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nightingale-prompts · 5 months ago

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Saving Batboy

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It was as though he was being led through the city. Dick seemed to know exactly where he should go next as he drove.

Dick turned off his location as he closed in on Joker's location. If anyone had doubts about what would happen tonight they knew now. The clown dies tonight.

Batman never did it because he knew there would be no coming back once he crossed that line but he was not Batman.

Tim knew the moment Nightwing's symbol disappeared that he had found Joker's location. He knew he could track him still based on where he was before but he held off. The last time Dick crossed the line and killed the Joker, Tim was there to stop him. In the time since Tim had grown to regret it. Especially after Jason's return. He should be avenged after everything that happened.

Tim never put much thought into what happened when he was kidnapped just like Danny. Joker Jr was just a nightmare and everyone pretends it didn't happen. His past self doesn't exist to him and the gaps in his memory are better as they are.

If Dick was really going to finish this then Tim wasn't going to stop him. Bruce's code was his code alone. What of the Robins that suffer for it? What about his kids that he loves to the point of self-destruction if they die?

It was clear to Tim now. Batman isn't strong enough to kill Joker. If he can't handle it, someone else would.

Maybe Dick just cared more. Or maybe he had seen this happen too many times to sit by and let it happen again. The cost be damned.

Tim took a deep breath. He knew it was a bad move but he shut down the bat computer. No one could locate each other for the next 10 minutes. Enough time to give Dick the lead he really needs. All the comms are down and no information can be shared.

Tim looked up and saw Alfred putting down a cup of tea for him. Tim felt like a child caught doing something wrong under Alfred. But Alfred nodded wordlessly before turning to leave. He cast a forlorn glance at Jason's robin uniform before ascending the stairs.

****

"I was hoping Batman would come for the little bat. Oh sorry, I mean the boy." Joker mocked holding Danny by the back of the neck.

The teen's body was limp. His silver locks stained a rusty brown from dried blood. Blood covered his back and legs. If there had been any doubt if the wings were real there is none now.

"…" Nightwingwing said nothing. His fist clenched.

"You know I debated skinning him next. That fur of his would be a lovely shawl. It's so soft. But it looks like I won't have the time now." Joker provoked, running a hand through the boy's white neck fur.

"Get your hands off him." Nightwing demanded, his eyes locked on Danny for any signs of life.

"You know I am so curious what he was doing here. I was about to build a new trap here for fun when I stumbled upon this little guy here. Practically gift-wrapped. Did he run away from you? Just like you did from good ol'papa bat." Joker's smile widened sickeningly "This all feels so familiar, doesn't it little bird? Are you going to finish what you started?"

"I'm never letting you hurt my family again." No witty one-liners. No games. This bad joke ends today.

****

Batman had scoured the area. He memorize the last location Dick was before the system went down. He wasn't these kids' father for nothing he knew what they were doing.

When sound came back he had already made it to the abandoned factory. The comms rang back to life as the sounds of crying came through.

"Nononono…please no. Wake up. Please wake up." It was Dick's voice. "It's okay. I'm here now. So just wake up. We need to get home soon. Your favorite show will be on soon. WAKE UP! YOU CAN'T DIE!"

Batman bolted to their location and found Dick hovering over Danny trying to resuscitate him.

His son looked at him with pleading eyes.

"I can't hear his heart. He's not breathing." He let out a shaky breath. As distressed tears ran down his cheeks.

Bruce knelt next to them. Danny didn't react to the pressure on his chest. The pain should have at least caused an involuntary jerk if he wasn't too far gone.

Bruce signaled Dick to move back as he checked Danny's pulse again. Nothing. And he wasn't breathing. Bruce looked at his son. Deep down Dick probably knew.

"I'm sorry. He's gone." Bruce said simply as he took off his cloak.

Danny looked so peaceful. Like he was sleeping soundly. Bruce hated that his own suspension had been the thing that had prevented him from having a relationship with his own grandson. He felt foolish to not realize that of course Danny and Batboy were the same. It was a brilliant disguise. But he'd never get to say this to the boy.

Bruce wrapped the boy in his cloak.

"Come on. We'll fix this." He told Dick, carrying Danny for him.

The journey back to the manor was silent until.

"I'm sorry." Bruce said.

"Don't. Just Don't. He's my son. Its my fault." Dick rasped his voice scratchy from crying.

Bruce felt a bitter sting. That was exactly what he felt when he lost Jason and what happened with Tim. When Damian lost his life. These pains didn't go away.

When they arrived back in the Batcave Bruce laid Danny's body on the table. The others were notified about what happened and had already gathered.

Barbara looked like she had bawled her eyes out as she hugged Stephanie.

Damian had pressed himself close to Tim as the older brother told him that it was going to be okay.

The new hole in the wall was clearly Jason if his bloodied knuckles were any clues.

Cassandra paced the floor deep in thought. She was moments away from starting a new crusade.

Duke stared off into the distance. His anger boiling under the surface. All he could think about was the number of lives ruined by the Joker and even in death he took another.

Dick stood still as a statue. Thinking about if Danny could be brought back and even if he was his wings were gone. What if he was gone for good? Could he live like that?

Never had he understood Bruce more than in that moment.

Bruce braced himself for what would come next. He had a plan to bring Danny back at any cost.

But suddenly a sound broke through the tension.

A sneeze.

A fucking sneeze.

It came up from under the cloak.

Everyone snapped to look at the body hidden under the cloak. It shifted under the heavy black blanket groggily and yawned. Then Danny jumped up twisting to feel his back.

"What happened!!" He yelped.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #nightwing #dick grayson #dc comics #bruce wayne

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atalldrinkofcaprisun · 3 months ago

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Don’t Wait For Me After I’m Gone (pt. 1)

silco x gn!reader - he didn’t die AU - tw: canon compliant violence, drug use - 18+

sooo what’s up!!! I’m reworking this fic. again. so keep your eyes out if you like it lmao

also on ao3 xx masterlist

You burst into the old blown out factory, lungs heaving to try and provide oxygen to your muscles and heart, sprinting across the underground city had been a feat of adrenaline. The streak of blue that had cut across the blood colored, smoke tinted moon had filled you with dread. It had started in your chest, a pile of rough cut stones, falling down to your stomach and resting there.

The edges of your vision were dark as you rested your hands on your knees, trying to steady yourself, “Jinx!” Your voice echoed deep into the factory’s carcass, “Jinx! Are you here?”

Silence. Of course she wouldn’t respond. Even if she was still here, she was morbidly melodramatic. Since the bridge a few nights past, you had only heard whispers of the girl you had grown to love like your own.

Silco had been worried sick, and desperately trying to hide it. You hadn’t seen him either since he left to meet with the Piltover golden boy. That was almost seven hours ago. You fixed your posture and decided to take in the dimly lit surroundings.

The walls of rubble cast deep and jagged shadows across the wreckage. Jagged rusted beams jutted upwards, as vegetation stretched across wire and debris. The moonlight cloaking it all in a crimson. There was a clearing created beneath a segment of the cannery that was still relatively intact. A table sat in the center, surrounded by wreckage and scars from old chaos. It was set with candles, place settings and chairs. The smell of gunsmoke still hovered in the air, faded and cut with the tang of blood and smoke. There were four chairs, one on each end of the table and one next to the others on opposite sides. Various nicknacks and guns were strewn on it.

That’s when your eyes fell on the only other person left in the room.

Your heart stopped, you knew that profile. The landscape of features you’d painstakingly memorized, hidden by the shadow of his office chair. His body was slack and hanging as if he had simply once again fallen asleep at his desk upon first glance. A twinge in your gut told you something was very wrong. Silco would have responded to your voice. He always did.

You took one step forward, and another, “Silco?” your voice felt far away. With more cautious steps you were able to stand in front of him. You immediately noticed the ashen tone settling in his face, the trickle of drying red coming from his mouth. Your heartbeat surged in your ears as the world around you began to shake, or was that you?

He wasn’t breathing, “Silco, can you hear me?” Your hand reached out instinctually, trying to push back the strands of hair that had fallen into his face. He always hated it when his hair was mussed in anywhere but your private rooms at the Last Drop. He was getting so cold! You could feel the lump forming in your throat, “Sil… Silco please,” you bent, crouching so your hands could cup his face.

His eyes, a part of him that was so expressive and alive, looked empty, dull. Even his glowing eye that had made darkness always seem less menacing was lifeless. His ember eye was looking at the abyss, the familiar glow faded away. The reality was before you, straight from some nightmare. But you weren’t asleep. This was real. He was- You felt the rawness of your throat before you realized you were the one screaming. Pain rippled through your body as you cradled your heart in your hands.

You let the tears fall, cascading down your cheeks, you heaved in air but it wasn’t enough, you still couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t. Not now. Not when he had just begun to see that there are more goals than simply war and glory. You looked at his torso, unable to see his face so slack and aimless for a second longer. Bullet wounds were slashed into his clothing, blood dripping into his fine fabrics and leathers, cooling and tinted just the slightest glimmer of purple.

“I- I didn’t mean too…” the voice cut through the sobbing, causing you to gasp and turn. Somehow Jinx had gotten behind you, just as she always did. A hyper-pigmented shadow. You looked up at her with ruddy cheeks.

Her eyes burned a violent pink in the half light and her arms were wrapped tightly around her midsection. Her entire body was shivering. Her bangs had fallen in her face, matted and dirty, long braids trailing haphazardly behind her. Her lips were pouted and tear tracks of dried shimmer lay crusted on her freckled cheeks, “It was… a mistake… I didn’t know what I was doing. I needed it to stop! They were shouting! I’m- I’m so sorry,”

You looked at the girl who you had helped raise from an orphaned urchin. For the first time in a long time you were looking directly at that little girl again. Your head was spinning trying to comprehend everything as Silco’s body continued to cool. What she was saying, “Jinx… you did this?”

“No-no it was an accident. There were too many voices and I saw a gun-“ She stepped further into the light. Now you could see, the large shark-like rocket launcher slung behind her back. She dropped heavily to her knees, crumbling to the stone floor, “I fired it. Like he wanted. Fishbone worked. He-He told me to show them all.” Her voice was clipped and irregular.

You shook your head, “That’s not important right now. How long has he been here?”

Jinx rubbed away her tears and sniffled, “I d-don’t know.”

“Okay,” you felt your resolve settling back in your chest. A hand moved from Silco’s face to reach into your travel pouch, and pulled out a magenta tube full of Shimmer and the injector you kept on hand just in case, “If you can do it, Jinx, so can he.”

You took a deep breath and slid the tube into its slot, priming the needle and looking at the blue-haired girl, “It’s going to be okay, I promise.” You said it more for yourself than anything, before plunging the needle loaded with serum into his chest, just right of his heart.

The injector hissed as the Shimmer emptied itself into his bloodstream. You watched the drug vanish, making sure the vial was empty before you backed away. Silco was tied up still but you had seen many people react very badly to the substance before. He had a certain level of immunity after years of having it be the sole medication that worked on his condition, but better safe than sorry. You opened your arms for the blue haired girl to come to your side. She obliged, throwing her weight into you. Your arms wrapped around her and you waited with bated breath.

For a moment nothing happened, Silco remained lifeless and still. You could feel the little spark of hope fading away once again. It had been too long. You’d been too late, or hadn’t had enough.

His shoulder twitched, just a small amount. Barely noticeable if not for the rustle of his shirt. Your breath hitched and you felt Jinx tense in your arms, “Did… did it-“

All at once, Silco’s head snapped backwards as purple light erupted along his veins, up his neck and face, sliding down his arm and supposedly the rest of his body. He inhaled sharply, his teeth clenched as the spasms began. You could almost feel the drug searing through his veins as if it was in your own. His muscles spasmed and his body seemed to flex and strain at the influx of shimmer. His head remained tilted upwards and the wooden chair he was bound to creaked as he shuddered. The whimpers and gurgles became grunts of pain and those turned into shouts, “No- Please- She’s my daughter! I need her! I won’t give her up! No!”

Silco’s long fingers gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles turning white. He growled and gagged as his body thrashed. Jinx tucked herself closer and closer into you, watching with wrapped horror.

“Sil? Sil can you hear me?” You called, hoping your voice could cut through whatever hallucinations he was seeing.

“No! Not them! Please, my-Mrph my family- Ah!” He howled as his eyes began to shine like his veins, light pouring out and upwards. He sobbed your name, begging. You couldn’t keep away. Jinx willingly slipped from your arms as you leapt to his side. You placed your hands on his hollow cheekbones again. Responding to your touch he looked at you, but he didn’t seem able to see you, “Don’t hurt them, don’t hurt them,” he begged over and over, his voice breaking.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Silco, it’s me!” Your voice trembled when you spoke.

His good eye seemed to finally come into focus, seeing your face, relief washing into him as the effects of the Shimmer dosage began to be more manageable. You were grateful you had been carrying his particular dilution of the substance. You ran a hand through his hair, “Breathe, it’ll be over soon, then we can take you to Singed, he’ll be able to patch you up, just like new. Just breathe, darling.”

“You-You’re here? Th-This is real?” His voice was more of a slurring than actual speech.

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Yes, Sil. It’s gonna be alright. You’re going to survive. Don't you dare ditch me in this mess.”

You looked behind yourself to see Jinx staring at the pair of you, eyes wide with worry and guilt, but you sniffed and shook your head as if to say, ‘Don’t worry about it now.’

“I’ll go get the doc. I’m the fastest… you can cut him loose when the purple is gone. He’ll bleed out if he moves now.” And like the darkness in a room when you turned on a light, she was gone. Fishbones laying in the dust as the only evidence she had been there.

You didn’t have time to worry about Jinx however, that would be something to deal with when Silco was stabilized. You refocused your attention, as another wave of pain seemed to overcome him and he hissed, hands once again gripping the chair arms with white knuckles.

“Hold on, Sil. Help is on the way, we’re going to survive this. All of us.” You settled in for the wait.

#silco #silco x reader #dontwaitformeafterimgone.series #arcane

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hussyknee · 2 years ago

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Another thread by Senator Ben Ray Luján here.

A book on the subject (haven't read it myself):

One of the sources in another one of Alisa's furiously impassioned twitter threads have been debunked, so I didn't include that. But she claims that her own family was caught in the fallout zone when her mother was a baby, which eventually led to her and large numbers of her community developing cancer. It's human for that kind of grief to be caught up in inaccuracies. People are already being ghastly and racist to Hispanos and Indigenous people criticizing the hype for the movie. They're not attacking Oppenheimer for being Jewish, they're criticising the erasure of the human cost of these bombs and the continued valorisation of the U.S military's actions in World War II as some kind of moral saviourism.

While Oppenheimer himself believed that the nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were morally justified (they had planned to drop them on Germany except they surrendered before they could), he also felt had blood on his hands and regretted his role as the "Father of the Atomic Bomb". He spent the rest of his career vehemently opposing further development of thermonuclear weapons and the hydrogen bomb accurately predicting the concept of mutually assured destruction. This eventually made him a victim of Senator McCarthy's Red Scare and his clearance was revoked. I haven't seen the movie (Christopher Nolan is the kind of casual white racist I avoid on principle) but people who have seen it say that it doesn't glorify nuclear weapons and depicts the man himself with the complex moral nuance that seems to be accurately reflective of his real life.

The backlash to Indigenous and Hispanos people's criticisms and to people pointing out that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were genocides is also frustrating because...both world wars were a clash of genocidal empires. The reason they were world wars is because the countries colonized by Japan, China, the European powers and the US were all dragged into it, whether they wanted to or not. Jews were one of the many colonized peoples that suffered in that time, who were left to die by everyone until they could be used to frame the Allied powers as moral saviours, establishing a revisionist nostalgia for heroism that powers the US military industrial complex to this day.

As early as May 1942, and again in June, the BBC reported the mass murder of Polish Jews by the Nazis. Although both US President, Franklin Roosevelt, and British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, warned the Germans that they would be held to account after the war, privately they agreed to prioritise and to turn their attention and efforts to winning the war. Therefore, all pleas to the Allies to destroy the death camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau were ignored. The Allies argued that not only would such an operation shift the focus away from winning the war, but it could provoke even worse treatment of the Jews. In June 1944 the Americans had aerial photographs of the Auschwitz complex. The Allies bombed a nearby factory in August, but the gas chambers, crematoria and train tracks used to transport Jewish civilians to their deaths were not targeted.

(Source)

Uncritical consumption of World War II media is the reinforcement of imperialist propaganda, more so when one group of colonized people is used to silence other colonized peoples. Pitting white Jewry against BIPOC is to do the work of white supremacy for imperialist colonizers, and victimizes Jews of colour twice over.

Edit: friends, there's been some doubt cast on the veracity of Alisa's claims. The human cost to the Hispanos population caught downwind of the nuclear tests is very real, as was land seizure without adequate compensation. However, there's no record I can yet find about Los Alamos killing livestock and Hispanos being forced to work for Los Alamos without PPE. There is a separate issue about human testing in the development of said PPE that's not covered here. I'm turning off reblogs until I can find out more. Meanwhile, here's another more legitimate article you can boost instead:

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thebennsofdallas · 2 months ago

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WWDITS S6 - What we thought we knew vs. what we know now

I’ve been struggling to string some words together about this season thus far. I think, with the exception the episode where Laszlo was forced to relive the abuse of his father, every episode has been wonderful. But two episodes I keep rewatching — Nandor’s Army and March Madness. Because in those two episodes, much was revealed about all these characters. We’re learning that these vampires care, about each other and other things, too. But this season, Nandor has especially been laid bare. No subtext, no wordplay, no wink and a nod.

Hey, Nandor? All those feelings you hide so poorly and hate so much? Too bad, buddy, they are coming out and they are gushing all over the place, like a recklessly pierced vein. Better get a towel because it’s gonna be fucking messy.

The first big thing we’ve learned in Nandor’s Army is how devastated Nandor was about losing the janitor job. So much so that the poor guy went a little mad. For over 700 years, Nandor has survived enumerable hardships and setbacks but Guillermo rejecting him is the thing that ruins him.

Nandor only took the job at Cannon Capital to be close to Guillermo, to watch over him as he had been doing for 15 years. And that was the second thing we learned about Nandor. He perceived that he had been protecting Guillermo. “Raising him” were his exact words. And once Guillermo decided against being a vampire and separated himself from the vampire world, Nandor felt abandoned. He lost his purpose and in doing so, he lost his mind.

The confrontation between Nandor and Guillermo in the husk of the Hancock and Sons factory was the most honest they’ve ever had. Usually, it’s Guillermo who makes himself vulnerable and Nandor who pretends like he doesn’t care. That night, though, their pent up feelings came spilling out, from both sides. That night, Nandor caved but stay tuned because I don’t think that argument is done yet.

Because, then, in March Madness, the truth bombshell dropped. The foundation of and the motivation for the dumb, sometimes cruel shit Nandor has done is finally revealed.

Nandor knows he’s going to lose Guillermo. He is painfully aware of it. For most of their time together, Guillermo believed that all he wanted was to be a vampire. It was his dream from childhood, as Nandor heard umpteen times. But when it finally happened, in the fucked up manner which no one saw coming, Nandor was gutted by the betrayal. But still, he was willing to turn backflips to make sure Guillermo got what he wanted.

But once he did, once Guillermo chose to go back to being a human, Nandor’s future with Guillermo — or what he thought was their future — was gone.

Nandor was always careful about putting the affection he has for Guillermo on display. He kept that under wraps and rarely allowed himself to let it show. He ignored the tenderness he has for Guillermo and judging from solely from his behavior, it seemed like Nandor was just a big, selfish jerk.

But surprise, surprise, it turns out that Nandor is not so much a deeply delusional asshole as he is a secret soft-hearted sap in self-protect mode. Because Nandor knows Guillermo is human and Nandor knows that humans get hurt and eventually die. In 760 years as a vampire, this is what he knows. He tells Laszlo there’s nothing special about humans. They will leave so a vampire is a fool to get attached to them.

Oh, really? Well, sorry, Mr. Supreme Viceroy/Warlord, you’re too late. That train has already left the station. we know that’s bullshit because whenever Guillermo leaves him, Nandor is totally lost. Through the Djinn and Marwa, we know that Nandor doesn’t know what he would do without Guillermo.

You can run. You can run far because you have those awesome long legs but you can’t hide anymore, big guy. The truth is out. The die is cast.

Nandor. You’re a dead man.

#wwdits #what we do in the shadows #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #Nandermo

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biandiecast · 2 months ago

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Top Die Casting Factories for Quality Parts Production

Explore the best die casting factories for producing precision parts globally. These factories specialize in creating high-quality die-cast components for industries such as automotive, electronics, and home appliances. With state-of-the-art technology and strict quality control processes, these manufacturers ensure reliable and durable products at competitive prices. Find the ideal factory for your die-casting needs.

#die casting factories

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cars2-renaissance · 2 months ago

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I JUST DISCOVERED SOMETHING THATS GONNA CHANGE THE DIE CAST CAR GAME FOREVER

Okay so you know how the die cast of Leland is permanently stuck with that stupid expression like

Come on, Mattel. They did him dirty.

Well I always wished I could change his expression. I’m a pretty good artist. I could probably do it but there’s no way in hell I’m defacing an extremely rare die cast over some cosmetic thing. Like the eBay prices say it all.

But then I got an ✨idea✨

Now this method can and will be refined. This is my first attempt but already I’m thrilled with the results!

Post-it notes. Okay hear me out

I cut the sticky end with an exacto-knife into the shape of Leland’s windscreen then put it over his eyes. It’s not the best fit cause I was just experimenting but it still does the trick. The adhesive on the post-it note is so weak, it doesn’t damage the original paint at all but it still stays in place pretty well. Then I got to sketching

I marked out the expression I wanted him to have. Ideally the post-it would be white but I made do with what I had and after going over the whites of his eyes with a gel pen, you can’t tell the difference.

Then I colour matched with my colour pencils, sharpened them to the finest point I could get and got to colouring! I drew with the post-it directly on him since it was just pencil, not paint, I wasn’t scared of causing any damage. Then I went over everything with a super fine tipped micron to clean things up and

Holy shit it worked! like damn I wasn’t expecting it to come out this good!!! I am THRILLED I can’t wait to make more of these! The photo shoot possibilities are ENDLESS IM SO EXCITED

And the best part is, I can just peel off the post-it whenever I want factory-made Leland back! Ahhhhhhh I’m so excited!!!

#cars 2 (2011)#die cast cars #die cast car shenanigans #leland turbo #cars2renaissance #cars fandom #cars 2 #pixar cars #absolutely game changing for me

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bokettochild · 3 months ago

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For context, I have included a brief explanation of all of these stories below the cut :)

Opera House AU:

Hyrule Centric

Main plot but some side drama for the cast as well

Follows Hyrule going from homeless to (maybe) a superstar

Probably pretty trope-heavy <3

Downall Duo centric

Modern AU

Unabashed musical references and theatre crap from a kid who acted all of once in her life

probably unrealistic but girls just wanna have fun

Crown Amidst Courage:

Legend centric

Prince Legend

crack fic mostly, but knowing me we'll have some drama too

follow the chain finding out individually that Legend's a prince and all assuming they're the only one who knows

copious fluff and shenanigans

probably will end up resembling Feathered in some ways ngl

Probably some Dad Sky content

Copious Legend love

Legend & Everyone bonding

How I Met Your Princess:

Chain centric

the chain get separated and paired seemingly randomly with each others' princesses

Getting To Know You shenanigans

exploring the various princesses of Hyrule

heck ton of new dynamics

I have no clue what's happening but neither do they :D

Badass girlies

Confused boys

Served A Slice of Life (working title but I'm not too attached):

Legend centric

as advertised, it is slice of life

Legend learns to be a hylian boy instead of a hero

Malon content

Talon content

Parental Time I Promise

Post-LU, everyone gets stuck together on Lon Lon

Metal Health heavy but nothing too dark

Team As Family in every possible way

A Stitch In Time:

Semi Warriors-centric

"Wars isn't canon" fic

Angst/Fluff fic

Wars gets a factory reset because he was never supposed to be a hero. The boys meet him as a normal guy after watching him essentially die while traveling with them. He has no memory of them (or does he?)

Copious Taylor family headcannons

Warriors in Customer Service Hell

Slice of Life on one side and tragedy on the other

Lots of Legend & Warriors with other dynamics to be determined

Magic shenanigans

Sort of memory loss AU, sort of not

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britcision · 8 months ago

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So one thing I keep thinking about with the dungeon is the immortality spell

Here thar be spoilers

Cuz there’s this general assumption being made in and out of world that that’s just a thing that all the dungeons have (because that’s how dungeon crawler games work; you can save and come back and revive party members and things)

And from how the adventuring party culture is shown, it’s easy to assume that it’s just a general thing the demon sets up every time to keep adventurers coming back

After all, Chilchuck’s our only full time cast member who’s ever seen another dungeon, and he’s died a lot in his early career; makes sense he just got revived, all the dungeons work like that

And Marcille, who’s studied dungeons in general, gives us an overview of how it happens… but. She came to this dungeon specifically to study the immortality spell. For reasons

And Mr Tance gives us this description, which blatantly states that this dungeon is different

Now, other dungeons might have different immortality spells, and the Canaries definitely talk about dying like it’s something they do on the job just, on the regular

Like when Lycion explains they’re just gonna kill Fleki and revive her because neurological damage is harder

(Although somehow Mithrun’s fellow wardens are staying dead?)

So at the very least, there is something on some other dungeons that allows people to be revived, because the Canaries are at the Island for the first time in the 6 years since the dungeon existed

And yet, during the upheaval of the dungeon, Flamela says this

And holy shit gang, this tells us a lotta things

1) like everything else, the dungeon lord gets to decide if people can be revived on a per dungeon basis

2) it can be turned off. If you die in the dungeon suddenly you die in real life too, on a dime. As in, you revive the tank before the mage, and suddenly the mage is just dead-dead. The dungeon lord decides you stay dead on Thursdays? You stay dead on Thursdays

3) You’ve just gotta accept that any time the dungeon lord changes they may or may not do a reset to factory settings and wipe the whole dungeon, which is already super dangerous and likely to kill a lotta people

4) this is a regular fucking concern for the Canaries, who explicitly go in to fuck around when the dungeon (and associated lord) are too powerful

5) Flamela’s probably seen this before, it’s been a while and she lays it out in a very matter of fact way (and she’s. Dramatic. Cranky even.)

6) if Mithrun didn’t purchase Dungeon Immortality Insurance that dead Canary buddy in his flashback is dead-dead… and we don’t know if a single other member made it out of his dungeon soooo

7) Thistle is even more extra than we thought, since generic immortality is common enough to be taken for granted, but he specifically made dying illegal, which Mr Tance says is weird and he’s been doing this long enough to be an expert advisor

8) there is at least one other way to make resurrection work within dungeons. He didn’t even have to be like this. But he’s been doing it 1000 years and the demon may have gotten the idea from him

9) there have DEFINITELY 100% been adventurers who were used to the resurrection dungeons who bulled head first into a non-resurrection dungeon and are dead

10) Kabru is so fucking lucky he ended up at the Island if he coulda stayed dead he wouldn’t have hit 21. Milsiril probably steered him here on purpose as a baby dungeon

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #delicious in dungeon spoilers #dungeon meshi spoilers #dungeon meshi meta #the immortality spell #does someone make signs #is there a guidebook to which dungeons will let your dumb ass be revived

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mldrgrl · 1 month ago

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La La Land

by: mldrgrl Rating: Teen Pairing: Hanella Summary: Hank gets an offer he can't refuse and brings Stella along.

Never in Hank’s career had one of his novels been so sought after for a film deal. Charlie had been fielding calls on a daily basis from studio execs and some fairly prestigious producers trying to smooth talk their way into buying the rights. Some of the offers were so low it was offensive, but some had been worth listening to their pitch before Hank ultimately shot them down. Charlie just assumed Hank was trying to start a bidding war, but no amount of money could tempt Hank over this book. Maybe for the first time in his life, he felt extremely protective over this piece of work and he wasn’t going to let some studio bastardize his masterpiece, not for all the money in the world.

And then Netflix came calling and their offer to fly him out to LA and hear what they had to say happened to coincide with Stella’s spring break and well, why not take a free trip to the west coast, first class, for some wining and dining on someone else’s dime? Three days and two nights at The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, because what could be more Hollywood than Marilyn Monroe’s former residence? Sure.

Stella was whisked away almost as soon as they arrived. Per the check-in clerk, “your wife has been booked for a spa treatment, Sir, and the studio has sent a car for your meeting.” And with that, fingers were snapped, a bellhop appeared, and Hank went one way, Stella another. Charlie was waiting in the black Escalade that was apparently his ride to the studio.

“Runkle,” Hank said, putting his agent in a headlock to rub his knuckles back and forth over his smooth, bald head.

“Dammit, Hank,” Charlie complained, slapping at Hank’s arm.

“What? It’s not like I’m gonna mess up your hair.” Hank pressed his lips to the top of Charlie’s head before he released him.

“No, but you’ll wrinkle me.” Charlie pushed himself across the car seat, away from Hank, smoothing his tie down his chest.

“Same Runkle, still as tightly clenched as a nun’s twat.”

“This is a big deal, Hank. Netflix has more money than God and they want your book. Maybe they want a whole development deal. I could retire. I could spend the rest of my days sipping mai tais on a lanai in Florida.”

“Florida is where rich assholes go to die, Charlie.”

“Hank, I’m telling you, I think this is big. They fly you out here, they put you up at the Roosevelt, they’re sending private cars, they don’t just do that for a lowball offer.”

“I know how much dollar signs get you hard, Charlie, but try not to nut before we even get to the meeting. Besides, I’m probably not even going to say yes.”

“Ohhhhhh…” Charlie bent his head back and put a hand over his chest. “Hank, you say things like that and it triggers my agita.”

“They’re gonna want to change the ending, which is a nonstarter for me, and they’re gonna want to cast some…some America’s sweetheart like Reese fucking Witherspoon as Miranda, which tells me that they haven’t even read the book at all, they had some intern pass on a synopsis and they don’t give a fuck about the actual material, they just want content. They’re just a fucking content factory shitting out turdburgers that only like five percent of is even watchable.”

“What’s wrong with Reese Witherspoon?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Reese Witherspoon except you can’t cast Reese Witherspoon in a part that should go to…I don’t know who, but the opposite of Reese Witherspoon.”

“I think you’re really underestimating Reese Witherspoon here, Hank, she’s a fantastic actress, you know she’s an Academy Award winner.”

“Jesus, Runkle, you’re missing the point.”

“Okay, okay.” Charlie put his hands up in surrender. “No Reese Witherspoon.”

Hank closed his eyes. It’d been years since he smoked, but he wanted a cigarette. Every time he came back to LA it was more and more apparent what a hostile, toxic environment it was for him. He didn’t want to go to the meeting anymore, he just wanted to have the driver turn the car around and take him back to Stella. Take him back to New York. He never should have come. It would have been a lot less time consuming to just tell them to fuck off over Zoom.

After they arrived at the studio lot, Hank and Charlie were escorted to the production offices by a young PA whose voice had probably just cracked, but was eager to please. He brought them bottles of water and a tray of snacks which Hank refused and Charlie happily dug into and ripped open a bag of peanuts. The conference room they were left in had a long, sleek table made of solid oak and a view of Sunset Boulevard.

Minutes later, a young woman entered the room through a side door and an entourage of assistants, all women, filed in behind her, all sitting in chairs along one wall as she approached Hank and Charlie. She was tall and angular and looked as though she’d stepped off of the latest cover of Vogue. Her long dark hair was pulled into a slick ponytail and her heels were as sharp as her nails, painted black.

“Eloise Lambert,” she said, extending her hand to Hank. “We appreciate you coming down. Did Paul offer you tea or espresso or is there anything else we can get for you?”

“An espresso sounds nice,” Charlie said.

“You must be the agent,” Eloise said, shifting her handshake to Charlie. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Charles Runkle. Love the set up here. Great production house you’ve got.”

“Settle down, Charlie, they’re supposed to be kissing our asses here, not the other way around.”

Eloise smiled and moved away to take a seat across from the two of them at the short side of the table. One of the assistants slid an espresso in front of Charlie while another slid an ipad in front of Eloise.

“You know I was a PA on A Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” Eloise said, referring to the movie that had been made of Hank’s breakout best seller, God Hates Us All. “It was the first film set I was ever on.”

“Oh?” Hank said, keeping himself as relaxed as possible as visions of sexual harassment charges started dancing in his head.

“And it’s when I vowed that one day I would be an executive producer. It’s criminal how that was adapted. It makes sense to me why you’ve turned down all the other offers for this.”

“I may or may not have punched the director in the dick at a screening, but I got over it, eventually.”

“Todd Carr. Decent guy. Shit director.”

“I take it he’s not on the shortlist for this?”

“I think he’s working on industrials these days.”

“Too bad.”

“I’m going to have Sabrina here take over with the pitch.” Eloise pulled out the empty chair that was next to her and one of the women came over to sit beside her. She was almost a carbon copy of her boss with her dark, slick-backed hair and sharp heels, but she also resembled a child playing dress up.

“Mr. Moody,” Sabrina said, nodding at Hank. “Mr. Runkle. I’m sure the two of you know Reese Witherspoon.”

Hank pressed his lips together and shot his agent a look. Charlie’s eyes were wide, but he kept them forward. Hank felt like kicking him under the table, but refrained.

“Uh, yeah,” Hank said. “I’ve heard of her.”

“It’s not really a secret that her book club has been a major success and that most of her picks have then gone on to be developed from there.”

“Mmhm.”

“We’d like to do something similar, but we want to cultivate a selection that has a bit more…edge, let’s say.”

Hank relaxed a little. “So you’re not looking at Reese for…casting?”

“Casting?” It was Sabrina that tensed now. “That would be a very interesting choice. Is that…is that who you had in mind for Miranda?”

“God, no.”

“Okay, great.” Sabrina nodded and then gestured at someone over her shoulder. “We do have a few choices in mind, if you’d like to take a look.”

“Yeah, sure.”

One of the women gave some papers to Sabrina and then she slid them across the desk to Hank and Charlie. It was a standard breakdown of the characters and the first name on the list under Miranda was Catherine Keener. He could see that. He could even get behind that.

“Okay,” Hank said. “Back to the anti-Witherspoon book club.”

“Not anti, just…alt. Material that might have a bit more grit and that may not always have the neat little happy endings tied up in a bow.”

“So you’re okay with the ending?” Hank asked.

“We’re not trying to give this the A Crazy Little Thing Called Love treatment,” Eloise said. “There’s no reason to not be faithful to the material.”

“Which is why we’d like you to write the scripts,” Sabrina added. “Be the showrunner.”

“Wait, what? Showrunner?”

“Hank would make a great showrunner,” Charlie said. “I think this sounds like a fantastic idea.”

“Shut up, Charlie. What do you mean, showrunner?”

“We’d like to shoot this as a limited series,” Eloise answered. “Eight episodes, possibly ten.”

Hank managed not to fidget through the rest of the pitch as they explained what they wanted from him in terms of scripts, the responsibilities of casting, hiring directors, even the minutiae of costuming and set decoration would fall on his shoulders. The weight of it freaked him out, but the opportunity to maintain creative control over one of his works was enticing. He was suddenly taking this offer very seriously.

“And what about location?” he asked.

“What about it?” Eloise inquired.

“The novel’s set in New York. I’m in New York. I’m not spending eight months in Atlanta or wherever the fuck the tax break du jour is for filming these days.”

“We have relationships with the studios in Queens, not to mention a plethora of east coast based line managers and location scouts to choose from. That won’t be a problem.”

“I don’t know the first fucking thing about running a show.”

“Fortunately, we do.”

Hank felt backed into a corner. He had no good reason not to say no to such a deal. He looked to Charlie, who had the same panic written on his face as that time he’d stupidly thought he could handle a chili dog with sauerkraut from a street vendor on Melrose. His silence was loud.

“There is one other potential offer we’d like to make,” Sabrina said, cutting the tension that suddenly seemed to fill the room. “The daughter in the novel, Paige, she isn’t really part of the story, but she’s mentioned quite often.”

“Yeah.”

“We were thinking that, if this were to be successful, that maybe we could do a second series exploring her perspective.”

“I don’t know that I care to explore Paige’s POV.”

“Not you, necessarily. Isn’t your daughter also a writer?”

“I don’t know that Becca would be interested in Paige’s POV either. You’d have to ask her.”

“Just food for thought,” Eloise said. “A father-daughter created series might make for a potentially interesting gimmick from a marketing perspective.”

“And lucrative,” Charlie suddenly piped up.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Hank said, glaring at Charlie. “He’s got his sights set on a condo in a golf cart community in Florida.”

“Wouldn’t be a very good agent if he wasn’t interested in numbers,” Eloise answered, gesturing over her shoulder at another woman who passed her what Hank recognized as a set of contracts. “I’ll presume you’ll want your lawyer to look things over.”

Charlie immediately started flipping through the pages as soon as the contract was in his hands and Hank stepped on his toes under the table. He stood up, and Eloise stood as well, coming towards him with her hand outstretched.

“I think you’ll find our offer more than satisfactory,” she said, shaking Hank’s hand. “But, if there’s anything we’ve left off the table, I’m sure Mr. Runkle will be in touch to let us know.”

“I am a little disappointed you didn’t even try to hit on me. I thought that’s what all the big Hollywood executives did.”

“My wife probably wouldn’t appreciate it if I did.”

He shrugged. “Neither would mine.”

Hank left the offices in a cloud of quiet dread. Once upon a time he would’ve just signed the contract without giving it much thought as to how he would pull it off, but the older he’d gotten, the more contemplative he’d become, less impulsive. While his agent may have been ready to open a good bottle of champagne, he wasn’t quite there yet. There was only one person’s input that mattered to him.

Wanting to avoid what was sure to be his Charlie’s incessant babbling on the ride back to the hotel, Hank opted to walk. He thought his agent would put up a protest, but Charlie waved to him from the back seat, already on the phone with their lawyer. He watched the Escalade pull away and made his way west on Sunset. The too blue skies and palm trees lining the streets fed into Hank’s already contemplative mood by adding a dose of nostalgia and melancholy.

At Vine Street, Hank turned right, wanting to catch a glimpse of Capitol Records on the way up to Hollywood Boulevard. He casually browsed the walk of fame stars that lined the side street, tallying up how many were dead and gone and were largely forgotten. He had to pull out his phone to take a photo of the star of Richard Dix and set a reminder to himself to search for a wikipedia page later and find out if the man was a porn star or his real name was Dick Dix.

He crossed Hollywood to go stand in front of the famous recording studio building and daydream about what his life might look like if he’d went into music instead. Probably dead. He snapped a photo of the building and texted it to Fish. As he put his phone back in his pocket, he paused as his attention was drawn back to the sidewalk.

“I’m a writer,” he mumbled to himself as he crouched down over the star of Billy Wilder. “But then, nobody’s perfect.”

Hank had made it no secret that a lot of his career had been driven by money and he’d always found it to be a more honest, less vulgar motivator than fame, but secretly, deep down, he’d always admired the real storytellers of the world, the ones driven by passion and need to express. Even more, he’d always admired the ones that could make their art last. He had the soul of a tortured artist, all he was ever lacking was the brain brimming with stories. He took a photo of the star and made no other stops on the rest of the walk to the hotel.

The same check-in clerk from hours before nodded to him as he headed to the elevators. He double-checked the room number written on the keycard holder and punched the number three. A fully-stocked wet bar greeted him beside the door and he called out Stella’s name as he grabbed a glass and looked for the whiskey. His wife emerged from the bedroom door in a plush robe, looking more than freshly showered. Her hair was pulled back, but fluffed. Her face was dewy and her cheeks were pink.

“Netflix spring for the deluxe spa package?” he asked, pouring himself a drink.

“A lovely facial and a wonderful Swedish massage,” she answered.

“Happy ending included?”

“I was waiting for you for that.”

Hank grinned as he took a sip of whiskey and opened up one arm as Stella slipped her arms around his waist. “Good answer,” he murmured, and lowered his glass to kiss her. She licked a drop of whiskey off his bottom lip when he pulled away.

“How did it go?” she asked.

Hank grunted and took one of Stella’s hands, crossing his arm over her chest as he shuffled them out to the main area. He caught a glance of the pool over the balcony view from the wall to wall sliding glass doors as he pulled her down onto the black leather couch. He crossed both feet on the coffee table that looked like it had been carved from driftwood and she put her hand under the side of his jacket to run her hand across his chest.

“They want to give me everything I never knew I even wanted,” he said.

“How very unsatisfying for you.”

He grunted again and took another sip of whiskey before he handed her the glass to sit up and pull his jacket off. She tucked her feet up under her and balanced the glass on her knee as he leaned back and sighed, crossing his feet on the table again and lacing his fingers behind his head.

“They don’t want to change the ending?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Did they share their thoughts on casting?”

“I saw a list.”

“And there was no Reese Witherspoon, I take it?”

He chuckled and then turned his head towards her. “No, they seemed to be spot on with the breakdown. And, they were thinking a limited series format, not a movie.”

“For television?”

“More or less. Eight to ten episodes.”

“Is that preferable?”

“They want me to develop it. Be the showrunner.”

“What does that mean?”

“Write it, cast it, set decorate the fucking thing if I want to, basically be the czar of the show.”

“I see.” She hummed and then her expression turned pensive.

Hank took the glass of whiskey out of Stella’s hand for another drink and then offered it to her. She shook her head so he quickly downed the rest, coughed once from the sting of it and pounded a fist lightly against his sternum. Sometimes he forgot that he couldn’t drink the way he used to. She took the glass from him and put it on the table and then settled next to him again, her hand on his chest.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Is this something you want to do?”

“I’ve never had full creative control over a project before. It’s tempting.”

“Hm.”

She was quiet again. He slumped towards her to nuzzle his face against her neck and closed his eyes as he breathed her in. She smelled like coconut and her skin was warm and slick as he slipped his hand through the gap in her robe to caress her breast. “God, you smell good,” he mumbled. He dragged his bottom lip back and forth across her collarbone and she finally reached up and put her fingers in his hair, scratching her nails up the back of his head how he liked it, but didn’t say anything.

“Tell me what you think I should do, Sherlock.”

“I think it sounds as though you want to say yes, don’t you?”

“I want to know what you think,” he murmured, tipping his chin down and opening his eyes to gaze at her half-exposed breast. He circled his fingertip around her areola in the way he knew she liked, very lightly, counterclockwise. “Be my voice of reason. Talk me out of it, maybe.”

“I would never talk you out of something you want to do.”

“But?”

“What will the timeline of this be like? I have exams approaching and I don’t know how flexible I can be with the time I can take, not like previously when I was in London. If it meant weeks apart…months, even…”

“Mmm say flexible again, but let me get my dick in my hand first.” He pulled back with a smile to let her know he was teasing before she could develop a frown or chastise him for not taking her seriously. She frowned anyway and he began massaging her breast as penance. “Not to worry, Sherlock, I’ve already made it conditional that I wouldn’t even consider agreeing to their offer if they weren’t willing to shoot the show in New York.”

Stella shifted and pulled on Hank’s hair so that he had to tip his head back to look up at her. “Are you telling me they’ve offered to let you write your own show, cast it, direct it, shoot the ser-”

“Don’t forget set decorate the fucking thing if I wanted to,” he interrupted.

“Set decorate the fucking thing, and shoot the series in New York. You who has no experience with any of these things?”

“I thought I was going to have to pinch myself, but no one offered to blow me, so it was pretty obvious it wasn’t a dream.”

“You actually want to do all those things? Be responsible for all of it?”

Hank sobered and sighed as he pulled his hand free from Stella’s robe. “Take the hits if it’s a failure, you mean?”

“No, that isn’t what I meant at all, though it would be something to think about. Trust me, being in charge of a number of people can seem alluring, but it’s also a heavy burden.”

“You don’t think I can carry the load?” He put his hand up and scrunched his face. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

Stella wove her fingers through Hank’s and pressed her palm against his. All he had to do was give her a gentle pull and she lifted up onto her knees. He held onto her as she straddled his thighs and he slouched into the back of the couch. He took her other hand and for a few quiet moments, she stretched her fingers between his as he rubbed circles over the insides of her wrist with his thumbs. She finally twisted her hands free and then brought them to the back of his neck and laced her fingers together.

“This is a massive offer,” she said. “It will mean a lot of time and work and energy.”

“I know that,” he answered, unknotting her robe. Her breasts were bare, but she had plain white cotton panties on. Nothing fancy or lacy, but a view he could still appreciate for the dark shadow of pubic hair through the thin material and the wet spot that hinted at her arousal.

“It’s a huge commitment.”

He let his thumbs drift down and dip into the waistband of her panties. “I think I’m pretty good at commitment,” he murmured. “Don’t you?”

“Very, very good,” she whispered, thighs clenching against his legs.

He took a deep breath and moved his hands up her body, over her breasts to her shoulders and back down again. “Do you know who Billy Wilder is, Sherlock?”

“Should I?”

“Golden age of Hollywood filmmaker. Wrote and directed Sunset Boulevard, Some Like it Hot. On his tombstone, he had them put ‘I’m a writer, but then, nobody’s perfect.’”

“Ah, I see.”

Hank cocked his head at her.

“Some Like it Hot,” she said. “Paraphrasing the last line of his own film.”

“Your well of knowledge never ceases to impress.”

“It’s a rather shallow well, I’m afraid, but I do know that one.”

He hummed and ran the flat of his hand down the front of her chest to her navel. “I don’t know what they did to you in that spa, but I don’t think you’ve ever felt so soft.”

“All but the happy ending.”

“Oh yeah, let’s not forget about that.” He made a move to slip his hand back between her legs but she grabbed it and pushed it away.

“Finish your story,” she said.

“And I saw his star on the walk of fame today, the end.” He tried to touch her again, but she pushed him away again and raised her brow. He sighed. “And I saw his star on the walk of fame today and it made me think about how lucky he was to have been able to put his words out there and that we can sit here what, sixty years later, and remember what he wrote.”

“I’ve been snobbish about it in the past,” he continued, “and thought that people who could quote novels were somehow superior to people who could quote movies, but honestly, so what? Someone had to write it first for someone to say. And then someone out there thought it worthy of their grey matter. I have always wondered what it could be like to see something through from page to screen. Not have to complain when they inevitably get it so fucking wrong. So, if Netflix has faith in me, maybe I should have faith in myself and take the chance. No, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I never know what the fuck I’m doing so it’ll just be another day ending in ‘y’.”

Stella’s eyes, dark blue and piercing, softened and lightened. She smiled and her mouth descended onto Hank’s in a firm kiss. He squeaked in surprise and then chuckled. He managed to grasp her hips again and pull her firmly down against his chest.

“My brief affair with an existential crisis turn you on, Sherlock?”

“No, but your commitment does.”

He grinned and then flipped her down to the couch. “Now, then,” he said. “I finished my story. I’d say it’s time for your happy ending.”

“About damn time.”

The End

#i wrote this #hanella #surprise bitches #someone had to miss them #merry christmas ya filthy animals

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