Jonathan‘s crows).
The Mad Hatter: I love Jervis lmao he just really likes Alice in Wonderland and that’s a valid ass villain motivation 👍. One of the smartest rogues but doesn’t get enough credit because of how childish he is. He dresses in kids clothes, not just because he wants to but because he’s small af and can’t fit in shit. In public while the rogues are undercover Jervis usually wears a beanie or a baseball cap (he’d get spotted instantly if he wore his usual, but on bad days Jervis can’t bear to be without a hat). Jonathan and Jervis play chess a lot together in Arkham, and frequently engage in intellectual discussion, Edward tends to be a piss baby when Jon encourages him to do the same, he’s not ready to accept the reality that Jervis can match his intelligence.
Killer Croc: Waylon has a surprising amount in common with Jonathan, they share southern solidarity. He doesn’t travel out of the sewer often so the rogues will occasionally come to visit Waylon there (Edward always makes sure to complain loudly about the smell). Will show immense affection and loyalty to anyone who treats him as human (poor guy just needs a friend ☹️).
Mr Freeze: Literally just dead inside, someone give this poor bastard a hug. Victor stands as the most awkward rogue, he‘s sorta like the odd one out. The other rogues don’t interact with him that often because he’s sort of a party pooper. He’s the straight friend on thin ice, haha get it. Mr Freeze is my sisters favorite Batman villain because she thought the ice puns were funny in Batman in Robin, little does she know I’m embarrassing myself on tumblr in her glory.
Music Meister: So many of the Gotham rogues have horrible childhood trauma and Music Meister is just like “people bullied me for being a theater kid 😩😭💔😔”. In all honesty he’s iconic, in my au universe thingy I have him join the dork squad latter on and he sticks out like a sore thumb for a bit. I feel like him and Jervis would really hit it off though (mind control buddies, ha), although Jervis would always get him to sing Alice in Wonderland songs. In Arkham they have him wear a dog collar thingy and zap him when he sings, he gets bullied for that lol.
anyways I’m sure I could make more of these, but it’s 2:20 am and my mind went blank. If y’all liked this I could always put more au headcanons out (I have A LOT)
#gotham rogues#batman rogues#batman villains#rogues gallery#dc rogues#batman rogues gallery#two face#harvey dent#scarecrow batman#jonathan crane#the riddler#edward nygma#headcannons#mr freeze#victor fries#music meister#killer croc#waylon jones#mad hatter#oswald cobblepot#jervis tetch#selina kyle#cat woman#harley quinn#pamala isley#harleen quinzel#poison ivy#joker
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matching onesies with him.
Books : Dazai | Chuuya | Oda
Shelf : Mixed
Genre : Fluff, domestic
Note : I did this of my own accord because I am, in fact, a softie
Dazai Osamu
This clingy crackhead.
Dazai will be the first to come up with the idea. It's actually a random one and he asked it so spontaneously, he doesn't expect you to actually say yes.
"Sure, why not?" You agreed.
He's both surprised and elated, and he didn't hide this reaction at all.
"Oh, darling!" He wrapped a hug around your neck. "You always revive my heart with your love!"
You both will be enthusiastic about picking the onesies and agree to surf the net instead of looking from shop to shop since Dazai is under the supervision of a certain angry Kunikida
It almost feels like babysitting. Not that you hate it right? Should you get an identical pair with different sizes? Or complementary ones?
Dazai will call the customer service to ask if they have black crow onesies since crows represent death in some cultures. The response is obviously no and it's obvious that the customer service was confused.
"That's a shame," Dazai whined disappointedly, shoulders dropping. "Wouldn't it be both cute and poetic if we had a double suicide while wearing matching crow onesie? Two achievements in one!"
At that point you wouldn't even be surprised anymore. You will just take the phone away from him to apologise and thank the customer service. You have to convince Dazai that you won't find a onesie of that kind
"Wait, don't tell me," You stared at him. "The reason you want to get onesies is just to wear a matching crow pair?"
"Is it?" He grinned mischievously. "Maybe you're right, maybe you're wrong, but I just want to match with you."
Other ADA members will wonder what you and Dazai were doing, Kunikida the most. He isn't exactly curious, more like suspicious. What's that good-for-nothing Dazai up to now?
Eventually you find a pair of identical ones. Kind of rare designs too! Guess what?
Crabs! In red! The little eyes on the hood!
It will take less than a week for the onesies to arrive in a small box. When it does Dazai will pull out a cutter so energetically Atsushi will think he's going to pull a suicide attempt with it
"AAH! Dazai-san! No!"
Nothing will happen aside from Dazai stabbing the box (while making sure he doesn't cut the onesies inside. he's good with blades, ex Port Mafia and all)
The crab pincers for your hands are soft like mittens and so smooth???? Imagine sweaterpaws but with crab pincer mittens (!!)
It will take everything in you to stop Dazai from wearing it that instant since a client Fukuzawa talked about will be coming. You will need Atsushi's help to take it off him but let's not talk about it
Both of Dazai's legs are already in the onesie too..
It seems like Kyouka wants one. Yosano and Naomi will tell Atsushi to buy the girl one and match with her
When Dazai and you go home together, he will be so excited to wear the onesies immediately. Dazai will be light on his feet.
And when you finally put yours on? Pictures. Dazai will take lots of pictures of you. You're a piece of art and he wants pictures so he can recall the image anytime
"Oh, dearest~ How is it possible for you to be so cute?" He began his dramatic poses, a hand over his head while spinning like a ballet dancer.
You both will take a lot of couple pictures.
"Love, you are so adorable I want to eat you!"
"Is it me who's cute or the crab?" You teased back.
When Dazai makes a troubled expression to answer your question, you will have to pinch him 💢
If you can cook crab soup, wouldn't it be funny to make and eat one with Dazai while wearing crab onesies? He will be so clingy when you do it, like an old school married couple; when you cook, he'll be bugging you while hugging from behind. It feels cozy, don't blame him
You have to be keen with your eyes so you won't miss Dazai secretly pouring ajinomoto to the soup. Get him a healthier diet, I'm begging you.
"Look, the crab is red like us." He pointed at the soup. "And like your face when I do this." He took advantage of you turning your head to peck your cheek.
He will also pinch your nose with his pincer mitten. "Boop!" It's a challenge. Boop his nose back.
You think he's already as clingy as he can be, huh? Wrong. You are absolutely wrong. If he previously sticks around you like a magnet, this time he's glued to you.
Even in the shared living space, he won't let you go. Is it the softness of the onesie under his touch, the warmth, or your cuteness? Well, it's all of them. What then?
Snuggles.
You both cuddle together in the futon until falling asleep together. You feel twice as warm.
He's the big spoon, let him feel the smoothness of the onesie while feeling your heat. And for once, the double suicide joke stopped for the rest of day. That's how much this impacts him, and you're proud of him.
Nakahara Chuuya
Matching with Chuuhuahua in a onesie? You lucky fella.
You have to be the one initiating it with Chuuya. Baby boy will be like "Eeh?" at first. He's not against it at all but more like, confused. The request is out of the blue
"Come on, why not?" You tilt your head. "It will feel so soft to cuddle with?"
That's it, that's the spell for him to agree
Mans is a Port Mafia executive, you can't go out from shop to shop in a mall to get your onesie with his schedule, so you have to settle with online shopping with this guy too
Only when he has time to spare from beating up people
You will sit together on a couch at the headquarters once Chuuya and you don't have missions. It's a good chance to relax and unwind together too
Chuuya knows best where to find clothes, including onesies. There are so many options! Dinosaurs, frogs, bears, Sanrio characters, Doraemon, Pikachu, Line characters, pandas, unicorns, penguins!! (I should stop fantasizing Chuuya in each of them)
Chuuya will act cool and chill about it at first, but he actually got invested in choosing and thankfully he isn't a crackhead unlike a certain someone
He has a good fashion sense I don't accept criticism, and this side of him will jump out while both of you scroll the catalogue. He nails both street wear and mafia outfits daily, so you can bet he'd pick the best onesies for you both
"This one doesn't suit you," He moved to the next option. "These are the only colours available? Pass.", "What's with the unnecessarily long tail?", "Oh maybe this? Wait, I don't like the stripes."
Of course, he will listen to your opinion too but since you feel he's better at this, you just either nod or shake your head with him
You have to be careful with your words when picking the size (this is much more valid if you're taller) or he'll go "I'm not that short!"
Kouyou and Mori (+ Elise) will catch you both on the couch together while browsing, comfy and all, and Kouyou asked what you two were doing. Chuuya's face will be as red as wine.
When you want to explain, his gloved hand will cover your mouth and he frantically shakes his head, screaming "Don't!" silently.
But alas, while you want to tell him there's nothing to be embarrassed of, Kouyou will take the phone from your hand with a curious grin and a "What's this~?"
Chuuya will just accept fate at that point, growling to himself and all
Kouyou and Mori won't expect to see a catalogue of onesies, apparently. The "Huh," on their faces are hilarious, and Mori will be instantly inspired to get a full set for his Elise-chan, much to her distaste.
While Mori and Elise are going at it, Kouyou will actually share her opinions. Chuuya will crawl out from his burrow of embarrassment and listen to her with you.
"Rather than identical ones, these would be much better. They have variety." Kouyou said. And you both will agree. You both have been eyeing a specific pair anyway
You both will decide to get complementary ones! Chuuya's will be a brown teddy and yours a white bunny! (Try googling Line's Brown and Cony, they're cute you won't regret it) Kouyou will totally agree with the decision.
When the package arrives, both of you will open it together. Chuuya's eyes for clothes are never wrong, the quality is immaculate. So warm and smooth, not a seam out of place.
Imagine the blush on Chuuya's face when you put on the white bunny onesie. The bunny ears on the hood! The fluffiness! His flustered face!
He will be slightly hesitant to put his own on, but when he does, you swear you can die from the cuteness. Want to see more cuteness? Tease him about it, and maybe he'll tickle you down until you're too breathless to tease him.
Chuuya doesn't want to say it explicitly but it does feel really comfortable, it's suitable for winters too.
As usual, Chuuya will be the big spoon. You will melt into his warmth and the smoothness of his onesie, and you can tell he's enjoying it too, from the way he'll drag his hand all over you to feel the smooth fabric
"It's a good thing we listened to ane-san's suggestion, hm?" You asked. "I didn't exactly like the matching penguin pairs."
"Yeah, this isn't bad at all." Chuuya admitted, snuggling his chin into the crook of your neck. "You're so warm."
Oda Sakunosuke
First off I'm Odasaku's lover before I'm anything else.
When the weather gets cold, it's your idea to get onesies for the kids. They could use some cute onesies to sleep in.
Unlike Dazai and Chuuya, Odasaku will have time to spare to go shopping with you. Being the handyman of Port Mafia has its good sides, after all.
The atmosphere is identical to a date! You both meet up at evening after work, have a simple dinner first, then start the shopping. Shopping for the kids' onesies with him makes you feel like a parent doesn't it?
Odasaku and you will make sure not to pick flimsy, thin, or rough ones. Only the best for the kids. Both of you put your keen eyes to use, examining every considered piece
Odasaku and you will definitely discuss whether to get five identical or different ones. After considering that the kids have different personalities, choosing different pieces will sound more ideal. You both will grant them the liberty of picking themselves.
"We just have to make sure they don't fight over it." Odasaku said.
Lion, dinosaur, piglet, panda, and penguin. That's what you both will choose!
Odasaku is a man who doesn't wear his emotions on his sleeves, so you relied on his eyes when it comes to him. You will see love and sincerity. He picks each piece with careful consideration.
The store clerk will throw an unexpected (yet clichéd shoujo) question at you both. "You picked such good choices. We have sets for adults too, why not match with your children?"
Odasaku and you will widen your eyes. First of all, parents? And match? Both of you stare at each other in confusion. Should you get two get a pair for yourselves?
"Why not?" Odasaku eventually said.
Odasaku's will be a brown dog and yours a white cat (remember that one official art of Odasaku with puppy ears? <3)
Odasaku and you will immediately visit the kids and give them their onesies. Their excitement in picking one for their own made you smile, and you can see the joy in Odasaku's eyes when the kids thanked him and you. He doesn't smile, but you don't need him to just to know he's glad his children love your pick. The way he pats their heads already speaks volumes of love.
Thankfully no kid wrestled to get what they want. You were especially concerned Kousuke will compete with someone
Odasaku will bring a secondhand polaroid he once bought at Yokohama's flea market to take pictures of the kids. You will herd the children to gather for the picture while Odasaku looked for the right angle in the other side of the room.
"Why don't you stay there for the picture too?" Odasaku asked you, half of his face behind the camera.
You kneel behind the kids and put your hands on Sakura and Yuu's shoulders, the ones who stood on the far left and right. That much is enough to warm Odasaku's heart, but when you too, smile for the camera, he freezes for a while to take the sight with his eyes
The picture comes out nicely. You will end up convincing Odasaku to take more but with him in it, together, all seven of you. You would need the curry diner owner's help to take the picture
"Sakunosuke, smile, will you?" You held his shoulder while you both kneeled behind the kids for the picture. He would be a little stunned
He smiles, but it was faint. Nevertheless, you recognise the content in his eyes in the photo, and it's enough.
When it's just the two of you in the living quarters, you will have to remind Odasaku that he too, bought a onesie. He will gladly put it on him since you look so eager, he's curious how it feels too
Your heart stops when he put on the hood with the puppy ears. You will have to fight back the urge to attack him with cuddles right there and then when his confused and innocent face matches the onesie so much!
"You're adorable," You smiled half teasingly, taking in the look of confused Odasaku who looked down at his onesie. The weight of the material felt right, it's like a cozy blanket.
"Try to put yours on," He says. When you did, his heart also missed a beat. The kitten ears on your head! The pure snowy white on you!
Odasaku is a bear hugger and when he hugs you, his embrace will feel tighter than usual. It's no surprise, he likes you and cats, and the way you interacted with the kids that day played tricks on his heart. You hug him back and ruffle his head while he mumbles his thank-you's at you
That night's sleep will be filled with nothing but cuddles of love and adoration. Yes, Odasaku is the big spoon, but you will also hold his arms tighter around you as you both drift into the night, chatting about life.
#bsd#bsd x reader#dazai x reader#chuuya x reader#oda x reader#odasaku x reader#dazai headcanon#chuuya headcanon#odasaku headcanon#oda headcanon#bsd fanfic#bungou stray dogs#bungou stray dogs x reader#dazai x y/n#chuuya x y/n#odasaku x y/n#oda x y/n#dazai x you#chuuya x you#odasaku x you#dazai hc#chuuya hc#odasaku hc
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what are your opinions on how affectionate the war crime boys are? i feel like at this point they have an easy and relaxed routine where one can just lean on the other and the other will reciprocate, but in the early days it was very different.
most people go with techno being touch starved but 'i am too dangerous to be touched, i do not deserve love, the very earth rejects the soles of my feet-' and phil's like 'aw mate, what are you talking about? c'mere☺️' and that is Very Pog of them but.
it's makes more sense to me for techno to be more forthcoming with the hugs and what not??? like however you picture them (local immortal and this sentient pig he found or two ancients walking through the centuries in tandem) techno IS the younger of the pair, and is therefore more,,,, fresh????? as in he hasn't had so much time to lose as many people as phil has, and will therefore not be more likely to distance himself. like im not saying techno is completely touchy-feely and phil is still the one who gives all the hair-ruffles and shoulder pats n whatnot but that's like in a. Causal Way. when it comes to deep emotional stuff phil just runs away while techno dives the fuck in. techno gave phil one of those hugs Tall Ppl do where they pick you up and swing you around once because they hadn't seen each other in a while and wasn't prepared for the way phil just. melted in his arms.
anyway what im saying is that on an important night before a big fight, techno presented phil with some shiny armour/weapons, and in piglin culture (and this mainly inspired by that one ranboo + techno fic about techno learning to love ranboo to bits while phil laughs at him mwah mwah) this is just a way of solidifying friendship. they were already pretty friendly b4hand but this techno's way of properly saying 'you have proven to be a trustworthy and reliable companion and i would have no-one else by my side. if we die tonight die knowing that I valued you immensely.'
whereas in phil's shit ass bird brain he saw it glimmer one (1) time and went '??? sh. shynee?? good shynee?? that you share??? with me??? like. fancy pebble??? fancy marriage pebble like the penguin do???' and meanwhile phil has been harbouring this MASSIVE squish and the crows have been bothering him to tell techno since forever.
so phil gets all flustered and runs off and techno waits, curious. he comes back with an equally well embellished weapon and presents it in the same way. techno goes ':]!!!!!!' because yay!! friendship reciprocated!!! while phil is dying inside (affectionate) because that means that techno is SERIOUS and now he's actually got some fodder for his feelings and kris is going to LAUGH at him now-
jfkekfjdk yeah like. ive made quite a few posts at this point about techno being the more emotional one in their relationship and phils just like. i will gladly be friendly to u but so help me god if i have to process a single emotion of my own. so like. i feel like techno's absolutely the more liable to be openly affectionate, and more so, to actually say shit while phils being his closed off bastard self
but kdhdkfhdk god just like. the image of phil goin apeshit over getting jewelry bc bird brain go brrrrr is so fuckin good. and like. phil panicking a little bit bc Oh Fuck He's Attached and that usually doesn't end well. but techno's just so fuckin happy and he can't exactly back away now
#i feel like. w phil bein immortal and all. he'd get in the habit of caring for people without really letting himself get attached#and then techno and wilbur come in to his life back to back and now he's fuckin struggling#and technos determined to make this fucker open up a bit bc bottling this shit up for centuries is definitely not great#long post
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FAQ I get asked when I tell people I'm aromantic
So coming out as Aromantic has been interesting. It’s been like seven or so months — probably more (I’m having a hard time keeping track of time right now due to trauma-brain). And other than one instance of someone unstable losing their absolute shit on me, the response from my community has been positive. It’s because I have a good community. And I do my best to keep it that way.
I don’t have anyone on my friends list or in my immediate cohort of people that has exclusionist or aphobic or transphobic views.
So my experience coming out has been as follows (condensed for the sake of brevity):
Me: “I think I might be a Bisexual Girl?, maybe?”
People: “Cool.”
Me: “Nope. Def gay. And def Non Binary.”
People: “Cool.”
Me: “So… I’m an Aromantic Non Binary Lesbian. I’m almost 80% sure this is my final Pokemon queervolution.”
People: “Cool.”
I’ve been blessed with quality people.
That being said I think the most push back I’ve gotten is from a transphobic relative that I limit my interactions with as they seem to think that my identity has something to do with my politics. Yeah, because there isn’t any homophobia, transphobia, aphobia, misogyny, and racism on the Left— especially in radical spaces. Nope.
However, I do get a lot of questions. And I want to take the time to answer them according to my experience as a romance-positive/ish Aromantic person.
So what does Aromantic mean?
In short, I experience no romantic attraction.
I think in my almost four decades on this planet I have felt the warm and fuzzies for a single person who I will never ever mention by name (because she doesn’t need her ego hyped up anymore than it already is) and even then that had more to do with trauma bonding than actual romantic attraction.
Does this mean [I am] also Asexual?
No. AroAce folx exist. One of my platonic life partners is one such person. But just as there are Asexual people who experience romantic attraction, I am one such Aromantic person who experiences sexual attraction.
What is romantic attraction anyway?
My peeps, my niblings, my precious bbs— I. Have. No. Fucking idea.
From what I’ve gleaned from conversations, romantic attraction feels like— a panic attack that you really like for some fucking reason. Butterflies in the stomach. That sensation of tripping over something that moment before you catch yourself or eat shit when it can go either way. The way time stands still when you see that person. Your heart speeds up. And it almost feels like you can’t quite catch your breath (not in the unfun covid way).
So you know, like a fucking panic attack. Why would you like to have a panic attack is beyond me but hey, some people drive at unsafe speeds, or spend billions of dollars to not even go to fucking space when they could totally and completely end world hunger so, I suppose it is not beyond the realm of my understanding that there is a type of enjoyable panic attack.
I’ve felt Queer Panic™ the panic at the realization that the nebulous feelings one is having toward one or more individuals is in fact very, very fucking gay. Side effects include:
• Suddenly loss of remembering words or their function
• Nervous laughter
• Either “I want to hang out and do gay things with this person” or “We can never speak again.” There is no in-between.
• *Flounce*
• Reddening of face whenever someone even implies that you and this person could even maybe possibly gay in the future.
• *Now begins a courtship ritual that resembles crows and/or penguins* (No, I will not elaborate on this point)
But none of that is exclusive to romantic attraction. It just is a part of being gay and socially inept.
I’ve just never gotten all rosy-eyed for a person, any person. I’ve loved people. But I’ve never been in love. And my life isn’t better or worse because of it.
How did [I] know [I was] aromantic?
After some very careful examination of myself, I realized that my dabbling in romance had been the same way I dabbled in cisheternomativity. I didn’t do these things because I liked performing heterosexuality or being cis, I did these things because that was expected of me. One of the marks of being a successful “complete” adult is having a “successful” romantic partnership.
The question I asked myself was “Do I like romantic relationships, or do I just hate being cold at night?”
It’s a joke and something I paraphrased from Contrapoints (yes, I know. I’m a terrible leftist but still) — when I asked myself the question: “Do I like being in romantic relationships or am I doing this because I think this is what I supposed to be doing?” I discovered the answer.
Romantic relationships set off panic alarm bells in my entire being. I can never relax in them. They make me deeply uncomfortable. When other people felt butterflies, I felt either nothing or a strong desire to run for the nearest exit.
Romance?
No, I shan't, thank you.
What kind(s) of attraction do [I] experience?
In simplest terms, I do experience a very queer sexual attraction. It’s why I still identify as a lesbian and it’s why I will not as a whole adult person in their late 30s be taking in backtalk about how I can’t call myself a lesbian. I’m currently in the midst of the second pandemic of my lifetime, I don’t think an exclusionist or a terf could even hurt my feelings at this point. (This isn’t an invitation to try. I don’t have the energy to go 20 rounds with bigots. Either accept my truth or I invite you to fuck all the way off. Thanks.)
I also feel platonic attraction. And this is where you’ll find that I am the most generous when it comes to giving love. My friends can attest I am constantly telling them that I love them because I do. I love them. I go through my day wondering how I can make theirs better. They are my people. And I would give them whatever they needed.
Lastly, and there is where it gets nebulous and this is honestly Post Grad Queer Studies/Veteran Gay stuff, I experience alterous attraction. Alterous attraction is a form of emotional attraction but it is neither necessarily platonic or romantic in nature. It can include (but is not limited to and doesn’t have to include all):
• Emotional attraction that's in between platonic and romantic attraction.
• Emotional attraction that's a mix of platonic and romantic attraction.
• Emotional attraction that's completely separate from platonic and romantic attraction.
• Emotional attraction where you don't have a preference towards the type of relationship you're in, just as long as you're in one.
• Wanting to be in a queerplatonic relationship with someone (queerplatonic attraction).
• Feeling intense loyalty towards someone and wanting to exist with them in a non-platonic, non-romantic way (doraric or tutelary attraction).
I can feel intensely for people but in a way that cannot be quantified within the romantic/platonic binary. And a lot of my very close friendships and partnerships blur the line and exist in a gray area.
What are some things that have made [me] uncomfortable in past relationships?
The presumption that I’m a slow burn. That I just need to bust out of my shell and then I will become this grand romantic. I guess I have a bit of that in me. And there is a part of me that wants absolutely nothing more than to be Hades/Gomez Addams.
Both in popular culture are deeply romantic figures and all I’ve ever wanted to be is a “good boyfriend.” However, I’m discovering this has more to do with the fact that I am probably (definitely) a puppy. And again, no, I will not elaborate further on this point.
Planning for the future is another one. I don’t like this in general. But especially in partnership. It makes me feel like I’m about to pass out. Especially if there aren’t any planned time apart, doing our own things in the planning for said future. Anytime words like “always” and “forever” get tossed around my brain automatically starts rapping Outkast lyrics.
How have past partners reacted to [me] coming out as aromantic?
None of my past partners know. Part of the reason I don’t speak to them is because my past undiscovered aromanticism caused friction in our relationship. And I hurt them with my inability to engage romantically with them. And that fucking sucks.
What is a pet peeve [I] have about allonormative culture?
So many people have described romantic love as something “deeper” than other types of love. And in my experience they are implying that there’s a level of intimacy in romantic love that isn’t present in platonic love. And that, my friends, is utter fucking bullshit.
I have had friends hold me while I cried about my own mortality. I have had friends listen while I tell them my deepest, darkest fears and share the scars I keep hidden. They know every kink in my armor, they know where every body is buried, they’ve seen me at my very best, and they’ve seen me at my very worst. They know what makes me laugh, they know what pulls at my heartstrings, they know exactly which celebrity I would give my left pinkie to sleep with. And they are people I’d give my absolute everything too. So forgive me if I don’t see a romantic partnership as anything better or worse than that. If we’re striving for successful emotional intimate relationships I have several such relationships and I will continue to cultivate those partnerships, learning and growing with them and my community.
#FAQ#Aromantic#Aspec#Aspec Friendly#aromantism#aromantic positivity#stream of conscious writing#If you have any questions hit me up. I'll answer them if I can
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Assume for the following scenario its a not-to-be-taken-all-that-seriously-AU Batfamily who has passed the point of caring if anybody knows that they’re actually all family. Or about like, public perception to any degree.
Just....imagine living in Gotham, and its 3 am and you’ve just left some club with a bunch of friends. You’re at the sole late-night hot dog vendor still out on the street, just grabbing something quick to eat so you don’t go to bed on an empty stomach.....and then waiting behind you all of a sudden, just casually talking to each other like its no big deal, is Nightwing and the Red Hood.
And suddenly you and all your friends are just staring at each other wide-eyed like “Be cool, be cool” and trying to communicate via over-exaggerated glances that are in no way super-obvious: “Don’t they hate each other? There was that big fight between them in the Narrows a couple years ago, it was on TV.”
Meanwhile, the vigilante and notorious antihero are just chatting like two old friends who’ve known each other for years.
Then it gets more surreal. Because its Gotham, and that’s just how Gotham rolls.
Nightwing and Red Hood both tense up at the same time and swivel to face a patch of shadows that looks the same as any other to you and your friends. You have zero clue what drew their attention...that is, at least until a wet and sullen looking Robin stalks angrily out of the darkness. He’s absolutely soaked from head to toe, his hood down, hair plastered to his forehead, cape dragging behind him and leaving a wet trail in his wake.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” the diminutive vigilante grunts out as he stops and stands next to his two taller and older....colleagues? Who are both making a valiant effort not to laugh. Well, Nightwing is. Upon closer inspection, it looks like the Red Hood is so entertained he’s skipped straight to the “desperately trying to find air with which to breathe” part of hysterics.
“Oh, but I want to talk about it,” a voice says from above, and then suddenly with a light, barely perceptible thump, Red Robin alights on the ground next to the other costumed crime fighters. He seems uncharacteristically giddy, at least judging by what little you know about this particular vigilante: which is basically just that you heard from a friend who heard from a friend whose roommate was present at a crime scene he was at with the cops, that like “dude is super serious, like, in that kinda intense kinda way, you know?”
“I loathe you with every fiber of my being.” The smallest vigilante glares at the newcomer - or at least, you assume he is, beneath the domino mask they all wear. The rest of his body language certainly sells that impression clearly enough. His ire is met with a negligent hand-wave, as if this is old news and not remotely worth acknowledging.
“So, Robin, why would you bother seeking out Nightwing and Red Hood if you didn’t want to talk about your current situation?” The allegedly super-serious Red Robin continues, in a tone that can only be described as gleeful. “Seems to me the logical thing to do instead would be to just turn in for the night.”
“Obviously I was seeking out Nightwing,” the younger boy sneers. “As if I would ever seek out Red Hood’s help, other than as an absolute last resort.”
“Love you too, you megalomaniacal munchkin,” the notorious antihero says cheerfully, not bothered in the least. Your eyebrows are climbing your forehead like its Mt. Everest and they have a world record to beat for fastest race to the top. You know for a fact you’ve heard like, at least ten different stories about the Red Hood killing a man for far less of an insult than that. What is going on here? How drunk are you?
“Wait, so you’re saying you need help?” Red Robin jumps on that word choice like its the treasure find of the century. “You, Robin, the Boy Wonder? What could you possibly need help with?”
The youngest and smallest of the vigilantes couldn’t more clearly regret his phrasing as he stews with a kind of intensity that has you half expecting water to just start evaporating off him.
Ignoring - or at least attempting - to ignore Red Robin, the younger crime-fighter turns to face Nightwing with an expression like he’s just eaten a bowl full of lemons.
“I need a ride home,” Robin grinds out at last, from between audibly clenched teeth.
“And why is that?” Red Robin persists, grinning almost maniacally.
“I will garrote you with your own entrails.”
Just then, because of course they would, Batgirl and Black Bat swoop down from above and join the assemblage.
“Oh goody, the gang’s all here,” Red Hood grunts. It still doesn’t quite manage to come across as displeased.
“Signal’s not,” Nightwing points out. He looks around slightly, as if expecting the last of the young Gotham vigilantes to be lurking somewhere nearby as well. “Where is he tonight anyway?”
“He has midterms tomorrow,” Batgirl says off-handedly. “You know Agent A forbids any and all superhero shenanigans the night before midterms and finals, insisting on at least one good night’s rest.”
“Umm no, I do not. I definitely don’t remember that rule from when I was in school,” Red Hood says. “You?”
The latter is directed at Nightwing, who just shrugs and shakes his head.
“I’m pretty sure you two are the reason its a rule in the first place,” Red Robin jumps in. Hood scowls.
“Yeah right. I was a straight A student.”
“Well, that’s not totally true,” Nightwing drawls with a smirk. “What about Chemistry -”
“I will punch you in the throat if you finish that sentence.”
“Okay, putting a pin in that because there’s definitely a story there and I want it,” Batgirl chimes back in. “But at the moment, I’m more interested in hearing why Robin’s bike is in the middle of the harbor, according to its tracker? Inquiring minds want to know, and by inquiring minds I mean Oracle of course.”
There’s silence for a second, as all heads swivel to the smallest - and grumpiest - of the caped crowd...before Red Robin bursts into delighted laughter.
“Go ahead, tell them!” He crows. “You have to tell them now.”
Robin crosses his arms sullenly and stares at the ground as if willing it to swallow him whole. “I was in pursuit of one of Penguin’s enforcers.”
When he shows no indication of adding any further information to that, Red Robin supplies it for him.
“Who ducked!”
Dead silence then.
“You drove your cycle into the bay?”
“I did no such thing!” Robin bursts out. “I drove my cycle in pursuit of one of Penguin’s enforcers, as I said. He was getting ready to disengage a boat full of illegal arms from its berth at the docks, and I aligned my cycle perfectly so as to just barely clip his shoulder and knock him to the ground while I jumped off. And he did not duck.”
“So what did happen then?” Black Bat asks with a tiny smile playing on her lips.
Robin mumbles something unintelligible.
“Sorry, nobody caught that. You must enunciate, youngling,” Batgirl says.
“I said he tripped, alright?!”
The group explodes into laughter, even if a couple of them like Nightwing and Black Bat seem to make token efforts at containing themselves for Robin’s sake. From the looks of him, the effort goes largely unappreciated, if not outright unnoticed.
“He overshot the guy by a good two feet and zoomed straight into the bay before he could react,” Red Robin gasps out. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Which will be all the shorter if you don’t shut up,” Robin grumbles crankily.
“Can somebody please, please get video footage of B’s face when you tell him? I need it. For posterity and stuff,” Red Hood gasps out, almost doubled over.
“You could just come with us and see it yourself,” Nightwing points out. Hood waves a hand in dismissal.
“Eh, no thanks. He’s being an asshole again this week.”
“Is he being an asshole or are you being the asshole this time?”
The Red Hood shrugs carelessly. “Whatever. Its one or the other. Look, I can’t be expected to keep track.”
“Mm-hmm,” Nightwing hums knowingly.
“Like father, like son,” Batgirl sing-songs. She reeks of smug. It clings to her like a perfume.
“Shut it Blondie, you’re still on my shit-list.”
“What did I do?”
“You know damn well what you did.”
“Do you?” Black Bat asks her in a low voice to the side of the main conversation. Batgirl grins brightly.
“Oh yeah, definitely. And better yet, Oracle has documented proof of what I did. I’ll show you when we get home.”
Whatever else transpires is lost amid the hangover haze you awake to several hours later. You’re still unsure whether the phrase “never meet your heroes” was substantiated by the experience or not.
Further data might be required.
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Return the Flames - Chapter 6
All at Dead Bird Studios knew of Amos' (The Conductor's) ability. How the owl could suddenly erupt into flames if angered enough. When the studio first opened, Dominic (DJ Grooves) was told that Amos had his ability under control. Nothing to worry about. No possible loss of anything from an open flame.
A few years later however, and that control seems to have lessened to a dangerous degree.
It should have just been a simple, week long drive to fix the problem. It really should have been.
Dominic should have asked a lot more questions and should have been prepared for a twist ending.
_________________
Fandom: A Hat in Time
Rating: General Audience
Relationships/Pairings: The ConductorXDJ Grooves
Warnings: Eventual depictions of violence, slow burn relationship, named characters, attempt of an accent, being hunted down, a race against time (sort of).
Another dinner, this one with a more pastel color scheme. For some reason. Dominic and Amos claimed a booth tucked away in the back, away from everyone, in hopes they could talk without being overheard.
Amos was absolutely exhausted. Wanting nothing more than to lay his head down and pass out. It was a bit ironic that for being dangerously hot for so long, he was now freezing. And it was painful. Like pins and needles sticking him in different areas. Probably feeling like this while his body attempted to recover from their crash. He really wished the flame would return. That he could just curl into the closest corner and escape this nightmare for just a little while.
“Amos...we need a plan.”
Except Dominic kept pulling him back to the problem at hand. Which was needed. Amos just didn’t want to. “We need ta figure out how those peck necks knew about…”
The penguin sighed softly. “I think all we need to worry about for that is knowing that they know. And they’re hunting us down now because of this. Do you think they knew where we’re going?”
“If they knew about the Phoenix flame, I wouldn’t put it past them. They found us really fast after that first dinner.”
“So, our original, direct path is no longer an option. We’ll probably have to make a new, longer path to get to the mountains. Anything to keep them away from us. We’ll just need to make sure you’re alright to stay away for that much longer. Ah, there’s also the issue of provisions and transportations. Thank goodness our wallets survived with us. I would say bus for traveling. But that would take way too long and we’d be trapped if they find us again. So, a rental car would be our best bet. We’ll also need to contact the studio. Let them know we’re going to be gone for a lot longer than originally expected…”
Amos just stared as Dominic kept pulling up the major points they had to worry about. As the list kept growing, the owl felt his resolve break down further. As if he was suddenly realizing how much danger they were in. At the moment they weren’t being chased, they were patched up and food was on the way. Now, with the adrenaline not pumping as much as it was before, Amos’ mind was free to panic over their current situation.
Someone was hunting him down. Because of what he was. And he put Dominic directly in the line of danger because of this. All because of him. He alerted the authorities because he wasn’t able to control himself. Because he was a danger to everyone he gets near.
“Amos?”
The owl jumped, attention going from Dominic’s worried face down to his clenched hands lying on the table. “What.”
“You’re shaking.”
Was he?
“Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong- are ya really gonna ask me that after our plunge off the side of a cliff?”
“I don’t think we were up that high.”
“We almost died Dominic! Because I’ve been marked as enemy-number-one of some peck necks. With you as the unwilling accomplice.”
“Unwilling?”
“Ya didn’t know it would lead ta this when you agreed ta take me. Ya shouldn’t be involved.”
“You didn’t know this would happen either. I became involved when I plowed those crows over with my car. We’re in this together.”
“But ya shouldn’t be! I should have found a way around this that didn’t involve anyone else. This is my problem. I should be fixin’ this on my own.”
Just with everything else in his life. It was how he’s always operated. He learned how to fight, dealt with his ex leaving, his mother passing away, maintained his train, paid for his film equipment, raised Amelia, put her through college, started saving up for the grandchildren to get them through college as well.
Everything. Everything he did alone.
So why did he suddenly feel as if he needed help with this? He should have been able to figure out a solution on his own.
Amos stilled when Dominic reached over and gently grabbed the owl’s balled up hands. So stunned, he allowed the penguin’s hands to properly slip into his.
“I’m happy I’m here to help you.”
“How...can ya possibly say that?”
“Because I would be tearing my hair out with worry if I wasn’t with you. Over what could have been happening to you.”
“People are tryin’ ta kill us.”
“Then I’m even further relieved to be here and helping.”
Amos wasn’t sure what to say to that. Attention returning to their clasped hands, the owl felt his heart starting to pick up its pace. The familiar warmth returning to become a comforting presence. Dominic didn’t seem to be letting go soon, did Amos want him to? He realized he didn’t. Dominic’s feathers were smooth to the touch, like silk. And seemed to be a cooler temperature than Amos’ unnatural heat.
“Um, sirs? Your meals?”
Amos quickly pulled away as the server made their presence known. His feather fluffed up in embarrassment while Dominic gave an easy smile. “Thank you, Darling.”
“O-Oh, of course. No problem.” The server was now flustered. Giving their own smile back as they placed the plates down, departing shortly after.
“Should we make our new plan.” Amos grumbled as they were left alone again.
“Right, well, transportation first. We need to rent a car.”
“You mentioned something about a bus?”
“Yes, but I don’t think that would be best. We need to control our speed and our direction at will. A bus leaves too many variables that we can’t control. Which worries me. So, I think the car is, again, our best option.”
“Alright… You also made mention of changin’ our route?”
“To try and throw them off. It took them two days to find us. And that was when they had a guess as to how far we were into our journey. That tells me they’re aware of where we’re going. If we change our path, hopefully we can throw them off and sneak by them when we finally reach the mountains.”
“If we can sneak in.”
“We’ll figure it out. If we’re moving our route, we need to inform everyone that we’re going to be gone longer than expected.”
“We also need provisions. We kind of...lost all our stuff.”
“We have enough paper money to pay for what we need at the moment. Lucky us.” Dominic laughed softly.
“Yeah...lucky…”
“Is everything alright gentlemen?” The server returned, their attention on the untouched plates. Amos didn’t verbally respond, instead picking up his fork and digging in.
“Sorry, we’ve just been so engrossed in our conversation. Would you actually be able to help us out with something Darling?”
“Oh, sure!” Amos rolled his eyes at how eager the server sounded.
“We’re in need of a rental car and a possible clothing store.”
“There are more, larger stores and a rental place further into town. You should be able to get what you need there.”
“Thank you, you’ve been extremely helpful.”
Amos grumbled as he put his full focus on the food in front of him. Attempting to block out the sickening ‘flirting’ before him. It made his stomach roll uncomfortably.
He couldn’t tell if it was because he hated seeing such a blatant display in public. Of it he was upset because Dominic wasn’t looking at him anymore.
____________________________
“How much longer are you going to be gone?”
Amos really didn’t like how uneasy Amelia sounded. “Just a few extra days, nothin’ more.”
“Are you sure that’s a smart idea? Do you...will you have enough time?”
“I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. This was Dominic’s idea actually. Says I need ta ‘relax’ or somethin’ crazy like that.”
“Well, if it’s coming from Grooves, it sounds reasonable.”
“Watch yerself young lady.”
Amelia laughed softly. “Please just take it easy dad.”
“I will. I am. How’s it goin’ on your end?”
“Oh, good…”
“...Did...Did ya have another episode?”
“Yeah. But it wasn’t that bad. I’m fine, really. Just tired.”
Amos gripped the phone receiver a little harder. “Are ya goin’ ta see Dr. Fula?”
“Dad-”
“If ya had an episode, she needs ta be aware.”
“And she was, we called her.”
“Does she want ta see ya?”
“No, in fact, she said I was improving!”
“How? Yer still havin’ them!”
“But this was not as serve as my previous ones. And I recovered faster, and on my own.”
“But ya still had one.”
“Dad, you need to unclench your jaw and release whatever's in your other hand.”
With a huff with some smoke unfurling from his mouth, Amos pulled his hand away from the side of the phone booth. Wincing from the newly created dent in the metal. “Amelia…”
“No, listen to me. I am fine. I’m home, safe and happy with the kids. Grace is staying with me. And a legion of medical professionals are on speed dial. Now I need you to just focus on getting yourself better, okay?”
“...Okay.”
“I know you’ll hate me for saying this, but listen to Grooves. He’s there to help you.”
“But-”
“Swallow your pride and let him help. Please.”
“...Alright.”
“Get better and I’ll see you soon dad. The kids miss you! Can’t wait to see pawpaw again.”
“Tell them I miss them too.”
“Be safe dad. I love you.”
“Love ya too, Amelia.” Amos hung up, letting out a sigh as he leaned against the pay phone. He looked over to Dominic, who was using the furthest phone in the line.
The penguin was calling the secretary to let him know they were going to be gone longer. Which Dominic was really leaning into the fact the message needed to be pasted along to all the workers. How they both would be coming back.
Bu̱t͙ tha̦ṱ’̨s͙ no̱t tr̥ue͙,̝ i͜s̙ it̼?͕ Yo̳uͅ’̨re n̺ot ex̖p̱e̻cting̖ t͉o c̝ome̖ back͍ fṛo̭m t̻h̘i̬s̟.
Amos swallowed weakly. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he moved away from the phones and turned towards the street.
A̟lwa̻ys̨ t̺h͔e̞ sa̞m̤e̠ fo͈r͉ y̦ou. Eͅx̱p̼e̞ct̝ th̺e͓ worͅsṱ. Be͜c̘ause th̤aṱ’̮s͚ a͍ḽl͎ t͢ha̝t͢ is to b̢e̖ e̦xp̗ect͔ed of̹ y̳ou. Th͟e͇ a̗bs͜olu̱te̹ w͓o͢r̖st̝.
Sitting on the curb, Amos crossed his arms over his knees, chin resting on top of them. His ears were pressed against the top of his head, remaining focused on the pavement of the road.
J͈us̬t a̯d̻mi̡t̤ it̯:̺ you’r̢e d̩yiͅn̢g. Yo̯u’ve k͈nown t͇his fo͜r̗ a w̤h̨i͉ḷe. Y̙et̳ yo̟u̼ ke̥ep̙ g̗i͙vi̯n͇g th̰i͕s se̘ns͇e̘ o̖f͟ hop͖e͇ to yo͈u̱r daug͙h̳ter th͜a͜t̡ y̢ou’ll͖ c̦o͜m͟e̩ b̖a̢ck.̟ How͢ seͅl͔fis̩h of̢ ỵo̮ṷ. N̗ot̫ eve̝n g͎i̞vi̲n͍g͔ ḫe͚r͔ a cha̢nc̘e to̭ h̩a̩ve͢ p̩ro̭p͍e͙r c͚l͕os̝ur̠e̥.
“Amos.” Dominic’s voice broke through, a hand resting gently on the owl’s shoulder.
“Finally pass the message?”
The penguin nodded as he sat down. “I’m hoping it’s actually passes along.”
“We really need ta replace him.”
“We do…”
“...But we aren’t.”
“Probably not.”
Amos huffed, a smile being pulled onto his face. “As long as we have that cleared up.”
“Mmm… Were you able to talk to Amelia?”
“Aye…”
“Does...Does she know what this could lead to?”
“No. She doesn’t need to know.”
“Amos-”
“She has enough on her plate ta deal with. This is my problem.”
“But if your-”
“We need to go. If we want ta keep ahead o’ those government peck necks, we’ll need that car” Amos stood, heading towards where their server had pointed them. Dominic gave a look of disapproval to the retreating back. But couldn’t really disagree as he knew time was not on their side.
So, even though the penguin wanted to reprimand Amos for leaving his daughter in the dark, Dominic remained quiet. One problem at a time. And they had agents to avoid.
#A Hat In Time#discotrain#the conductor#dj grooves#s-creations#fanfiction#ahit conductor#ahit dj grooves#Multi-Chapter
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Zack Snyder’s Justice League vs. the Whedon Cut: What are the Differences?
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This article contains Zack Snyder’s Justice League spoilers.
Whether you love or hate his style, there is no denying Zack Snyder is an original. From 300 to Watchmen, and Man of Steel to Justice League, his characters often hover above the screen as much as occupy it. They’re mythic figures who’ve stepped off a Botticelli canvas, or at least Frank Miller comic book panels, and they’re imbued with such a sense of scale from their director that the aesthetic is nigh impossible to duplicate. That is only clearer now thanks to Zack Snyder’s Justice League, a restored four-hour edit of Snyder’s original vision for the DC superhero movie team-up and their universe at large.
Admittedly, you’ve seen the movie’s tale before, back when Warner Bros. released a truncated, heavily reshot version into theaters in 2017. But that two-hour theatrical cut of Justice League, assembled by director Joss Whedon, really is a night and day different film. It shares many of the same scenes and story beats, but it lacks Snyder’s singular grandiosity and tonal consistency.
Comparing all the significant changes between the two versions—which we’ll hereby distinguish as the “Snyder Cut” and “Whedon Cut”—creates a fascinating juxtaposition of the different choices filmmakers can make with similar material, as well as the drastically disparate visions the directors had for these six superheroes and the larger DC Extended Universe. So join us as we contrast all the major changes (and by and large improvements) made by Zack Snyder’s Justice League.
The Opening
One of the most surprising changes made by the Snyder Cut comes immediately. Back when the ostensible Whedon Cut of Justice League opened in theaters, one thing many assumed was unchanged from Snyder’s vision was the opening credits. With imagery clearly filmed by the director—including unused footage from the Superman funeral sequence in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice—the downbeat credits were edited to Singrid’s rendition of “Everybody Knows,” a cover of a song from one of Snyder’s favorite musicians, Lenoard Cohen. I’m also fairly certain only Snyder would film a homeless man with a cardboard sign saying “I tried” in a superhero movie (the destitute figure may still appear in the Snyder Cut in an overhead shot when Cyborg is later surveying the bleakness of the world).
Indeed, quite a bit of the Whedon Cut’s opening credits scenes are used elsewhere in Zack Snyder’s Justice League, including breathtaking imagery of the Superman symbol draped in black over London’s Tower Bridge. But the new edit foregoes a traditional opening credits sequence for a more restrained montage that returns to the climax of Batman v Superman, and to the moment when Henry Cavill‘s Superman dies. In pained slow-motion, we again experience the moment of Doomsday’s spike piercing Superman’s heart and see how his scream reverberates throughout the world.
The Snyder Cut is more directly linked to the previous movie with Jesse Eisenberg’s Lex Luthor, complete with hair, hearing Superman’s cries from deep in the bowels of the Kryptonian ship. Meanwhile the echoes of Clark’s anguish reverberate all the way past Zeus’ magical cloak to Themyscira where the Amazons (rather impressively) have an entire army guarding the Mother Box they obtained 5,000 years ago. When the Mother Box hears Kal-El’s death rattle, it begins to crack, drawing a terrified Amazonian closer to its new glowing light.
And finally, we end with the cries being heard by Cyborg. It is on the image of a hunched over Ray Fisher that Snyder chooses to include his “directed by” title card, indicating a strong sense of solidarity with the character and the actor who plays him after Cyborg was largely sidelined in the Whedon Cut. Clearly this is going to be a different movie.
Batman
Ben Affleck’s Bruce Wayne remains the focal point, at least in terms of leadership, of both the Snyder and Whedon cuts of the film. But right down to how they’re introduced, these are subtly diverging interpretations of the character. In the Whedon Cut, Batman has the first scene of the movie that isn’t shot on an iPhone. It gets Affleck in costume immediately and features archetypal Gotham City imagery as Batman uses a criminal as bait for a Parademon, an alien from the planet Apokolips that Batman is already familiar with. He’s so aware of these creatures that Batman ignores the thief spelling out the subtext of Justice League’s first act: With Superman dead, where does that leave us?
By contrast, you intrinsically feel that absence in the Snyder Cut. Whereas Whedon and WB got Batman in the costume faster for a tongue-in-cheek action sequence with screaming crooks and flying aliens, Zack Snyder’s Justice League ignores the Batsuit for a clean two hours. Instead, it opens with Bruce Wayne already “north” in a remote part of Europe near the arctic. We get the impression he’s been traveling for weeks on a horse and over mountains, sporting a bushy beard as he reaches the fishing village Arthur Curry (Jason Momoa) has provided supplies to.
The scene where Batman meets Aquaman is more or less the same, but tonally Snyder evokes a funereal quality by letting the scene breathe in Bruce’s desperation instead of Arthur’s flippancy. And rather than Bruce noticing an inserted mural of Mother Boxes being what upsets Arthur, it’s Bruce pulling a trick from Momoa’s on screen wife on Game of Thrones which sets Aquaman off: he reveals after his hosts have made fools of themselves that he too can speak Icelandic. (There is also no longer a joke where Bruce says, “I hear you can talk to fish.”)
This somber opening is strikingly different and a vast improvement (see the Aquaman section for more). After Arthur rebuffs Bruce’s request to team-up, Bruce’s defeated return trip home is also subtly changed. For starters, we see his journey to his private jet where Alfred is waiting. In the Whedon Cut, the pair’s conversation after Bruce has shaved is a reshot sequence with some admittedly amusing character-building dialogue, like Alfred saying, “I miss the days when one’s biggest concern was exploding wind-up penguins.” The Snyder Cut’s version is more expository and ominous. As neither has seen a Parademon yet in this version, Alfred doubts whether Bruce needs to build a team based on the ravings of a now incarcerated and visibly insane Lex Luthor. Batman says he isn’t just doing this based on Luthor.
“I made a promise to him on his grave,” Bruce broods about the Kryptonian alien he hounded to near death in the last movie.
The next time we see Bruce Wayne is in a scene that appeared in the Whedon Cut, if slightly different. It’s when Gal Gadot’s Diana Prince breaks into his “building” with million-dollar security. However, the Whedon Cut led viewers to believe this airplane hangar-like space was the Batcave (even though it visually looks quite different). The Snyder Cut confirms it is a decrepit warehouse near the docks in Gotham harbor. Gone also is the cheeky line, “Yeah, it looked expensive,” from Diana when Bruce mentions the cost of his security equipment.
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In this off-site Batcave area, it’s also established by Alfred that he and Bruce Wayne have built new gauntlets that absorb energy (they come in especially handy later when they save Bruce from Superman’s heat ray vision).
The first time the gauntlets are used occurs when Batman leads a nascent Justice League beneath the tunnels of Striker Island in Gotham harbor. Up until that point, most of Affleck’s scenes remain the same, even if they breathe or are edited slightly differently. Batman recruits Barry Allen (Ezra Miller) to join the Justice League while talking about competitive ice dancing, and looks positively exhausted when Barry sees the Bat-Signal. The early Commissioner Gordon scenes are also the same, albeit now without composer Danny Elfman’s Batman theme from 1989.
In the tunnels, Batman’s scenes diverge again though. There is more of the misterioso act when Victor Stone (Cyborg) says, “I heard about you. Didn’t think you were real.” The Dark Knight answers, “I’m real when it’s useful.” Additionally, Batman doesn’t really mentor the Flash in this sequence or in any other going forward. Gone is the Flash admitting he’s terrified at seeing Steppenwolf and Bruce advising he “save one” person and will then know what he needs to do.
Instead, the Flash says, “I guess that’s the bad guy” in the Snyder Cut, and Batman stoically responds, “Good guess.” Bruce also drops his sense of humor, losing some solid bits like “Sorry guys, I didn’t bring a sword” when the Knightcrawler starts shooting up Parademons. Now he simply says, “My turn.”
However, Bruce remains the stoic team leader, harnessing a steadier team dynamic. There are no insert shots of Commissioner Gordon telling Batman it’s good to see he’s playing well with others after the Striker Island fight, and rather than berate Wonder Woman and his team members into bringing Superman back from the dead, Bruce and the rest come to the same conclusion, silently.
During the sequence where Cyborg reveals the Mother Box can bring Superman back from the dead, no one says Kal-El’s name out loud. The Flash even asks, “Is everyone thinking it or am I going to have to say it?” The camera pans around the table and lands on Bruce, who is watching Cyborg’s projected image of Superman’s cape. It’s a nice moment for Affleck, who looks much more alert in this version than the Whedon Cut. The dialogue in the Snyder Cut can often be perfunctory and expository, but the vast four-hour running time leaves room for the actors to indulge in quiet moments. The only person who doubts the idea is Alfred who in another scene warns Bruce, “If you can’t bring down a charging bull, then don’t wave the red flag.”
Batman counters, “I’m operating on complete faith now.” Quite the about face from the last movie.
The team otherwise staying on the same page, even after the Superman fiasco (more on that below), is a stark difference with the Whedon Cut. Here Bruce invites the team into the Batcave proper after they lose all three Mother Boxes, with teammates regrouping; in the Whedon Cut there is a strained attempt to create tension. Particularly between Bruce and Diana….
Wonder Woman
Gal Gadot has spoken in the past about how she was unhappy with the Justice League reshoots. While still not knowing the full details of what occurred behind the scenes, Zack Snyder’s Justice League makes apparent why she’d be disappointed with the direction of her added scenes.
To be fair, Wonder Woman is still objectified to a certain degree in the Snyder Cut. Her non-warrior attire still revolves around several low-cut dresses, and there is still a (much more understated) flirtation between Diana and Bruce. In an early scene of her and Bruce discussing their prospective teammates in front of a computer—with an awkward stab at humor where she coaxes out of Bruce that Arthur said no—there’s a moment where their hands trip over the mouse at the same time, like they’re in a teenage rom-com. Similarly, when Barry and Victor are digging up Clark Kent’s grave, Barry asks Victor if he thinks Wonder Woman would “be into younger guys.” Victor dismisses the thirstiness by saying, “Barry, she’s 5,000 years old. Every guy’s a younger guy.”
But these moments are few and far between. In the Whedon Cut, they’re constant with Alfred teasing Bruce about Batman inviting Wonder Woman to a candlelit team-up dinner, and a gross gag where Flash saves Wonder Woman during the Striker Island fight but then awkwardly lands on top of her body and gets flustered. Perhaps most frustratingly though, her character arc is reduced to a lot of flirting with Bruce, and coming to see he is right when he chastises her for “still being hung up” on Steve Trevor. She then helps him undress from his armor and shares a drink with him, like co-workers with a forced “will they or won’t they” chemistry.
All of that is gone in the Snyder Cut, which instead focuses on presenting Wonder Woman as the most ferocious and noble of the film’s six superheroes.
Her first scene is much the same as in the Whedon Cut, although it’s another film school-ready example for what a difference post-production makes. We see a group of eco-terrorists take a school group hostage, and Wonder Woman stops them. But in the Whedon Cut, the scene is nimble and brightly colored with a tongue-in-cheek quality, right down to the way Elfman uses an orchestra to play Hans Zimmer’s previously electric “Wonder Woman” theme. In the Snyder Cut, the sequence lasts nearly eight minutes in a desaturated, gray color scheme. The sadism with which the terrorists want to kill their hostages is belabored, and Junkie XL uses a fearsome version of Zimmer’s Wonder Woman theme while introducing one of his own, which relies on a haunting choral harmony.
In the new cut, Wonder Woman not only throws the bomb through the roof but jumps with it to make sure it explodes faar above the skyline. And when she returns, her power move to stop the head terrorist from killing the school children is to obliterate him into dust, with his hat blowing out the window and before the faces of shocked and unnerved London police officers. Meanwhile Wonder Woman then turns around after slaughtering this man (plus another terrorist who’s head she smashes into a wall) to rather jarringly smile at the school children. She leans down before one girl to say, “You can be whatever you want to be.” It’s actually sweeter than her saying “[I’m] a believer,” but I’m not sure it works given the new tone of the scene.
The next time we see Diana is a longer version of the scene where she discovers her mother has fired a burning arrow into the Temple of the Amazons in Greece. Snyder actually uses an impressive long one-take shot where Diana remains in focus, cleaning a statue at the Louvre, while her co-workers stay out of focus and needle her with questions. It’s a genuinely dryly funny, restrained moment, unique for this genre.
There is also an all-new scene of Diana going to Greece and retrieving the arrow from the temple. It’s one of the better additions that feels like a pseudo-Indiana Jones scene of Diana using the arrow to unlock a hidden chamber beneath the ruins, and then descending with a torch. Below she discovers a spooky room filled with spooky murals containing even spookier images of Mother Boxes and war… and a godlike monster DC fans will recognize as Darkseid.
Diana’s narration of what these images tell her is also different (more on that in the Darkseid section), with no lakeside chat with Bruce. Rather than using romantic imagery, Snyder favors to-the-point storytelling between colleagues as Diana tells Bruce in his new Batplane that the Age of Heroes defeated Darkseid. That age is over.
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While Bruce is recruiting Barry, Diana has a nice scene with Alfred about making tea before Victor Stone summons her by hacking the Bat-computer. She has no idea who he is in this scene (as opposed to having seen him earlier in the Whedon Cut), and there is no conversation where she convinces him to meet her. Instead, he designates location, summoning her. Their next scene together is more or less the same as in the Whedon Cut.
Overall, Diana has few added scenes and is honestly one of the less developed characters in the Snyder Cut despite being one-half of the team’s leadership. So the inclination of giving her more to do than discover Darkseid/Steppenwolf’s backstory was a prudent one, but all it left her with was smiling longingly as Batman drives off in the Batmobile during the third act. Ugh.
The Amazons on the other hand…
The Amazons
While Wonder Woman’s scenes in the Snyder Cut largely remain the same, the Amazons are given subtle but fierce new texture in their few added moments.
The movie opens with the Amazons tirelessly on guard when the Mother Box awakens. The next time we see them, Queen Hippolyta (Connie Nielsen) is arriving to inspect the phenomenon for a prolonged build-up to Steppenwolf’s attack. When one soldier tells their Queen maybe the box will go back to sleep, Hippolyta remarks, “Evil doesn’t sleep. It waits.”
Steppenwolf eventually attacks, leading to one of the best moments in the Snyder Cut. When he says his Parademons will feed off their fear, Hippolyta calls to her Amazons, “Daughters of Themyscira, show him your fear!” In a tribal yell matched by Junkie XL’s score, they chant back, “We have no fear!” Slaughter commences.
The battle is much bigger and more reliant on slow-motion, including shots of Hippolyta flipping off walls and hesitating to bury the other Amazonians alive. Yep, when she tells her sisters to seal the cave, it’s a death trap. The door collapses, and then the whole structure also falls into the sea. There is then A. Long. Beat. of Hippolyta thinking she’s killed Steppenwolf before he and his Parademons ascend from the sea to slaughter more of the Amazons.
The Amazonians’ defeat is largely the same, although there is now a long denouement, with the Amazons having a musical prayer that grieves their dead and brings magic to the arrow they’ll fire to warn Diana. The Amazons and Wonder Woman iconography are also much more heavily featured in flashbacks to Darkseid’s first attack on Earth 5,000 years ago. We get better shots of Zeus and Ares (David Thewlis from Wonder Woman), and Amazonian Venelia (Doutzen Kroes) being filmed like she’s one of Snyder’s 300 Spartans in the ancient war. But all of that is just background for…
Steppenwolf and Darkseid
Steppenwolf is one of the most dramatically improved characters in Zack Snyder’s Justice League. Beyond more spikes being added to his armor (and his chin being slightly shrunken from its ridiculous size), the Ciarán Hinds-voiced baddie’s motivations are wholly different. In the Whedon Cut, he was a generic “conquer the world” supervillain who was defeated thousands of years ago on Earth by an alliance of men, Amazonians, and Atlanteans. He then returns and refers to his Mother Boxes as “mother.”
While he still chases magic boxes he wants to use to conquer the world in the Snyder Cut, he’s at least a little more nuanced and a lot more despairing toward the whole endeavor. Steppenwolf is revealed to be a meek middle management malcontent with dreams of coming home. As we eventually learn in dialogue exchanges over BvS’ weird molten metal intergalactic telecommunication technology, Steppenwolf is a pariah back home on the planet Apokolips. Long ago, he was party to a failed coup against comic book creator Jack Kirby’s ultimate space fascist, Darkseid (Ray Porter). Think Thanos before there was a Thanos.
“I fall before you,” Steppenwolf moans during his first conversation with Darkseid’s minion DeSaad (Peter Guinness). “Let me make a plea that I may come home after I take this world in [Darkseid’s] name.” But DeSaad will not hear it, saying Steppenwolf is basically on probation for helping an attempted coup against Darkseid millennia ago, even if Steppenwolf then changed sides and killed Darkseid’s other betrayers. Now Steppenwolf has a debt of a 150,000 worlds he must conquer in Darkseid’s name if he wishes to return home.
Basically, Steppenwolf is a putz. Hence he can be both menacing and pathetic when he first attacks the Amazons and remarks of them, with a hint of resigned boredom, “Defenders? Defenders have failed a hundred thousand worlds. They always fail.” And it’s with exhaustion he decides to create his home base on an irradiated scrap of Russian land because it’s toxic.
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Darkseid, by contrast, is introduced to be Emperor Palpatine meets Sauron. Aye, there’s a real Lord of the Rings level of ambition to Diana’s flashback to the Age of Heroes. Rather than Steppenwolf, it’s Darkseid who first steps foot on Earth, turning some of the soil into the scorched cursive hellscape that Kirby fans will be intimately familiar with. We also get a better look of his foes, including an alien Green Lantern whom Darkseid personally kills by cutting off his hand. The green ring flies away before the fiend can grab it.
The sequence is filmed to mirror the opening moments of The Fellowship of the Ring, with Darkseid’s defeat harkening back to the glorious day the people of Middle-earth were victorious. However, personally speaking, it doesn’t reach that height, with Darkseid coming off like more of an overpowered Orc who’s out-flexed by Ares. Yep, David Thewlis’ villain from Wonder Woman is revealed to be the guy who whoops Darkseid’s ass in the end, planting an axe in his shoulder blade and leading the Greatest Evil to be carried from the battlefield, screaming.
Much later in the movie, Darkseid is introduced properly when Steppenwolf reveals he’s learned Earth is home to the Anti-Life Equation. It’s a pretty vague secondary MacGuffin in the context of the Snyder Cut, although Steppenwolf says it would give Darkseid power over the multiverse—it’s unclear why Darkseid did not know it was on Earth when he lost to Ares and the band of heroes, or why he never could come back for it.
However, Darkseid then appears on the telecom with Steppenwolf, causing the Spiked One to take off his armor for the first time and show his bare flesh in fealty to his space dictator. Darkseid promises Steppenwolf he can come home once he’s taken Earth and brings Darkseid the Anti-Life Equation.
We also get a glimpse of how Darkseid plans to use it. Elsewhere in the movie, Cyborg has an inexplicable vision the moment right before a Mother Box is used to bring Superman back from the dead: It’s of an Armageddon much darker than the Knightmare scene in Batman v Superman. The sequence begins with the Amazons finally off Themyscira. They’re burning Wonder Woman in a funeral pyre after putting two coins on her eyes for the boatmen. Hippolyta cries.
Elsewhere in a montage, Superman grieves over the scorched body that can only be Lois Lane (Amy Adams) and Darkseid appears to place a not-so-comforting hand on his shoulder. Later we see the ruins of the Hall of Justice that diehard Superfriends fans will recognize, with an evil Superman flying over it with heat ray eyes. Finally, we see Darkseid himself murder Aquaman with his own trident…
This appears to be an inevitable future of “the Snyder Verse.”
Aquaman
But that is not the destination of the current film. The Snyder Cut, after all, has to lay a lot of groundwork that’ll make us care about these characters in the here and now.
Aquaman is the first to get that treatment in his early scene with Bruce Wayne (detailed more above). The Whedon Cut includes Arthur Curry saying, “You’re out of your mind, Bruce Wayne” as he gets into freezing cold water to swim away. In the Snyder Cut, we don’t see him shoot off. Rather Arthur disappears quietly beneath bubbles between shots. Snyder’s desire to emphasize the godlike wonder of these characters is then underlined in neon when several villagers see him off by singing a worshipful Icelandic hymn in Aquaman’s honor.
If the point is missed, after several minutes of crooning, one woman walks up to caress the sweater Aquaman took off and sniff it, savoring his undoubtedly godlike musk.
The sequence of Aquaman saving a crew from a shipwreck is almost exactly the same in the Snyder Cut, although there are no added jokes about him calling the captain “Ahab” in the bar. Additionally, there’s a really nice grace note of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ “There is a Kingdom” playing when Aquaman goes to brood stoically before a raging storm. It’s exactly the same as in the Whedon Cut, but Whedon makes it generic blockbuster filler with a White Stripes song playing in the background. Snyder goes for a mournful, reflective tone that resembles the better elements of his version of Justice League.
Afterward Aquaman makes his first of two trips to Atlantis in the film—meeting Vulko (Willem Dafoe) in a scene that was entirely deleted. It turns out the effect of Atlalnteans only talking in air bubbles was always a Snyder affectation, although what was lost in the Whedon Cut (and eventual Aquaman movie) is that all the properly born Atlanteans speak with English accents. Dafoe’s Vulko is a bit hammier, seeming adjacent to Dafoe’s wonderful turn in The Lighthouse. But Amber Heard’s Mera speaking her lines in a purely Posh London accent after a whole movie of her using an American one in Aquaman is a real trip.
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What brings Arthur back the second time is Steppenwolf diving below the waves for the Mother Box. He learns of its location (which is unexplained in the Whedon Cut) by torturing Atlanteans whom Parademons have dragged from the ocean, reading the water dwellers’ minds with some gruesome sci-fi spider robot.
Steppenwolf’s actual attack on Atlantis is much more coherent in the Snyder Cut. With action beats given time to pause, and Steppenwolf’s surprise appearance underwater less hilariously cringe-inducing. Mera also gets a cool moment where the villain has her pushed against the wall and says she can’t run away, “I wasn’t trying to,” she responds. Previously, we saw her use superpowers to suck water out of air pockets; now she uses it to suck the blood out of Steppenwolf’s face. He of course throws her back into the water and almost kills her if not for Arthur’s chivalrous, splash-page rescue of his future love interest.
Most of Aquaman’s subsequent scenes play out the same, although he is much less brutish and frat bro-y. There are at least three fewer “yeahs” and “alrights!,” and there is no scene of him sitting on Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth, blurting out he’s scared and horny at the same time.
The Flash
Interestingly, the Flash is both the least developed of the superheroes in the Snyder Cut and also the most unchanged by Whedon. It appears that Ezra Miller’s seemingly improvised humor was the element of least importance to Snyder, and the most useful thing Snyder filmed for Whedon’s purposes.
Maybe that’s why the Flash’s first scene in the Snyder Cut does not occur until nearly 70 minutes into the film. It’s also a wholly different introduction scene to what we saw in the theatrical cut. In the restored sequence, Barry Allen is applying for a job as a dog groomer at a pet shop when the unnamed woman who just left—or as fans know her, Iris West (Kiersey Clemons)—is almost pancaked by a semi-truck. The driver, in a rather crude cliché, is a simpleton reaching for his food on the cab’s floor when he slams into Iris’ convertible.
Luckily, Barry sees it coming and slows things down for another somber needle drop on the soundtrack. The whole thing plays like a more wistful, alternative rock version to one of Quicksilver’s big scenes in the X-Men movies. In extreme slow-motion, Barry catches a hot dog from an exploding hot dog vendor, placing it in his pocket, and then catches Iris out of her shattered car. When time returns to normal, Iris realizes she was saved by this cute dork, who then rushes back in time for the pet shop owner to be unsure who broke her window in the blink of an eye. Barry’s feeding the hot dog to her canines.
Otherwise, by and large, the Flash’s scenes remain the same until near the end. Snyder has removed Whedon’s unfunny addition of Barry drawing glasses on the eyes of someone in line while waiting to see his dad at prison, but the Miller/Billy Crudup scene remains the same but longer. Bruce Wayne still breaks into Barry’s loft and tells Barry his superpower is that “I’m rich.”
In the Striker Island action sequence, rather than “save one,” the Flash leads an exodus of civilians to the surface. And when debris nearly falls on them, he creates a shield by running so fast he looks like lightning in the sky blocking the falling rubble. He also is wounded by a Parademon laser blast so sharp it leaves him bleeding from the side of his leg, temporarily hobbled.
The one significant change before the climax is Barry and Victor digging up Clark Kent’s grave. It’s a sincerely quiet moment that (Wonder Woman leering aside) is refreshingly earnest and hushed for a superhero movie.
“I could do this in a second,” Barry says. Victor responds, “Yeah.” The implication is they should take their time and give Superman the honor he deserves. After his body is exhumed and wrapped up, Barry says, “He was my hero.”
Cyborg
Of the main five heroes in Justice League, Cyborg turned out to be the most important by far. Whatever occurred behind the scenes between Whedon, the producers, and Fisher, the actor had reason to be frustrated simply because his character arc was removed. In its place, he was forced to say, “Booyah.”
The Snyder Cut restores Victor Stone/Cyborg’s importance from the opening credits onward. It begins by basking in what isn’t sad between Victor and his father Dr. Silas Stone (Joe Morton). Initially, we spend more time with Silas, as the father throws himself into his work at STAR Labs to better understand the Mother Boxes.
Eventually, Cyborg gets his own flashback to a time when he was more man than machine. Under an aching musical theme written by Junkie XL, it’s revealed Victor was a gifted genius (his dean even says so!) at Gotham University. Victor is so intelligent, while also being a football star, that he can get away with hacking into the school’s database and changing a friend’s grades.
We also meet his mother who defends her son’s kind heart from the dean in a sequence that’s intercut with his slow-motion football glory, plus a side of melancholy because daddy wasn’t there. Only mom shows up for the game. Afterward they argue in the car about whether Dad really cares about Victor. A car is then seen rushing (unsurprisingly) into frame, T-Boning their car.
The process of Victor becoming Cyborg is only hinted at in scenes through various other flashbacks. But we do see Silas being told his wife is dead and that he’ll soon have to let his son go, too. Hence the bad blood between the two nearly throughout the Snyder Cut’s whole four hours. When we see Silas come home to Victor at their apartment, the son will not even speak to his father. Instead he reluctantly agrees to listen to a recording his father left for him. On the tape, Silas tells his son that the fate of the entire world is now “in your hands, Vic.”
Thanks to the alien technology of the Mother Box used to resurrect Cyborg, Victor has superpowers, which we see him fumblingly try out by flying on his father’s Gotham rooftop. But that’s “just the tip of the tip” of the iceberg, according to Silas’ voiceover. Victor’s high-end computer body now gives him the ability to control the world’s nuclear arsenals and the world’s economy.
This is visualized in a CGI mind palace created in Cybrog’s digital brain. There Fisher gets to play Victor as whole, and without a red eye. Some of it is effective, like floating missiles above his head. Other bits are just ludicrous, like financial markets being personified by a CGI bear slapping a CGI bull. It’s… weird.
But there are nice elements too, like Victor choosing to use his superpowers to see folks suffering, and giving a struggling single mother $150,000 out of an ATM machine. Through it all, he remains hooded and lonely, catching glimpses of people staring at his glowing countenance. It’s why he destroys his father’s recording when Dad tries to stop talking about Cyborg’s powers and instead address Vic as a loving father.
What draws Victor out of his proverbial cave is of course his father being kidnapped by Parademons. He seeks Diana Prince’s counsel but ignores her when she says his powers are a gift—I did miss the line, “If these are gifts why am I always the one paying for them?” Still, as in the Whedon Cut, he shows up on GCPD’s rooftop to join the team.
The one big addition during all the fighting is that when Cyborg flies now, his famous comic book face armor that protects everything but his red eye is finally used on screen. Plus he gets to save his father. Silas is shocked his son came for him, but Victor only says, “You’re my father.” Nothing more needs to be said.
After the Striker Island fight, however, Victor again takes center stage when Aquaman accuses him of possibly being compromised by his alien tech body. Cyborg reveals in a visual flashback, which Victor walks through in his mind palace, that the Mother Box was acquired by the Allies during World War II, taken from the Nazis’ collection of occult goodies in 1944. For nearly a century, it sat undisturbed in the Department of Defense until his father Silas realized it was similar to the technology used by the Kryptonian ship in downtown Metropolis.
That’s how Silas discovered its power, and in a horrifying flashback, he uses it when he looks at his son’s body on a slab, Vic’s lower torso gone. When Silas uses the magic box on Victor, the son screams bloody murder.
It is Victor Stone who puts the pieces together for the nascent Justice League and gets the heroes to begin acting like a real team. He puts together for the others that the Mother Box can be used to bring Superman back from the dead, and projects an image of Big Boy Blue for everyone to see.
Vic leads the team into STAR Labs to do the deed. And when Silas sees his son, still not talking to him, walk by with Batman and other weirdos, Dad doesn’t call it in. In fact, Vic and Silas are why the heroes win in this version, because after the Superman resurrection is bolloxed up, and Steppenwolf arrives to retrieve the third Mother Box, rather than run away, Silas sacrifices himself by heating the box with a laser so hot, that Batman can conveniently track wherever it goes in the world.
One could argue Cyborg was the most crucial of the heroes in organizing a true team team. Well, him and the legacy of another…
Superman
One imagines Superman’s treatment by Snyder and screenwriter Chris Terrio in what we now call the Snyder Cut, and Batman v Superman before it, played a major role in Warners’ eventual lack of confidence in the filmmakers. The beginning of the Whedon Cut even starts by course correcting where Whedon might’ve thought Snyder went wrong. Hence the awkward smartphone video of Superman talking to some children with a big smile on his face (and mustache unconvincingly erased from it).
Honestly, though? The depiction of Superman in the Snyder Cut is at times quite heroic and sweet. Certainly sweeter than the abysmal “no one stays good forever in this world” line of dialogue from BvS. However, there are major caveats.
Someone who unequivocally benefits from the new version is Amy Adams’ Lois Lane. While she again has relatively little to do, the rare moments where she is on screen in the Snyder Cut count a hell of a lot more. For starters, there is a genuinely heartfelt sequence about grief—one that it’s fair to wonder if Snyder has added special emphasis to. We follow Lois as she begins her morning routine by getting out of bed, buying a cup of coffee, and going to spend an hour or so at Superman’s memorial in downtown Metropolis.
The soundtrack plays Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ “Distant Sky,” and the scene bleeds a dignified sorrow as Lois unfurls her umbrella in the rain and walks up to Superman’s memorial to lay flowers. The cop she gives her morning coffee to asks Miss Lane if she ever skips a day, and she says there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. This is the transition to the Superman flag in London.
Afterward Lois goes nearly two hours before appearing again in the film, while Diane Lane’s Ma Kent (who is seen early in the picture leaving home) vanishes for well over that amount of time. It makes their reunion scene in Lois’ apartment feel awkward and obligatory after such a long pause, but the restored scene is still better than the “Clark told me you were the thirstiest girl he ever met” in the Whedon Cut. At least until the Ma Kent of this scene is pointlessly revealed to be Martian Manhunter. (Sigh.) It’s almost as bad a bit of forced world-building as future Barry Allen warning Batman about Lois Lane in BvS.
Meanwhile the League all comes to the idea of resurrecting Superman at the same time, and there are no second guesses other than Alfred’s skepticism. Thus begins a resurrection sequence where it’s genuinely affecting to hear Zimmer’s Superman theme again as Kal-El’s body is placed into the Kryptonian ships goo-room. Similarly, Snyder achieves another grace moment when Lois sees Superman flying in the sky right after his resurrection. Before this moment, Lois made the decision in bed that morning for this to be the last time she’d visit and grieve Superman’s death at the memorial. We’re also teased to the fact she keeps a pregnancy test on the nightstand. So she made her final trip to his memorial.
And on the same day, Superman came back.
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Unfortunately, his return is much the same as it was in the Whedon Cut, with the gloomy gray cinematography and the outright sinister version of Superman who’s apparently forgotten his identity. In fact, he’s more menacing than the familiar footage of him smacking down Wonder Woman and Aquaman. Now he takes time to study his monument before still coldly attacking the other superheroes and using his heat ray vision to try and murder U.S. soldiers stationed by his memorial.
If not for the interference of Batman, Superman would’ve killed servicemen. For what it’s worth though, he tries to kill Batman too. Gone is the “do you bleed?” callback to the previou cut. Instead Superman uses his heat ray vision to try and cook Batman inside his own cowl—which is only stopped by Bruce’s special “energy absorption” gauntlets.
As with the Whedon Cut, Bruce’s death is prevented when Lois shows up, but now of her own volition, and she and Clark fly away to Smallville. And once there, Superman’s soul returns and we get nice Americana scenes of Clark Kent watching a butterfly land on his hand, and Lois joining him in the wheat field.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says of the engagement ring he planned to give her before his death, and which she keeps on her hand. Soon Ma Kent joins them and it’s a lovely moment of reconciliation with the women in his life. It’s also far more emotionally effective than the version of Lois apologizing to Clark for “not being strong” after he died in the Whedon Cut.
And yet… it’s compromised by the constant foreshadowing of another heel turn in Superman’s future. The Kryptonian ship keeps warning, pleading even, with Cyborg that there is “no turning back from this action” as he prepares to resurrect Superman. Only then does he have a vision of an evil Kal-El drifting over a smoldering Metropolis. This muddle created by these conflicting sensibilities—folksy domesticity versus foreboding doom—do not mesh. At all.
At the very least, Clark returns to the Kryptonian ship to find there was a black Superman suit hidden all along in the corner. Additionally, he hears both of his dads’ voices, Jor-El (Russell Crowe) and Pa Kent (Kevin Costner). Some of it is old audio about “they’ll join you in the sun” from Man of Steel. Some of it is new recordings, which don’t really make sense as both men are dead. But we hear Pa repeat, “Fly son” and Jor-El intone, “Love them as we loved you.”
Black-suited Superman then flies into the orbit, taking the same Christ pose he had in Man of Steel, visually suggesting the Lord is risen, hallelujah. Superman then flies to the Batcave and meets Alfred, who tells him where to go… for the end of things.
The Ending
It is the ending, when everyone comes together, where the Whedon Cut and Snyder Cut perhaps most definitively diverge. It’s still technically the same ending: the five main members of the League show up in a nondescript Russian town to fight Parademons. Superman returns at a desperate moment and they all prevent the Mother Boxes from becoming one ungodly MacGuffin that would destroy Earth, knocking Steppenwolf on his CG ass.
Yet how these elements are incorporated, and where they leave the DC Extended Universe, are like on different planes of existence. From the top, the gore level (as with the Striker Island fight) is just more extreme in the Snyder Cut. Batman shoots Parademons with his Batmobile and then later uses the aliens’ own plasma guns against them; Wonder Woman beheads and cripples more computer generated baddies than all the armies of Gondor combined. Even Aquaman’s trident tastes blood.
There is also a much stronger sense of teamwork in the Snyder Cut. Batman’s suicide play of driving headlong into carnage makes more sense in this version as he crashes his plane into one of Steppenwolf’s magical machines, which brings down a force field and lets the team enter beneath the villain’s dome. And instead of Wonder Woman coming alone to Batman’s rescue, the whole team fights alongside his Batmobile for a freeze frame worthy of a splash page. It really is bizarre that Whedon, who was so good at these kinds of images in his Avengers movies, took this one out.
Once inside Steppenwolf’s evil lair, things are also far more exciting. There are no civilians (or randomly shoehorned in Russian family) to save. But there are enormous stakes as Cyborg has to stop the Boxes by merging with them. In the process, he enters his proverbial mind palace to face the three boxes in the flesh, as they’ve turned into literal witch crones. At first they appear as his dead parents, promising mom is ready to be reunited with her “broken boy,” but it’s a ruse that torments Victor to an even greater degree.
Meanwhile Steppenwolf has opened a Boom Tube portal to Apokolips where Darkseid, DeSaad, and Granny Goodness are waiting to take over Earth and claim the Anti-Life Equation. It was always “save the world” stakes in both versions, but you actually feel them in the Snyder Cut, particularly since… the heroes fail.
In a development that maybe would’ve left a Flash solo movie with nowhere to go, Darkseid and Steppenwolf briefly win, the three Mother Boxes merging despite Cyborg’s best efforts. The world instantly begins being ripped apart by a CG blur which presumably will turn Earth into a hellscape. The Flash, who is further afield from the action and bleeding from a gruesome wound in the side of his stomach, knows he has only one choice: to run backwards in time fast enough to reverse the flow of time.
It’s a trick that is expected to play heavily in DC Films’ upcoming Flashpoint inspired film, and Barry executes it here to undo the heroes’ defeat. Running into a seeming tornado of blue computer generated lightning, Barry undoes the damage and gives Cyborg a little more time, with Superman’s help, to stop the boxes from combining.
The action prevents the world’s end and allows Aquaman to skewer Steppenwolf like a fish on a hook. In the Whedon Cut, Steppenwolf is slashed by Wonder Woman and unsatisfyingly undone by becoming so fearful that he triggers his Parademons’ scent, and they eat him alive. Essentially, it’s a dippy retread of The Lion King where Scar is devoured by his own hyenas.
While certainly more bloodthirsty, there’s no denying there’s a satisfaction in Aquaman stabbing Steppenwolf, Superman punching him, and finally Wonder Woman beheading him. That is justice for her fallen Amazonian sisters.
Afterward, the whole direction of the DCEU still pivots toward darkness in Snyder’s vision. The Boom Tube to Apokolips stays open long enough for Steppenwolf’s head to return home. Darkseid crushes it beneath his foot. He also accepts that, for whatever reason, they cannot reach Earth through the Boom Tubes due to this defeat. “We will do things the old way,” Darkseid hisses. He summons the armada to head to Earth, setting up a very different future for the DCEU.
Epilogue
Continuing on the divergent paths between the Whedon and Snyder Cuts, the epilogue of the latter (complete with a title card) essentially presents the road not taken in the DCEU. Many of the elements we saw in the Whedon Cut remain, such as Bruce and Diana opening up Wayne Manor to become the headquarters for the Justice League by building a table “with room for more;” we also see Barry tell his incarcerated Dad he got a job at the Central City crime lab; and of course there’s Superman’s beloved shirt rip.
However, there’s so much more added on by Snyder. Some of it is very intriguing, such as Diana taking the arrow from her mother and looking out at the horizon of the Aegean Sea by the Temple of the Amazons. The implication is she’s begun yearning to return home. Could this have once been the plot thread of Wonder Woman 2? Could it still become the plot thread of Wonder Woman 3?
The most effective element is, again, Cyborg as he reconstructs his father’s broken audio recording and hears Silas’ love as a “father twice over.” It’s bittersweet Victor never got to verbally reconcile with his papa, but just saying, “You’re my father” might’ve been enough.
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Yet the epilogue ultimately becomes a teaser for what Snyder’s original vision for a Justice League trilogy might’ve looked like. In the Whedon Cut, the sequence of Lex Luthor on a yacht with Deathstroke (Joe Manganiello) comes as a post-credit sequence. In the Snyder Cut, it’s part of the body of the story. The build-up to Lex’s escape is longer, and once on the yacht he has no quippy joke about “forming a league of our own.” But he does tell Deathstroke that Batman’s secret identity is Bruce Wayne.
That captures Deathstroke’s attention and seems to set up potentially catastrophic events for Bruce’s future in Affleck’s now defunct The Batman movie. It also would appear to further set up the Legion of Doom Justice League sequel with Deathstroke and Luthor.
But that’s pittance compared to the far bigger stinger for the future. In one more “Knightmare,” and another vision of a future where Darkseid has turned Earth into a Mad Max apocalypse, we once more see Affleck’s Batman as a road warrior in a desert, this time with Amber Heard’s Mera, the Flash, Deathstroke, and Cyborg as his road trip buddies. Clearly Cyborg’s vision earlier in the film came to pass, with Mera swearing she’ll kill Darkseid in order to avenge Arthur.
The biggest bombshell here though is that this is where Jared Leto reprises his performance as the Joker. I wish I could say it was better than this grubby, grinning, awkward reshoot moment where he talks about giving the Batman a reach around. Bruce’s dialogue isn’t much better as he mumbles, “When I held Harley Quinn, and she was bleeding and dying, she begged me with her last breath that when I killed you—and make no mistake I will fucking kill you—that I do it slow.”
We’re a long way from Adam West, eh? The sequence ends with Evil Superman appearing with heat ray vision, coming to kill all of them. This clearly stands as a trailer for Justice League sequels that almost certainly will never be. It’s also a vision for the Justice League trilogy Snyder originally planned with Terrio that’s making its rounds across the internet. Part III was meant to be about Batman and the Flash in the ruins of a destroyed Earth traveling back in time so Batman could make sure that Lois Lane never died—sacrificing his life so Superman never turned to evil. Again.
I can’t say this scene adds a lot to this movie, any more than the final, final tease of Harry Lennix’s Martian Manhunter showing up one more random time to give Bruce Wayne a pat on the shoulder. He says your parents would be proud of you and that he wants to join his team. Affleck’s Bruce is strangely not perplexed by any of this and gives off a general “Cool story, bro” vibe.
Martian Manhunter travels into a future we will never see, setting up a sequel that has been abandoned. It’s a shame, but it is so brazenly, defiantly Snyder’s vision—and so far removed from the Whedon Cut’s goofy ending on Superman and Flash having a happy go lucky race to the Pacific—that one can at least give this to to the director: He did it his way. There’s something to be said about that.
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Let’s Talk About Pokemon - Gen 8 Retrospective
This Generational recap itself might be a bit on the shorter side, since I already said my peace on the games themselves and their less than stellar impact on the fandom before I even started them. (Not that there isn’t a lot I’m talking about here today though, hoo boy.) Though just know between a repeat playthrough and my opinion on the Pokemon dropping as I've analyzed them more, I'd say my final verdict is that they're a decent enough swan song to the way Pokemon games used to be that made Gym battles feel special again but lacked in a lot of other areas. 6/10 overall.
Though obviously Gen 8 isn't done yet. Since DLC is on the way, as I've said several times already. My general thoughts on the concept of Pokemon DLC replacing the traditional “Third Version” is good. For one thing I'd much rather pay $30 for access to new content immediately over paying another $60 for a “Pokemon Armor” version that had most of its new content back-loaded in the postgame. $30 is still steep... but it's better. And of course, the prospect of releasing more new Pokemon via DLC is a good one too. Hopefully releasing DLC rather than a full game every year will relinquish some of the workload off Gamefreak... so perhaps we can get smaller batches of new Pokemon released mid-generation to help mitigate just how many Pokemon felt like they didn't get finished in time. But also hopefully it'll mean Gen 9 will be all the better when we get there... Gamefreak has stated they're really challenging themselves with the next major Pokemon games so hopefully they're taking the more level-headed criticism to heart and it's not all talk but we'll have to see.
Yeah, that's about all I have to say about the state of Pokemon as of right now, neverminding my multiple rants and tangents since I've already gone to great lengths to state that Gen 8 isn't as good as I might've initially thought. I still like it overall, and it's probably still not my least favorite Gen... but it's very much like Gen 4 with an EXTREMELY mixed bag. Certainly felt like for every excellently designed Pokemon they had below-average flunky that feels like it should've gone back to the drawing board once or twice. But even all that aside, one of my more annoying sticking points with Gen 8 is the severe lack of new animals.
So in place of my usual ramblings on my thoughts on a generation as a whole, let's do a little Compare and Contrast. Let's look at the past few Generations and see just how noticeable this flood of species redo's is. Green checks are significantly new enough animals, Red crosses are for animal origins that have been done before, Yellow slashes for Pokemon with vague or heavily mixed taxonomic origins, and Grey circles for Pokemon that are disqualified for being Objectmon, since we've yet to get repeats of those. (Also disqualifying Gen 8's regional evos other than Obstagoon since it's not necessarily their fault that they're repeats.)
Are there arbitration in places? Probably. But I feel like the point still stands that Gen 8 was waaaaay too reliant on touching up on animals already covered in Pokemon before. Especially when there's still so many animals that have yet to get a Pokemon to their name. The one plus Gen 8 does have in this regard is that it has a few more “taxonomically vague” Pokemon than usual. But repeating animals in and of itself isn't all that bad, if you make the repeat different enough to be interesting in its own right. The one thing you could do wrong in that regard is to just make your monster notably more “normal” compared to the Pokemon it's repeating. So how does that hold up?
As much as I've established that one's a crow and the other's a raven, the two animals are still very much similar creatures. But I do feel like Murkrow and Corviknight are differentiated enough while both still being a “fantasy” creature in their own way. Murkrow is very much a gangly, cartoony crow while Corviknight covers the more majestic side of corvids.
Another one that's pretty blatant is that we now have two regions with a Ladybird as the common bug. Orbeetle does however get to be more accurate to the Ladybird life cycle, starting out with a larvae and ending with the beetle. Again, Ledian and Orbeetle are very different flavors of the same creature, Orbeetle not skimping out on any outlandish elements. In fact, it's more visibly outlandish than Ledian was.
This is where things start to get hazy. I've stated that Nickit and Thievul are sadly my least favorite fox Pokemon to date, simply because it has the least to offer imaginatively than all the other foxes that accompany it. Ninetales has the kitsune thing going on, while its Alolan variant covers Arctic Foxes. Zorua is a fantastical take on the tricky nature of foxes by combining aspects of shapeshifting kitsunes or tanookies while throwing in a bit of Kabuki. And Fennekin grows up to be more of a wizard. Thievul is very much a stereotypical red fox while having the trickster nature of foxes that's not only been done by Zorua before, but also in a much more stereotypical thieving way like a Swiper the Fox sort of thing.
Wooloo always struck me as odd ever since it turned out it wasn't the region's common Normal-type. I can excuse plainness in the common woodland animal since they're rather uniformly not terribly interesting (and arguably are like that by design). So it turns out it's more of a common early-game fodder just like Mareep is, but Mareep is just a smidge more interesting by being elemental, and also it turns into Ampharos, a weird little bipedal lamb with little flippers for some reason. Which is reasonably more imaginative than a Pokemon that's mostly just a sheep.
Sandaconda is another one that feels significantly fantastical and unique compared to its previous serpentine cousins. The only snake Pokemon beforehand that was hugely different from the template of what a snake usually is was Snivy. Sandaconda is even unique as far as cobra monsters go, with its “hood” being a big ol' sac that it keeps its projectile Anakin-repelent in.
Centiskorch is a little iffy. It's cool that they turned a real centipede's grappling maneuver and turned it into an even more effective weapon via its heat spots. But in terms of body shape it's significantly more normal looking for a centipede than Scolipede's almost horse-like proportions, isn't it?
Another iffy comparison since they're both fairly “regular” looking Octopus monsters. But even so, I'd count it as a point against Gen 8 since there's been more than plenty of time to come up with a cool and unique body type for an octopus.
That's better! Eiscue, while normal-looking if you only count the penguin body, is still a funny and imaginative take on a penguin monster that is a completely different flavor from Empoleon's stern look to boot.
Another dodgy one to justify. There's neat theming in there, but there's hardly any denying that an elephant that rolls up into a wheel and rolls around is notably a much weirder take on an elephant that Copperajah going by an elephant's body shape to a T.
Had they gone for a look more purposefully weirdly geometric like they SEEM to be going for, I probably would've given it a hand-wave, but even with that in mind, Copperajah is pretty vanilla in terms of Elephant monsters. Especially compared to Donphan.
...So even then, it's pretty mixed in that regard. Some Pokemon feel like worthwhile additions to the biodiversity, but others I can't help but wonder what the point was. Did Wooloo really need to exist in a series that already had Mareep? Couldn't they push Copperajah's concept further to better contrast with Donphan? Having repeats isn’t BAD, pretty sure every Gen past the 2nd has done them. But it’s hard to find sticking points on Gen 6 and 7′s repeats. Aurorus is totally different from Meganium. Vikavolt, while being much more close to realism in body structure compared to Pinsir, is still a vastly different fantasy creature just on account of having a gun for a face. And the whole Goomy line is almost nothing like Magcargo. And all that is WHILE still bringing in plenty of new animals to play with.
So yeah, I hope all that can help with understanding why I was a little harsh on Gen 8. It's still not my least favorite, cause we still got a ton of good out of it, and I would much rather have a mixed Gen of “Some Really Good, Some Not So Great” over Gen 2 and 4's “Some are good but the rest are really plain and boring.” But of course, as per usual, we gotta do the lists...
Top 10 Favorites of Gen 8:
Like I said, the new Pokemon that are good are REALLY good. Still struggled to make a Top 10, for good reason!
Top 10 Favorites Overall:
That said, there wasn’t a ton of impact on my Top 10. Top 50 maybe, but not here.
Bottom 10 Least Favorites of Gen 8:
Sadly there was plenty I was just plain not a fan of. Has there ever been a Gen where I just straight up dislike the whole Bottom 10? Hmm...
Bottom 10 Least Favorites Overall:
And tragically, this Gen did make a pretty deep cut into my least favorites, oof. It is an unholy image to not see Gallade be all the way to the left up there.
The Cutest:
The Coolest:
The Prettiest:
Corviknight and Eternatus aren’t just there because I ran out of traditionally pretty ones, just so you know. There’s something about a sleek, nearly all-black design that is genuinely gorgeous-looking to me.
The Spookiest:
Most Creative:
Weirdest/Most Unique:
Most Forgettable:
Most Personality:
At least there were still plenty of personality-driven designs! Look at all these adorable little charmers and smug little shits.
Most Under-Appreciated:
Best Regional Variants:
I’ve probably said it already but I am legitimately ecstatic with Regional Variation being a mainstay feature now. There is INFINITE potential with the concept and totally didn’t deserve to get ditched after a single use just in Alola. In fact I think it’d be rad if they do any more remakes they retroactively made “Sinnohan” or “Hoenn” forms of Pokemon. I thought they might’ve made some “Kantonian” forms for Pokemon in Let’s Go and redesigned a few modern Pokemon to look a bit like they were designed back in the 90s... but sadly that didn’t happen. Despite how cool it would’ve been. But Kanto is sacred ground that cannot ever be changed, I guess...
Best Ultra Beasts: (????????????????)
h
Best G-Maxes:
I still love the concept of G-Maxes, and we’ll probably get a few more before Gen 8 is done entirely. But it does stink that the concept in the end felt a little half-baked. Speaking of which...
Pokemon That SHOULD'VE Gotten G-Maxes:
Because G-Maxes wound up being locked to only be for Gen 1 or 8 Pokemon, with only a handful of exceptions. MAYBE they’ll stretch into other Gens in the DLC, but until then lemme just make a personal wishlist of SQUANDERED potential. Though I’ll limit myself to Pokemon that are only in the current Galardex as to not be here all day.
I’m sure if you pay attention to the Fakemon scene at all, you’ve already seen a few G-Max Dhelmises where the seaweed has grown so massive that it’s now able to possess an entire haunted ship. And they are CORRECT to make such a thing because GOD what were they thinking NOT doing that?!? It’s right there under your noses!!!
Still bummed there was never a Mega Vanilluxe... but this could easily make up for it! A towering snowing mountain of ice cream is a super cool idea for a kaiju-size ice cream monster, maybe even ditching the icicle shaped cone in favor of having it rest in a “bowl” of ice!
Like??? Hello????? Are you telling me you’re making Kaijumon over here and you’re NOT gonna make a giant mecha?????????????????
Because a giant living beehive deploying swarms upon swarms of Combee is a badass concept just by itself.
Like c’mon this one was REALLY staring you in the face. A region set in Poke-England and you’re not gonna make a funny giant Zeppelin?
Just trying to imagine a colossal haunted chandelier is giving me chills by itself. Especially if you were to make it look elaborately regal and all that.
I’ve not got a specific idea, you’d just think they’d compensate for the lack of a Mega form.
G-Max Rillaboom has me feeling like this one’s likely to not happen, since I imagined a cool idea for a G-Max Trevenant was to make it a giant Deku-Tree looking haunted tree with a colossal trunk and even bigger canopy.
I guess Butterfree already had the spot taken for “Mothra stand-in”, but I feel like Frosmoth has just as much cool potential for a G-Max form as Butterfree did. Especially with the powdery snow scales it has.
Perfect opportunity to give Goodra a giant, more monstrous slug-like form. But no dice there either. Maybe next form gimmick...
Okay, C’MON. We KNOW they weren’t that bothered about giving G-Max forms out to Pokemon that already had Megas. This is the most obvious one of all! ESPECIALLY since its defacto-Mecha Godzilla got a G-Max but it didn’t.
Most “Unfinished” Feeling:
Since “least favorite” doesn't necessarily meant “unfinished.” (As much as I dislike Toxel, it doesn't really strike me as “not done.”) Not that I have clairvoyance on Gamefreak's internal workings, but some of these Pokemon definitely feel like they're not up to scratch with the series's usual quality standard.
My Disappointment is Immeasurable and My Day is Ruined:
To pick on Gen 8 one last time... and since it was a running gag anyway, here's the Pokemon that just crush my dreams the most. Except Appletun, mostly. It's good enough to be let off the hook. The rest? They were things that were on my wishlist of things and animals I would've LOVED to see get turned into Pokemon, only for my hopes and dreams to sink faster than the Titanic. Considering a majority of concepts within Pokemon don't come back, if not for a very long time, these Pokemon mean that I have to reluctantly strike a cake monster, a snowman, a coal monster, a train monster, a sea urchin, a pie monster, and some fresh Lapras attention off my wishlist. Sigh.
With two rounds of DLC coming, the main Pokemon review series probably won't be back until the tail end of this year shortly after Crowned Tundra is released. I am excited to get to talk about some of what they've shown so far, but I'd rather wait until the content is released and we know everything about the new Pokemon and Regionals. There will however be at least one more little bonus article about Gen 8 and the future of the series, but I wouldn't expect it to be out for a while. Before the DLC is out probably, but still a long ways off.
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How about Peter, having had enough of Tony making fun of his short height (Tom is 1 inch shorter than RDJ), just coming to the Tower in high heels and Tony just short-circuiting
Sorry this took a minute! Thanks so much for the prompt
Peter is 18yo. 5k. Smut below. Ignores most canon. Pretty much all canon. Fuck that canon!
Read here on AO3.
-
“Everybody scoot together. Come on now, act like you like each other. Please remember the rules, absolutely no bunny ears, no crude gestures, and no gang symbols are to be thrown. Am I using that right? Peter? Thrown? Okay—something isn’t right here.”
There is collective groaning as the original six Avengers—minus Dr. Banner who is on sabbatical halfway around the world, plus Bucky who can be trusted to go anywhere Captain Rogers goes, plus, well, Peter—let go of the breaths they’ve been holding and the smiles they’ve plastered on. At this point, Peter’s lips are wobbling from the strain of holding a pleasant expression. Captain Rogers, in one of his more sentimental moments, had insisted they take more photographs to document their time together before Peter went away to college, but no one had anticipated how difficult it might be.
“Who let the centennial man the camera?” whispers Mr. Stark into his ear. Warm breath fans across the younger man’s neck and Peter shivers, covering the reaction with a huff.
Never one to enjoy a laugh at someone else’s expense, Peter’s conscious demanded he stick up for Captain Rogers—though, the man had already accidentally taken the picture twice. “Come on Mr. Stark, he’s doing the best he can.”
“That’s what frightens me most.”
“Everybody, focus on me please! This would be a lot less painful if everyone could stand still for longer than it takes to blink. Now—wait—Peter I said shortest Avengers in the middle. No wonder we’re lopsided. Switch places with Tony to stand by Natasha, please?”
“With all due respect, I’m not the shortest, Captain,” Peter says helpfully. Because he isn’t. “That’s Mr. Stark.”
“Only one way to solve this,” Clint says, who has already used two previous opportunities to try to avoid taking the photograph altogether. He sprints away, leaping over a loveseat and disappearing down the hall. For a man who could be so stealthy, the sound his boots made on the floor was thunderous.
“Hate to break it to you, kid, but I’m taller,” says Mr. Stark. The older man draws himself up to his full height, and standing as close as they are (nearly chest to chest!), a tiny part of Peter wants to melt into a puddle. Except he’s been working on trying to appear more adult to Mr. Stark, which includes not wearing his character pajamas around the Tower anytime he spends the night, not creating edible volcanos out of his mashed potatoes and gravy at communal dinner times (even if Clint does it), and being one entire inch taller than Tony Stark.
So instead of melting, Peter pushes his own chest out until they look like two alpha birds posturing for dominance.
In the background, Natasha mutters: “This is like watching two penguins decide which will stand on the egg for the next month—“
“Miss Romanov, everyone knows that it’s the male Emperor Penguin who stands on the egg—“
“So you’re calling yourself the female penguin in this National Geographic love story scenario?” Mr. Stark asks, grinning. He breaks away and leans against the counter of the marble island. His face is warm, crow’s feet and laugh lines blooming in his mirth, and Peter’s stomach suddenly feels so full of butterflies that he can’t even open his mouth for the fear that they’ll all come fluttering out.
“If anything,” Bucky mutters to Captain Rogers behind them. “Peter’s the egg.”
Clint bursts back into the room. In his hand is a tape measurer, a metal, industrial looking thing more likely to be found on a construction site than in Stark Tower. “Alright gentlemen. Stand up straight, shoes off. We’ll settle this here and now.”
Peter nudges off his shoes, laughing. Mr. Stark does the same with his expensive dress shoes. Beneath the polished leather, he is wearing posh, brightly colored socks—Calvin Klein. Nice. Cute. God, even Mr. Stark’s feet are cute. Peter is so, so fucked.
They measure the older man first, the group crowding around, debating on whether the fluff of hair should be discounted.
“Tony—sixty-nine inches. Nice.”
Mr. Stark wiggles his eyebrows behind his tinted glasses. Peter’s face burns at the implication and all eyes turn to him while Clint runs the tape measurer from his heels up his spine to the crown of his head. Everyone holds their breath. Or maybe that’s just him. “Peter—sixty-eight.”
“What?” Peter cries. Mr. Stark bows, blow kisses while a few other Avengers applaud as if he’s done something extraordinary in that two-and-a-half-centimeters alone. Peter could have sworn he was taller, even just infinitesimally. He frowns, nudging his feet back into his sneakers and not bothering to tie the laces. So what if he’s pouting? The way Mr. Stark ruffles his hair, like Peter is a whole foot shorter and only ten years old, is downright counterproductive to his image!
“Now that that’s settled,” Captain Rogers says. “Can we get everyone in their spots please? Their proper spots.”
Begrudgingly, Peter switches with Mr. Stark to stand beside Natasha, who squeezes his shoulder, conciliatory.
“It’s okay, kid,” Mr. Stark says in his ear again, voice a warm vibration. “You’ve still got years of growing left, no doubt. All I have left to look forward to is growing in reverse. That’s shrinking, by the way.”
“Yeah, thanks Mr. Stark,” mutters Peter.
Captain Rogers calls their attention from behind the camera. “Okay, it’s all set. 8 seconds people! Say cheese—“ before dashing off to his spot at the end of the line.
Everyone makes last moment adjustments as the camera’s automated feature counts down. Peter shoves his hands into his pockets, tries to look happy. And then Mr. Stark’s hand comes up to press against Peter’s lower back as everyone shifts closer together. His breath stutters, feeling the warmth through his clothes, in the flush of his cheeks, and in several other even more embarrassing places.
“Cheese,” Peter breathes.
-
“You look like a lobster.”
Peter rips the photo out of Ned’s hands, face burning nearly as badly as it was in the photograph. One glance down proves that Ned—while not tactful—is certainly not wrong. Peter looks like he’s suffering from a terrible sunburn. It’s a direct contrast to how Mr. Stark looks next to him, regal, suit immaculate, glasses tinted to hide the squinting of his smiling eyes. He presses the picture in between pages of a textbook on his desk and slams it shut, willing it out of existence.
But not totally out of existence. Because God Mr. Stark looked so good.
“Besides Natasha, I’m the shortest Avenger,” Peter says, slumping into his desk chair. He picks up a sleek, metal ballpoint pen to click anxiously. “How dorky is that?”
“You’re taller than I am,” Ned offers.
“Not taller than me,” MJ mutters, tapping away on her phone.
“I wouldn’t care about any of it except—I don’t know. I always thought I was taller than Mr. Stark.”
“Your height is cute, Peter,” says MJ, as if this is the most banal concern he’s ever expressed. “It’s endearing. You’re like a damsel in distress, so tiny and helpless—“
Peter takes the metal pen between his hands and bends it in half, tossing the pieces at her. “Damsel in distress?”
MJ brushes the pen to the floor, unimpressed. “Stark can do that too.”
“Not with his bare hands!” Ned chimes in. Peter beams at him. Ned is always in his corner—and together, they almost have enough neurons to keep up with MJ’s scathing repertoire. Almost.
Still: “This—none of this is the point, though,” says Peter. “I just need a quick way to grow three inches. Overnight preferably.”
“There are some sketchy surgeries I’ve heard of,” Ned suggests. Peter winces. Thanks, but no thanks.
“Just wear lifts, Peter. Stark does it all the time, how else do you think he comes close to being taller than Pepper Potts?”
Peter frowns. “Lifts?”
“Or heels.”
“Like—shoes for women?”
MJ finally looks up from her phone. Her expression is both disappointed yet unsurprised—bland but scathing, her curls a wild mane around her sharp features. “Shoes are for feet. You have feet. Not to mention, heels are a big turn-on for most men. And the confidence they can give? Wild. You’re missing out.”
“Heels are a turn on when Pepper Potts wears them. Besides, I doubt manufacturer’s even make them in my size—”
“Yeah, because your size nine feet are unheard of,” snarks MJ. She kicks off her stylish flats and nudges them across the room. “Try those. We’re the same size.”
Peter slips his feet into them and—okay. Not bad. They feel like they’re liable to fall off any moment but there are no laces to press into the top of his feet all day until they’re aching. And he has very nice ankles. He’s always thought so.
But what would Mr. Stark think? This whole gap year between graduating high school and going away to MIT was supposed to be spent finally making a definitive move on the man he’s been pining after since he was old enough to pine. So far, his progress has been lackluster. And by lackluster, he means non-existent. What was it that MJ said heels gave her? Confidence?
He could use some of that.
“What’s the verdict, Pete?” Ned asks.
Peter clears his throat. “MJ. Do you, by any chance, own any heels?”
-
“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” Peter mutters with every step. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph—”
“They aren’t that bad,” MJ says. She’s smirking, and definitely is angling her phone too far towards Peter for it to be innocuous. If she’s filming or taking pictures, so help him God— “I’m actually a little jealous right now. Who knew your legs were so long, Parker.”
The heels are modest by the standards of MJ’s collection: two-and-a-half-inches, black. There’s a strap that goes around his ankle though it’s hidden by the hem of his skinny jeans, but it’s digging into the bone a little too much to be comfortable. The arches of his feet already ache, and he’s using muscles in his calves and shins that he didn’t even use when slinging webs thirty stories above the city. Not to mention, the heels themselves were so, so pointy.
“Cosmo said that wedges are easier to walk in, we should have picked some of those,” Peter mutters. They’re in Peter’s makeshift bedroom at Stark Tower. He doesn’t use it often, even though he’d certainly like to make use of the bed more than he does now—or Mr. Stark’s bed, if he’s being completely forthright.
“Wedges aren’t as sexy. You look hot,” MJ says. She slaps his ass, laughing when he yelps. “Please make sure you take a mental picture of the look on Stark’s face, okay? He’s going to flip his shit.”
“You think?” Ned asks from where he’s lounging on the bed.
“Yeah—do you really think so?” Peter’s fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, turning this way and that way in the lengthy mirror to see himself from every angle.
“Have I ever been wrong? Go get him, Parker.” She hauls Ned up off the bed. “Text us the details!”
-
By the time Peter makes it down to the lab, his stomach is in knots. He pauses just outside the elevator to breathe, wondering if he’s going to be sick. The only solace is knowing that Mr. Stark—Tony, for this, for now, let him be Tony—is alone in his lab. Most of the other Avengers don’t even have the clearance to come down to this level.
“Come on, Parker,” he mutters to himself, shifting in the heels. They’re pinching his toes, a little. “You’re Spider-man! Spider-man! You’ve fought actual real-life villains. This is cake. Absolutely cake. Okay. Okay. Let’s go—back upstairs—”
“Peter.” FRIDAY’s voice overhead nearly sends him stumbling to the ground.
“Yes?” He croaks.
“Boss is wondering if you’re going to come in or spend the rest of the evening in the hallway.”
Peter clears his throat. “Let him—tell him I’m coming.”
The lab still takes his breath away—the gleaming glass, the glowing holograms, the glistening metal. This is where magic happens. Tony is in the center of it, sitting on the floor, surrounded by papers, floating diagrams, and two different cups of coffee at various volumes. The older man is no longer in the suit he was wearing this morning for the picture. Instead, he’s wearing a rumpled t-shirt—who the hell the Raconteurs are, Peter has no idea—and blue jeans that fit tight around his thighs. His hair is mussed, and Peter has spent more than one fantasy wondering how it would feel under his fingers.
“Hey, kid,” Tony mutters around a pencil in his mouth. He reaches out to flick at one glowing hologram and it spins away. “What can I do for you?”
“Just came to—uh—see if you had plans—for dinner.”
Peter didn’t think he would make it this far. His palms are sweating, even as he wipes them on his jeans. What the fuck is he doing here? Wearing a pair of high heels? He’s a fool, the biggest, most naïve idiot. After this, he’ll never be able to show his face to Tony or the other Avengers again, he’ll probably have to flee the country, maybe change his name—
“I do now. How’s pizza sound? I just need to finish up some work here and then we can order in. I’m feeling like a homebody tonight.”
Peter’s heart soars. Suddenly he’s flying—forget fleeing the country, he’s going to move into Stark Tower permanently, probably never leave the older man’s side unless it’s to patrol or see his friends and aunt, hopefully become a permanent fixture in Tony’s bed and heart—“I’m pretty sure when you’re rich Mr. Stark, they just call homebodies recluses.”
Tony laughs. “Better than a hermit. Come help me up, kid, my knees are killing me.”
He only makes it one step. He stumbles—his enhanced sense try to save him, but he’s not used to the added height or obstacle of walking on his toes like this. He overcompensates, and then he is biting the dust, sprawled on his ass, tailbone aching as fiercely as his feet.
“Peter—” suddenly the older man’s knees are fine, downright impressive considering the speed with which is rises and crosses the room. Standing over Peter, he casts an impressive shadow, warm eyes washing over him from his hair all the way down to—Tony’s eyes widen. They literally widen, and Peter feels like if he were any less skilled with his poker face, he might have gasped like one of those ladies in the Victorian days, always swooning from scandals. He recovers quickly, reaching down to help him up.
Peter doesn’t need help though—now that he’s taken a spill, it’s like his body has acclimated. He bounces up with surprising grace, wincing at the throbbing in his ass even as it fades.
“Are you okay?” Tony asks carefully.
They are face to face, close enough that he can smell the older man’s body wash—and Peter has to look down, just ever so slightly, to look Tony in the eyes. Tony has an incredible set of eyes—the color of mahogany, framed with perfect dark lashes. They have the same effect on Peter as a knee to the gut might, stealing his breath. Jesus, this much eye contact can’t be healthy. It’s making him hard even, and Peter doesn’t know whether that is a feat or a failure. His throat is dry, so he swallows. “I’m fine. Great! So. Pizza?”
“Kid.”
“Personally, I’m feeling pepperoni.”
“Pete.”
“It’s an American classic.”
“Peter.” Tony clears his throat. He waves a hand towards Peter’s legs. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?”
“That—is not proper footgear to be in a lab—”
Supporting most of the smaller man’s weight, though Peter is fine Mr. Stark, really! Tony helps him cross the room and settles him onto a rolling chair. Peter’s embarrassment wars with his total dejection; it figures that his last hope at impressing Tony or coming across as anything other than a barely-post-pubescent teenager was a bust. Literally. Tears fill his eyes but he blinks them away.
“Peter—are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?”
“Just my pride,” Peter mutters.
Tony snorts softly. He stalks away to stand with a hip cocked against one of the metal tables. There, he takes his time and leisurely looks Peter over again, eyes catching and failing to pull away from the delicate heels on Peter’s feet. He licks his lips, and even as Peter’s breath catches, he explains it away. Chapped lips. Duh. The air down in the lab is very dry—
“So, what’s the deal, kid? Did you lose a bet?”
That just makes it so, so much worse. Peter crosses his legs, trying to shrink in on himself. Tony’s eyes track the movement, center on the flash of the delicate clasp around his ankle. Sniffing wetly, he picks at a loose thread on the side seam of his jeans and smiles weakly. “More like, I got some poor advice.”
“They look—good.”
Tony’s voice—the tone, like he’s trying to say something without saying it—makes Peter look up. If he was worried at all what he looked like, he needn’t be: Tony is staring at his shoes, head tilted like it’s an equation he’s trying to solve, or like he’s a patron at an art gallery looking at a particularly interesting Magritte painting.
“They do?” He asks. Peter isn’t above fishing for compliments, especially from this man, this incredible idol who could probably make Peter’s heart sing (and his dick harden) with half a glance and a kind word. “They don’t look—stupid? On me.”
“I was alive in the 70’s and 80’s kid. Heels were a thing. Hell, Bowie did it—I had the biggest crush on him when I was young.”
Peter perks up. Everyone knows that Tony doesn’t care about gender in his partners, but it’s rare for him to bring it up so casually in conversation like this. Every piece of information he learns about Tony is so fucking endearing, his heart aches in his chest. Quickly, he does the math in his head. “Really? A crush on Bowie? But—well. He was so much. You know. Older.”
Tony turns away. He bends to retrieve the pencil he dropped after Peter’s fall. “Yeah. Well I was seven. Age was just a number.”
“Is just a number.”
Tony hums, scribbling something down before tucking the pencil behind his ear. “It’s—the perspective is a bit different from the other side of thirty, kid. Take my word for it.”
“I’m eighteen,” Peter mutters. “Quit calling me kid.”
“What should I call you? Short stuff?”
This isn’t working, Peter thinks. Nothing will work, because this whole endeavor is just a fool’s errand. Nothing will ever change.
Peter can’t help it—he bursts into tears. Tony doesn’t notice right away, because Peter is a pretty silent crier, elbows planted on his knees, face in his palms, shoulders shaking. The silence must go on too long, because then Tony is crouched in front of him on his haunches, warm fingers wrapping around his wrist to carefully pull them from his face.
“Hey—hey, hey. What’s wrong, Pete? What hurts?”
“This—!” Peter says, tilting his head to wipe his damp cheeks on his shoulder. “You—not taking me seriously!”
“I take you seriously—I take you very seriously.”
“You don’t. You’re always calling me kid, like, like I’m still that little boy from the Stark Expo! And then, you’re one single inch taller which doesn’t matter at all in the scheme of things but I know you, I know you’re just going to use it as another excuse to keep from seeing me for the adult I am, and—”
“Is that what this is about,” Tony asks, wrapping a hand around Peter’s ankle. A thumb drifts under the cuff of his jeans to run along the strap of the heels. It hurts because it feels so good, makes him shiver with longing that he knows won’t ever be quenched. “You want to be taller than me?”
“I want to make out with you,” Peter snarks. “But at this point, yeah, whatever, I guess I’ll settle for being taller—”
“Peter.” Tony is soft and stern when he takes Peter’s chin in his hand. He shifts up onto his knees so that they are closer to the same height, those warm brown eyes drifted from Peter’s own down to his lips and then up again. All Peter’s breath seems to be caught in his lungs, he can’t move, can’t even blink for fear of missing a single moment as Tony leans forward slowly, giving the younger man ample time to turn away.
But Peter doesn’t—because he’s not dumb. Because this is everything he’s wanted for so long that he almost feels like it’s a dream.
Their mouths are open at the first press, heads slanting to slot together like they’ve been doing this for ages. His tongue can’t help but reach out, eager to taste the older man, and the first slide of Tony’s tongue against his own is. God. It’s orgasmic. It’s overwhelming. The rough press of facial hair, the firm grip of Tony’s hand as it slides around to cup the back of his head and bring them closer, Peter’s knees shifting open to create more space for their bodies to come together. He tastes like coffee, black. Tony tilts his head just a little more, coaxes his jaw to open wider so that he can lick into Peter’s mouth, and it’s wet, so sensual, Peter goes from soft to hard so quickly that it hurts, head dizzy.
“God,” Peter breathes into Tony’s mouth. Tony laughs softly but Peter barely gives him the chance, pressing his eager mouth forward, licking Tony’s teeth and sucking the man’s full bottom lip into his mouth until he’s the one groaning and sighing.
Tony pulls away, smiling when an upset, undignified noise comes out of the back of Peter’s throat. One of Tony’s hands—fuck, why are his hands always so hot, like there’s a fire burning right underneath the skin?—drift down and he runs his thumb along the obvious erection in Peter’s jeans until he whines. “You want to be taller, Pete? Well here you are. What next?”
“Didn’t think I’d get this far,” Peter gasps. His hips twitch upwards, desperate for pressure on his aching cock. Tony’s hand comes away instead, moving upwards to thumb at the button on Peter’s jeans.
“I have an idea,” the older man says lowly. He thumbs at the button of Peter’s jeans. “Can I, Pete?” He asks lowly, his knuckles slipping underneath the younger man’s shirt to brush against abs that jump at the contact. “You can say no. I wouldn’t be upset.”
“Have you even been listening?” Peter pants. “Yes, yes. Please Mr. Stark—“
Tony groans at the moniker. His fingers are nimble and practiced as he undoes Peter’s jeans, sliding them down his hips when he shifts up to make room. “We’ve got to break you of that habit. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Peter breathes. He’s so hard it hurts, cock straining obscenely at the front of his boxers, fabric dark and damp with precum. Under the older man’s gaze, he feels like he could combust, burst into flames.
“I’d undress you properly, but I’d really like to keep these on,” Tony says, eyes half lidded as he runs his palm down Peter’s calf to the heels, thumb stroking the exposed top of his foot.
“Whatever you want, just, please—it hurts—“
“What hurts?” Tony sounds mildly alarmed, pulling back.
Peter’s face burns. He palms at his cock. “My—you know—I’m—“
Understanding comes over Tony’s face, concern draining away. “Don’t worry, Pete. I’ll make it better.” And then he is leaning down, nuzzling Peter’s hand aside and putting his mouth over Peter’s clothed cock. Even through the cotton of his boxers, it is the most intense thing he’s ever experienced: the heat, burning him inside out, the pressure, the flash of whiskey eyes that won’t leave his own, always making sure Peter is interested in this, okay with this.
“God, Mr. Stark, yes. Fuck, fuck, that’s so good—so—oh—wait—“
Tony pulls back immediately, but it’s too late: Peter is cumming, balls drawn up tight against the heat of his body and throbbing, cock twitching as he spurts into his boxers. “Noooo,” Peter whispers, reaching down to jerk himself off so as to not ruin the orgasm. It’s still the hardest he’s ever cum, Tony watching on, looking pained himself with one hand between his legs and gripping his own cock. The rasp of flesh on denim is just loud enough to be heard.
“Why’d you stop me?” Tony asks.
Peter is gulping for air. At times like this, he wishes he knew sign language. “I didn’t want—not so soon but then—too late and—“
Tony smiles. “It’s okay Pete. I don’t care how long you last. I wanted you to feel good.”
“It felt so good Mr. Stark—“
Tony groans, laughing a little at the face Peter makes when he pulls his sticky boxers away from his half-hard cock. He shuffles on his knees to grab a cloth from inside a nearby cabinet and watches while Peter cleans himself off, still palming himself. He winks. “I’m glad. Never stop stroking my ego, kid.”
The motion of the older man’s hand between his own legs catches Peter’s eye and he swallows, mouth dry, thinking of doing the same thing Tony did just a moment ago, pressing his mouth to Tony’s clothes cock, feeling it jerk under the denim— “Can I—help you, now? Please?”
Tony’s mirth disappears. He stands, joints creaking, and turns away to adjust himself in his jeans. “I didn’t do that for reciprocation, Peter.”
“You did it because you wanted to?”
“Exactly.”
“Cool. Now I want to.” When he stands (after his legs have stopped shaking), he feels six feet tall. His legs feel endless. At the dark look in Tony’s eyes, he feels elegant, powerful, desirable. Tony lets him back him up against the table, box him in with his arms. This man is so powerful: a superhero, smart enough and strong enough to do anything he sets his mind to. And he’s shivering between Peter’s legs, smiling contentedly like he already has come. Peter isn’t hard again yet, but he can’t remember ever feeling this turned on, this sexual.
Carefully, Peter drops down to his knees. He crosses his ankles behind himself demurely and looks up through his lashes to watch Tony’s throat bob as he swallows. “Can I, Mr. Stark?”
Tony groans, head rolling like his neck isn’t strong enough to support it. He cards his fingers through Peter’s hair. “If you want to. I’m yours.”
Peter hums. Tony’s words feed a dark part of himself that he didn’t know was ever hungry. He feels drunk undoing the older man’s belt, drunk with lust and power. It’s as if he’s possessed by some sultry spirit who despite Peter being a virgin has no qualms leaning forward to mouth at Tony’s clothed erection.
The sharp inhale above him and the subtle tightening of fingers in his hair just sends him higher. Deeper. Tony’s scent is strong here, musky but clean.
“I’ve never done this before,” Peter says lowly, brushing his lips against the hard cock as he speaks.
Tony’s breaths are downright shaky as he laughs. “As long as you don’t bite me, there’s no way you could go wrong. I feel ready to blow my load as it is, fair warning.”
“Not yet,” says Peter, all wide eyes and shiny lips. “I want to play with it first.”
He carefully tugs down Tony’s boxers to take in the sight of his cock. It is flushed dark with arousal, twitching happily under Peter’s gaze. Instinct has him wrapping his fingers around the base where there is a nest of dark curls. Then he laps with the flat of his tongue at the head where there is a glistening wetness. He’s only ever tasted himself before, but Tony is remarkably similar. He takes the head into his mouth to suckle, tonguing at the frenulum to coax out more precum.
“Look at you,” Tony says quietly. They’re words that might usually inspire insecurity, but Peter is too far gone. He’s let the anxious part of himself relax to a safe place in the back of his mind. Here, he knows now, he is safe. There is no embarrassment, just his own arousal and the arousal he’s fanning in the man above him. Tony’s hand leaves Peter’s curls to cup underneath his jaw. When his thumb brushes against the rim of Peter’s lips wrapped around his cockhead, the young man opens his mouth to let the thumb in too, running his tongue over each in turn even as the cock jumps. “On your knees, but you still feel taller than me, Pete. Such a good boy—such an amazing man. Already a better man than I’ll ever be. Jesus, baby, just like that—whatever you want to give me.”
Peter opens his mouth wider. Tony’s thumb slips free even as his cock slips deeper. Peter can’t help it—his eyes slip closed. The skin feels like velvet on his tongue as he laps at it, being careful to keep his teeth away. One hand comes up to cradle Tony’s balls and he feels more than hears the groan it draws from the older man’s chest. He establishes a rhythm, sucking as best as he can around his own whimpers, pulling back sometimes to lap at the head. When the cock approaches the back of his throat, he swallows on instinct and Tony’s hands slip free from his hair to scrabble at the metal counter behind his hips, knuckles white. The whole time, Tony keeps up the litany of filthy praise, and if both his hands weren’t busy, Peter would absolutely be palming his own cock which has returned with a vengeance.
“Almost there, Pete,” Tony warns softly. “You can pull back if you want to.”
He doesn’t want to—thanks for asking. He closes his lips around the cock head while running one hand over the shaft, slick with his spit. The precum increases, the balls in his palm grow tight and Tony tosses his head back as he comes, the noises leaving his mouth making Peter throb and whine even as he works to swallow the hot load of cum that floods his mouth.
When he pulls away, there is the briefest moment of insecurity. But it is smothered between them as Tony gathers him in his arms, tilting his head upwards just slightly to press their mouths together. Surely he must be able to taste himself, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“You’re incredible,” Tony murmurs into Peter’s neck, placing a sweet kiss there. When he pulls back, his eyes are decidedly misty and more vulnerable than the younger man can ever recall seeing them. “All this effort—Peter. I don’t know if I’m worth this.”
“Let me decide,” Peter says. He lifts his chin just barely to place a kiss on Tony’s forehead. “And from now on—if anyone asks—”
Tony snorts softly. “You’re taller?”
“You read my mind.”
“On one condition.”
“Anything.”
“Keep the heels.”
#starker#peter wears heels#tony is very susceptible#tony had a crush on david bowie#we all did#no beta or proofreading#im not funny at all
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Needed Part III
Before you read, here’s Part I and Part II!
Category: Romantic Fluff
Fandom: One Piece
Characters: Baby 5, Monkey D. Luffy
Requested By: Tastsumi (Ao3)
Cricket song mingled with the droning of soft snores in the fresh night air. The little insects chirped in the clumps of long grasses ringing the small jungle clearing in which Baby 5 and the rest of the Straw Hat Pirates snoozed contentedly beneath the stars. Alas, Baby was not sleeping. Her dark eyes fixated on the forest canopy above, where the glimmering stars peeked through the dense network of interlocking branches and waxy leaves to spill dappled white light over her. She clicked her tongue and rolled onto her side, snuggling into the warm fabric of her sleeping bag. No, there was nothing for it; sleep would not find young Baby tonight. Sighing wistfully, she tossed the blankets off herself and rose, stretching her arms above her head and glancing around the clearing.
As it had turned out, the arrival to Zou had been an ordeal in itself. The resident Minks had been hostile at first, for they had suffered an attack by pirates, not a few days before the Sunny’s landing. Then, Luffy and company had learned that their cook, Sanji, had been abducted by the Emperor Big Mom for a political wedding. They established a plan to send half of the crew onward to Wano, where they would infiltrate the populace alongside the Heart Pirates and gather information on their newest enemy, the Emperor Kaido. The other section of the crew would travel to Big Mom’s territory to retrieve their absconded cook. Several of the Minks had even pledged themselves to their cause, which Baby thought very kind of them.
Since the night in the crow’s nest, Baby 5 had not suffered any more nightmares. To be frank, she was a little surprised to be insomnious on this night; she had not given Doflamingo another passing thought. Yet, here Baby was, wide awake in the middle of the night. Perhaps I’ll take a walk, she reasoned. The last late-night jaunt had ended particularly well, so possibly, her little stroll through the lush woods would result in similar luck. Baby retrieved her trusty bazooka, the only relic of her servitude in the Doflamingo syndicate, and then descended the well-worn path leading into the jungle.
The air was alive with the sounds of the lush wilderness. The cricket song was deafening along the path, for the clumpy grasses towered waist-high. Their wispy fronds kissed Baby’s hips and thighs as she strolled down the slight bumpy incline, tickling her skin with their fluffy yellow-green fibers. Fireflies flitted between the thick tree trunks, flickering greeting at Baby as she passed. A tapir lumbered out into the open, its short, stout snout snuffling through the dirt and overturning rocks in search of grubs; Baby 5 politely waited for it to finish its business. The massive creature regarded her with bright, curious eyes and wiggled its short trunk at her before shambling off into the jungle whence it came. She squatted down to observe a troupe of army ants crossing the pathway, careful not to disrupt their march lest she find herself on the business end of their massive mandibles. The forest was very much awake around her, and so Baby 5 found herself even more restless in the throng of its activity.
With a forlorn sigh, she settled herself on a nice, flat rock. Resting her elbows on her knees and pushing her fists into her cheeks, she sulked about her infuriatingly restless mind. With half-lidded eyes, she traced the trail of a meandering stag beetle trundling over the layer of decomposing leaves. It dug its horns into the spongey soil to reveal wriggling white grubs and tiny scuttling roaches. Eat your fill, little stag beetle, she thought morosely. May sleep find you quickly… whenever bugs sleep.
Baby 5 groaned and hung her head between her knees, tearing her hands into her wavy black hair. Her eyes pulsed with their own heartbeat, clearly wishing to close to the night, but her mind was too busy buzzing with energy to allow that to happen. Could I be anxious? She wondered, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Whatever could I be worried about? She sat up on the rock, tapping her pursed lip with the pad of her index finger. If anyone had cause to be anxious, it would be Luffy, considering that one of his trusted comrades had essentially been kidnapped. Yet, the captain seemed cool as a cucumber, albeit a little miffed at the bold-as-brass transgression against this authority.
Baby 5 knitted her eyebrows together as a particular thought occurred to her. Is it possible that Luffy’s reaction to the situation unnerved her, and she wondered if he was restraining his emotions for his comrades’ sakes? It’s as good an explanation as any.
Baby peered out into the gloom as a twig snapped, piercing the air like a gunshot. The cricket song dimmed as the wee insects investigated the incoming creature, and whether it be friend or foe. Baby craned her neck to peek around the bend in the pathway as the sound of crunching dirt loomed closer by the second. She raised an eyebrow when a pair of familiar sandals tromped into view, followed by a straw hat-wearing noiret who was smiling amiably.
“Oh! There you are, Baby,” Luffy called cheerfully when he spotted her perching on the squat rock. He approached her nonchalantly, stopping to place his hands on his hips and gaze out into the night. The crickets had decided that Luffy was not interested in eating them and had begun sounding their cares with fervor. “It’s a lovely night for a walk,” he remarked, turning glittering black eyes on her. She flushed and fidgeted on the rock.
“Yes, I suppose it is…” His lips edged upwards into a smirk, and his eyebrows crept up.
“Having nightmares again?” he asked worriedly, stroking the pad of his thumb underneath her eyes just like he had done a few nights ago. She turned pink and shook her head vehemently, waving her hands in refusal.
“No, no! I promise I’m not,” she insisted. Her hands fell into her lap with a small sigh. Luffy was there, so she might as well openly ponder the intricacies of her psyche. “Truthfully… I’m worried about you, Luffy.” His eyebrows inched further up, touching the roots of his dark hair.
“Me? Why?”
“Well… Aren’t you concerned about Sanji?” Baby 5’s eyes widened when he clenched his jaw and glanced off into the distance once more. A silence settled between them as Luffy searched for his words. When he turned back to her, he gestured to the rock. Baby 5 obediently scooched over to allow him access to the stony perch, and with a long sigh, he eased himself down beside her. He rubbed his hands together slowly, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.
“Yeah. I am, Baby,” he admitted in a small voice after a few seconds. Baby 5 pressed closer to him and rested her arm on his bicep. She had never heard the sunny, optimistic boy so morose. He laced his fingers together and clenched them so hard that his knuckles glared white. She cooed his name and stroked his arm in an invitation to divulge his complicated feelings to her. “I didn’t wanna say anything, because the others are really worried too… If I had my way, we’d be on Whole Cake Island right now, tearing every house apart lookin’ for him, but… I know that’s dumb. Big Mom is a whole different ball game.” Baby 5’s bottom lip wobbled. His lack of self-confidence broke her heart.
“Luffy, you’ll get Sanji back. I know you will.” He sighed forlornly and hung his head, staring miserably down at his clasped hands. She ran her hand from his shoulder down to his wrist, then forced her fingers in-between his so that she could lace theirs together. Baby gave him a robust and reassuring squeeze, making him peer at her out of his peripheral vision. “You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known. Once you set your mind to something, there’s no stopping you. Big Mom will rue the day she dared to cross you.” A small smile curled onto his lips. He leaned forward to press his forehead against her own, and Baby 5 welcomed it, nestling into him. “Sanji needs you right now, and you’re the type of man that will pull through, no matter the obstacles.”
“Thanks, Baby,” he said softly. She jumped when he suddenly tore away from her to spring from the rock. He flung his arms up into the air and screamed into the night, “Ya hear that, Big Mom? I’m coming to kick your ass! So stay right there so you can get what’s comin’ to ya, ya ugly old hag!” As his voice rippled through the forest, bouncing off the tree trunks and waxy leaves, the nightbirds and crickets silenced in awe. For several seconds after his enthusiastic yowling, it was eerily quiet. Finally, a lone owl decided to hoot back in admiration. “Ah, that felt good,” Luffy exhaled exultantly. Baby 5 giggled. It was so remarkable how he could switch from depressed to determined in a mere instant.
“I’m glad I could make you feel better,” Baby smiled as she stood from the rock. Luffy turned to her and opened an arm invitingly, and she immediately snuggled close to him. Rubbing the small of her back with his big, calloused hand, he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She squeezed her eyes shut as a big smile bloomed on her face. It always made her so happy to feel that she was needed. Although she no longer felt the compulsion to be necessary twenty-four hours a day, to be reminded of her necessity in someone’s life was still gratifying. Luffy continued to nuzzle his nose into her coarse black hair, until a long, loud yawn split his face. He smacked his lips together and then tiredly mumbled into her scalp, “Le’s go back to bed… I’m sleepy…”
Baby 5 chuckled and rubbed his chest soothingly, then nodded. He wrapped his arms tight around her body, insistent on cuddling as close as possible to the young woman, and so they began to awkwardly penguin-waddle back up the slope. “Baby…?”
“Yes, Luffy?”
“I’m gonna bring Sanji back. Jus’ you watch.” He sounded half-asleep as he walked, his voice drawling with exhaustion. “I’ll meet up with all of you in Wano so we can kick Kaido’s ass too…” Baby 5 hummed merrily and affectionately stroked his forearms as he tightened them around her.
“I know you will- because I need you, Luffy.” He responded with a mumble that was half-gibberish. Baby 5 chuckled and continued to lug his heavy, sleep-deadened body up the path even as her own eyes began to droop with the onset of drowsiness.
I’ll be waiting… because that is what is needed of me.
Enjoy this oneshot? Here’s Part IV! Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!
Tag List: @deliathedork @searchfortheonepiece
#one piece#luffy x baby 5#baby 5 x luffy#monkey d. luffy#monkey d luffy#baby 5#op luffy#straw hat luffy#op baby 5#op fanfic#one piece fanfic#op fanfiction#one piece fanfiction
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Witches, Chapter 20: in which I allow Phoenix to channel my frustration at how long this case took to end, make up more backstory for a character who’s dead when we meet them in an extra DLC case, and the orca case still will continue for one more chapter after this.
[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]
[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]
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Blackquill is out for blood today.
Not that he wasn’t yesterday, or in April - not that this isn’t just his default state. But Phoenix simply tries to tell the judge that the defense is ready and gets attacked by the damn hawk. “Ready,” Blackquill drawls, and now Phoenix is no longer ready, and that’s how the trial starts, with some loose feathery fluff fallen on his scattered notes laid out on the bench, and talons perilously close to his eyes.
If this is a test of Phoenix, Edgeworth seeing what he’ll put up with, the answer is “a lot”, and he’d really be glad if Edgeworth would go ahead and ban the bird.
Dr Crab is the first witness up on the stand, and though he wasn’t the intended witness for today, Blackquill gives no hint of that. But while it might not be what the prosecution wants, a chance to cross-examine Crab, on the record, all eyes of the court watching, to dig the truth out of him, is exactly what Phoenix wants.
(Rimes is still an open question, why he’s holding back on testifying. He made clear yesterday that he wants to help Sasha, wishes they would’ve protected her better, and doesn’t trust Orla. Does he know something that he knows would further implicate Sasha and that’s what he’s refusing to say? Does he still actually believe somehow that Orla did it but he doesn’t want to be the man to damn the orca with his testimony, knowing how distraught Sasha would be? Does he know who actually did it? Did he actually do it but is he a murderer who has a conscience and still doesn’t want his friend to take the fall?)
No time to speculate on Rimes. His current suspect is the man on the witness stand, and maybe Dr Crab didn’t kill Jack Shipley, but he did try to kill Orla, didn’t he?
What do they know? Phoenix can prove that the murder happened with Orla right nearby - the Luminol reactions on her skin in places where she herself wasn’t bleeding. And he can say that could have happened at the time Dr Crab was scheduled to meet the victim at the orca pool. It could’ve been drained then too. They only have Crab’s own word that he didn’t go. And then they only have his own word that the sleeping pills that he purchased were stolen out of his laboratory. Uh huh, certainly, that’s real convenient.
But they don’t have proof, solidly, and the burden of proof lies with the defense. Phoenix’s case that it was Dr Crab who tried to kill Orla (they’re still working their way, slowly, back to Jack Shipley’s murder) is broken by the mere possibility that someone else could have taken and used the sleeping pills. He’s not the prosecution, even if he feels like it right now. This isn’t enough for the defense. All it’s enough for is to piss Dr Crab off that he, an honorable veterinarian, is being accused of trying to kill an animal in his care.
“Wright-dono,” Blackquill says after Dr Crab’s fury at the slander has abated, “surely you are not suggesting that the orca was drugged for fear that it as a witness would speak to the truth of the murder?” He speaks with a cold condescension that tells Phoenix he knows, yes, this is exactly what Phoenix is suggesting, but he is still going to kindly repeat this back to him to allow him to hear it from another’s mouth and thus reconsider the absolute stupidity of this statement.
Phoenix is not going to reconsider the absolute stupidity of this statement. He’s bluffed on stupider. “Orcas are very intelligent creatures,” he says. “A veterinarian would of course know this, and it’s not that much of a stretch to think that he should be concerned about what Orla might be able to indicate. Besides,” he adds, knowing that when this case is over Edgeworth is going to take the transcript and highlight this section and smack him in the face with it, “I have it on good authority that the victim, Jack Shipley, was known to be able to converse with the orca. Who’s to say—”
Blackquill slams his hand down several times on the bench, laughing as he does, loud and ugly mirth over the clang of his cuffs also hitting the wood and the rattle of the chain. “I should have expected this of you, Wright-dono. Your students were the ones who tried to make the phantasm of a yokai out to be a very real murderer. More the fool am I to have hoped that you would be any better than stooping to claiming magic is real.”
He hoped. Is he serious right now - he knows for a fact that Tenma Taro is very real, and he was the one who told Edgeworth that. He learned that without being physically present there, must have heard what his hawk heard, and he says magic isn’t real. He probably thinks it’s funny, wouldn’t he, to say shit he knows isn’t true knowing that it will make Phoenix sound like more of a lunatic. Knowing that Phoenix can’t actually know what he believes about anything he says, because his presence blinds Phoenix’s Sight.
(The more he thinks about that, the more disturbed he gets. That shouldn’t happen. The Sight sees through fae glamours that a changeling might not know she has in place; the Sight gives him glimpses of a changeling who knows but is trying to deny what he is. Klavier’s disappearing act hits both sets of eyes; Pearl doesn’t seem any more out of place with one or the other. It takes his magatama for that. But Blackquill was confusing even Pearl - hiding, she said. Hiding what he is, isn’t that what she said - or did she say who? What kind of magic, or force of will, or whatever, can possibly—)
“And tell me, presuming even that the victim could commune with the orca, what then is your plan? Do you know of some ritual to bring those very truly dead back to life so that our dead man may translate the orca for us - and should you know such, please, do enlighten me as to why we shouldn’t just ask the dead man to tell us who killed him.” He’s still smirking. Phoenix hates him.
“That was just an example,” Phoenix says. “I believe the defendant has also some ability to know what the orca is communicating.”
He glances at Sasha, who looks extremely alarmed. Maybe that he’s fallen to making this point in court, or maybe she was just teasing him when she said she was translating Orla. Well. Too late to take it back now.
“Yes, of course.” Blackquill lowers his chin, glowering at Phoenix. “We will ask the orca about the murder the defendant committed, and the defendant shall translate her testimony for us. Tell me, do you see an issue with that?”
“Er…” Yeah. Yeah, that’s an issue.
Dr Crab drums his fingers on the witness stand. “If you’re finished with this line of consideration, may I add something? Think, Mr Lawyer, that had I wanted to poison Orla - who was it that treated and saved her when you came running to say something was wrong?” He waits for a moment’s emphasis, during which time Phoenix considers that he didn’t say they were out of their minds debating talking to an orca, and then adds, “Me.”
“Well,” Phoenix says. Shit, that’s true. He could’ve just let her die, couldn’t he? “Except shouldn’t you have known what was going on with her, without Pearl having to come get you? The TORPEDO is constantly monitoring, right? It should’ve been telling you something was going on!”
“Son of a—” Dr Crab inhales and blows out his breath through gritted teeth. “Son of a gun. You really had to remember that all and bring it up, huh? You’re not as birdbrained as you look.”
“Objection.” Blackquill doesn’t have to yell to be heard; he drops the courtroom into silence no matter how quietly he speaks. Is it magic or just another trick of his terrifying presence? “The defense’s brain does not merit this disparaging comparison to birds - they are far smarter than he.”
“Hmph.” Dr Crab shakes his head. “Bird-lover, I should’ve guessed.” Taka isn’t on Blackquill’s shoulder right now, but maybe Dr Crab saw it when Blackquill spoke with him yesterday. Is Taka a jailbird too? “You and I aren’t destined for friendship then.”
Someone should give Blackquill one of those penguin calendars when this trial is over. It might brighten up his prison cell a bit.
“My apologies, Dr Crab.” Phoenix feels like he’s interrupting something but it might be better that way, before Blackquill picks a full-on fight with a veterinarian about how smart birds on average are or aren’t. (Varies across species, surely? Crows are smart; Kay harps on that all the time, but Phoenix still wouldn’t get anything out of calling a crow to testify unless Kay was there translating. Parrots, though—) “But I did warn you yesterday that if it would help Sasha’s case, I would divulge whatever it took.”
“Back up one moment,” Blackquill cuts in. “What is this ‘TORPEDO’?”
And Phoenix’s next accusatory tangent lies dead in the water by the end of it, with Dr Crab pissed that Phoenix has announced his illegal activity in court - fair enough - and Blackquill puzzling out that yes, Dr Crab would be telling the truth when he said he didn’t get any warning data on Orla. The sensor is attached in her tank and sends sound waves through the water, but if there’s no water in the tank - or in, say, half of the tank, the half that was drained where the police found an odd-looking sensor during their investigation - then no data gets communicated. Therefore, Dr Crab doesn’t know that Orla is in trouble, and can’t come running to save her.
Bizarre, really, to see Blackquill of all people be the one to figure out why the aquarium’s high-tech equipment was and wasn’t working the way it does. Is Phoenix projecting a little about his own technological inadequacies? Maybe. Is it also just generally shocking to see a man who talks and acts like he was dropped here straight from feudal Japan so quickly grasp what’s going on with this monitoring system that he only had explained to him three minutes ago? Yes. And is it frustrating when, by knowing that the sensor in Orla’s pool only turned off twice, during the overnight cleaning and during the police investigation, they know that the pool was never drained another time, leaving no other time that the victim could’ve been killed in the orca pool room, meaning that Sasha is the only one who could’ve killed the victim? Absolutely.
His theory broken down by tiny inconsistencies that add up into something bigger; this is what it’s like to be the prosecution. Except by this point Phoenix is pretty sure Dr Crab didn’t actually try to kill Orla. He’s pretty sure of that even when he objects that someone did try and kill Orla, no way around it, no matter if it wasn’t Dr Crab. Two people fed Orla during the trial yesterday, when the drug would’ve gotten into her system. Sasha was one - unfortunately, because nothing can be easy - and the other was Marlon Rimes.
Not quite the place he thought this would end up, to be honest.
-
The judge calls a short recess for Rimes to be summoned, and Blackquill cuts that down to a minute and a half because Rimes is apparently already here in the courthouse. It leaves Athena enough time to say she can’t belive this, either, and Dr Crab to drop Azura’s charm, the one Rifle ate, on the defense’s bench and tell them that he certainly doesn’t want to accuse either Sasha or Marlon, but the truth is what it is and it’s up to them to figure it out, and best of luck to them. “Now I think I should’ve learned Japanese,” Athena says, holding the charm up close to her face and then wrinkling her nose and quickly pushing it away, some fishy smell remaining to bother her. From that distance she squints at the characters inked on the front. “Like I kept going back and forth on whether I wanted to, but it wasn’t as practical as the languages for countries I was studying in, and then with the Bar too—”
“Athena, you really don’t need to justify not knowing how to read Japanese.” It’s like she thinks she’s supposed to be able to do everything all at once, and she falls silent, looking at him and then back down at the charm.
“I think these are like - not supposed to be opened? Or it’s bad luck to open it or maybe I’m thinking of something else.”
“Better hold off on that, then.” Phoenix holds out his hand and she drops it in his palm and then Fulbright ushers Rimes up to the stand and that’s the end of Blackquill’s speedrun recess.
Rimes, despite being at the courthouse, apparently doesn’t know what was happening in the trial, implying that Blackquill just dropped him in a lobby and left him there and - other than the hawk attack right at the start, Phoenix hasn’t actually seen Taka around. He pictures Rimes sitting paralyzed with fear under the watchful and murderous eyes of the prosecution’s attack bird. That’s probably how it was.
“Mr Rimes,” the judge says, probably pleased that for once he’s not the most clueless person in the courtroom. “You are under suspicion of the attempted murder of the orca.”
Phoenix decides that if it’d bad luck to fiddle with this charm, he’s already cursed enough as-is, and he might as well go ahead and do it. There’s something inside the little packet, another thin slip of paper, and he slides it out to find a small photograph, showing Rimes with his arm around the dark-haired young woman from DePlume’s book. Azura Summers, bright-eyed and alive, with an anchor-shaped orca whistle around her neck and behind her and Rimes, the orca.
Now that’s a hell of an interesting revelation, isn’t it. Phoenix sets the charm down on the bench and turns his attention to Rimes, on-stand, hollow-eyed and gone quiet at the accusation. “Fine,” he says. “If that’s already out - I’ll tell the truth.”
And he again begins to insist that Orla was the one to kill the victim.
“We proved yesterday that she didn’t!” Athena slams her fist down on the bench, then winces. “Mr Rimes, why are you lying!”
“I ain’t lying,” Rimes protests. “And that’s better for you! Sasha goes free if the orca did it, right?”
Athena’s mouth hangs open in silent fury. Blackquill stares Phoenix down coldly, and his hawk a mirror of him but with yellow eyes instead of black. “Getting a witness to lie to get your client off the hook? That’s a low, underhanded trick, Wright-dono, even for you.”
A pit opens wide in Phoenix’s stomach. His old reputation, the one Kristoph wove for him, ever precedes him. “Prosecutor Blackquill,” he says, as evenly as he can, hoping as he does that Athena is too distracted with her own anger to notice the emotional tangle that he is caught up in. “I fought for Orla’s acquittal yesterday, and I stand by that today. Ms Buckler believes in Orla’s innocence - I would be letting her down if I saved her at the cost of someone she loves.”
Blackquill’s expression darkens further. He is a thundercloud, a shadow, a wraith, a nightmare made flesh, and for someone who doesn’t have a perfect win record and never was a picture of prosecutorial perfection, he certainly acts like one of those prosecutors who would do anything to get their win, to the cost of the person in the defendant’s seat. Out for the blood of everyone in the courtroom.
Time to prove that Phoenix is as good as his word. “Now, Mr Rimes, let’s talk about your testimony. Your claim is that the orca killed the victim by flinging him up into the air and hitting the water, which is roughly a thirty-foot fall based on the distance between the ceiling and the water. The autopsy report makes clear that the cause of death was something more around sixty feet - sixty-five feet being the depth of the orca pool. If there was still water in the pool as you said, that simply wouldn’t be possible.”
“Ah—” Rimes jerks back away from the stand.
“That’s rather decisive, isn’t it?” the judge muses. “We’re returning to the orca not having done it, then.”
“We are,” Blackquill agrees, his eyes closed. “As I expected. I could not believe this tripe for a moment. I am grateful, Wright-dono, that you shut up this witness on my behalf. Now, the attempted murder of the orca is not the issue we are deliberating, so once again, we prove that Sasha Buckler is the only person who could have killed the victim.”
“Wait,” Rimes says. “Shit. That’s not—”
Every turn they take, Sasha is still the only one who could be the killer. The location and the card key usage record lock in that conclusion. If there’s any way for someone who isn’t Sasha to be the killer - if he turns it around, what scenario leaves the possibility for someone else to be the killer? The location would have to be somewhere that wasn’t the pool room, somewhere that anyone could access, and somewhere with a long way to fall, same as the drained pool. And somewhere that the orca was, to leave blood on her.
The show stage pool.
“Objection!” Phoenix yells it not quite sure what he’s objecting to, having missed the last thirty seconds or so of the conversation, but Blackquill stands expectant, waiting, and the judge was raising his gavel, and that’s the time when there’s no time to think, just object. “I have an objection!”
“Do you,” Blackquill asks, “or are you merely saying those words in a desperate bid for more time?” He tilts his head slightly to the side, considering Phoenix, and adds, “You appear rather sick. Best for your health if you just lie down and accept this, I’d wager.”
I’d wager. One of them in this courtroom is actually a professional gambler, and it’s not the man saying that. What the hell does he think he knows? “Consider,” Phoenix says. “What if the scene of the crime was somewhere else?”
Definitely not his strongest opening, but he’s already put it out there, so he’s got to run with it. “The prosecution’s argument is that, because only the victim and defendant entered the orca pool room when there was no water in the tank, that only the defendant could have killed him, correct?” Blackquill nods curtly. “But if the murder actually took place somewhere else, then it’s very possible that someone else who is not Sasha Buckler could have committed it.”
“Do you know where you’re taking this argument?” Athena asks quietly.
“Actually, sort of, yes.” In a sense, as long as where he’s taking this argument doesn’t immediately need evidence.
“Mr Wright, I hope you aren’t - as I recall you often doing - just bluffing, are you?” All the things that the judge could remember about Phoenix’s defenses after eight years absent from court, and this is what stuck.
“If the show stage pool was drained, it would be equally possible to fall to one’s death there,” Phoenix says. There, proof that he isn’t totally bluffing: an actual suggestion of where this hypothetical other crime scene could be.
Blackquill rubs his chin, frowning, for several seconds, staring out into somewhere in the middle of the courtroom floor. “Wright-dono,” he says, eyes unblinking and not even moving in Phoenix’s direction, “you are a disgrace to your profession.”
“There’s a hoist for moving the orca and props between the two pools.” If he doesn’t acknowledge Blackquill’s barbs, will he eventually stop throwing them? Probably not; that never made middle school bullies stop, either. (Larry dumping a cup of dirty paint water on someone’s head was a better solution. Still probably won’t work on Blackquill.) “It wouldn’t be difficult to move a body via the same method.”
“You have no idea what you are spewing, do you?” Something snaps behind Blackquill’s eyes and he jerks his head up. “Your desperate conjecture creates an entirely new crime scene and even then you cannot follow it through to realize that your new scenario is another malformed coffin for your defense. Tell me, how is it you have deluded yourself into believing that you belong on this battlefield, in this courtroom? Have you truly begun to believe your own mad bluffs?”
The Twisted Samurai knows where to strike to draw blood, if Phoenix had anything more than ice and stone left in his veins. Of course he knows he doesn’t belong back here, but he’ll be damned if he lets Edgeworth down. That’s more important. And now that he’s here, he won’t let Sasha down.
Blackquill raises his fists and slams them in tandem down on the bench. The whole courtroom seems to rattle with the force of the impact, and the chain between his shackles doesn’t hold up. It breaks apart, again, giving Blackquill the full use of his arms, fully preparing him to strike. (There’s something beyond disturbing about the thought that he could do this at any time and simply chooses not to. He could make a break for it from the courtroom if he really wanted. Edgeworth’s met with him one-on-one before. Blackquill could’ve killed him if he wanted to, surely. Phoenix spent seven years trying to keep Edgeworth away and safe from one murdering, magic-using lawyer, and here he was arranging this, whatever the hell this is, with a different one.)
“Well, if you think you’re so smart, then what do you think is so wrong about Mr Wright’s theory?” Athena demands. She’s a good person to have in his corner, all that energy bursting forth, making her not fearless - she shrank away from Blackquill like the rest of them - but furious enough to work past it. Even if she did ask Phoenix if he actually knew what he was arguing. Can’t exactly blame her for it.
The hoist only operates from the orca pool room, meaning that it still had to be Sasha who moved the body, as the only person who did, or could, enter. No way around it. But Sasha could have, theoretically, moved it unknowingly, when she asked for Rimes’ help hiding a prop, the skull rock. If the body was hidden in there—
“Huh,” Rimes says, turning his eyes down toward the stand. “You’re way smarter than I expected, Mr Wright.” Why does everyone keep saying that? “I thought I could hide my involvement, but, yeah, I helped Sasha move and hide the captain’s body after he died at the show pool.”
“Mr Rimes, please stop committing perjury.” Phoenix puts his head in his hands. Presuming that this isn’t more perjury, which he will presume that this is more perjury because Rimes is still saying that the orca killed the victim.
“For once, I agree with the defense,” Blackquill says. “What did I bother putting you on the stand for, if you have nothing but nonsense for testimony!”
“It’s the truth!” Rimes protests. “I didn’t kill the captain, and Sasha didn’t either! She’s only guilty of trying to protect that damn orca! It flipped him way up in the air and he died when he hit the water.” His eyes have glazed over, obviously remembering something, but what, Phoenix can’t say if he is, as he is, assuming this is still lies. If Rimes murdered Shipley, then wouldn’t he want Sasha to take the fall? It would be easier than watching his story unravel trying to insist the orca did it. “And all the spectators screaming when his body came up, I can’t get it outta my head. Sasha and I were already gonna move the skull rock so we put his body in it to hide it; we were gonna figure out what to do in the morning. But then Ms DePlume found out, and I freaked.”
Spectators? What in hell is he talking about? It was the middle of the night. “Hm.” Athena draws a circle in the air with her gloved fingers, whipping up one of her emotional analysis screens. “I think I can take this one, Mr Wright. There’s a ton of noise I’m hearing. It’s coming up as - ah.” Having finished loading, Widget makes some horrible blaring noises and the projected display flashes between blue and red. “Completely out of control anger and sadness.”
“Can you do something with that?” Phoenix asks. She nods. “If there’s anything you can hone in on about that ‘spectators’ line—”
“That’s definitely an odd spot.” Athena scratches her chin. “And odd, inconsistent spots like that usually have something to do with it. Poke him on that and see what he says.”
He says that he made a mistake. An odd one to make, without a doubt; they’ve been talking about how this case happened during overnight cleaning for two days now, and here’s Rimes, talking like it happened in the middle of a show. “Pointing that out made some of the sadness subside,” Athena says, further pondering the screen and swiping back and forth between statements of the testimony. “I wonder if he could be mixing up one memory with another - some other incident left a deep imprint on his psyche and was similar enough that he’s recalling it now.”
The charm that belonged to Azura Summers’ boyfriend still lies on the bench, the corner of the photograph sticking out. “Mr Rimes, you didn’t happen to be in the audience at last year’s show, when the other trainer died, did you?”
“I—” Surely he must have realized that this would become a topic of contention, that someone could figure out his connection to this prior case, but Rimes appears wholly unprepared for the topic. One of his hands flits down toward his pocket. “Yes, I was in the audience, but so what?” His voice trembles as he asks. “I was just - just some other spectator.”
“No you weren’t.” Phoenix picks the charm back up and removes the picture fully from it, passing it to Athena. “Ms Azura Summers, the orca trainer who died last year, was your girlfriend.”
“H-hey! Where’d you get that charm—” There’s the reaction Phoenix wanted. Rimes doesn’t have a poker face.
“I thought you said we weren’t going to mess with that yet,” Athena says.
“I didn’t want you to,” Phoenix says. “I can’t get much more cursed.”
“Well, you could’ve mentioned to me that you’d—” Athena squeals and jumps backwards as Taka alights on the bench, sticking its head through the Mood Matrix. Pulling the picture close to her chest, Athena stares down the bird; it glares back, snapping its sharp little beak open and closed several times. “Wait, do you - do you want—” She slowly extends her hand, fingers curled to keep them from appearing as tempting snacks, picture offered to the hawk pinched between her thumb and fist. Taka stretches its neck out and plucks the photograph away from her, sweeping its wings wide and taking off with a gust that buffets their faces and leaves behind a few loose bits of feathery fluff.
“I’m surprised it didn’t just rip it out of your hands,” Phoenix says.
“Must’ve been afraid he’d ruin it,” Athena says. Across the courtroom, Taka lands in front of Blackquill, holding the picture for him to examine, and then flies off to the judge.
Rimes’ anger is easy from there: he thinks the orca killed his girlfriend. Of course he hates it. Of course he wanted to prove it to be - frame it as? - a killer. And with those loudest, most furious emotions quieted, Athena can hear that he wasn’t surprised when DePlume saw the orca finding the body in the rock. The last contradiction between Rimes’ words and feelings cleared, it’s all there: motive to hate the orca and frame her for murder, method to move the body, and a witness who they proved yesterday had been manipulated by the real killer to specifically witness the “killer” whale. And if Rimes, like he points out, doesn’t have a motive for killing Jack Shipley - well, that’s it, isn’t it? Rimes tried to kill Orla by draining the show pool, but that left room for Shipley to fall to his death.
It’s quiet, for a moment, with Phoenix finished laying out his proposal. “Mr Rimes?” the judge prompts. “Do you have anything to say to this?”
“I wish I didn’t have to fight anyone but that orca,” Rimes says, “but I guess you’re not leaving me much choice. I’m not strong enough otherwise.” His hand returns to his pocket, but this time when he brings it back up a magatama rests in his palm, glowing faintly blue. Fingers closing around it, he brings it up to his chest.
“Mr Rimes, wait—” Whatever he thinks he’s doing - even if he did murder Jack Shipley while trying to kill Orla - Phoenix is of the opinion that very few people deserve what the fae would put them through. Rimes isn’t one. But it’s too late, and he stands there in front of the court with light shining out between his fingers, spilling across his skin and up from under it. He flexes and his arms bulge, and his whole body with it distorts and swells so that he looks, really, nothing like the Rimes of a moment ago. His jaw and face widen; his shirt splits apart under the strain of this bodybuilder-caricature physique. If there is a murmur from the gallery whenever something interesting happens, this is a roar, and the judge, shocked like the rest of them, not even banging his gavel for order.
Blackquill recoils, but by managing to speak he’s one step ahead of the rest of them on the court floor who are struck by silence. “What the devil kind of deal did you make?” he snarls. Rimes doesn’t answer him; Blackquill’s eyes flash silver again and Taka shrieks and Phoenix is the next unfortunate prey beneath their gazes. “This entire yarn you have spun, defense, is predicated on this witness being able to manipulate the orca into acting as he wished. Answer me this, witness, before your body folds under the weight of your bad decision: can you control the orca’s actions?”
Phoenix almost misses Rimes’ answer - something about not being able to, and that Phoenix is spewing bilge, which, no, Phoenix is pretty sure he’s on the right track this time - thinking more about the way Blackquill called Rimes on the magatama. How did he get it - what did he do for it - is Blackquill concerned of what will come of that, the way Phoenix is, or is this disdain and no sympathy for a fool in over his head? It doesn’t matter, in the moment, but Phoenix is grasping for any insight at all into Blackquill’s thoughts and his own situation. There’s a lot to learn about someone else’s background based on their opinions of the fae and the like.
The trouble is, he’s pretty sure that if he ever tried to talk to Blackquill, personally, the man would laugh him out of the detention center, and this is going to be the most insight he gets.
“Ms Buckler was the only one who knew how to issue commands to the orca, wasn’t she?” the judge asks.
“Ah,” Phoenix says. Shit. He’s got to figure out how someone else could’ve, and fast.
“How does it feel to be shown up as a lawyer by the judge?” Blackquill asks. (Pretty bad, honestly.) “Strike at me with a blade of evidence, or accept your defeat with grace, should you even know how!”
He lashes out at Phoenix with a slash of his finger, his movement no longer limited by the handcuffs. The air in the courtroom moves, pushes across a cold front, and with it, cutting through the dark that falls over Phoenix’s Sight with a silvery, icy curved blade of wind. He’s sure it isn’t solid, but it strikes him in the face, up by his temple, and still hurts. The sting that lingers is of a paper’s slice through skin, but the initial impact, the first cut, is a damn bit stronger than that. He lifts a hand and drags it through his hair there, isn’t surprised to find that some dark strands come away stuck to his skin.
There’s supposed to be reason for those handcuffs, a mundane reason and a magical reason, and yet Blackquill breaks the chain limiting him and uses magic that should be stopped by iron. Is that something to be said for the power of psychology? Magic powered by belief in it, and Blackquill perhaps tricking himself into believing that none of this can stop him. Witch, magician, fae, or something else, iron should limit him at least somewhat - unless this is him limited, and that’s an entirely new frightening thought.
Yeah, yeah, isn’t it nice that Phoenix doesn’t have any reason at all to ever be involved with Blackquill ever again after this trial is over, huh.
(Damn you, Edgeworth.)
“I’m afraid that this line of reasoning has reached a dead end,” the judge says. Rimes couldn’t frame Orla without manipulating her - how could Rimes have manipulated her? If Phoenix doesn’t have proof he at least needs some way to stall for time, some more testimony - from Sasha? If he asks Sasha to testify about Orla’s training sessions, if it was possible for someone to see or record them, if anything is written down— “Unfortunately, there seems no way for your theory to work, Mr Wright. Now—”
“Objection!”
Athena’s shout reverberates through his ears, and with that so close and so unexpected, Phoenix knows his face doesn’t put up the facade of the defense team both being on the same page. She doesn’t immediately followup with evidence or more reasoning, and he asks, “Do - do you have something to say?”
“No,” she says, staring across at Blackquill at the other bench. “But you do. You’re not done arguing - I can hear it in your heart that you’re not.” She smiles at him. When did he last say something, for her to hear? Does it not take words any longer, after the time she’s known him? Or is she just saying what she hears in her own heart, her hope for him, that the great Phoenix Wright who she admired enough to become a defense attorney won’t quit like this. “So I was speaking up for you - sometimes you need someone else to help, right?”
Someone else to speak up for him - someone else to remind him who he is. He hasn’t gotten his badge back to not fight to the end with insane and absurd suppositions. Sasha came to him for help and he won’t let her down. “Thanks, Athena,” he says, and louder calls, “Your Honor! I’m not yet finished presenting my argument!”
“Some day or another you both need to learn to give up.” Blackquill leans forward, his elbows resting on the bench. “I might prefer that to be today, now. What more can you possibly want to do? You’ve already presented a mountain of evidence and scrutinized every last piece of testimony from all of the witnesses!”
Everyone involved - DePlume, Rimes, Sasha, Crab. He could ask Sasha to testify again, buy some time to think - wait, everyone involved? Not quite. There’s a reason Sasha came to him for help, and this is batshit, this is a joke, but it saved him in a situation far more dire than this.
“No,” Phoenix says. “Not every witness. We haven’t heard from the central figure in both today and yesterday’s trials, have we?”
“Don’t tell me.” Blackquill pushes himself up straighter, the better to condescendingly glare down at the defense. Phoenix can’t help but crack a momentary grin at him. Oh, I’ll be telling you in a second.
“Wait - who have we not heard from?” the judge asks. “Prosecutor Blackquill, Mr Wright, what valuable input have you been neglecting?”
Blackquill closes his eyes. Phoenix takes a deep breath and steels himself. Nothing else for it. “The defense would like to call Orla the orca as a witness for cross-examination!”
-
“—and I hope Phoenix knows that I can’t actually understand Orla on more than a basic first-week-of-foreign-language-class level! Like ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘it’s fine’, ‘thanks’ - I could tell you who the killer was if she could tell me but I don’t know enough vocabulary to—”
“Sasha, calm down.” Phoenix slides his phone back into his pocket. “I wasn’t expecting you to. Since you and the victim were the ones who fed Orla, she shouldn’t have interacted with Rimes much, right? But if we can get some sort of reaction from her when she sees him, that could be telling.”
“Wait, would she even recognize him the way he looks now?” Athena asks. “Bold move, Boss, at any rate.”
He can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or genuine admiration. “Well, since you spoke up for me before I’d figured out a plan, I had to work out our next step on the fly.”
“You do that off your own objections, too, though,” Athena says.
“And I just—” He stops. He also can’t tell if that one is sarcasm or admiration and he’s going to let it all go. “Just spoke with Pearls and she’s getting the telecast set up on her end. Says Orla seems to be feeling fine.”
“Thank goodness,” Sasha says. “And thank you so much - I r-eely appreciate you not giving up on Orla.”
“Of course we wouldn’t!” Athena says brightly. “We don’t give up! Wait, do you say ‘really’ like that like to mean, like, reeling in a fishing pole?”
“What? No, it’s like eels - electric, moray, you know.”
“Ooh,” Athena says.
Sasha frowns. “I had no idea how much Marlon hated Orla. Feels like an electric eel’s gotten to me now. I can’t believe that all this time he was planning on…”
Orla didn’t kill Jack Shipley. Every new thing Phoenix proves keeps coming around to that. But Rimes - Rimes said he was sure the orca killed Jack Shipley, right? Was that what he said? What were his exact words? How had he phrased it? Phoenix doesn’t remember, but Psyche-Locks hadn’t appeared, and they probably should have, because Rimes is hiding all this and more. Consistency, consistency, Phoenix thought he had this figured out. Was it screwed up because Pearl was nearby but not with him? Where was she when he talked with DePlume? Or was he not paying attention because he had no idea that Rimes might be important? Because unlike DePlume, he didn’t act blatantly suspicious, and Phoenix didn’t give him a glance with the Sight, either. Maybe he was just too trapped in his own head to notice, too busy thinking about Maya, about humans and orcas and humans and fae, to have any room left for locks to force their way in front of his eyes.
That seems likely. He really needs to stop considering the mirror. It only misleads.
What was it that Blackquill said to Apollo, that first day in court? To stop relying on the tricks that someone else gave him? Phoenix needs to remember that, again, himself. If nothing else, it’s a reminder. He was a lawyer before he could see Psyche-Locks. He was a lawyer and figured it out when they were misleading him.
Locks or no, they’re reaching the end of this, and Phoenix is going to make Rimes break.
“Of course he hates the orca that killed his girlfriend.” Great, as if he didn’t need more pressure, here is DePlume, strutting into the lobby like she owns the place. “And killed her right in front of him, too!”
“I - didn’t know you were here, Ms DePlume,” Athena says, as clearly unhappy that she is here as Phoenix is.
“Of course I am! I’ve made a vow, you see.” She looks serious. Phoenix hopes it’s not any kind of magically-binding vow. “That I will learn the truth, and report on it in my next book - whatever this truth happens to be, and even if it goes against what I last wrote about this orca.”
That is - not the response Phoenix thought she’d have, not when she was so furious yesterday to have been proven wrong. “That’s really good of you, actually,” he says, immediately regretting the “actually” that his stupid brain let go through the filter and get attached to the end of his sentence.
DePlume sniffs haughtily. “Don’t patronize me, blue boy. Patronize my books if you will anything - I may be a bestselling author, but it is still difficult to maintain a living off of that alone.” And harder, no doubt, when people like Phoenix’s daughter are pirating her books. Should he feel bad?
“No, I mean, genuinely, it’s hard for anyone to realize that they’re wrong, and to face that truth head-on, too. Having been there enough myself.” And seen that many more of his friends and clients facing the same. Sasha slid to the side out of DePlume’s war path but still thinking about Rimes, that resentment he harbored and fed until a man is dead and the aquarium staff tearing themselves and each other apart.
“I’d sure like to know that truth myself,” Dr Crab says. When did he enter? Easy to miss him when DePlume takes center stage. “Now and then, too. I was in that audience, same as Rimes, and Azura died right in front of me.”
The photo of her body presents itself in Phoenix’s mind’s eye. How they said the orca killed her but the only teeth marks were on her walkie-talkie. “What happened then, exactly, if you’re willing to tell me?”
Dr Crab shakes his head but he’s already answering as he does. “It was the middle of a show. I was usually right there for them, in case something happened - to the orca, we were prepared for. But Azura fell off its back and started thrashing around in the water, not like she was trying to swim and couldn’t, but just writhing in pain. The orca was in the middle of singing but started headbutting her, several times, before she took her in her mouth and dragged her over to the side of the pool. They’d already started ushering the crowd out, but it was so loud, people screaming - Jack and I ran over to her, and we could see her holding her chest, in obvious pain, but by the time we got there…”
She was dead, and the orca the only apparent thing involved. But a pain in her chest, a sudden death, no visible marks on her body that honestly how could they think the orca did it unless there was some very delayed bruising - and yesterday what did Apollo find out? “I don’t think the orca had anything to do with her death, either,” Phoenix says. “I think probably, when Orla was headbutting her, she was trying to check on her. In the course of our investigating, we discovered that Ms Summers suffered from a heart condition - she was taking the same medication that you do, Sasha.”
“A heart condition?” Sasha yelps. “But that - she never told me!”
“Just like I’m currently finding out that you have one,” Crab says dryly. Sasha makes a small noise of affirmation. But he looks shaken, too, and seems to be chewing over some thought for several more seconds until his head snaps to attention with a revelation. “Son of a bitch! What her family said - and that you have a condition too, Sasha, of course!”
“Uh…” Sasha turns helplessly around to face every other person in the room. Coming up with nothing, she finally asks, “Is this about that spectacular fight with her family that you had, and what does something they said have to do with me?”
“Spectacular?” Athena repeats warily.
“The hallway around Dr Crab’s lab was practically shaking,” Sasha says. “It was when they came to - to pick up Azura’s body. I couldn’t tell what anyone was saying but boy were you all mad. It’s not like, the fun kind of way you usually think when people say ‘spectacular’, but it was loud and dramatic and bombastic.”
“They were furious with me,” Dr Crab says. “They believed that were I really a friend of Azura’s, I would’ve told her to go back home and away from this aquarium and this city. Because they mentioned the orca, naturally, but then told me it often happens that shapeshifters like her who grow up isolated from human society end up developing any number of health conditions when they try to integrate with an environment that’s so human - all of our bustle and pollution and technology and metals.” He shakes his head. “Son of a bitch, I didn’t know why they were telling me it then, but they must have known. And here you are, Sasha, another selkie with a heart condition—”
“Azura was a selkie? But - but she never told me that either!” Distressed, Sasha fiddles with the whistle around her neck and doesn’t look back at Dr Crab.
“You’re a selkie, Sasha?” Athena asks. “You didn’t tell us that! Wait what’s a selkie. Is that the one that sings you to death?”
“Siren,” Phoenix says. “Selkie is seals.”
“Well… I guess not. But - is this why we got along so well? I can’t believe this!” Sasha pushes her bangs back and leaves them spiked partway up. “Are you sure?”
“I kept her skin on hand for her in my lab for her so yes, I’m rather sure.”
“What? Her skin?” Athena echoes, eyes wide, aghast. “Ew!”
“Her sealskin, and it looked more like a fur coat than anything,” Dr Crab says irritably. “Her family wanted it back, which was the argument I had with them. They wanted to take her home, and it’s not like she and I ever discussed what she wanted to happen if…” He shakes his head again. “Hard to think about when you’re this young. But she’d left home and made this her home for a reason and she told me that and I told them that, and I thought part of her should stay here. They left with her body, and Jack and I took her sealskin and gave it back to the ocean here. And hoped that was something she would’ve wanted.”
Sasha wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I bet it was,” she says. “And in my family, maybe she had different traditions, she said she was from Japan right?” - Dr Crab nods - “but my family has a funeral rite of separately interring our sealskins to the sea, so that there’s room in the empty skin for a new life to incarnate. So I think - I think Azura would’ve been happy with that.” She sniffles loudly. “And I knew Orla didn’t do it! And you were talking about putting her down!”
Dr Crab’s eyes dart toward DePlume, who has been strangely quiet - likely rattled to have been so wrong. “That was a lie,” he says, finally, reluctantly, but with Orla’s innocence established, with the aquarium already in trouble for the TORPEDO monitoring system - go ahead. Might as well spill more. “Jack and I were against such a thing from the start, no matter what she might’ve done.” Like Pearl said. That it wasn’t fair. Not for Orla. “That’s what the sleeping pills were for - if it came to it, we would drug her, pretend she was dead, and set her free.”
Is an orca smart enough to be malicious? Smart enough to realize how fragile humans are? Failing a concrete answer to that - and the fact that the victim talked with her doesn’t give an answer, because Kay talks to crows and they’re smart but enough to be punished for crimes? - Phoenix thinks that yes, that would be the right thing to do.
An orca’s an orca. Not the fae, who tend toward conceptually understanding what humans think is moral but still erring on the side of “it’s only a crime if you’re caught”. Another reason that they established the rule of using the local human judicial body rule on their murders, because human investigators are more eyes to help catch your enemies for actions that are against the law, and there’s another fae tendency to not look ahead to consequences, like that one day all those investigating human eyes will be catching you for your crimes, too.
(And he’s not going to tell Kay that his professional legal opinion is that crows should not be sentenced for crimes. She’d be the one to figure out how to push it too far. Would Blackquill be willing to prosecute a murder of thieving crows, or does his love of birds extend past Taka and penguins?)
“I have one last thing that I can’t tell you,” Dr Crab says. “I made a promise to Jack, and I’m bound to it. But here’s a clue for the aquarium’s last secret - focus on the orca’s song.”
“Orla’s… song?” Phoenix repeats. Crab nods. “She only knows how to sing one song, right?” Crab nods again, and Sasha this time, does as well. “All right. That’s - okay.” Great. Nothing like building a case off of cryptic clues.
DePlume should have been hearing this entire conversation, from selkies to faking an orca’s death, but she doesn’t act like she has. When she finally speaks, it’s like she’s frozen back at the very start. “I never even considered that the poor girl’s death could have been - an illness, a physical ailment.” She tugs her scarf away from the back of her neck and fans her skin. “I just want to know the truth,” she repeats. “Whether I may even say ‘just’ with all of this that you speak so openly of” - she still doesn’t give a hint whether she knows and believes them and is shocked that they would dare utter these things loudly, or whether she thinks they’re lunatics - “but I will tell you something that will help you. It is not in service to the truth for me to refrain from speaking of this.”
“Oh?” Even rattled as she is, she still has that certainty and confidence that made her such a formidable and more than that, frustrating, witness. What else does she know that they didn’t pry out of her, or that she didn’t happily admit in what seems to be an insatiable need to gossip?
“I told you that I was investigating the aquarium that day on behalf of a client, yes?” Phoenix has no idea if she did but nods anyway. “I was called out, specifically, that morning, to investigate the orca pool, by that animal keeper, Marlon Rimes.”
-
“I’ve tried to explain to Orla what’s going on and what she needs to do, but I don’t think she understands any of these lawyering words.”
The monitor that showed Orla yesterday, today once again sits on the floor near the witness stand, and its screen projected much larger, up into the air, for the court to easily see. Pearl stands with her hands clasped behind her back, half in view, watching Orla, who splashed up water at the edge of the pool and chirps contentedly.
Even if she can understand pieces of what they say, what frame of reference would an orca have to understand what a court or testimony is? “Thanks for trying,” Phoenix says.
“Ah, young lady there with the very cute orca, we’ve met before, have we not?” the judge asks. Despite being afraid of Orla yesterday, today he thinks she’s cute. Point to the defense.
“You have,” Phoenix says. “That’s Pearl. She came with me to court a number of times.” And watched her mother get arrested for conspiracy and accomplice to murder on the second-ever day. Ah, memories.
“It’s very good to see you’re doing well, Mr Your Honor!” Pearl says brightly.
Taka screeches and makes a beeline for the judge’s head, settling gently, as it does, down on his scalp, but clearly conveying the message that there’s no time for small talk. “Ahem. Mr Wright. What is your plan for cross-examining this witness here?”
“I’m gonna ask her for testimony,” Phoenix says. “And I would also like to call Mr Rimes back up to the stand, to see if we can get any reaction from Orla. Pearl, do you have a way to see the courtroom proceedings on your end?”
“Uh - yes, one moment!” Whether that means she’s doing something with the video phone, or is popping open some one-way mirror of a faery ring, Phoenix doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t say, and a moment later her voice is fainter. “Orla, look here! At Mr Animal Keeper here!”
Orla whistles with much the same intonation as she was before, with no apparent acknowledgement of Rimes. Great, okay. More or less what Phoenix expected. What’s his plan? He doesn’t have a plan. If he can’t get something out of this, then Sasha will be found guilty. He needs to figure out how Rimes gave commands to Orla. He needs time to think about that, but the only way he can buy time is with this cross-examination. He’s letting his mouth run the show, stall for time, while his brain goes to work on an entirely different problem.
His last bit of self-awareness tells him he sounds like an idiot, accepting an orca’s chirps as testimony while he tells her that her chirping isn’t really enough information and he’s going to need something more out of her, but better an idiot lawyer than a convicted client. “Excuse me, Orla, could you do the lifesaver trick for us, please? Or sing for us?”
She spurts a few drops of water up from her blowhole, like she’s snorting at him. “I guess if she’s only got a limited vocabulary, like Sasha does, then that doesn’t mean anything to her,” Athena says. “She’d associate the actions with the whistle, not the words.” And if she does know the words, then that means she doesn’t want to take orders from anyone but her trainer - either way, nothing Rimes could do. “But oh, isn’t she adorable!”
Blackquill rolls his eyes. Phoenix is glad that Athena has just kept talking, trying to suss out what Orla is feeling. Whether she knows it or not, she’s stalling for him.
Could Rimes have in some way overheard the whistle patterns and learned them? No, the training whistles aren’t within audible range; he couldn’t have. Could Azura have taught him some of Orla’s commands? Since she was a trainer, and knew them, and sent videos of training sessions to him—
The videos.
Pearl and Athena both squeak and go silent as Blackquill slams his fists on the bench. “I have had enough of this farce of yours! You had better have an answer now, Wright-dono, else I will have Taka feast upon your treacherous tongue!”
He needs that tongue. “Then allow me to explain to this court exactly how it was that Orla was manipulated. Pearls—” He probably shouldn’t call her that in court. Not real professional of him. “Ms Fey.” Blackquill laughs, low and disbelieving, and to him it probably sounds like Phoenix is saying Ms Fae, which - Mia really phoned it in when she came up with a surname. She saved all her creativity for her defenses, Lana said at one point. “You have Mr Rimes’ video phone with you, yes?”
“Yep!”
Invasion of privacy here they come. They’ve got reasonable suspicion, right? “Would you look for any videos of any orca training sessions with Ms Summers and Orla? They’d be from more than a year ago. Especially if there’s any videos of the lifesaver trick.”
Azura would’ve had to use the whistle commands for Orla to do her trick. They can’t hear the whistle, but if the video could’ve picked it up and replayed it—
“Um.” Pearl’s voice is fainter. “I will try.”
He wishes she’d have a little more confidence about it. Maybe if she did it would have taken less than the very painfully long five minutes that they wait, Blackquill glaring all the while. Phoenix would swear that he doesn’t blink. “I found one,” Pearl says finally, and the world releases the breath it was holding, like they were caught in the moment before Psyche-Locks appear. “Do you want me to play it?”
“Throw the practice dummy in the pool first,” Phoenix says.
Pearl runs around the pool, grabs the doll, and hurls it with the speed and trajectory of a fastball. It doesn’t arc into the pool and just noisily crashes into a wall somewhere off-camera, and she raises a hand to her face in surprise.
Phoenix presses both his forefingers to the bridge of his nose. “Drop,” he amends. “Drop it in the pool.”
“She could probably bench press more than me,” Athena says, sounding awed.
“She could probably bench press you,” Phoenix says.
“Well yeah, given the average weight of a person it’s theoretically not hard to bench someone. The difficulty would come from, does the person you’re benching have enough core strength to hold themselves steady when you’re lifting them so they don’t flail and fall and kick you in the face on the way down.” Phoenix hopes that she’s only worked this out theoretically and not actually been kicked in the head trying to use a person as a barbell.
A splash on-camera means Pearl finally got the dummy into the water. She leans over the side to watch it sink, and Orla looks at her, and after a few seconds Pearl acquises to something silently passed between them and grabs some fish from a bucket to feed her. “Okay, it’s sunk down to the bottom,” she says. “Now I play the video?”
“Yep.”
The first several moments, Phoenix fears nothing is going to happen. Then Orla dives, out of sight, and Pearl narrates the rest. “She’s going toward the dummy - she’s got it - here she comes - good girl, Orla! I don’t think she left any new bites in it!” She waves it above her head, for them to see. “What a smart girl! Here, I’ll get some more food for you!”
“Will you try one more for me?” Phoenix asks. He doesn’t like these questions, asking them phrased this way, but Pearl said she would help and this is part of it; this isn’t a separate deal. She pops her head back into view. “A video of her singing.”
“Of course!” And moments later Orla is squawking out her one song, a bit toneless and lacking rhythm, and still better than what Phoenix manages to do with a piano.
“Isn’t she amazing?” Athena sighs in admiration. “You go, Orla!”
“Hmph.” Blackquill is not nearly so impressed, but there’s still something bordering on begrudging acknowledgement in the grunt. Maybe he’d just rather be seeing the penguin perform. “What a shock, Wright-dono, that you pulled this off. You’ve successfully proven the possibility that Marlon Rimes could have manipulated the orca - but that is, after all, only a possibility that you have not proven, and so it is just as likely that Sasha Buckler simply commanded the orca, using her own whistle, to perform the singing and lifesaver tricks. None of this rigamarole with the videos.”
The two tricks at the same time? Didn’t they talk about Orla not being able to do that? The sound of another orca song, but a different one, as much as there can be a difference in an orca chirping in something that’s close to a pattern, jars him away from the thought. Pearl just sent over Rimes’ videos, and Athena has one pulled up and playing. It shows Azura, the dark-haired selkie, kneeling next to the pool, bobbing her head to the vague melody that Orla began in response to her whistle.
No, the orca can’t do two tricks at the same time, and Dr Crab said to give thought to the song. Phoenix still doesn’t know what the latter is about, but the former, he can toss back at Blackquill. “Not just as likely,” he says.
Blackquill’s eyebrows disappear beneath his shaggy hair. “Do tell,” he says. “If you strike at me, best be prepared to follow through.”
“I’m getting to it.” This isn’t a sword fight with a samurai, no matter how Blackquill’s metaphors make it sound. In court, with evidence, Phoenix can go toe-to-toe with him. Meanwhile, his only combat experience is choreographed Shakespearian stage fights and those don’t count, he’s starting to think.
He explains the issue, Blackquill heckling him every moment he stops to breathe for the fact that his theory is that Sasha can’t be the killer because the killer made Orla do something that’s impossible for her to do. “Better straighten out this theory of yours before I straighten you out.”
Phoenix opens his mouth. Several responses vie for space on the tip of his tongue, and in the time that “well, you are certainly allowed to try” and “yeah, that’s absolutely never going to happen” are fighting, his brain-to-mouth filter swoops in and stops him from saying anything. He closes his mouth. His silence probably makes Blackquill think he’s gotten the better of him this time, but, frankly, fuck him. (But not - okay, Phoenix is derailing this train of thought right out of the station. No puns, no pondering whether Blackquill would be attractive if he didn’t look like a dead-eyed corpse. He’s not Phoenix’s type anyway.)
“The orca’s song was probably faked,” he says finally. “Orla didn’t perform both at the same time - like I said, it’s not something she can do. The song was played over the speakers in the lobby by the tank, from this recording from a year ago. Ms DePlume said that the song she heard that day at the aquarium is the same from the Swashbuckler Spectacular show a year ago - but the song Orla sang for us just now, when Ms Fey played the video, is not that song. Marlon Rimes, who had these videos on his phone, would have been able to do this - play the lifesaver video to get Orla to bite the body, and broadcast the song to get Ms DePlume’s attention and show her that same scene she saw a year ago.”
“I ain’t exactly a tech guy,” Rimes says. “You saying I got my phone hooked up to those speakers? How?”
Ah. Well. How indeed? This would be a damned silly place for him to be stopped having come this far, though. “Not necessarily? You could’ve used your walkie-talkie. You’ve got one, same as Sasha and Jack Shipley, and those can also broadcast through the aquarium loudspeakers, right?”
Rimes fakes a laugh. That can’t mean anything good. “Sure can! Thing is - day a’fore DePlume was there and saw that murderin’ orca—” His tone of voice keeps dropping to something gravelly and more like a stereotypical pirate accent. It honestly wouldn’t surprise him if that was part of the magic woven into the magatama, just for the amusement of whatever fae made a deal with a pirate-themed aquarium employee. “Screwed up an’ broke my walkie-talkie while cleaning.”
“Are you fucking bullshitting me right now.”
He’s back in the basement of the Borscht Bowl Club, staring down seven long years of faceless challengers, and when he didn’t laugh off the ones that thought they could trick or intimidate him into losing the only reputation he had left, he dropped the thin pleasantries, dropped into the persona he mirrored from the rest of them, short-tempered and foul-mouthed card sharks, and gave a dead-eyed stare and asked what the hell they thought they were playing at. Usually his sudden change in demeanor startled them enough to give him time to regain his footing.
But today the ground is still shifting and sliding beneath him.
“You probably broke it on purpose, afterward, to be your stupid little flimsy alibi!” Athena is no less furious that he is, enough that she doesn’t point out the hypocrisy of the times he’s given her a gentle reminder that yelling at the prosecution and/or witnesses like that is not professional in the slightest.
“I’d not done any such thing,” Rimes protests. “Dropped it after I was done helping Sasha with the cleaning.”
Athena makes quotation gestures in the air. “You ‘dropped’ it, huh? You got proof for that? That you dropped it and didn’t ‘drop’ it?” She’s really going in on this phrasing.
“Proof?” Blackquill interrupts. “The burden of proof is on you, not this witness!”
It is, isn’t it? Fuck the burden of proof. Fuck everything about this. Rimes could’ve stolen someone else’s walkie-talkie and used it to broadcast the video. He could’ve used his own and broken it after the fact. It’s logical, every single bit, it’s common sense, and that doesn’t matter. They’re down to nitpicking a goddamn walkie-talkie because Rimes has no other way to defend himself: he had the means, the motive, the opportunity. He could be lying about anything and Phoenix wouldn’t know. Phoenix doesn’t know if Blackquill screws up his Psyche-Locks too but he probably does. “Mr Rimes,” Phoenix says, and he hears himself speaking louder than necessary to drown out the long, frustrated yell thrumming through the back of his skull. “I hope you realize a jury wouldn’t buy one second of this shit you’re spewing.”
“A jury,” Blackquill repeats, tonelessly, expressionlessly, and Phoenix almost has the naivety, for one flash of an instant, to think that this isn’t going to go somewhere that makes him want nothing more than to push the prosecution off the edge of an empty orca pool. “Perhaps this is the sort of situation you should have considered before you made a catastrophe of your own Jurist System, deciding you would rather it serve the cause of personal revenge than serious reform.”
He could argue. It would be easy to argue. He could say that reform takes time, and the public doesn’t trust the legal system as it currently stands, and that makes them expectedly cautious about said legal system’s plans for fixing itself from the inside; and that Edgeworth’s careful, wants more test cases, wants to know how a prosecutor not so stringently fighting for truth as Gavin could sway a jury far off-course, wants to see how juries that Phoenix hasn’t dropped an amnesiac dead woman into act, wants to make sure they do this right instead of just trying to do something immediate, so that another twenty years down the line they don’t have to fix it again.
And it would be the most difficult thing in the world to argue, because he knew, the day of Drew Misham’s death - Phoenix knew if he did that, this is what would be said about him, now until the end of everything. He knew and he went for it and how can he argue when he knew, when he barely survived a vote the committee took on whether he should stay on it at all, when they didn’t have to vote on whether he should be stripped of his chair because that was an easy decision to of course make; and how can he argue when he said it himself, to Apollo, when the kid asked if there was any progress being made, that this is how he knows he’s perceived. “Like I was using the whole project for personal revenge.” How can he argue against this perception when he doesn’t regret a damn thing.
And if he argued it wouldn’t matter at all, because Blackquill stacked the deck. He knows where to cut but doesn’t have any personal investment to care if there’s a lashing back. Phoenix could say anything and it won’t change Blackquill’s stance because Blackquill might not even believe what Blackquill is saying. He might not care what Phoenix did. He just knows where to get under his opponent’s skin, and this is one of Phoenix’s open wounds.
Somewhere up in the gallery there’s Edgeworth, Apollo, and are they sitting together with Trucy - do they not say anything because of her, or because Apollo’s still intimidated by Edgeworth, but do they exchange a glance, one that acknowledges and hates what Phoenix turned himself into? Does Edgeworth regret this now, watching the face-off between the two attorneys with blackened names who he’s trying to clear?
Phoenix says nothing, and Blackquill’s smirk widens,
And Athena is still furiously arguing with Rimes about who it is exactly who’s spewing bilge, the lawyers or the witness - Phoenix’s vote is on the witness for seeming to be trying to on-the-spot compose a diss track against Phoenix, stick to your day job, Rimes - like they’ve not even noticed the drama happening next to them. It means nothing to Athena, who barely knows about the Jurist System and Phoenix’s role in it, who certainly doesn’t know about where Phoenix stands at the intersection of the Mishams, Zak Gramarye, and Kristoph Gavin, because Athena doesn’t know any of them either. She just knows right here at this moment, Marlon Rimes is lying through his teeth, and she’s going to chew him out for it.
Is she accusing him of not even having broken his walkie-talkie in the first place? Bold strategy, probably not going to work out for her, but if she keeps talking Phoenix can stabilize himself and maybe figure out what’s actually happening while she’s stalling for time. He has to prove either when Rimes’ walkie-talkie broke or that he used someone else’s. If—
“Sure, I can prove t’ya that I broke my walkie-talkie - I’ve still got it with me - just not when—”
“Yes!” Phoenix slams his palm down on the bench. Athena jumps. “Please show that to the court!”
Taka swoops down and snatches the sword-shaped walkie-talkie from Rimes’ hand, whisking it off to the judge, the prosecution, and then, finally, landing and depositing it in front of the defense. Athena reaches tentatively for the walkie-talkie that the hawk remains perched on, gingerly trying to avoid its talons, and Taka opens its beak and lets out a horrible screech, right in Athena’s face, before flying off. “Damned bird,” Phoenix mutters, picking up the walkie-talkie and turning it over in his hands. Athena remains frozen for a moment longer, recoiled back from where Taka was. Then she leans over Phoenix’s arm to examine this latest piece of evidence with him.
The casing at the bottom, the part that constitutes the sword’s hilt, is cracked, some pieces of the plastic shattered off entirely. The backing to the battery casing is missing. Several large tooth marks arc across the gray blade part, also badly scuffed. “That’s a big bite,” Athena says. “Do you think it was Orla?”
Either her or Maya, and one of those looks way more likely for this case than the other. “Mr Rimes, this walkie-talkie does very much seem to be broken,” Phoenix says. “But I don’t believe it’s yours.”
The victim’s walkie-talkie has been missing since his death, missing in the photo of his body, and could easily have been broken in the fall. And his had the marks of Orla’s teeth in it, because it was Azura’s before he used it, Which means that Rimes’ actual walkie-talkie still could’ve been used, and this is the victim’s missing one, and the only person who had reason to steal the victim’s walkie-talkie would’ve been the killer trying his hardest to cover his trail.
Right?
Phoenix says this. Rimes claims that he’s had some run-ins with Orla that ended with her biting him and his walkie-talkie both.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Phoenix demands.
The judge slams his gavel down. “Mr Wright! I’ve tried to be lenient on account of how long it has been since you last stood in court, but if you continue to use this sort of language I will have no choice but to penalize you!”
“Sorry. I - sorry, Your Honor.” Phoenix inhales slowly and lets all of his breath out even slower. His client is counting on him to keep a level head. Athena is counting on him to keep a level head. “Mr Rimes, it really seems remarkable to me that you, who so hated Orla and wanted to be rid of her, would never make mention of the fact that she allegedly attacked you - that seems like a worrying behavior that should have been brought to someone’s attention if it actually happened, no?”
“Enough,” Blackquill says lazily. “The witness’ litany of terrible and incomprehensible choices are not on trial here - Sasha Buckler is. Either present to me some evidence of this walkie-talkie theft you insist upon, or allow His Baldness to finally render the verdict that seals the fate of your orca trainer.”
He laughs far too hard at that for it to be anything but a ghastly pun off of Sasha’s identity.
“Sasha’s innocent!” Rimes protests. Still, to the last, insisting on that. “Forget the orca! Let her walk the plank - just save Sasha!”
“I can’t do that, Mr Rimes.” Well - he could. That’s the thing, he could. But he’s sacrificed enough of his principles over the past years, and now that he’s here in court as a lawyer again: no more. No more of that. Sasha trusted him to get Orla found Not Guilty, and Sasha stands by that and is trusting him to stand by that while he defends her. He can’t break that trust. Fuck what anyone else thinks the truth of this case is, Phoenix is going to find the real one, and he’s going to save them both.
“Hey, Mr Wright,” Athena says. “I - okay first I think we need to come up with our own office rap/freestyle or song or pirate theme or something so that we can—”
“Nope,” Phoenix says. “What’s the next thing?”
“I noticed something weird about the bite marks, I’m not sure that it means anything, but…” She shrugs.
“Athena, we’re at the point where we have nothing else and I will make it mean something if it doesn’t actually yet mean something. What’ve you got?”
“Ah,” she says. “Right. We’re running out of half-baked bluffs.” Ouch. She’s really punching him in the pride today. “The bite marks are different, from this walkie-talkie here to the training dummy.” She brings up a photo of the dummy to display above the walkie-talkie. "There's a tooth missing in the bite from a year ago in the walkie-talkie, but not in the dummy, and Orla's not missing any teeth, is she?"
"And you wouldn't give an orca a prosthetic tooth. Do you have anything from Ms DePlume’s book scanned in, like that picture of Azura’s body? If we look at the walkie-talkie there too—”
“On it.”
So the tooth marks are different: if there was a tooth missing from the bite marks now, on the dummy, and a full set on the walkie-talkie a year ago, that would make sense. It would mean Orla had broken a tooth over the past year. But it’s the other way around, two variations on a bite mark - and two variations on the song, too, he remembers suddenly. Dr Crab told him to think about the song. Orla only knows one, Sasha said, but the whistle command from that video a year ago now has her singing a different song than the one in the video a year ago. Two contradictions, both of them a year ago and now. Wouldn’t Sasha have said if they taught Orla a knew song and overwrote the old one? Wouldn’t that be harder than teaching her a new song with a slightly different whistle command? Wouldn’t she get confused?
Phoenix is the confused one. But this has to mean something - Dr Crab wouldn’t have pointed out the songs if it didn’t. If he takes “Orla only knows how to sing the current Swashbuckler Spectacular song, the one Athena knows” as fact, and “a year ago, the orca sang a different song, the one DePlume knows” also as fact—
—then there couldn’t be two different orcas, could there? One missing a tooth, and one not? That’s goddamn absurd, a hell of a leap he’s taking now, but it fits the facts he has to take as fact—
—and Sasha said, what feels like forever ago, but was really two days ago when they met Orla, that her name is actually Ora but she only responds to Orla.
Because even if the aquarium was trying to pretend two orcas were one, if they were ever there in an overlapping time span, they wouldn’t both be trained to respond to the same name. It would get too confusing to refer to them by the same name.
Ora and Orla, two different orcas.
“Shit,” he says.
“Mr Wright,” the judge warns.
“Sorry! Sorry. Can I get a pass for just realizing something astonishing?” Something that’s going to upend half of this case, answers the remaining contradictions, and raises a thousand more questions outside of the case like “but why?” and also “but why?”
“Was this astonishing realization of yours that I am correct and you intend to finally give up insisting on the defendant’s innocence?” Blackquill asks with a smirk.
“You’re a dick.”
Blackquill, unfazed, laughs, but Phoenix still feels a little bit better for having said it. He’s wanted to say that to most prosecutors he’s known in court at least once, and finally, he’s gone for it. “Just hit me with that penalty, Your Honor. Now, what I’ve realized is that, this entire case, we’ve been making an assumption - and why wouldn’t we, no one who works for the aquarium has said otherwise.” Because maybe they actually, physically, can’t. “But these inconsistencies we keep running into make me think - Orla we know now, and the orca at the aquarium a year ago, are not the same orca. There’s not one, but two Ora Shipleys.”
Diving right into this revelation might mean the judge forgets to issue a penalty, because Rimes is shocked, and Blackquill disbelieving, and even Athena who noticed the bite marks surprised that this is the conclusion they’ve reached - and the judge calling for order and asking how there can be two different orcas in the same breath, contributing to the disorder he’s trying to end in the same breath. Different songs, different bite marks - and when Athena pulls up videos, the Swashbuckler Spectacular aired on tv the other morning, and one of Azura’s, they can see different teeth. In the video from a year ago, the orca, as expected, has a broken tooth on the front left side. Orla has a full mouth of perfect teeth.
“Ergo” - wait, did he really just say that, he hasn’t spoken to Edgeworth in like, a week, why’s he talking like this - “the tooth marks on this walkie-talkie cannot be from Orla, this walkie-talkie cannot be yours, and it was stolen from the victim, Jack Shipley. And the only person who would have had the opportunity to steal the walkie-talkie before the body was discovered is the culprit - is you, Marlon Rimes.”
“No!” Rimes clutches at the witness stand like it’s the only thing holding him upright, like his legs are going to give out if he doesn’t have that. “You’ve got it all wrong! It’s the orca’s fault! It’s—” He staggers. He can’t even stay upright now, doubled over the stand and clinging to it. “It’s - it’s the orca’s fault! She’s a killer!”
Phoenix remembers, again, the lack of Psyche-Locks. Rimes believes this, so strongly, that he dragged this out to its bitter end, sure that the orca killed Azura. Sure that she’s a killer, and Jack Shipley only died because he was trying to save her - might Rimes believe that’s her fault, too? Sure she deserved death, and Rimes was only trying to do what she deserved, and he wouldn’t have had to if she weren’t a killer then Jack Shipley wouldn’t have - and he’s dead and it’s her fault, right?
(And Phoenix might be years past I did not kill Juan Corrida, can spot locks for secrets that lie beneath technical truths, but it shouldn’t surprise him that he still trips on the half-truths. It’s a fae blessing and that’s true to the fae. They’re squidgy, the locks, much like secrets and truths are. It’s like a metaphor except it’s being an actual physical issue to him. Metaphysical issue? He still hasn’t asked Pearl if she knows what the black locks mean. He’s spent enough time hung up on Kristoph.)
“She’s a - a—” Rimes slumps off the stand, sinking to the floor, leaning against its wooden bars. “Why I am still too weak to help anyone?”
That isn’t a confession yet but it’s something close, and Rimes finally done fighting, all the desperate protestations bled out of him. The judge clears his throat. “Ms Buckler,” he says. “Is Mr Wright’s claim true? Are there two orcas?”
“I, uh…” Sasha stands up from her chair, takes one step, and stops, and takes a step back toward the chair, twisting the cord of her whistle around her finger. “Well, I didn’t tell you that, Phoenix - you figured it out, so I guess I can say, yeah, there used to be two orcas at the aquarium. Ora and Orla.”
Well, shit.
“They were sisters. They were rescued by the captain when they were beached on shore” - Phoenix remembers this story, but only about Orla - “a few years back. Ora was fine, but Orla was in really bad shape and it took a long time of Dr Crab looking after her to get her back to health. And Ora didn’t want to leave her, and after they’d been here for so long, they loved the captain, they didn’t want to leave, and we kept them on at the aquarium. Ora was the one who performed in the pirate shows, since while Orla was recovering, she started learning tricks, but after - after Azura’s death a year ago, Ora was put down. The Center for Dangerous Animal Control demanded it.” She looks back down at her hands. “The captain and the doctor begged them to leave Orla alone, and then we put Orla in the pirate show, acting as Ora. But she couldn’t figure out how to sing the same song her sister did, so we had to write an entirely new one based around how she ‘sang’.”
“And why did you say nothing of there being two orcas?” Blackquill asks.
“Wouldn’t that have been an easy way to get Norma DePlume to stop coming around?” Phoenix asks. “Just tell her that there’s two orcas, and this new one is using the stage name of the old and is obviously not a killer.”
Sasha sighs. “I don’t - I don’t quite know. The captain wanted us to keep quiet about it ‘till he thought the time was right - there were only a few of us who knew about Orla, since she was never on view for the public, just a couple of us worked with her, me and Azura and the captain and Dr Crab. The captain made us, me and the doctor, swear we wouldn’t say anything. So I couldn’t say anything.” She shrugs. The magic in the swearing is obviously implied, the same way Dr Crab said he was bound and could only hint. “I think - he had to put Ora down because the CDAC wouldn’t ever get off our backs, but he knew she didn’t kill Azura and telling everyone that we had a new orca was just - admitting it? Admitting the old one killed Azura? That’s how it would’ve felt to me anyway. But the captain, he had such a presence that, some people just, even if you don’t know why they’re doing something, they’ve got such confidence and you trust them and you do what they ask because you know they’ve got reason somehow even if it’s weird? Jack was like that.”
Athena is nodding beside Phoenix and he hopes she’s not thinking of him. She probably is.
“So Mr Rimes had no idea that there were two orcas?”
Rimes has managed to stand again, and was staring at Sasha with haunted eyes, but with attention turned back to him he slumps, his posture so collapsed that he’s again about the height he was before his transformation. “No.” His voice cracks. “How would I?”
“Was the entire reason you came to work at the Shipshape Aquarium to try and kill Orla?” Phoenix asks.
Rimes nods. “Azura told me all the time about the other girl who worked with the orca, how much they loved that orca, and how much Azura loved this friend who was like a sister.” Sasha hastily swipes her hand across her eyes. “I couldn’t do a thing to help Azura so I thought if maybe I could make sure to protect her friend - maybe then I could live with myself. And I came here and saw Sasha trusts that orca as much as Azura did and I was so afraid—” He takes a loud, shuddering breath. “When I started bein’ sure about my plan, that next time I’d help I’d drain the pool, I was afraid I might have t’fight the orca, or pull its jaws off of someone or myself, or something and I made a deal, for strength, I thought so that this time I…”
Blackquill shakes his head. His eyes flash; maybe it’s the light and angle of his head, or maybe again they really do turn silver. “You blighted fool. And Jack Shipley discovered you as you enacted this plan, and that is why—” He tilts his head slightly to the side. “You killed him?” Frowning, he lowers his head. “Ah, of course. The note with the autopsy report. The strange bruising around the victim’s wrist that was Marlon Rimes’ handprint. Now I see - it was left during a fight with the victim.”
Rimes’ handprint, but just one, on one of the victim’s arms. Wouldn’t it make more sense to fight with two hands, that there would be some other mark? What was Rimes doing with the other hand, trying to turn the water back off, trying to grab some weapon - somehow leaving that weird single handprint on the pool ladder, that Pearl found while going wild with fingerprint powder?
“It wasn’t the orca who killed him,” Rimes says softly, like it’s a sudden final revelation even to him. “It was me. I killed him. Just give Sasha her ‘Not Guilty’ and me the death penalty. I don’t care anymore.”
Is there still a piece missing here?
“Finally accepting your defeat, I see,” Blackquill says. “Very well. You, to hell, and Your Baldness, your verdict.”
“It would seem that this very much…” The judge pauses for a moment, considering a way to describe it. “Unprecedented sequence of trials has come to a close. If there are no final objections, this court finds the defendant—”
“Wait,” Phoenix says. The courtroom goes dead, and he’s not even sure he breathes for a moment. “Not - I don’t have any objections to the verdict on Ms Buckler!” he adds hastily, assuaging the expressions of horror that appear on Sasha and Athena’s faces, and even narrow-eyes confusion on Blackquill’s. “But - but before Mr Rimes goes, I think - I think we still don’t quite have the full story yet.” And he knows how this works. If a crime is proven in the course of trying someone else, it’s that evidence that takes the new culprit to trial, that and nothing more. It’s enough to exonerate the first defendant, so it’s enough to convict the second. No further investigation needed. Rimes is confessing now; there’s all this evidence established against him. It will be open and shut, no other scenario considered, unless Phoenix does something here, now, with what he has, examines the last possible angle.
(Or unless he takes up Rimes’ defense, which he isn’t averse to, but he might as well establish this now.)
“This new evidence the prosecution has brought still hasn’t been fully examined, and I don’t think we’ve revealed the full truth of the matter yet.”
Blackquill’s glare doesn’t lessen in the slightest. “Your client is about to be declared ‘Not Guilty’ - you have defended her and the orca both! What more can you possibly think to be doing?”
He swore that he would save both Sasha and Orla. Now, he supposes, he’s trying to save everyone. Everyone but the dead. “There’s evidence that, in the course of our investigation, we also didn’t know how it fit with anything else. Athena, can you project for the court a picture of those fingerprints Pearl found?”
He waits a moment, gives the judge and prosecution time to examine the prints and Athena’s mock-up of how it would look to hold the ladder in that way. “This was Rimes’ handprint, grasping the ladder from above. And we also have his handprint tightly grasped around the victim’s wrist. I submit to the court the possibility that these two prints were left at the same time - that these events happened in the same time. And if Rimes, above the empty pool, were leaning out from the ladder, and holding the victim’s wrist in such a way—”
Blackquill gets it first, recoils; even his mask of condescension slips. “But that would mean that he—!”
Phoenix nods. “Yes. Marlon Rimes was trying to save the victim. This wasn’t a murder - this was an accident.”
#in this fic the amount of overarching plot arc relevance a case has is inversely proportional to how long the casefic chapters are#as this is a dlc case its chapters are all 15k and it will immediately cease to be mentioned three chapters out from its end#conversely the entirety of cosmic turnabout will be three sentences of apollo dissociating hope y'all are ready for that#fic: the witches of los angeles#roddy fanfics
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