See, the thing about Crowley living in his car in s2 is that I left the s1 finale with the impression that both of them finished their lunch, staggered their way back to the book shop (gently sloshed) and spent the night getting absolutely hammered. Like drain the wine cellar, night on the town, capital-P Pissed.
It’s all a bit ‘rambunctious’, as a fussy and well read angel might say.
Crowley wakes up on Aziraphale’s sofa a week later - covered in a blanket, various papers and a copy of the Sunday times.
A pot of tea’s just finished steeping, there’s cake in the tin. Somewhere across the shop, a tartan-clad figure hums (rather untunefully) to himself as he pours over a crackled hardback book.
If you asked Crowley, it’s all quite civilised, if a tad “country living magazine”. A little gauche. A bit twee - not really his ‘style’.
But he doesn’t reach for his glasses, or pat his jacket for his keys.
After all, he thinks, stretching what’s probably the correct number of limbs and reaching out for a bone china cup, why on Her green earth would he ever want to leave?
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As a reward for helping with a problem, John Constantine wants to give Bruce a chance to talk to his parents. “I can only do one at a time, thought, so, who’s first?”
Bruce sweats, “That won’t be necessary.”
The batkids watch like ??? they’ve seen Bruce in every state a man could succumb and raise, but they’ve never seen him scared. Alfred calmly steps forward, “Please do.”
“No. Don’t.”
John “I don’t want peace, I want trouble, always” Constantine smells some opportunity for chaos and grabs it.
The result of that is the very angry spirit of Thomas Wayne fixing Bruce with the glare of the year, “You dropped oUT OF MED SCHOOL?!” The entire mansion seems to tremble.
Bruce yelps like a scolded cat and runs around the dining table, “I was busy with BATMAN—“
“ Che cazzo è un Batman, — Get back here! You were there a year, — Che cazzo fai, CHE CAZZO FAI?! Pack your bags, you’re going back.”
To the batkids’ absolute horror Bruce starts to cry, face watery and bright, and they finally understand what Alfred meant by tantrums. “Non voglio tornare indietro, papà!”
“Non mi interessa, cazzo, — wait till your mother hears about this, Harley graduated with HONORS. What exemple are you giving to my grandkids? Don’t — Don’t run, GET BACK HERE!”
Tim sweats in high school dropout, Dick sweats in cop, Jason sweats in drug lord, Damian sweats in art kid, and Stephanie just sweats in general.
“Should, uh… Should we help?”
“Are you kidding? I haven’t seen Jason this happy since the Queen died.���
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PALESTINIAN ESCAPE FUNDS (TRY TO DONATE AT LEAST $5 TO EACH)
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M9: "sometimes we don’t want to deal with a violent fight so we just polymorph our opponent into something harmless and embarrassing and leave"
BH: "we also have a non-violent method! We put our enemies in The Hole"
M9: "oh neat! And then you leave before they can climb out?"
BH: "what no we forget about them until they run out of air and die horribly"
M9:
BH: "there are so many bodies down there"
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THEY WON!! (They didn’t win first, but they sure won our hearts.)
Look upon them your honor. They’re having the time of their lives.
Elesa’s first taste in stardom! She won third place. Ingo got to the third bracket and then Litwick Ate Shit against a dewott (sorry buddy).
(A bonus emmet, if he were to enter:
Man’s decked fully as a jester with his clown eel.)
Masterpost for more pokemon shenanigans!
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Prompt 136
There is a small child floating in the Watchtower.
They’re visibly not human, a too-big cloak of purple (what shade no one knows, all they can describe about the cloak is purple, nothing else) hanging from them as big Lazarus-green eyes glare down in something of a pout. The child huffs, blowing white hair out of their face despite it shimmering and shifting on its own already.
How the child, inhuman or not, found their way into the Watchtower- without setting off an alarm no less- is a concern. A very large concern, but it can wait because there is a four-year old (if the child is the equivalent of a human child that is) at oldest staring down at them.
“Do you know where the speedsters are?” the child piped up after an awkward stare-down, none of the league members present quite sure what to do in this situation. It was probably around time to call Batman… or they could call Flash instead.
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MMMMMMMMM GOOD THINGS ARE BEING SAID.
Martin consistently stutters, consistently allows himself to build up to a point where his frustrations have nowhere to go other than an abrupt spurt of anger that can almost seem out of character to him in the beginning but are, in fact, intrinsically linked to who he is as a person. He sidesteps his own comfort in favour of others' and expresses his feelings in providing for those he cares about. Simple gestures, like a cup of tea. And later (avoiding spoilers) Bigger Gestures.
Martin has convinced himself he does not matter and attempts to make himself small as a result. Be kind, be gentle and offer comfort to those around him in an attempt to convince them to let him stay. Historically he's been an emotional punching bag for others. His mother, then Jon- you can assume later Lukas too (though in a very different manner).
It's not until much later he starts expressing himself in more honest ways (i.e. post Lonely). He admits his faults and asks for things. Allows his anger and frustration to bubble up organically. Isn't as afraid to express these things as now he's confidant he won't be left in the dirt as a result of taking up space.
"I am Martin Blackwood and I am not lonely anymore."
English tea is the most inoffensive thing to offer someone as a source of comfort. The smallest and most effective way to provide in a workspace that he has very little idea to what he's doing in thanks to fudging the records to get in in the first place. The mugs may as well have "Please keep me, I'm helping, see?" written on them.
So yes. Yes and Thank you.
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