#I have no energy to write for this show yet

[joeyspuckbunny]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅flu season - j. woll⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

pairing: j. woll x fem!reader summary: It's flu season in Toronto and Joseph gets pneumonia. Oh no !! This is just a little snippet of Y/N taking care of him while his body fights against this virus. request: since woller is sick at the moment would you be able to write something where he’s not feeling well and you’re taking care of him? word count: 1019 warning(s): kinda short, not proof read notes: i had pneumonia over the summer and it was the worst experience of my life. i was dead for like two weeks and it took my 4 months to fully recover. really channeling that energy into this fic. i hope you love it !! xoxo

Your favourite grocery store was empty on this Thursday morning in January. It's cold but there is no snow on the ground. It's about 9 AM as you wander around the produce section, grabbing things to make soup for your sick boyfriend, who is currently lying at home with pneumonia.

Chicken, got it. Celery, got it. Carrots, got it. Noodles, got it. Might as well grab some cold medicine while you're here.Y ou stand in the checkout line and wait for the young girl (maybe no older than 18) to finish scanning your groceries.

"I can bag them, love, don't worry," you say, pulling out your debt card to pay. She smiles and says, "You have a lovely day".

"You too".

The drive home is long and tedious. Downtown Toronto is bustling now. People on their way to work, getting coffee, dropping their kids off at school. These are mundane moments you cherish. Dating a pro athlete is hard when all you want is some peace. He's always gone or busy. Sometimes it's nice to not have to rush home after work to head to a game or dinner or the gym.

You took work off today after Joseph's diagnosis yesterday. He was upset that he would be out of the Toronto Maple Leafs line up for the next few games. Taking the day off to take care of him was the least you could do to cheer him up. In fact, he practically begged you.

"Joey, baby, I'm home," you open the door to you shared condo and hear the tv from your bedroom. After setting down the grocery bags and your purse, you take off your coat and hang it up in the closet. Nothing has changed since you left your apartment earlier. You wander down the hall and into you bedroom, seeing Joe half-asleep, tucked into bed watching Big Bang Theory. Exactly how you left him.

He turns on his side slightly when he hears the door open. "Hmmm, you're home," he blinks slowly and smiles softly, sighing. It's good to see that he can take deep breaths without coughing a lung up. You make your way over to the bed and sit down beside him. He leans on you. "How are you feeling, sweetie?", you ask, running your fingers through his tangled hair. He just nod, "I'm feeling ok". You nod.

"Eat anything yet?"

He nods his head and points to the empty bowl on the nightstand, "Oatmeal with banana". "Good," you say in response, "I have the thermometer. Open wide". He does as he's told. The thermometer beeps after a few seconds under Joe's tongue. It reads 100.5 degrees. "Still have the fever," you say. You put your hand on his forehead, leave it for a second and then trace your fingers over his stubble covered cheek. "Ok, now antibiotics," you hand him two pills and a glass of cold water from his nightstand. He sits up a little bit and tosses back the pills. As he swallows, you give him a quick kiss on his warm forehead.

After being in a few long term relationships you have learnt a few things. One of those things being that when men are sick, all they want is someone to take care of them. They will listen to anything you say as long as you are helping them through their ailment. Whether it be a cold or cancer.

"I got your mom to send me her soup recipe. I'm gonna make a whole pot of it for the next few days," you open your phone and show him the recipe, "It's chicken noodle". He nods, "Sounds good". You get up to leave and get started on the soup, but Joe grabs your hand.

"What?" you turn, a confused look on your face. "Stay with me, baby, please," Joe looks up at you, his big blue eyes boring into your soul, like a little puppy. "I just ate. I'm not hungry and..." he fake coughs, leading him to cough very hard for real, "I'm sick".

You sigh. You really should get started on the soup, but he looks so sad and sweet, lying there waiting for you to lay down next to him. He pats the white comforter beside him as if to beckon you into his warm embrace. You smile and say, "Only for a bit, Joe. I need to start on the soup," while climbing in beside him.

About 45 minutes go by and Joe is fast asleep on your shoulder. You laugh slightly at the sight of his open mouth and the sound of his snores.

You called his mother yesterday to see if you could do anything to make him feel more at home (because Toronto in the winter is very different than St. Louis) and she said, "No, sweetheart, he just needs to rest. I'm a firm believer that sleep is the best medicine but that's especially true for our Joey. Been like that since he was a kid". Your remember the smile on your face when she said "our Joey". You had only met Shelley, his mom, once or twice, but she had been so welcoming that you felt like you'd known her for years.

Joe looks so peaceful while sleeping. He always does, but because he is sick, he looks it even more. You lean down slowly and go in to kiss him, but before you can, he wakes. "Hey there, Joey, feeling ok?" you say, with a small smile. He groans, stretching his back and arms, "Yeah. I feel better". He takes another deep breath and rubs his eyes. You smile and kiss his cheek, "Wanna come help me make the soup now?".

"Sure. Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for taking care of me. You're the greatest girlfriend ever. I'm gonna marry you one day. I promise."

You are slightly taken aback by his comment but, nevertheless, you smile. How lucky could you possibly be? Getting this perfect man and being able to call him yours. "Of course, Joe, I love you."

"I love you too, Y/N"

[satinroses]

Night Time Routines

How the harbingers and their darlings ready for bed

Yan! Harbingers x reader (separate)

Feat: Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone and Scaramouche

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: Did I write this because I find the idea of Scaramouche having glowing purple eyes amusing… yes, yes I did. He just has such glowstick energy if that makes sense. He is basically personified electro energy so i had to physically restrain myself from making him fully glow in the dark. Something about snuffing out the candle and turning over and just seeing him glowing bright purple never fails to make me laugh.

Warnings: 5.3 archon quest spoilers, Yandere behaviours, i have likely not proof read this as well as i should have so i apologise for any mistakes, dark themes, some mentions of NSFW themes but no actual smut, being robbed of making choices, they all have serious control issues

Capitano:

Capitano has struggled with sleep for centuries now, he hopes you take no offence when he doesn’t join you at night however he would never wish to make you feel neglected. The primary reason he stole you away was to could ensure that you are treated with the dignity and adoration that befits someone of your character.

If your hair is long enough then he takes great care in braiding it every night. You’re surprised that a man of his stature is able to manoeuvre his fingers so nimbly through your hair. If braids aren’t your style or they simply wouldn’t work with your hair then he patiently awaits your instruction. Whether you want a bun, a ponytail or simply for your hair to flow freely he will diligently do as you command.

Although some aspects of your night routine may resemble that of Pantalone’s darling, Capitano doesn’t force you to abide by any particular routines. As long as you get enough rest he doesn’t mind if you spend every evening huddled in the library, just please allow him to sit with you as you read, nothing would bring him greater pleasure.

Despite the first harbinger being unable to sleep due to the constant burden of the tormented souls upon him, he does find comfort in the domesticity partaking in your nightly routines affords him. Watching your eyes flutter shut, hearing the words that slip out of your mouth leaving him to guess what you could possibly be dreaming about, watching over you when you are at your most defenceless.

He finds it utterly endearing to see you in this state. His heart feels much lighter the first night you fall asleep in his presence. He understands you may hold some resentment towards him for stealing you away from your home and the life you knew yet he is able to find hope in the vulnerability your behaviour shows. Being in your most docile and helpless form around him must surely mean you hold some form of trust for him. Trust is something he can work with, he’s certain now that he can cultivate this small piece of trust that you’ve extended to him from a sapling into a flourishing bloom and in time, perhaps you’ll forgive him for the selfish decision he made. He was utterly mindless and inconsiderate when he took you with him, against your will. Every day he lives with the shame of stealing you and yet... watching over you as you lay in his sheets, he cannot bring himself to regret it.

He shuts his eyes and listens to the rhythm of your breaths, a symphony that brings him nothing but relief. The knowledge that you were resting peacefully by his side invigorates him far more than slumber ever could.

After some time passes and he truly believes you are warming up to him in spite of everything, he might slip into your bed (with your permission of course). He’s unsure what to do at first, so overwhelmed with your closeness and warmth but as you begin to drift into a dreamscape, he allows his hands to wander slightly (but never anywhere inappropriate, despite how desperately he might crave your body he would never force you to do anything that might dishonour you). The body heat that emanates from you brings him immeasurable comfort as he forgets about the pain of the abyssal rot ravaging his body, instead focusing on the softness of your skin on his.

To feel you against him, your body tucked against his, it brings comfort that settles deep in his bones, not even the heavenly principles nor the curse that eats away at his flesh could strip it from him. For the first time in 500 years he remembers what its like to have a home.

Dottore:

You have the misfortune of having spent more time alone with Dottore than anyone else in Teyvat. In spite of his near constant presence, you had never once see him or any of his clones go to sleep. Once every few months you’ll catch him with his eyes shut and hunched over his desk, you assume he has finally drifted off but then mere seconds later his eyes will shoot open and his hands resume tinkering with whatever (or whoever) has had the misfortune of piquing his interest.

Prior to eliminating his clones he often used them as lab assistants, citing that the only person who he could trust to fulfil his work to the measure of perfection he demanded was himself. As the sun began to set whichever of his clones had the least to do would be charged with escorting you from his laboratory in the cellars of Zapolyarny palace to your shared estate. Much to Dottore’s annoyance, he swears that as the moon begins to rise, the segments begins to rush to finish their tasks in hopes of being the one to escort you home.

From early morning to night time you are forced to remain wherever Dottore is however he understands you are only human (for the time being, however he has plans to change that) and you require rest so he allows you to go home and sleep with the caveat that a segment remains by your side as he repeats a similar sentiment as he did earlier, that being the only man he would ever trust with your safety is himself.

Upon prime having to destroy the clones he is visibly on edge despite his dismissals when you try to enquire about it. It’s evident to you that without having the security of his segments watching over you he is tense. He now forbids you from going home, even with a platoon of Fatui guarding you, he has made far too many enemies to count over the years, he isn’t foolish enough to entrust your safety to some lackeys that even the eleventh could carve through with ease.

Much to your dismay he also states that he cannot take so much time away from his experiments to tend to your slumber and that from now on you will be sleeping in the laboratory.

It doesn’t take much exertion for his brilliant mind for him to deduce that you are not thrilled at this development.

After a few days of complaining he finally cracks. You seem to find a fault with every aspect of his laboratory.

”I’m uncomfortable”

”My back hurts”

”It’s too loud”

”It’s too bright”

”It’s too hot”

“It’s too cold”

”This pillow is lumpy”

”I can feel you staring at me”

It drives him mad. His next experiment will be on your voice, he has to test his hypothesis that there is something particular about your voice, perhaps it’s the tone or the pitch but whenever you speak he can’t help but grant you his full attention.

He prides himself on his resilience but for you he has always been quick to crack. Seeing you in such a bad mood puts him in a bad mood. Suddenly his patience has been shortened exponentially, the screams of his patients grind on his nerves far too quickly, leading to many experiments being cut short.

The following morning you will see two anemo skirmishers setting down a large object covered in a dust sheet in the far corner of the laboratory. You raise your question to Dottore, asking what it is. Only then does he set down his tools, a tiny smirk blooms across his face as he takes your hand in his and leads you across the room before lifting the sheet off the object and looking at you expectantly.

It was a single bed with plain white sheets and a single pillow. It was hardly exuberant but for Dottore to even show any form of regard for the discomfort of any living being was nothing short of a miracle.

If you ask him what prompted this his voice will grow venomous as he bites out that your endless complaints were a hindrance to his experiments but you see the self-satisfied sneer on his face as he soaks in your gratitude.

Admittedly you do still have to endure the screams of those unfortunate enough to end up strapped to the operating table as he refuses to allow you any form of noise cancellation lest he needs you for something (he never has but you’re sure he just doesn’t want to give you any avenues for ignoring him), at least you can keep your head staunchly under your pillow for whatever small form of muting the cries that it's able to provide.

Pantalone:

In spite of your resentment for Pantalone you could not deny the morbid interest you had in watching him go about his day. As an outsider you couldn’t shrug the pervasive feeling that had settled in your mind that his whole day seemed to be more of an elaborate routine rather than a man naturally progressing through the day.

Every paper, painting and plate had a specific place in his life and that was how Pantalone preferred it. One night at dinner you had made note of it and he had let out a rare chuckle as he gazed at you from across the grand mahogany dinner table. He put down his utensils before taking a moment to stare down at his hands, twisting the rings back into place so that the gemstones on them rested perfectly on his fingers, glimmering just right in the light before he acknowledged that perhaps some people might agree that he can be a little particular.

From the moment he had taken you into his home, he made sure that you too fit into his routine as flawlessly as everything else. He had expectations that you would meet if you knew what was good for you. Throughout the day his routine never once relaxed and as such, neither did yours. From the moment dinner ends he has you on a schedule that he had devoted hours to ensure it would allow you to fit into his schedule as perfectly as he wants you to. Like a ballerina wound up in a jewellery box, you would pirouette seamlessly to whichever melody he desired and you only move when he winds your cogs, never before.

Once you rise from the dinner table and he returns to his study, you are taken directly to your shared chambers with Pantalone by your ladies maids. In the porcelain tub within the en-suite sits a pool of hot water, still steaming with heat. Standing there awkwardly with only a silk robe wrapped around you as maids flutter in and out of the room. You stay rocking on the balls of your feet until at last the head maid returns, with her she carries a silver tray upon which rests several different bottles of fragrant oils and soaps to add to your bath.

Perhaps if you had been a little less perceptive you would believe this to be one of the areas in your life in which he allows some leniency but that is not the case. You are certain beyond all measure that each and every scent has gotten his approval before being presented to you. Maybe you should be thankful for this small illusion of choice but it only makes the reality of you situation sting in your tear ducts.

As you smell each one the head maid takes great enthusiasm in telling you the elaborate backstory for each and every bottle. Although its her voice speaking, you can hear his words.

The violet grass scent that had been acquired from the very highest point of Liyue’s immense mountain scape lending to it’s powdery floral notes being far more potent that before.

The sakura bloom oil had been extracted from a handful of petals that had been struck by the Shogun’s own divine lightning lending to it’s typical sweet smell having a bright undertone. You couldn’t stand that oil, you swore every time you applied it, it tingled.

The glaze Lilly that this oil had been diffused from had allegedly only bloomed when an adeptus descended from her abode in Jueyun Karst to serenade the flower and coaxing it into opening its petals. Supposedly its scent was so delicate and intoxicating that everyone who smelt it wept tears of joy. You didn’t think it smelt much different than any other glaze Lilly.

After a dozen more being presented to you, each with its own elaborate origins you simply grabbed the bottle closest to you on the tray, not caring which. They all smelt far too similar to care.

Since the day you were taken he had insisted that there was no price too high for his beloved. Perhaps he thinks you find his gifts romantic, instead you can’t help but laugh bitterly at the irony of your bathing products being better travelled than you are.

After nearly an hour of several maids scrubbing you from head to toe (when you had originally arrived you had refused their help however once Pantalone caught wind of this he had punished the maids for it. You had pleaded with him that it was your own fault for refusing their help and to please not punish them for your actions. He smiled gently, thanking you for your honesty before pressing a gently kiss to your forehead yet he said nothing about pardoning the maids, dismissing you at every mention of it. You had an entirely different group of maids tending to you the following morning and every subsequent morning after that).

After leaving the bath and drying off, you were dressed in a night gown. They were undoubtedly the worst part of the night, although they were beautiful they were also covered in itchy lace with necklines too deep and hems too short for the Snezhnayan winter.

After being dressed you would sit down at your vanity and methodically brush your hair with the gifts he had gotten you from Mondstadt: a boar bristle brush with a silver handle (he claimed the bristles were from a mighty bore sovereign native to Dragonspine) and a Dragon bone comb (he also had this made in Dragonspine, the bone acquired from the skeleton of Durin, the comb was a sturdy bone that no matter what always stayed warm).

Finally you would lie in bed and wait for your husband. If he decides to join you then you can slip gently into your dreams, the one place where you can forget about the heavy arm latched around your waist and the fingers tangled in your hair. On more unfortunate nights, he would not join you in your shared chambers, instead he would expect you to come to him. Shuffling sleepily through dark corridors until you finally reached the tall doors of his study. Your knuckle barely grazes the wood before the door swings open and he offers you a gentle smile before wrapping his arm around your waist and coaxing you in.

If you were lucky a few well-placed tender kisses to his neck would persuade him to abandon his work and join you in bed however some nights he would have you sat on his lap until the sun rose. Those nights you rarely slept well as you had to deal with his mutterings, the candle light illuminating the room and the way he adjusted you on his lap. If you were lucky you could shut your eyes and feign sleep when you felt something hard growing beneath you, other nights he was insistent on your participation.

Scaramouche:

Throughout the countless waking hours you’ve spent in unwilling solitude with the sixth harbinger you were hardly surprised at the revelation that his sour attitude persists far past the sunset and well into the moonlit hours. If anything his annoyance only grew the closer you crept to retiring for the night.

Having no knowledge of his marionette body’s ability to endure without sleep, you couldn’t disguise your discomfort the first night you shared his bed and his lilac eyes stayed glued to you all night, their vibrant hue glowing in the dark of your chambers. You could see the dim purple light in the room, even through your eyelids. His illuminated eyes wouldn’t move from your face as you rested. It doesn’t matter how often you late in the night you might wake up or how often you squint through your half-closed eyes at him, Scaramouche’s gaze stays fixed intently on you from the moment you pull the blankets over your shoulders.

Should you somehow develop a fondness for your captor you will quickly learn that in spite of his feelings for you, he is not an attentive or affectionate man. Scaramouche scoffs at the proposal of ‘cuddling’. He spits out that he will not entertain such pathetic displays of fondness, not even for you. The firm tenor in his voice makes you believe that there is no room for negotiation on the matter, however from that night onwards, his hand remains fixed tightly around your wrist the moment you retire under the covers with him.

One particularly irritating trait about Scaramouche is his insistence that you never turn away from him, many times your awoken by a set of firm hands clamped down on your shoulders as they turn you around in the bed, back to facing him. While you are both waking and sleeping he refuses to allow you to turn your back to him, you’re unsure as to why and frankly you’re not certain you wish to know. There are aspects of your captor's past that you're undoubtedly influence his current actions yet you do not wish to learn such things, not yet.

On exceptionally rare occasions, oftentimes after an intimate night of gently unwinding with him, removing his clothing with all the attentiveness he has expected to be synonymous with being the wife of the sixth harbinger. Brush your lips gently over his skin with a tenderness in your touch he hasn’t felt since… he can’t recall. After several hours in each others passionate embrace, Scaramouche may fall into a restless slumber. You may initially find this rare period of sleep from him to be enjoyable however it opens the gateway to a version of Scaramouche you may find yourself unfamiliar with.

The first night Scaramouche falls asleep in your presence, you soon understand his disdain for sleep. The whimpers and cries that escape the balladeer are completely uncharacteristic for him. You had never heard his voice assume any tone beyond a haughty drawl or an intimidating bark, you almost didn’t recognise it was Scaramouche speaking until a familiar word escaped his throat.

”Y/N...”

It was undoubtedly the balladeer speaking however his voice had been fragile and light as he spoke your name, as though saying it too harshly would cause it to shatter.

”Y/N… come back, please…”

“please...” he had whispered out and the word sounded almost foreign on his tongue. Until now you had assumed the word didn’t even exist in the harbingers vocabulary. His sleep only seemed to worsen. You sat up, unsure whether you should wake him or not. His gentle murmurs were slowly growing louder and more desperate. You watched as his sleeping form writhed across the bed, his arms fully extended as his fingers clenched and unclenched, grasping and pawing at the bedsheets.

You slowly nudged yourself closer to him, preparing to wake him from whatever nightmares was plaguing him until his hand brushed against your night clothes. Suddenly his fist clenched tightly around your waist as he yanked your body impossibly closer, curling around you.

The following morning he untangled his limbs from yours before quickly scurrying out of the room. His gaze never met yours but from the chaste kiss and the way his eyes refused to look up from the ground… you swore he almost seemed embarrassed, his demeanour suiting that of a pouting child rather than an agent of destruction.

As you opened the bedroom doors not long after his departure, the stench of sizzled flesh wafted through the corridors. Some poor Fatuus were now paying the price in blood for Scaramouche’s humiliation as they were demoted from subordinates to the punching bags for him to unleash his rage on. The part of himself that he had buried so deeply, shrouded in layer and layer of bitterness and rage, had exposed itself to your discerning gaze and his mortification was suffocating him.

If he were a weaker man perhaps the humiliation would have brought tears to his eyes but he was stronger than the mewling little wretch he used to be. Like forging a sword, he had beaten the impurities out one by one in the heat of his own hatred and the boiling of his blood until only the perfect blade remained. cold. lethal. merciless. He is no quivering weakling that can simply be thrown away. Not anymore. Never again. In spite of his pathetic display last night he would make certain you and everyone else remembers it.

[ficnoire2]

A Little Legendborn/Bloodmarked (In prep for Oathbound) Who’s Your Daddy? Theory  

*Spoilers for both books ahead and mentions of Oathbound teaser*

We have about 41 days (at the time of writing) until Oathbound drops and what better time than now to explore a theory I have been kicking around ever since we met the illustrious Valechaz.  Those who have hung around my little page are not new to this, but if you are, welcome.  It is no secret that I think Erebus/Shadow King/The Hunter is the father of the one and only Valec AND Selwyn Kane.   There are ideas I have kicked around and figured it a good time to document them, so…

Here goes

Scent Signature Profile

Some time ago I did a scent theory profile for our crew (linked below) and in revisiting that, I noticed that Valec, Erebus, and Sel have a similar profile that falls in the oriental/woody category which brings forth scents of resins, vetiver, leather, incense and smoke.  In addition, the three of them share a similar color profile (also linked below).  There are many instances of black, reds, and golds.  All of them at some point are described as emerging from some sort of shadow.  These are the most shallow bits of evidence but…maybe not.

Valechaz and Selwyn (Who’s the Pappy?!)

“Told you not to mess with that red-eyed devil, but you did, didn’t you?  Ain’t nothing good coming from a man you meet at the crossroads, Pearl. Nothing.”

I have always found it very curious that the identity of both Valec and Selwyn’s fathers is shrouded in mystery.  Not to mention the name of Valec’s bar is referenced here.  In the Oathbound teaser, we learn that Erebus is essentially a shapeshifter who can wear many faces and be in many places at once.  We also know that he has lurked around the Rootcraft community for eons protecting his “investment.”  It is not yet known who the “Red-eyed devil” is, but knowing his capabilities it is not out of the realm of possibility.

“He may look like a baby, but that is their disguise.  They cannot be trusted because it is their nature to lie.  You know this, Pearl.  Just like his father, he will turn on you one day.”

I found this interesting because it suggests that this community had dealings with this type of demon/shapeshifter before.  Katherine says Pearl KNOWS this as if this knowledge is something common and she should know better.

“When I was young, my mother was killed by an uchel while on a mission.  After that, my human father fell into a liquor bottle and never came out.”

Selwyn says this with so much certainty only for us to find out a few pages later that, that was not the truth. It is never stated that he actually met this human father and if he had, it would be quite easy for the Shadow King to impersonate him especially since he was close to Natasia.  In essence, the identity of both boys’ fathers is unknown.

Peek a Boo, I See You

“Poor little cambion, little Kingsmage.  Leashed by the Order his whole pathetic existence and now manacled by them too?”

Valec’s taunting of Sel is top-tier, pure I will flirt with your girl and whoop your ass in front of her, older brother energy.  Their interactions are always tense and teetering on the razor’s edge of violence.  Selwyn despises Valec, not only because he flirts with Bree, but because he can see him for everything that he is.  He highlights his shortcomings and exposes them to the group.  I can imagine Sel felt this being in proximity to Nick in another way.  Nick being all the things he wants to be and be close to, but Valec exposes all of the things he is.

In all of Valec’s taunting (and ass-whooping) he also empathizes with Sel.  For perspective, as a formerly enslaved person, he would be well within his rights to hate Sel and everything he stands for, but he doesn’t.  He shows him mercy and understanding.

“When you’re a cambion, you’re caught between two worlds.  Always.  Not just two cultures or two communities, but literally two states of being.  Life.  Death. This plane, and the one that calls us back home in the middle of the night.  Most of us go a very long time without feeling like we belong anywhere.”

This was not only heartbreaking because we know in bondage, Valec experienced horror, not to mention being cast out.  The fact that he recognized the unique position of cambions in this universe and offered that grace to Sel only comes with the wisdom gained from the life he’s led. 

It does not seem coincidental that Tracy has given them this dynamic.  The line that he says to Bree “You can’t belong to an idea, Bree,”  The idea of slavery, mental and physical bondage, the Order.  You don’t belong to these things.  The idea that you were born as a unique being and that your spirit is autonomous even if your body isn’t.

Shadow Daddy

This brings me to Erebus.  Here is what we know:

He can shift form and travel through time and space rapidly.  He was in a close relationship with Selwyn’s mother (as Erebus) and has followed the Rootcraft community (whoring around if you ask me).  He is an opportunist and slips into bargains and situations that serve his purpose which is to gain power and ultimately get his crown back.  He is ancient.

The Parallels

The parallels and foreshadowing between him and the boys (I know Valec is old as hell) are glaring.  

The SK nameplate on Selwyn’s door

The fact that they have the same three-letters associated with their names (S.E.K)

Similar scent profiles and color profiles

Bree made a deal with Erebus at a crossroads in her journey, after seemingly exhausting every possibility

Valec’s bar being the Crossroads Lounge and he and Selwyn both being described as “Crossroads children”

The fact that Valec knows there is a Shadow Court, but Selwyn describes it as made-up children’s stories to scare young Merlins, hinting that he doesn't know as much history as he thinks he does.  

Also, in the Oathbound teaser, he has two Black children that he describes as his “Wards.”  I have so many questions.  Was Valec a “Ward” at one point?  I find it interesting that they are Black as well.

The lineage comes into play too.  Valec is evenly split.  Pearl was human and his apparent father was a demon *Whispers SEX DEMON*.  He says balanced cambions are rare.

Natasia is split but if Erebus (Shadow King) is Sel’s father that makes him more demon than human, not to mention the “Assload of oaths” he has attached to him, which are wreaking havoc on his life.  

I hope we get more answers to Valec’s and Sel's lineage in book three.  Either way, I am excited as hell.  I believe he will be key in helping our crew gain balance and send his daddy back to where he belongs.  

I would love to hear your thoughts, especially if you have the same theory that I do!  I have also linked some of my other nerdy works below.  Happy reading!

Scent Theory Part One

Scent Theory Part Two

LB/BM Top Ten

*Color theory is linked in one of the scent theories*

[tinydefector]

Behind the Scenes - DC

Tim Drake x Male Reader Series.

Soo..... I might have decided to dip my toes into writing for DC, I'm still going to be writing Transformers Fics too but I really wanted to make this mainly for myself, it make turn into an x Oc but we will wait and see, the first part is mainly just the Prologue and it's Tim centred without a reader introduced yet.

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Word count: 3.4K

Warnings: nothing.

Masterlist

Next

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Tim had been staring at the screen now for hours, fingers dancing across the keyboard as he went, he had fallen down the rabbit hole of another case. Honestly he wouldn't have cursed at himself getting so invested in another Riddler case, but in truth he loved the challenge, cross examining every little detail from the scenes, the Clues. In some ways dealing with Riddler was like a break for him, the Riddler despised him, he figured things out way too quickly for Nigma's liking and ruined His plans half the time, and Timothy revealed it. 

Tim wasn't interested in the riddles, no he was far more interested in the smaller details such as the barrel with a grain meal logo on it. It was so out of place, new compared to most of the other stuff that had been at the scene. It was possible he had somewhat narrowed down where Riddler was, and it was all due to the Rogue not being thorough enough. “Red Robin To Nightwing” he calls into his ear piece after switching channels. 

“Hear you loud and clear RR” Dick had called back. “I believe Riddler is in Blüdhaven, at BGM Grains factory or shipment warehouse from what i've been able to gather, he's starting to get sloppy” Tim remarked while taking a mouthful of his coffee only for his nose to scrunch up slightly at how cold it had gotten. 

“Hmm I'll check it out, Penguin’s also been making his rounds around Haven, I'll drop in and see if I can spot Riddler might finally catch him after the hell he's being causing B” Dick remarks, there's a slight static sound along with the whooshing of wind. “Keep me updated, I'm going to do some more digging, Oracle might even be able to tap me into the camera” he stretches slightly, his joints popping and cracking with a sigh before he focuses back in. 

“you're game, Weren't you meant to be in bed three hours ago, you have an appointment tomorrow at WE with manufacturing and Marketing” Nightwing remarked with a hint of amusement in his voice. Tim rolls his eyes before drinking more of his coffee, at this rate he would just make sure to have two caffeine capsules, some dayquil and most likely coffee before he leaves in the morning if Alfred doesn't insist on him having Tea instead. 

“ Hmmm, says the man who had Chief Delmore Redhorn up his ass, Must be fun having your boss pile you with paperwork and put you on mall duty” Tim retorts effortlessly, he was used to playing this game with Dick, the back and forth jabs over work.

 “Careful RR, B might decide to demote you if you keep showing up to WE looking like a zombie” he teases back which earns a scoff from Tim "that's what make-up is for Big bird, to cover up the baggage and Trauma That this family carries” he snarks with a roll of his eyes. There was next to nothing that Fitcover, some eye drops, caffeine and Cologne couldn't mask.

“Whatever you say T. But I'm serious if you don't log off, I'll be calling Oracle and tell her to disable your connection. It's 3:47am go to bed” Dick says sternly, which earns a huff From Tim. “Ah don't, I'll have Alfred down there to drag you up, it's log off time” Dick continued, and Tim knows he won't win this argument,  he was going on nearly 53 hours with the minimum of an hour nap in random spots. 

“Fine, Fine I'm logging off and heading up. Keep me posted on Riddler!” He huffs as he begins logging out of his account on the main computer. He sits there for a moment in the large seat contemplating moving before finally working up the energy to trudge his way upstairs. 

Tim makes it to his room or at least the one he stayed at when he was at the Manor, it hadn't changed much, just had a few less things in there than it used to. He grabs his antibiotics, promethazine, taking them with a large mouthful of water from the bottle he kept on the bedside table. he Kicks off most of his clothes deciding it was too hard to bother with anything more than his boxers, grabbing his compression gloves and fighting with them for a moment before he lays back in bed, tiredly staring up at the ceiling. It doesn't take long for the promethazine to make him drowsy on top of his fatigue and he is out shortly after. 

The next morning, Tim awoke feeling somewhat refreshed, his mind clearer than it had been the day before, less exhaustion and tension in his frame. The combination of the antibiotics and promethazine had granted him a night free of the usual nightmares and dreams that often plagued his mind.

He rolled out of bed slowly, his muscles protesting slightly from the lingering aches and pains. A hot shower helped to work out the kinks and tension in his body, the steaming water cascading over his scars and battle-worn flesh. He stood there for a long while just letting the heat seep into his skin, eyes closed as he enjoyed the momentary relief the hot water gave. 

As he stepped out of the shower, Tim caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes were still noticeable, but not as pronounced as they had been the day before. After drying off and getting dressed in his usual white button up and black slacks, He applied a thin layer of concealer under his eyes, carefully blending it into his skin to hide the evidence of his exhaustion.

Next, he smoothed on a foundation, the creamy substance helping to even out his complexion and conceal the faint, silvery scars that lined his cheeks - mementos from Joker. The scars were barely noticeable to most, but to Tim, they stood out more than anything, they had healed well only leaving very thin silvery lines, but they were still a reminder of what happened when he was 13.

Dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and tailored slacks, Tim looked every inch the successful businessman. Only those who knew him well could sense the weariness that still lingered beneath the polished exterior.

Tim entered the dining room, his footsteps soft against the hardwood floors. The smell of freshly brewed tea and toast wafted through the air. Bruce sat at the head of the table, newspaper in one hand, the other loosely holding a cup of tea. His breakfast plate half-empty was pushed slightly to the side. Behind the swinging door to the kitchen, the faint hum of a classical tune played as Alfred moved around, orchestrating the morning like a conductor with his symphony.

Tim offered Bruce a nod as he passed the table. He looked tired despite the dark circles under his eyes being concealed. There's a faint sluggishness in his movements. Without a word, he headed straight for the kitchen, clearly aiming for the coffee pot. As soon as Tim stepped into the kitchen, Alfred's sharp yet warm voice cut through the music.

"Master Timothy, don't even think about it. Coffee is hardly what you need right now. Have you slept at all?" He inquiries not even turning around to look at the younger man

Tim paused mid-reach for the coffee pot, his hand hovering above the handle. He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Good morning to you too, Alfred."

 Alfred turned, crossing his arms with the kind of disapproving look only he could master, the disappointed grandfather stare. The soft music continued in the background as he gestured toward the kettle. "Tea, Master Tim. Far more civilized and significantly better for someone who looks like they've just returned from the grave."  

Tim hesitated but relented. "Fine. Tea it is." Alfred huffed but began preparing the tea while muttering under his breath about "young men and their lack of proper self-care."

Tim returned to the dining room, plopping into the chair across from Bruce. The latter set down the newspaper, his piercing gaze settling on Tim. "You haven't been sleeping."  

Tim blinked, he was well aware he hadn't been sleeping, he had been doing reserch into the Head of medical manufacturing as this was now the third time this month, that Luicus had brought him to attention over it, and Tim had done his own digging, and noe Marketing and been trying their best to sway Tim into letting them raise the price of certain medical items. And that was excluding everything that had been happening while he moonlights as Red Robin.   

His tone is defensive. "I'm fine. Just had a lot to do." Bruce raised an eyebrow, the kind of look that said he wasn't buying it. He leaned back, resting his hands on the arms of his chair.  "You can't run on fumes, Not in the long run. You know that."  

Tim looked away, running a hand through his hair. Trying not to mess it up after styling it into the business look he normally did for board meeting and anything that involved him having to be at any WE sites. "I will catch up on sleep once everything with patrols, WE settle down. Riddler has been causing issues in Blüdhaven and Luicus and myself are suspicious of the head of drug manufacturing, so I've been doing digging"  

Bruce doesn't say anything but just continues to watch Tim. Before he gets the chance to say anything Alfred appears, setting a cup of tea in front of Tim with a faintly pointed expression.  

"So, about the meeting today. WE Operations and Marketing. What’s the agenda?"  Tim straightened a little, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he switched into work mode.  "The marketing team wants to pitch a new campaign to raise prices of medication such as Insulin, amoxycillin, Levothyroxine.” there is a slight sneer to Tim's voice over it. He hated dealing with the pharmaceutical marketing Team, not to mention the head of the manufacturing. They have been trying to sway him for months now over increasing prices for life saving medication. And WE had always prided itself on being affordable for everyone. 

 “ I think we need to replace management and look at other options for that Team, or replacements, they have been the main ones causing so much strife within the company. The Steel operations will be presenting their quarterly report, but from what Lucius told me, there aren't any major surprises. I actually enjoy talking with Mr Brill, his Teams deserve a raise, He ask about you often, wants to know if your coming in for another one of their Forklift workshops " There's a small smirk on Tim's face, he knew all about those workshops Bruce used to attend before he had taken over as CEO. 

Bruce frowned slightly, swirling the tea in his cup, as he takes a sip. "You know I don't involve myself much in the day-to-day anymore."  But there's a small smile on Bruce's face remembering the shock of so many people when he used to show up to those workshops. 

The conversation had shifted to lighter topics, Bruce still nursing his tea while Tim sat back in his chair finishing up his own tea, trying to muster some energy for the day ahead, as he still eyes the kitchen wondering if he could get away with coffee before he left for his meeting, even if he couldn't he would either get one while at WE from the breakroom or afterwards sneak away long enough to get one from the local cafe he frequent.

 Alfred moved about the dining room with his usual quiet grace, clearing away Bruce’s breakfast plate and straightening the table. As Alfred returned from the kitchen, he paused by Tim’s chair, his hands resting lightly on the back of it. His tone was casual, but there was a hint of purpose behind his words. "Master Timothy, if I might trouble you for a moment..."  

Tim glanced up, raising a brow. "Uh-oh. What did I do now?"  

Alfred gave him a long-suffering look before continuing. "Nothing, yet. But I was wondering if you might accompany me later today after your meetings. There’s a small, family-owned nursery I frequent for the plants that brighten up this dreary old Manor. They’ve just started their spring stock, and I’d like to see what they have this year."  

Tim blinked, surprised, it wasn't what he had expected to hear from the old butler. "You’re asking me to go plant shopping with you?" Alfred gave a faint huff, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Indeed, I am. Surely you can spare a moment from your busy schedule to assist an old man with something as simple as choosing a few ferns and perhaps a philodendron or two?"  

Tim leaned back, fingers linked together as he processed everything, "Couldn’t you just call them? Have them send over a list or something? Sounds like less hassle."  Alfred’s expression turned pointed, though his tone remained polite, he was making it very clear it Wasn't up for debate. 

"Of course I could, Master Timothy. But where is the joy in that? I’d much rather go in person. There’s a charm to it, you see. And, if I may be so bold, I think an outing might do you some good. Perhaps some fresh air and a bit of greenery might help shake off the exhaustion you so stubbornly insist on ignoring."  

Bruce chuckled softly from his seat, glancing between the two. Tim shot Bruce a mock glare before turning back to Alfred, this felt like a trap, a trap to keep him busy and his focus away from work and cases. His lips press into a thin line as he stares down Alfred, the older man fixes him with his own look. 

"Fine, fine. I’ll go. On one condition, we stop at my favourite Cafe and I get my ristretto, or Iced Lungo " He finally relented knowing he wasn't getting out of this, but he sure wasn't going to not put up some resistance over it. 

Alfred gave a small, satisfied smile, as though he’d just won a minor battle. "That can be arranged, Master Tim. Your company will suffice. Though, if I may offer a suggestion, do try not to have too much Caffeine."  

Tim rolled his eyes, though there was a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.  "Yeah, yeah. That's my offer, coffee for company."  Bruce set down his tea, his tone light but teasing. "Don’t let him talk you into carrying all the pots. He’s been known to overdo it."  

Alfred turned to Bruce with a feigned look of innocence. "I assure you, Master Bruce, I wouldn’t dream of it."  Bruce gave him a knowing look, but Tim waved it off, standing up and stretching. glancing at the clock on the wall, his faint grin fading as the reality of his packed schedule loomed over him again. He drained the rest of his tea, setting the cup down with a soft clink against the saucer.  

“Alright,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing with a stretch. “I’ve got to head out. If I get to my office early enough, I might actually have a chance to breathe before the swarm descends.”  he said, pushing the chair back into the table. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow over the rim of his teacup, his expression somewhere between amused and concerned. “You mean you’re running off to hide before they corner you,” Bruce said knowingly.  Tim hummed, grabbing his blazer off the back of the chair. “Something like that. I like to call it ‘strategic retreat.’”  

Alfred gave him a pointed look as he passed by. “Strategic retreat or not, Master Timothy, I do hope you’ll consider pacing yourself today. Another cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss, either.” Tim paused in the doorway, glancing back with a wry grin. “Tea’s nice, Alfred, but I’m going to need something a little stronger if I’m going to survive the marketing team today.”  

Alfred’s brow furrowed as he turned to face him fully, his disapproval evident. “Master Tim, I do hope you’re not referring to–”  “Triple shot espresso,” Tim cut in, his grin widening. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it myself. Wouldn’t want to drag anyone else into my caffeine dependency.”  

Bruce let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. He knew Tim drank an awful amount of coffee but some days it really put others to shame “You’re going to crash hard later if you keep running like this.” Tim shrugged as he slipped his arms into the blazer and adjusted the cuffs.“Yeah, probably. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, I’ve got to deal with pharmaceutical marketing trying to convince me that price-gouging insulin is somehow good for the company.” His voice turned sharp at the end, a flicker of irritation breaking through his usual sarcasm.  

Alfred followed him toward the hallway, speaking as he moved. “If they press you too much, Master Timothy, do remember that you have the authority to shut them down completely.” Tim glanced back over his shoulder, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Oh, don’t worry, Alfred. I’ve been shutting them down for months. They’re just persistent. Like termites with suits.”  

Alfred gave him a small, approving nod. “As long as you don’t let them wear you down. And do keep in mind our little outing to the nursery later. Perhaps a few moments among greenery will help restore your... equilibrium.”  

Tim snorted softly. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned and headed down the hallway, his footsteps quick and purposeful on the polished floors. As he passed by the large windows overlooking the grounds, he caught a glimpse of the sunlight streaming through the trees, but he didn’t stop to take it in. His mind was already racing ahead—mentally preparing for the battle waiting for him at Wayne Enterprises.  

By the time he reached the garage, Tim was already planning his first move of the day: getting to his office before anyone else had the chance to ambush him. He climbed into his car, the engine purring to life as he pulled out of the long driveway, the manor shrinking behind him in the rearview mirror.  

The drive gave him a moment of quiet, though his fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel as he navigated the early morning traffic. He barely noticed the scenery passing by—his thoughts were too focused on the meetings ahead. The pharmaceutical marketing team, in particular, was already grating on his nerves, and he hadn’t even seen them yet.  

By the time he reached the Wayne Enterprises building, the city was fully awake. Tim parked in his reserved spot, grabbed his bag, and made his way inside, weaving through the bustling crowd of employees already heading to their stations. The elevator ride to his floor was mercifully empty, giving him a rare moment to himself. When the doors slid open, he stepped out into the sleek, modern office space that housed his team.  

Tim moved quickly, nodding at a few early risers but keeping his pace brisk. He wasn’t ready to be stopped yet. His office door clicked shut behind him, and he let out a small sigh of relief. For now, at least, he was safe. Dropping his bag onto the chair, he crossed the room to the small coffee bar tucked into the corner. The espresso machine gleamed under the overhead lights, and Tim wasted no time getting to work.  

“Triple shot,” he muttered to himself as he loaded the machine. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, and for a brief moment, it was almost enough to make him forget the chaos waiting just outside his door.  

Almost.  

Cup in hand, Tim moved to his desk and took a long sip, the bitter jolt of caffeine already doing its job. He set the cup down and powered on his computer, his inbox lighting up with a flood of unread emails. “Alright,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles, the ache slowly dissipating Into pins and needles. “Let’s see what today’s disaster looks like.”  

The quiet hum of his office was soon accompanied by the rhythmic tapping of his keyboard as Tim dove into his work, bracing himself for the inevitable knock on his door that would signal the start of the day’s battles. For now, though, he savored the calm before the storm, his triple shot espresso keeping him upright as he prepared to face whatever came next.

__________

[mitzana]

i was sneaky and got a pic at the very end as everyone was going offstage (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

long post ahead, sorry i yap a lot lol

bigger was really fun!! i remembered as i was going in that brennan and izzy invited siobhan, zac and ally with them, and i was so fucking hyped!!!! they also brought on lou gonzalez and ryan haney, and while i wasn’t familiar with them prior to tonight they rocked it and i was glad to have been introduced to them and their humor.

it was a sold out show and the energy was so positive. it felt rlly great seeing people who trust and admire one another just be silly. idc if this makes me lame but that’s what i love about improv, it’s soooooo vulnerable

ofc it was funny, like it’s dropout people ofc i was cackling the whole time!!! my favorite part was actually from the stand-up comedian that they invited, jonathan penner. instead of taking suggestions from the audience all night, they had the comedian perform monologues based off one suggestion at the start and then those monologues would inspire the scenes, then the scenes would inspire the next monologue and so on and so forth…

so jonathan’s talking about how he got ghosted by his middle school friend group and he decided to message them via AIM, and if you’re chronically online (which i know u are, you’re on tumblr) you’ll know where this is going.

when he said “good morning, this is jonathan’s mom” i legit LOST IT OMGGGGG 😭😭 so fucking funny

overall it’s crazy to think just how instrumental these people have been in my life and how their writing and comedy informed my personality. i was watching collegehumor sketches with brennan, siobhan, zac, and ally like deadass since elementary and middle school. i think growing up with those sketches helped me become the smart-spoken yet crass and chaotic person i’ve always been. and ik that’s weird bc i was definitely too young to be watching ch but compared to the other shit i was exposed to as a kid it was practically harmless. so seeing these people who like shaped who i am on stage doing what they do best was such an awesome experience :D

and i have to give kudos to everyone for being able to uplift and entertain a theater full of people after such awful events like the la fires and the inauguration. there were moments in the show that referenced how fucking gross the world is rn (“it’s just weird that you bought a tesla now”) but the vibe was still fun and joyful.

i am so fucking grateful for these wacky comedians and I would love to see some dropout folks live again if i ever have the chance!!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝��

good morning tumblr the world is a fucking nightmare but im back home and im seeing bigger with brennan and izzy tonight with my bf so thats cool actually (◜ᴗ◝)

i’ll try and grab pics if the theater allows it!!

[gotmilfed]

where is the love is an accident (2023) fanfic. I need itttt where are you hiding.... you must be out there 🥺

[tempfrangit]

saw @pricetagged 's post (to be entirely transparent) and immediately overcome with the idea of hunter!141 x reader who like to do a little hunt to find a partner, and if you happen to be the partner of the person their ex left them for? all the better.

they get close to you, naturally. you bumped into each other in public and kind of just click - they're like an old friend you just met! when they're not busy with work, they're chatting about the book you just read, or the show you just watched, or maybe your work drama, because you don't like to gossip but it's like some people never learn! they even get along with your favorite friends and family.

when you start to realize you have feelings for them, your partner just happens to seem more distant. it's only right to tell you, your partner is kind of a serial cheater, right? you're friends. and when your fears are so neatly confirmed (he claims he has no idea who those messages are from, but you're not blind.)

they're there for you. it'll all be okay. maybe a nice cuppa and your comfort movie? you're the sweetest prize they've ever gotten.

[verefex]

He left just as quickly as he arrived, not once looking your way. Yet all you could think of was how soft his hands must be, were they to only hold you for a moment.

[raiiny-bay]

made this & then realized i wanted to make something else instead

[aroaceleovaldez]

i would like to say my ideal PJO adaptation (if i was being physically forced against my will to have to pick a live action adaptation over an animated one for some reason) would be a combo like writing of the musical + casting of the show + visuals of the movies

BUT the show actually does have the playwright for the musical as one of the major writers for like three episodes and that did nothing for it. so...

[mrbluesummers-moved]

I'm too tired to write the full Essay™, but someone said in the tags that Stampede took away Knives' fear and it made me realize that the core issue I have with Trigun Stampede is the fact that the characters lack the emotional depth of Trigun Maximum. Like, I'm enjoying Stampede, and it's emotional, but Knives and Vash especially have had their emotional complexity watered down in comparison to the manga.

In the manga, they were as much at war with themselves as they were with each other and world around them. Knives was expressive, animated, and always playing up the megalomaniac god complex in public, but in private he was exhausted and scared and even expressed guilt towards his sisters for being careless in how he orchestrated the fall. Vash was an upbeat pacifist who was constantly fighting his own urge to take the "easy" way out and kill to solve problems.

It's what made the manga so heartbreaking. Neither of them were entirely right, but neither of them were entirely wrong. Knives shouldn't try a genocide, but he was also a deeply traumatized child who was shown how cruel humans could be to plants. Vash should try to do as much good in the world as he can, but holding onto the ideals of pacifism in a hostile environment does more harm than good and he learns that when he's finally pushed to the point where he has to choose between killing and saving someone important to him.

I don't think it's impossible for Stampede to recover in Season 2, but the foundations aren't great. Changing Nai to being cold as child seems like such a small change, but Knives starting out as the optimist who loved humanity is so central to that internal conflict... I don't know. Maybe they'll come back to the point of Rem being important to Knives and make use of the fact that he intended for her to survive and that might save it. We'll have to see.

[geodebiome]

i think hannibal lecter's (tv show version) relationship with god is so cool to think about. love this fucked up little cannibal and how he keeps challenging god to show his face for once. will you speak to me if i turn this man into a cherry blossom tree?

[trashymouthgremlin]

Hobie's place is where they all crash into cuddle piles, especially after a rough day. There's a spot where if things suck, one of them will just curl up, and then everyone just knows it's cuddle pile time. Hobie, Miles, Pavitr, and Gwen will sometimes just nap like that, appreciating physical affection with each other, tangled up, holding each other's hands, or just all smushed together in a tight hug.

[charee]

I thought about your OCs today. I missbthem

sorry i'm such an emotional person. but this made me cry. like boohoo cry, and im being serious

[somelazyassartist]

Hate it when I simultaneously feel like I've been working myself to hell and back and also feel like I have absolutely nothing to show for it. Like I am so tired but if I do not get Products ready to Sell I am going to chew my limbs off bc I hate that I need money to live but I do!!!! And the things I do aren't even that hard my body just sucks and hates me doing anything at all ever!!!

[queenofmalkier]

Now I'm stuck on how unhinged and depraved and AWFUL Tuon/Gawyn could be.